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The Foreplay Factor-queerlife

The Foreplay Factor

The best sex I’ve ever had might not even count as sex to a lot of people. It was (so-called) foreplay, masturbation and mouth work. It lasted hours, to the tune of the raunchiest acid jazz, and ended with the two of us lying there, side by side, my skin pushing on his skin, totally sweat-slicked, stroking and babbling and moaning in harmony. It was stunning.

What made it so good? I have to say: he did. He took the lead and I followed. For a start, I wanted him more than I’d wanted anyone for what seemed years. It wasn’t just he was hot. When I first saw him, I thought: I know him. There was something deep in me that looked like him. When we started to talk we could complete each other’s sentences. Our voices tumbled in and out of each other’s. I wouldn’t call it love at first sight. It was like recognition.

When we had sex he was wild. He seemed to be teaching me how to fuck like an animal. We kept switching positions. Every few seconds he’d take me by surprise. He’d bite my nipples at exactly the right time, lick my open eyes, fuck my mouth as you would an entirely desensitized organ. He knew exactly how to work at the edge and to push that edge. We were wrestling each other around like a game of Twister. He’d play and pause and hit rewind – It was fun. That’s the word. It was amazing fun.

There was an honesty about it. We weren’t in love. We liked each other a lot and we liked our bodies and what we could do with them. We were just getting off on our bodies and seeing how high we could go. He had a theory about why people fitted together. He didn’t believe in love. He said people desired what they didn’t have, which was in the other. He has something you want? So you fuck to the point where the line between you and him blurs, then you get that aspect of his personality you want in your life. That was the theory.

He was a spoilt, unrepentant, selfish child, though he was my age. Maybe that’s what he had that I wanted. I’d always been so very good. He could loosen me up a bit. The rule was: love was forbidden. I was his designated fuck, no more, no less. I absolutely must not fall in love.

So how did it end? That’s obvious, really. We fell in love and the relationship lasted five years.