I’d wanted to have sex for days. Once I got over the horrible crud that had knocked me flat on my ass for two or three days, I wanted to be back to normal. And “normal” for us is late night/early morning sex.
And in my mind, that was penetrative sex. His cock, my cunt, and a good strong thrust or two (okay more than two…).
I’d pouted and moped and hinted and then finally asked, “When are we going to fuck again?”
For the record, I’m getting a lot better at using my words. But I’m still never prepared for what it really means.
John Brownstone has this way of touching me that lets me know he’s ready for sex. When I wanted to “assume the position” — ass against his groin, ready for some sweet, sweet spooning sex, he said no.
“I want to do this my way.”
Which, if you think about it, is an obvious statement. He is the Dominant one around here. My submissive side went to immediate war with the part of me that wanted what I’d defined as the sex-I-want-to-have. That sex didn’t require clit stroking or juicy orgasms.
But I didn’t say no, and he didn’t stop.
His finger pressed gently against my clit, starting a familiar swirl of press and stroke, press and stroke. And I hated it. My entire body tensed. I didn’t really want this, but I felt awful for not wanting it. And, every other down stroke felt really damn good. Unfortunately, every up stroke didn’t.
The mental strain took a toll on my body. My shoulders, neck, back…and cunt were as tight as they’d ever been. I felt heat blossoming between my thighs, and I desperately wanted his fingers inside me. If the way my thighs spread could speak, they were clearly demanding, “Penetrate me, damn it!” But my body wouldn’t cooperate.
“I know what we need.”
He grabbed the lube, and I ecstatically flipped into position.
“Uh, no, babygirl. Get back over here.”
Lube to stroke my clit? We’ve never…oh fuuuuuuuuck, we need to do this more often.
Finally he had enough glide across my body and the lubrication to slip past my defenses. Did the lube open up my body or did the realization of what it felt like make me relax? Who knows, but three small, shuddery orgasms later, and he was satisfied and ready to fuck me.
Now I giddily bounced into the little spoon position. I felt good, but what I really cared about was getting what I’d been waiting the past 10 or 15 minutes for.
What is Sex?
What we’re taught about sex (when we’re taught anything) and what we think about sex can be complicated. If you’re like me and (mostly, sort of, kind of maybe ????) straight, there’s a damn good chance “sex” is all about the cock and the cunt. But if you think about it, that can’t be all that sex is because not everyone matches up with those body parts. And, I’ve been quite sexually satisfied many times without John Brownstone’s cock.
So what is sex?
If you ask me when I’m in “educator/sex explainer mode”, I’ll tell you sex is whatever feels good, with or without an orgasm. And I really do believe that.
So why then, when I’m thinking about the sex I want to have in bed with John Brownstone, am I focused solely on his cock inside of my cunt? I mean, other than that I love it?
My brain couldn’t quite process this quick enough between dry clit strokes, lubed up clit strokes, and my orgasms. All I really felt was conflicted and guilty that I wasn’t enthusiastic about what he was trying to do — make me feel good.
The moment his cock was buried in my body I knew the answer.
Sex is Sensory
Because sex really is so much more than a penis and a vagina, even when what I desperately want is his dick. Sex with John Brownstone is the sound of our bodies connecting with each thrust. It’s his warm skin pressed against mine. Sex is the ways his hands move over my back, around to my breasts, or in my hair. The sex I want to have with John Brownstone is an all-over sensory experience that just happens to occur when his cock is in my cunt.
I realized that I get the same feeling when we have a spanking scene. It’s never just a paddle or flogger that touches my skin. I can always feel the heat of his body when he leans over to whisper something filthy in my ear. His hands roam my body as much as the toys do. He pulls my air, smacks my face, and makes me feel something in every cell of my body. It’s as satisfying as a good fuck.
While he stroked my clit to get me off, as much as I usually love it, it was divorced from what I truly wanted. His body pressed into mine, the physical connection of our two bodies becoming one, and his heat surrounding me inside and out.
So yes, sex is definitely more than a penis and a vagina, even if that’s the kind of sex you always have. And while I wish I hadn’t “struggled” in those early moments, I’m forever grateful for lube and the very important discovery about what sex means to me.
Welcome to Masturbation Monday! I’m not as sick as I was last week (thank gawd), and I’m feeling more myself — even with an existential crisis during sex. For the good stuff, you know where to go.