I want to tell you about when I finally came on his tongue. He's been going down on me for weeks. Previously, I was very shy about being gone down upon. It felt like the most vulnerable thing I could do with someone. And I didn't like it.
But once he asked, "I wonder how you taste fresh out of the shower?" and I shyly let him taste.
So he went down on me a good handful of times, and I did like it--I did like how it felt, those slow figure eights, and up and down, and side to side, quicker, hard, so gentle it almost tickled...
But I knew I wouldn't come. Once I was close, and it just didn't happen.
But a few days ago, he was licking me. I lay relaxed on my back. He was between my legs, doing with his tongue the things he likes to do, and I felt the need growing within me. He seemed insistent, like he knew it was going to happen this time--assertive, almost aggressive. I was very curious.
I think I hadn't come on his tongue before because I wouldn't let myself relax. Maybe I just didn't know him well enough? Well, that can't be true because I remember a long time ago--the summer I was 16--coming on the tongue of a near-stranger. That was 19 years ago. And I fell in love with that man, that night, on the ground beside the tennis courts at the summer art school where he was an actor and I was a writer, both of us a long way from home.
But I was already quite in love with this M, anarchist boyfriend. And as I lay there on my back in our bedroom--the bedroom we had shared for less than two weeks--we'd had our first at-home sex there, so comfortable and finally, finally safe, not worrying about his roommate's footsteps on the stairs, not furtive--I finally relaxed.
Sex can be about tension, maintaining an intensity, but it feels good to relax in the middle of it, to relax emotionally.
So he was doing his intent work on my clitoris, insistent, and I let go. It went on for a long time, and I admired his drive.
Then I could tell I was probably going to come. Then I could tell I was going to come. I felt a little scared, but it was going to happen. I think my sounds indicated that I was going to come--he knew, and he responded with enthusiasm, heartened.
Then I was coming on his tongue. It was amazing, and it was too much. I wanted him to back off but not stop, but I had no way of communicating that. I reached down to my cunt and pressed my labia together with my fingers. His enthusiasm was undeterred. I was overcome with emotion.
He eventually stopped and brought his face to mine for kisses. I was ecstatic. I was so, so happy that we finally did it. I was beaming.
He seemed glad but not like anything remarkable had happened. I was confused. I wanted him to be as happy as I was.
"Do you remember the other day when I finally came on your tongue?" I just asked him. "How did you feel?"
He's naked in the bedroom, with boxes--we're still moving. "Really, really happy," he said.
"Do you remember I thought you weren't really happy?" I asked. "Why do you think I thought that?"
"I don't think it was something I said," he told me. "I think it was something about my expression?"
I thought about this. For our whole relationship, I have been so comforted by his touch, and words are secondary. In two weeks I'm leaving on a trip, and we'll only have the phone. I don't know how I'll survive because when we talk on the phone, it's like he's a different person. It doesn't even feel like him.
I remember a long time ago, when we were on our trip and everything was new, I was so worried things between us weren't okay, but when he held my hand, everything was okay. We circumvented language.
I'm getting sleepy, and I think I'll end here. I just wanted to tell you it finally happened, and my heart is open to him.