One swallow doesn’t make a spring #9

So then we did have sex. Vanilla sex.

When I’d dragged the last of her clothes of her and joined her on the bed, her body was the colour of the moon and seemingly all breasts and hips: a body for sex, for holding and lying upon. I petted and kissed her cunt, the pinkish brown of a semi-dried apricot, lightly furred. There was a moment when I slipped into Svitlana’s slipperiness, that I felt a crass kind of triumph. The sad truth is that I was thinking of her women lovers in triumphant and competitive terms (she’s mine, now!), and that my cock was moving into – had taken – occupation. As I said, it was crass. Sometimes I’m stupid, and that’s that. At least I mostly keep it inside my head.

Even at the time I knew that was stupid. I thought instead about how I could make her first fuck with a man after such a long gap as good as possible. That was fairly stupid too, because I had no reason or right to care whether she fucked men or women when she wasn’t fucking me. I had no reason to think of myself as some kind of cock demonstrator. (“The maintenance cost can be higher in some models, madam, but you’ll find this is the superior product.”)

Anyway, this was vanilla sex, so I lifted Svitlana’s shoulders off the bed so I could kiss her while we fucked, and began to move gently, stirring her, rocking her cunt like a cradle. Eventually she took her feet off my ass and pointed them at the ceiling, which I took as a sign of appreciation.

Vanilla sex, sure. But all good sex goes a little bit bdsm, doesn't it?

It was vanilla sex, sure. But in some ways it wasn’t. All really intense sex seems to go a little bit bdsm, doesn’t it?

She took a long time to come, though I twice felt her getting close. I did the things you do to encourage a lover to go over the edge, but each time it seemed to dissipate. Eventually I just settled into a rhythm she seemed to be comfortable with, allegro ma non troppo as her friend Shostakovich would have said, and stayed there, reliable old me, so she could concentrate on the things she needed to make this work. Sometimes we rolled so she was on top of me with me holding her breasts, and sometimes she was on her back being fucked, but always at the same speed.

Svitlana rode and was ridden until, after nearly an hour had passed, a very pleasant hour though uneventful, she started making little cries. Her movements under me became erratic, then fast, then – with the cries metastasising into screams – frenzied. Then she screamed once at a higher pitch, and her cunt contracted, fiercely, around my cock. She screamed again, at exactly the same pitch, and then sucked in air.

That reminded me to breathe, which I hadn’t done in a while, and we slowly came to a halt. It was a cold night, but her hair was wet with sweat, and my own sweat had soaked my hair and was stinging my eyes.

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