Sweeter than Fiction

A story of serendipity.


   The truth is a matter of opinion. Especially where sex is concerned. Well, …not so much opinion as perspective.

If you stand beneath an air vent you run the risk of feeling a chill. And from that place in that moment, ‘It’s cold in here,’ is the truth from your perspective. However; ten feet away you could break out into a sweat wondering if the heat wave will ever end.

Your perspective changed, and with it, your truth.

Sex is much the same way. From one side it may be the better of experiences that person has had, and therefore in their perspective the sex was good.

The other participant may have had more, or better experiences, to them the sex may have been just okay, or not great.

It’s when the perspectives mesh, and experiences blend that individual truths become fact, instead of he said/ she said.

With that being laid out on the table, the fact is men rarely share my perspective. They either have more than twice my experience, or not nearly enough. The only thing I know for certain is I have the ability to adapt well.

I get similar reviews from what partners I’ve had. (And the number is smaller than some may think.) But whether the older, more traveled gentleman, or the fresh out of high school hottie the feedback is usually the same. “You are so responsive.” or “You seem to know exactly what I need.”

It never takes me long to discover a man’s desires, and then it’s a mere matter of delivering them with exceptional aptitude.

I have heard praises like “good”, “great”, “amazing” and the like, yet my perspective of the experiences have ranged from “Oh, hell yes.” to “NO, NEVER AGAIN.”

My issue isn’t usually with the performance. I’ve been blessed in some ways to attract men with decent ability. Most of them, I’m sure, could make quite a few women very happy. With me, it’s the stamina.

Men are usually done, and snoring while I’m left craving more.

I’m not a one and done kind of girl. I lovingly joke that if I ever find a man who can wear me out in bed, I’ll marry him. No one has claimed that feat as of yet, hence my ring-less finger.

My mother, of course, says I expect to much of the stronger sex. She believes men were made to please only themselves, and women must settle for being content with what little satisfaction we can get from them.

I disagree. I believe there is a man out there made perfectly to fit me and my needs. As I believe there is someone to match everyone.

I also believe the emotional can heighten the physical.

The emotional attachment to the person attempting to please you can be the difference between good sex and great sex. If there is no feelings for them at all it can make decent sex, terrible sex. But if that emotion is love, and that is pure it can make okay sex, amazing or even mind-blowing sex.

I have found it’s a matter of touch. At least for me. Emotion is best shown through the fingertips.

Someone only out for self-gratification will man handle, and grab at you like a play thing, a simple toy to use, break and throw away.

As a partner begins to grow emotionally attached, the touches become softer, and more lingering. When that person loves you the touches become more of a caress, like your skin is precious even sacred.

My first once told me I would be perfect for a man with low self-esteem, or maybe someone who felt unloved. He said I made him feel like more than a man, but like a god.

“Girl your hands feel like they worship my flesh, as if caressing a sacred relic. Your hips don’t just move they dance, as if in devotion to our union. Your lips kiss tiny prayers of pleasure over every inch of me. You know how to make a man feel, everything.”

It was quite possibly the best feedback I’d ever gotten from a lover.

I take how I treat my partners to heart; even the ones I know won’t last, or even merit a round two. I want the experience to be one they can look back on and smile. (Yes, even if they leave me disappointed.)

This of course leads me to the day I met you.

Searching for the touch that made me feel like more than a mere plaything. Looking for the smile that could brighten even the cloudiest day, and then praying when I found both in one man that he could practice as well as he preached.

Alone, even in a crowd of people. This was my normal. Convinced the man I was searching for was no more than a childish fantasy. Like prince charming in a fairytale, he was a great idea. But those in search of a dream rarely find it.

Figuring I’d eventually have no choice but to settle for my mother’s way of life, the disappointment began to show through my normally playful and flirtatious facade.

I began searching for a man to stimulate my mind, after all the failed attempts to find one to stimulate my body.


Continue with part two


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