I believe one’s attitudes about water are a litmus test for their sexuality, or how they like their sex. I don’t like it crazy rough but I like to get somewhat aggressive, or rather hard-working. That description roughly correlates with how I go at it in bed.
If it’s been a while for this inevitably results in sex-sore muscles I forgot were even in my body. That happened a couple of weeks ago but not in any major, debilitating way. I don’t see it happening again any time soon, thank you very much. I honestly don’t know why I go after those situations anymore, or let them happen. I blame it on my gluttony for abusive relationships, although nothing of late comes anywhere close to abusive.
The almost-too-rough thing was an early embarrassment for me, when I was with a woman who made me stop. She said “It’s too much.” I basically cowered in shame, feeling the horrible suddenness of guilt at having performed unwanted acts.
But she, I later came to conclude, was just not wired for being pounded. Many other women in my future would be thus attuned.
What am I talking about?
I was out at Rockaway and Jacob Riis yesterday, a very time-consuming trek I don’t think I’ll attempt again this summer. Even by car I think that would be an hour+ journey.
…
I was watching some porn today when I remembered yesterday, walking along the beach, my attentions instinctively and primally drawn to womens’ bodies as they passed me by. It happens anywhere, certainly not just at the beach, though there is more to look at compared to other venues. More flesh.
That’s not always a positive for me. I like to leave something to the imagination, some fantasy not about her tongue on mine but about her intellect of life experiences traveling through our conversations.
I saw a woman on the train yesterday. Somewhat chunky legs, tall, she gave off an attitude of world-weariness suggesting she had been manned out of men. Didn’t need them, didn’t want them.
Of course my projections like this presume heteronormative dynamics, and why wouldn’t they coming from the most heterosexual dude you’ll ever find?
I instantly imagined us in bed, tongues strangling each other, me finding my way down her body as she somewhat begrudgingly accepts the act. She’d be a bully about some things but all told we’d have it good, two growed-ass adults just fucking around.
Nothing of the kind happened. We are still allowed to think though, are we not? Thoughts, as the priests would say, are not sinful. It’s your actions that get you in trouble.
No action yesterday. In fact I left the subway car she was in to get away from the distraction. Now I am looking across the aisle at one of the many beautiful women who work here. I can barely look away sometimes. When will I ever grow up? Bah, we can look, right?
