Scenes <not> of a sexual nature

I love that feeling when I’ve just gotten a haircut, the way my hair bristles when I stroke my hand up the back of my head. So soft to the touch. I imagine it’s your hand.

I imagine you’re touching me with affection. I imagine the contented feelings it would bring. I imagine leaning into you, while you gently stroke my hair.

Sex has always been about approval to me. Undoubtedly, a therapist might have something to say about that. Sex is never just about my pleasure – hell, if I wanted to feel good, I know how to do that. For me sex is as much, no more, about the pleasure I can bring someone else. Yes, it’s about approval, but it’s also gaining a sense of pleasure, and accomplishment, in having your partner enjoy what you’re doing.

Sex is not just about the dick, the cock, the junk. It’s about the touch, the caress, the kiss. Hard to be a died-in-the-wool sensualist and not have it come across as romantic.

Sex has also always been about losing myself in the moment. That would be the ultimate goal for me. Plays havoc with my control issues. I’ve come close, you should pardon the expression. For me, it’s not just about wresting control from me in the bedroom. I get that I’m a tad on the submissive side. But it’s about trust. Me trusting you enough to let go of the control I have inside – that voice that tells me ‘you look stupid’ or ‘that’s dumb.’ I have to trust that you’re not going to hold my needs, my wants, my turn ons against me. That vulnerability does not get handed over easily.

So what do I want? A friend that I can trust. Who turns me on, who I turn on, who doesn’t walk in with a bunch of expectations, who takes me for who I am.

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