A eulogy for the sex.

The biggest thing making me sad about The Pedant is that I really, really loved fucking him.  I think I could find a “replacement” for him in terms of all the other things he provided for me, but it feels like the chemistry we had in bed was a million-to-one shot.  And it’s not teachable to another person; the goodness of the sex had almost nothing to do with any kind of skills The Pedant had.  It was just a crazy intersection of physical traits and personality quirks.  Let’s dissect this, shall we?

First, the physical: I’m an extremely visual person.  The physical hotness of a person probably turns me on more than anything they could actually physically do for me.  And I found The Pedant absolutely beautiful.  All of him.  His face; his body, even his hands and feet were gorgeous to me.  And his cock…was…perfect.  Ideal size, aesthetically pleasing, and uncut.  I’d forgotten how much I prefer uncircumcised men.  They seem so much more sensitive, and there’s so much more surface area to play with.

Also in the realm of the physical: The Pedant has had a vasectomy.  I got to have barrier-free sex with him even though I’m not on any kind of birth control.  How often am I gonna find a guy in his late 20s/early 30s who’s available, childless, had a vasectomy, and wants to fluid-bond with me and only me?  It seems like a tall order.

And now the personality quirks.

First, a bit of context:

Our culture acts as though PIV sex is the biggest deal in the world and that the inside of a vagina is literally the most incredible sensation for a penis to experience.  The idea of a man being powerless to resist my mighty pussy totally titillated me as an adolescent, perhaps because I had budding dominant feelings and almost certainly because I wasn’t popular with the dudes at all and relished the thought of someone finally seeming really enamoured with me – even if it was just because I gave him orgasms.  When I first became sexually active, it was a shock and a disappointment to me how much my partners seemed to be able to take or leave penetration.  My first boyfriend had a lower sex drive than I did, and turned me down all the time when I wanted to fuck him (and slut shamed me for asking so much…).  My second boyfriend would take literally over an hour to come during sex, which totally went against my idea that the vagina is so pleasurable that it makes guys lose all control.  I was mid-coitus with my third boyfriend once when he glanced at my bedside clock, went “Ohhhh shit, I have to go or I’ll miss my bus!” pulled out of me, threw some clothes on, and ran.  I was disillusioned and disappointed: I’d been led to believe that being inside me should’ve rendered him totally helpless with lust.  He shouldn’t have been able to just stop and leave like that.  It’s almost as if the vagina doesn’t actually have superpowers, or something.

I began to fetishize and pursue guys who were total virgins, figuring that they of all people must surely see the vagina as some kind of holy grail.  I wanted helplessness; I wanted reverence; I wanted gratefulness.  I still didn’t get it, most of the time (which shouldn’t have been surprising; that second boyfriend who took forever to come had been a virgin.  I’m pretty sure my first boyfriend was, too, although he lied about it).

The Pedant is not a virgin.  Nonetheless, every time we were making out and things began to progress, he’d give a long, astonished gasp when I first touched his cock, as though he’d never imagined anything could ever feel so good.  He’d gasp again when I guided him inside me, and vocalize almost constantly as I thrust.  If I teased him by withdrawing almost all the way and holding still, he’d make tiny, desperate noises like his heart was breaking and urgently push his hips upward, trying to get further inside me again.  He was seriously all my adolescent power fantasies made flesh.

And yet, he didn’t prize penetration as the be-all and end-all, as one might expect of someone so appreciative and responsive during sex.  Hell, he didn’t even insist on coming.  If I climbed off him mid-fuck to do something else for a while, he didn’t act like I was some kind of Nazi bitch monster for taking my vagina away.  If we had a sexual encounter that focused purely on me and didn’t involve his penis at all, he was fine with that, too.  So I totally got the best of both worlds.

But yeah.  Those sounds he made.  Those helpless little whimpers…I get chills, remembering.  And the way he was so sensitive to touch, and loved his nipples being played with…I could trace my tongue-tip across one so lightly that I barely even made contact and he’d be keening and thrashing and gasping.  I love how he’d get lost in the things I was doing to him, to a point where I’d ask him a question and see him struggle to remember how to form words.  I love that he wanted to be tied up, and that he wanted this because his orgasms could be so intense that he would try to flinch away from them and needed to be physically restrained so there was no escape.  I love the way he would frequently come so hard inside me that his entire body would shudder for minutes afterward.

And to top it all off, I’m usually pretty selfish in bed; I’m more of a taker than a giver.  But because The Pedant’s responses turned me on so much, focusing on him was my favourite thing.  He did use the Hitachi to give me some of the most powerful and interesting sensations of my entire life – feelings that left me breathless and helpless and almost crying from the intensity – but as much as I love his willingness to focus on my body for long stretches, I don’t fantasize about those times or particularly miss them.  What my mind keeps coming back to is the way he felt and sounded and tasted when he was tied to my bed and I very slowly teased him into a frenzy.

