Goodbye sex

I'll see you... when I see you.

My mind has a natural tendency to reject everything associated with goodbyes.  I'm so bad at goodbyes, sometimes, I try to avoid it altogether.

Benjamin Franklin said, "Energy and persistence conquer all things."  He has energy, he has persistence, he conquers me, he defeats my every attempt at resistance.

He insisted that I could not leave until we say goodbye; he insisted that we go off to somewhere quiet for our goodbye kiss; he insisted that we find a little more privacy in the back of the car before we part ways; he insisted on unzipping my high neck jacket so his lips could find my neck; he insisted to slip off the straps of my tank top off my shoulders; he then insisted to explore my body even more, until my breasts were in his palms, gently massaged, and my nipple was in his mouth, mercilessly teased.

Perhaps it was my mind refusing to recognize the sex associated with goodbye, or perhaps it was because of the warmth of his lips and the wetness on his tongue, kissing and twirling, sending an electrifying, orgasmic sensation from the tips of my hardened nipples all the way down to the other sensitive body part between my legs, that I have almost no recollection on what happened next, other than waking up beside him, feeling as if my mind and body have separated--my mind was in blank, and my body had just experienced a long, intense, climax that left me feeling physically drained, and very hungry.

He kissed me and apologized, thinking that I did not come. 

When I finally regained full consciousness and some energy to find my clothes, it was time to say goodbye.  He was off to his 10-day vacation, followed by an overseas work trip.  We would not see each other again for almost 2 weeks.

"You gotta go home, now!"  I shooed him away and insisted, "I will see you... when I see you."  This was my way of saying goodbye.

Like I said, I'm really bad at this.

2 hours 37 minutes

The. Best. Ever.

When you finally meet a man who knows how to handle your body, you just gotta let him have it.
And that was exactly what I did from 10 to 12 last night, and again from 8 to 8:37 this morning.
It probably takes the talent and training of a sports announcer to report the action-packed 2.5 hours.  Like all the post-game MVPs, I found myself sweating, panting, excited, exhausted, and unable to make any intelligent rembarks other than saying that it took a great team to get to where we are.

We definitely make a great team.

Our stats? 

2 hours of non-stop goodnight sex, 37 minutes of good morning sex, 4+1 rounds, 3 condoms (yes we gave in and acted like irresponsible adults... but being bad was so good), plus numerous female climaxes.  So many, that I lost count.

Too hard to stop

I think we have become sex addicts.

The first step to solving a problem is admitting that you have one... or at least that's what I've been told.

We have a problem. 

It was the Monday after our do-nothing Sunday, a regular Monday that should have been no different than any other Mondays.

It was, until I got this IM from him, it came out of nowhere.
"Your car has pretty good tinting in the windows, right?"
"Yeah, why?" I replied.
"You know why."  I can almost see the smirk on his face.
"I do?" Sorry to be dense, but our conversations can be so all over the place sometimes I have to be constantly thinking about sex to realize where this was going.  And I don't constantly think about sex, except for the hours I devoted to write about how amazing it's been.

He patiently explained the idea of discreetly sneaking into the back of my car and making out after work.  It sounded like he's got all the logistics figured out in his head.  I quietly laughed as his IM messages scrolled in.  Boys will always be boys.

That's not to say I didn't like the idea though.  Naughty, risky, fun.  Why not?

It was still sunny and warm when we rendezvoused in the parking lot.  Too sunny, too warm, actually, so the two decisive eager individuals made the call of carrying out the plan elsewhere--a nearby CVS parking lot.

I was quite confident that today everything would go according to plan, especially considering that my selected wardrobe of the day was this lunch-with-grandma dress.  A well fitted navy blue dress that spells conservative: there is no cleavage shown, and the narrowing pencil skirt falls at knee length. This is not a dress that would make anyone want to have sex with me.  This is a serious dress that keeps me in check--I must keep my back straight, stomach sucked in, walk in small lady steps--just the way my grandma would appreciate it.

Grandma, or my parents, would probably not appreciate the dress if they had known that in this Monday afternoon, in the CVS parking lot, there is a man in the back of my car, encouraging me to join him so he can make out with me.

Like a moth to a flame, I made my way to him, into the fire.

We sat side by side and started kissing.  But soon that was no longer enough.  We wanted to be closer.  I pulled my skirt up to the root of my thighs so I could move freely.  He invited me to straddled him, and we continued to kiss.  Through my tight fitting dress, his hands busily touched every part of my body that he could reach, my bare thighs, my womanly humps, my breasts, my neck.  I couldn't take my lips off his, and I think he couldn't take his lips off mine either.  He held me tightly and pressed my body against his.  The kiss progressively became harder and deeper.  I felt like I was going to melt into him, but even with our bodies so close and our sweat fused together, we still wanted more.

