December 27, 2015
No one wants predictability in bed. You want to learn what works and build a collective repertoire – not a routine. It shouldn’t feel like subway commute, especially since you can’t even put headphones on and plant your face in a New Yorker.
I think he got his sexual persona from a mixture of porn and hiphop videos.
Our sex life had been reduced to two buckets. The first was the rare drunken encounters where Michael actually became a bit more adventurous, took charge and wasn’t afraid to explore – when he actually took some time to think about what might be interesting and had fun. He would only ever go down on me when he was drunk, perhaps he was intimidated, maybe he just didn’t like doing it. I think he got his sexual persona from a mixture of porn and hiphop videos. I’d like to get a bunch of girls together and compare what their guy’s liked in bed, how their boyfriends behaved and compare it with the most popular porn videos online.
Always first thing in the morning, too drowsy to talk, an inspired boner pushed up against my back.
This nuzzling at the back of my neck was the mating signal for the other style of sex we had. Always first thing in the morning, too drowsy to talk, an inspired boner pushed up against my back, stale breath maintaining a boundary between us.
He would fondle at one my boobs or throw a leg over me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about morning sex, but we had reduced this ritual to its lowest possible form. Who even knows where these morning hard-ons came from? He could be dreaming of his Mom’s best friend, the local doctor, some dude in his Crossfit class. He has no control. This boner is anyone’s. He is practically still dreaming, it’s just a way for him to finish. I’m like one of those plastic Fleshlight devices guys used to get off. If anything will be responsible for cultivating a super bug that kills us all off – it will be those creepy creations. Take the living conditions of the guys that own those things, mix that with what they do with them, and how often they clean them. Disaster.
I’m like one of those plastic Fleshlight devices guys used to get off. If anything will be responsible for cultivating a super bug that kills us all off – it will be those creepy creations.
I don’t want to seem unappreciative, there are far worse things to wake up to then sex with Michael – it’s just that we used to put more effort into these sessions, and I used to get off occasionally, benefiting from the daze of not being fully awake, hence not overthinking things. Now they are generally one or maybe two positions and a couple of minutes max.
I reach a hand back and he pulls his boxers down, kicks them right off, sometimes he will keep them linked around one leg so he can find them afterwards. The first ten or so strokes are dry and uncomfortable. We stay in the spoon position, heads still on the pillows; eye contact has probably totaled a couple of seconds, which I’m fine with. I think about the day ahead until his hand gets involved and it actually starts to feel pretty good. I make a conscious effort to get into it. His grunts start up, they get a little more frequent, he could ease off or switch it up, but instead he ups the momentum – grunts on and finishes. Pulling me in before sliding out, “thanks, that was great.” falls from his mouth as his head slumps deep into the pillow.
Nothing makes a girl feel special like being thanked for her services.