Sex and vulnerability – missing pieces.

I’ve had some interesting conversations of late with someone whose input I’ve come to love for the differences in our perspectives and the way we approach things. Some experience, some insight and a different perspective have brought into clarification something that I had been missing.

The new FWB, he needs a name. Let’s call him Cernunnos after the horned god.

During our very long and very very extensive coupling a few days ago I’ve gone over and replaying a lot of things that happened. Which is a good thing, a lot of what happened was fantastic and wonderful and joyful and orgasmic in so many many ways.

But during all this, Cernunnos decided that during our last love-making of the night, he would rock me steady and sure with long slow strokes. As he did this, with my head buried in his neck and shoulder and his head buried in my neck was that for every orgasm I had in this position, I felt a layer peel off me exposing something I haven’t purposefully exposed before. For every roll of our hips I felt a bit of my armour shatter and crumble. Somehow this great big beast of a man was exposing parts of myself I wasn’t aware that I hadn’t been exposing before. If he’d kept going I was pretty sure I’d have cried. And this, from the woman who used to scoff at all those women in films that cried during sex because it was so emotional.

Something clicked in that moment. I was grateful we didn’t keep that pace up and going for longer than we did. I wasn’t and still am not sure I’m ready to face that kind of vulnerability with just a FWB.

But what does this all mean? 

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The juxtaposition that is man…What?

I’ve had this discussion with a few friends, lately it was over free food and wine at a Yelp Elite Event – I met a lovely lass who had gotten back from America not long after I had and were were contemplating the differences in our experiences with men.

Oh hello Mr Fur Beastie, I want your jumper. And you. Why don’t you wear it over?

You see, when I was in America last for the entire month I was there, I didn’t have a night that I didn’t have a date. What? Yup, that’s right. I had a date every single night when I was over there.

The last time I had a date in Australia? Oh. Possibly about 2.5 years ago. It was an utter failure. He was vegan. I love meat. He got upset that I ate meat. I didn’t order any for our dinner though because I’m a thoughtful person like that. He tried to lecture me about global warming and I lost it. I started trolling him. It was politely at first. About how all animal farms now use humane ways to kill their animals for eating purposes. That leather is a really handy material for things. Like whips. I don’t think he believed me when I said it was for whips, he just looked at me funny. But could you imagine a single tail that’s made of pleather? Like seriously? How the fuck is that even meant to hurt? Or how is one even meant to savour the oncoming onslaught of pain, shock, noise… without that sweet sweet smell of well oiled and used leather? And we all know what a scent whore I am.

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