I’m sure there are other guys out there with a similar combination of traits.  But how would I ever find one?  Making a list of sexual must-haves on a dating profile would just look picky and be a total turn-off to people, plus a lot of guys would probably just lie in hopes of getting into my pants.  And I think a lot of guys probably can’t even honestly judge whether they’d be what I want.  They don’t know how sensitive to touch they are because they have no basis for comparison; they don’t know what kinds of sounds they make during sex because they’re not exactly listening to themselves at that point.

I suppose I need to open myself up to different possibilities.  I think in a way The Pedant had become my blueprint for what hot sex is supposed to be, and it’s hard for me to imagine being as turned on by any other dynamic.  But I think I’m being too narrow.  Probably I could get into a dude who has a whole different thing going on…as long as there’s basic chemistry and I think he’s hot. 😛

I owe it to myself to mention that my sex with The Pedant wasn’t perfect.  There were a few things that bothered me, most notably The Pedant’s aversion to talking.  The craziness with the Hitachi happened because I told him exactly how to give me an orgasm with it and he ignored this and used ten times as much pressure as I’d requested, in a spot far more sensitive than I ever would have put it.  It’s still not clear to me whether he wasn’t listening to my instructions or deliberately ignored them in favour of experimenting because he didn’t discuss anything with me.  He just went ahead and mashed the vibrator into me and I was like “Ow…hey…what are you…..?!?” and he didn’t respond.  He did stimulate deep areas of my clitoris that had never been stimulated before, and that was fascinating.  But I would’ve liked the whole incident far better overall had The Pedant actually asked “Have you ever experimented with doing different things with The Hitachi?  Can I try some stuff on you right now?”  As it was, it didn’t feel like we were on the same team or the same page.  It felt like he imposed himself on me and I just didn’t stop him.

Another issue with the not-talking: the first time we ever hooked up, The Pedant asked me whether I get off from oral sex.  I told him it’s happened, but I’m very sensitive so I require pinpoint tongue accuracy or else it can hurt.  The Pedant had (I learned later) been about to go down on me, but thought better of it when I said that; he was worried about hurting or disappointing me.  During future encounters, I occasionally asked him for oral; if he had told me at that point “I’m afraid of hurting or disappointing you,” I would have had an opportunity to tell him a) I was going to show him where I liked and didn’t like to be stimulated, and b) I wasn’t expecting some epic performance from him that led to multiple orgasms; I just wanted to feel the intimacy of him kissing my genitals for a little while, and then we’d move on to other stuff.  But instead of telling me what he was actually thinking, he just kept dodging my requests.  It became obvious to me that he was making excuses not to go down on me, and yet he has all these anecdotes about going down on other partners so I know he’s not averse to the act itself.  Ultimately, I was forced to ask him if he had some kind of problem with my genitals – do I smell bad to him, or what?  Why wouldn’t he do this thing for me when I knew he had no problem doing it for others?  And so, in avoiding having a mildly awkward conversation with me, The Pedant ultimately forced me to have a hugely awkward conversation with him.  Which was kind of a running theme in our relationship, actually.

Also, I dislike passive aggression and it was always a bit of a pet peeve for me how The Pedant would fling his arms limply up by his head to hint that he wanted to be tied up.  First off: use your words, dude.  Second: use your hands.  They’re not restrained yet; you have a naked chick right here; touch me!!!  I’ll admit that I’m a pretty terrible multitasker; I hate 69ing or any other activity where two people are trying to pleasure each other equally at the same time.  But I wish things with The Pedant had been a little less one-sided.  I loved getting on top of him and teasing and tormenting him, but when he’d flop his hands onto the pillow I felt like a service provider rather than a participant.  I’d rather he’d stroked my back or grabbed my hips or something, and then eventually begged to be restrained.

Okay, I thought of another not-great thing: the fact that he would almost always fall asleep immediately after sex.  Lavishing attention on him turned me on so much I thought I might burst, and right when I was at my very most aroused, he would fall unconscious.  I had to either get myself off while he snoozed away, oblivious (which carried bad echoes of my marriage, for me, and to a lesser extent my relationship with Minx) or try to ignore my screaming clit and just go to sleep.  And the next morning The Pedant wouldn’t always make up for it.  I think the terrible flip side to him being so flexible in his own sexuality and willing to do stuff that didn’t result in coming is that it doesn’t occur to him that other people might not be like that.  When I get really turned on, I kind of need to come.  And The Pedant invariably got me really turned on.

Oh, and I wish his refractory period had been less than sixteen hours.  …Fine, I’m exaggerating a little bit; on a handful of occasions we did have sex twice in one day.  But usually it really did take him 8-12 hours to refuel, if not more.  And I wanted him badly enough that I would happily have had sex with him a lot more often than that.

 

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