"If Casual Sex Were Always Like This, I'd Do It More" | Erotic Fiction

If Casual Sex Was Always Like This, I Might Do It More

We’d been making out on bar stools for a while when he asked what I wanted to do next. Our glasses were empty and 

“You could come over and try some vegan cheese,” he said.

He’d been texting me about his homemade nut cheese for a while, so this wasn’t a totally random comment.

“Is ‘try my cheese’ code for ‘make out more’?” I replied, only half teasing.

“It is if you want it to be,” he replied.

Now that I think of it that actually not too sexy — “try my cheese” or, specifically, “try my 

 cheese.” But it was a legit question. If something was coded, I wanted to make sure we were both decoding it the same way. And I 

On the other hand, I didn’t say “sex,” I said “make out.” So was “

 code for “have sex”? Maybe  —  but I didn’t acknowledge it then. As much as I aim to tackle shame around sex, I’m not entirely there yet. A part of me believed I’d truly only want to make out, and that the temptation to do more wouldn’t overpower me.

But another part of me believed that “doing more” (i.e. having sex) wasn’t something I should be doing on a third date, especially since this date was six full months after our last, and our first date was over a year ago.

"...For the first time in my life, I wouldn’t have to choose safety over passion, long-term stability over life-changing, if brief, flings."

The part of me that didn’t want to have sex was a scared, young part that believes sex is wrong, except when you’re 

 and in a long term, committed relationship

Neither was true, and so this would be casual sex.

On the other hand, no matter how long I’ve known someone, if the sex is connective, there’s at least one moment where I forget my rational, reasonable, logical mind, and, for a moment or two at least, I do fall in love. 

I know, that’s the chemicals talking. The oxytocin and whatever else that your brain releases during sex. But you get a hit of oxytocin from a hug, too, and I’ll take a hug any time from almost anyone without shame.

I took hugs that night, any time the sex felt too intense. I pulled him close and hugged him, felt his smooth skin against my chest, trailed my fingertips along his back, buried my face into his neck, all the while holding his hard, desirous cock still inside me.

 comes to me at the memory of a hug. That hug meant, 

This is intense, I need to slow it down, just for a second, a few seconds, a full minute…

Once my body had relaxed, I began to move again. Slowly, slowly…

And then, as one might expect from a penis-owning person, he began moving faster again because (also as with many penis-owning people) he probably didn’t have the same need to let the rest of him catch up with his body.

Or maybe he did — what do I know about his experience? I just know that 

 needed to slow down, so I kept the pacing I liked, and he followed me for a while, and then responded with the pacing he must have liked. That’s the dance of sex.

My last-night-lover reminded me a bit of a guy I dated briefly in college. It’s the way his lips felt when he kissed mine, the way his eyes half closed while he was inside of me, the way his slender body moved on top of mine.

For years after college-boy and I broke up, I yearned for him. Despite dating a wonderful, loving, much more present and supportive guy, I sometimes still craved the first guy. I craved his lips, the way he looked at me, his red-rimmed eyes (because he was always 

), the languid quality of his body, and the sound of his deep voice saying dirty things into my ear.

When, a decade later, I opened my relationship with my long-term life partner, my stoner college boyfriend came to mind. In opening up, for the first time in my life, I wouldn’t have to choose safety over passion, long-term stability over life-changing, if brief, flings. I could have my cake and eat it too.

Burn bright, use up all that fuel, fuck the unknown deeply, passionately, with every ounce of your body and soul…

"I’m done feeling ashamed for having sex with someone I wanted to have sex with, and who wanted to have sex with me."

Letting relationships die is still hard for me, 

, but I still long to fuck deeply, passionately, and with every ounce of my body and soul.

So that’s what I did last night. I waited for my soul to catch up with my body, and then I began to move again.

And when he moved faster and faster inside me, I followed him. And when the energy got away from me, I slowed down.

Maybe it was frustrating for him, or maybe I’m projecting my assumptions about men, my fears. Either way, I took what I wanted from the night, as much as I could, while allowing him to take what he wanted, as much as I could let go of.

If “casual” sex could always be like that, maybe I’d do it more often.

I’m telling you this because I want someone to know. Because I’m done feeling ashamed for having sex with someone I wanted to have sex with, and who wanted to have sex with me.

I’m done feeling ashamed for loving love — whether it’s nothing but a 

 coursing through my veins or true, profound love for all beings in the universe, an awareness that comes through profound connection with one other person, even if the connection turns out to be fleeting.