More, was not part of even his plan, but he was getting hard, I could feel it between my legs.  As he rhythmically moved his hip, his excited body part stimulated mine with a teasing force, retreated, and came back even stronger.  It has become a pretty wet reminder of all the highs we've experienced with each other.

Like an addiction, it was just too hard to stop.  Like true addicts, we were prepared to do anything to get our highs.

When he finally entered me, under my skirt, while I was on top of him, when we finally came together, while he was on top of me, I knew that I am addicted to the fullness inside, physically and emotionally.  I think he may be too.... I hope he is.

The realization terrified me as much as it pleased me.  But of course, it wouldn't be as terrifying as it would be for the old lady who pulled her car up beside mine, had she parked 2 minutes earlier when we were just about the climax.

I have sinned

If anyone asks, I will deny it.

The beauty of life is perhaps its unpredictability.

I was determined to dedicate this weekend to do absolutely nothing so I could recover from a very exhausting week.

I sort of had it my way, if "nothing" means letting my mind and body go, and reach an orgasm cloud that I've never been before.

That was not my original plan though.  Nothing with him seems to go according to my plan.  But if this was a bad thing, I should only have myself to blame. Somewhere between him suggesting that we should break more rules this weekend and me saying no to him inviting himself over, I said, "but, if you're up for doing nothing this Sunday, you're welcome to join me."  He was up for it.

Sunday afternoon, we met up in the city.  It was the strangest feeling--I was happy and eager to see him, but at the same time, something in me says I should run as far away as I could.
I didn't run away.  Instead, we spent a few hours just lying under the sun in the windy Alamo Square, doing nothing.  I nearly fell asleep, if not for the cold wind that kept on finding its way up under my shirt.
It finally came to a time when the sun began to disappear, and the dropping temperature became unbearable.  We returned to his place, and surprise, surprise, we ended up in his bed, cuddling and kissing.

My white tee and jeans were surrendered on the floor again as our blood began to boil.  Our skins too hot to touch, he had me pinned under him and gently showered my half naked body with his kisses.  His strong hands lifted my body to draw me closer but caressed me tenderly.  With my body arched back, I moaned quietly every time his warm lips came in contact with my neck, my chest, my stomach...  But the alarm went off when I realized he was still going further, kissing and stroking my inner thighs provocatively.  I knew where this was going, and I'm not ready for it.

I protested.  I tried to push him away and escape from under him.  "It's ok, just relax," he whispered as he held my struggling hands down and pressed his body against me to stop me from struggling.  My resistance was futile. This was an unfair match between a 185cm, 185lbs man and a 160cm, 103lbs woman, and I was clearly losing.

I felt embarrassed, almost shameful. At this moment my legs were spread wide, and my deepest secret exposed. I could feel his tongue gliding over my soft flesh, pressing against my sensitive spot, just enough to make my body shiver in excitement. I needed him to stop. I could feel my primal instinct awakening, and I didn't want to confront the wildness in my blood, the hunger for more.

He continued, going over every inch of my secret garden as if there was something to be found. I could hear myself breathing heavier as his tongue intensified the search.  The excitement heightens.  In my mind I begged him to stop but my body couldn't lie.  Just when I thought I could come to my senses, it seemed like he finally found what he was looking for.  He skillfully unlocked my inner lips and slipped the tongue inside to explore deeper...  I think I almost fainted.  It felt so different... but so good, that I just lost it.

When I finally was able to collect myself, he already came back up and was smiling at me.  Still feeling the flood between my legs, I kissed the wetness off his lips as he invaded my body with his.  The raving pleasure continued.

2 or 3 condoms later, we lied in bed, both exhausted but still had our humor.  We laughed when about becoming sex addicts now that we've experienced the highs; we laughed again when we discussed the impossibility of out-doing ourselves; we laughed even more as he moaned about the soreness in his legs and limped away to the bathroom.  After all the clean-ups were done, there was more laughter when he insisted that I should wear something that allows me to be "as comfortable as he is" and offered me a pair of his pretty large PJ pants.  I looked ridiculous, especially when we decided to put the Giants cap on me to complete the what's supposed to be the gangsta look.  We went upstairs and talked.  We even shared a non-sex-related intimate conversation (the proper term for this, as he calls it, is "soul purging").  And then he looked at me, with his serious face, he said, "you can talk to me about these things anytime."  I didn't know how I was able to let my guard down and talk to him about those things, I just responded, "if I can tell you these things and laugh about it, that must mean I'm getting better."

This was our second time together, first time having oral sex.  This was also the day we held hands for the first time, in public.

The size issue

Having to leave the city right after a major sexual breakthrough made it very difficult for the reality to sink in.  I couldn't help thinking that it was just a really, really wet dream.

The only way I could convince myself otherwise was the fact that I never had erotic dreams before, and even if I did I wouldn't be able to come up with something that amazingly good.

