Rolling your eyes, are ya?
Go on, I won’t stop you. I was like you once.
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I was all for sex that hurt for days after it was gone. Sex- the kinds of which etched him on my back, left his imprints on my thighs, his taste on my mouth and his touch on my skin, for as long as it took the throbbing longing on my skin to rush back into his arms. And then, we’d do it all over again. Clawing each other open, lying naked under the sheets all day all night long, with mouthfuls of champagne and bites of teeny sized food, squeezed in between love bites. Our passion was like the only healthy drug there was- scattered on the bed, in the shower, on the kitchen counter, on the dining table, the desk, the couch, the floor. Even in front of the mirror, where we could see the frenzy of sparks ignited by our bare skin on each other turn into wildfire. Wrapped in each other, we’d be like uninvited guests in each other- trying to make homes of inns that we’d keep for only as long as this explosion would keep us. After that, we were all blown bits of flesh, tired of the bomb that just claimed us in its fold.
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And boy, was it hot! The heat would burn and slap you across the face and a*s, pouring passion down into you, even if you were not all in, like a mixture of tears and whiskey pushed down your throat. Like a tumultuous storm, the romp would come and go, leaving a lull so disturbing you’d crave destruction again. And again. And then, again.
Suggested read: I believed in beginnings and ends until I found a beautiful middle…
That was until I discovered how different love making was from mad passion. Until I discovered how different the feeling of bubbles spinning in your stomach and a tipsy feeling making your heart pound can be from a fiery, roaring, breath-snatching red hot romp. Until I discovered how different naked souls could be from naked bodies alone.
Lovemaking was like a drizzle of love pouring down from the swathes of clouds in my lover’s eyes over my body, like smooth rivulets of chocolate syrup grazing my being.
Lovemaking was like drinking wine under a starry blanket, with our hot and heavy breath melting the nippy, wintry chill of the air between us.
Lovemaking was like hearing the words ‘I love you’ for more than pounding inside the wet forest between my thighs and feeling the words mean something.
Lovemaking was like the yawn of dawn that never scuffled for the clothes on my chair or the belt on my nightstand because my good morning kiss and a breakfast in bed was a-waiting!
Gentle lovemaking was like an insatiable longing you could feel deep in your gut- not for climbing a tall peak as for taking the jump off, realizing how devastatingly close that’d be to falling. But that’s the thing about love. You aren’t afraid of falling. Deeper, closer- inside- into the person who shows you what love means and everything it can be.
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So, I want gentle. I choose gentle. Because I choose laughter that splits open my belly while someone in love with the sound of my laughter pours kisses down my face than sex that splits open my being and hurt me for days after! Because the morning tea and our private joke makes me more happy than an exhausted beast beside me in bed. Because the comfort and coziness oozing from the arms of the one I can call home is what my heart seeks above unquenchable carnal hunger. Because gentle lovemaking feels like LOVE and it is infinitely better than everything that wants to claim me but wouldn’t take me, as its own.
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