I had to talk to someone to take my mind off this.  I needed to refocus. 

It would help if the girls talk didn't end up being a full-blown discussion over the importance of sex.  So important that it was unanimously agreed that while a relationship can survive without the mind-blowing sex, bad genital-to-genital experience can definitely be a deal breaker, even if the guy has a talented tongue.

The popular opinion was that the worst g2g scenario would be "he's so small I didn't even realize that he's in."  Aside from that, size really doesn't seem to matter.

I made a secret reminder to take a better look at his gift when I can get over my shy tendency.  Like how it is with clothing, one should probably know what size fits best for themselves.

More than a wet dream

If this is the Day 1 of all things great, we only have another 364 amazing days to go.

To this day, I'm still a little shocked and confused about what happened.

In my mind, this was supposed to be a friendly hang-out, a fun sleepover, followed by a little hiking adventure to catch the supposedly amazing sunrise over the Golden Gate Bridge.

Nothing went according to plan.

First there was the unexpected rooftop confession and the awkward kiss (my bad for the awkwardness!), which somehow turned into a passionate make-out session.  Then there was the unanticipated crazy good sex.  Crazy good.

And I remembered everything.  Well, everything up to the point where I almost passed out.

I remember sitting over him with my knees firmly squeezing his body, kissing him, feeling him, and telling him that I wasn't going to have sex with him.  I remember him laying on top of me--we were fully clothed, but I could feel the rising temperature in his body, and his bulging manhood pressing against the secret between my legs.  I remember moving with his rhythm, and letting my body respond to his teasing kisses and arousing touches... It felt so natural, so meant-to-be, but it was going too fast.  In my mind, I resisted.

The room was cool enough to clear my head as he led me to his bedroom.  I was prepared to not let him get to me, and I brought just the right pajamas to help me get through the temptation.

He insisted to share his bed with me, because the guest room was (conveniently) taken, and apparently I must follow the made-up house rule "no guest should sleep on the couch."  I couldn't help but to feel that this was a carefully crafted setup.  Never good at saying no, I still changed into my über-unsexy 3-layer 5-piece pajamas and climbed into his bed.

My revised plan was to keep all 3 layers and 5 pieces exactly where they were for the night, until I saw him walking towards the bed wearing what he claimed to be his jammies, which consists of nothing more but a boxer.  I blushed in the dark and looked away.  Too much information.

What happened next was good night kiss that started gentle but quickly became stimulatingly invasive.  The room felt hotter as our lips locked and our bodies embraced.   He cleverly pulled the loose-fitting long sleeve tee I had on over my head and threw it far off the bed.

The first layer of security was breached.

Alarmed, I insisted that no more clothes should come off.  Deep inside I knew it was going to be hard as I knew he was getting harder.  As he kissed my neck, I tilted my head up, only to find the little angel over me gone, and my body excited but weak.  I wasn't sure how long before my defense line crumbles under his sensual attack.

I realized that the second layer of security failed too when he threw my tank away in another direction.

There was no stopping him now.

The next thing I knew, my bare legs were wrapped around him, and there was nothing between us except for my weakening will power, which soon disappeared as the tip of his manhood reached my swollen lips.  "You are crazy" was the last thing I remember mumbling, and the rest were just soundtrack for the waves of pleasure we had...

The aftermath was a crime scene of body fluids, and the discoveries of not just an orgasm with a penis, but also multiple orgasms with a penis.


...Oh, and I also managed to keep the last layer of security almost exactly where it was supposed to be.

The business of doing it

After doing it for over a decade, at the glorious age of 31, I finally feel like I'm "old enough" to talk about sex.  It's a bit late, I know, so I wasted no time to bring up the topic of the business of doing it with every accessible girlfriend of mine.

First thing first, orgasm.

What good is sex without that body-shivering rush going through your veins, your vagina, and down between your thighs?

My opportunity for a little research came during a day out with a girlfriend.

"So, how's your... you know, sex life?"  I asked quietly as a family of 4 kids passed us by.  My girlfriend hesitated at first, "it's ok," she said unexcitedly.
"Just ok?"  I wanted to poke for more."It's good... It's just that... there's a little mismatch between us."  She went on explaining how his constant requests every day and night had turned her slightly resentful towards what's supposed to be the act of love.
"You must had orgasms though, no?"
"No, not with a penis," my honest friend replied.
"I know what you mean," I nodded in understanding.
"But I fake it," she added.  "You make a little noise, a little ooh-ahh-ohh-god.  He believes it.  Nobody needs to know.  The whole G-spot thing?  An urban myth."

Sorry, guys.

"I'm not giving up though," I said determinedly.  "I'm pretty sure I'll find someone who gets me, and gets me off too."

It must be my luck.

A little more than a week later, something amazing happened.  I soaked his bed.  It got so wet that I guiltily removed his sheets as he jumped into the shower.