Bendy

Today, with nothing terribly newsworthy to report on either the M3 or 26 year old fronts and my first date with S still a good 48 hours in the future, I'm electing instead to wax philosophical about the notion of adaptability. Particularly as it pertains to the boudoir.

Every time you hook up with someone new, you embark upon a journey. One where the destination, and particularly the route ultimately taken, is entirely unknown at the outset. Your travels can be fraught with tremendous disappointment (ladies, y'all know what I'm talking about) or can deliver the greatest heights of elation when, for example, you discover that the chemistry you'd detected while sitting across from one another over that very first cup of coffee or cocktail actually translates to sparks between the sheets.

Take the 26 year old. Best maker-outer ever, hands down. No absence of chemistry whatsoever. In fact, for a youngster, who I'd assume would be speedy and selfish and impatient because of his youth and presumed inexperience, he's remarkably sweet, gentle and thoughtful.

He's also of the mind not to engage in full-on sexual relations until/unless he's in some sort of relationship.

Huh?

Given his perplexing stand on this issue, and as many of my prior posts have recently attested, we make out a lot. A lot a lot. Sure, now and again, we dabble in some other stuff, but for the most part, our repertoire on any given evening consists of movie watching, heavy petting and the occasional x-rated fondle. If I'm lucky.

Since J and I decided to rekindle (and hopefully improve upon) whatever-it-was-we-were-doing-back-in-October, I've relucantly agreed to shelf my rampant, trampy desires to rip all of his clothes off and knock proverbial boots. Instead, when it comes to boy-on-girl relations, I'm endeavoring now to embrace life's more simple pleasures.

Like how J's stubble tickles the tip of my nose, how he almost always keeps his eyes open when he kisses me, the way we fall asleep face-to-face and often wake up the same way, how much I love the way he smells, and how well-intended but poorly-executed his efforts are to make my bed each morning.

Having adopted a surprisingly zen approach to our sex life (or lack thereof), I now look forward to spending my evenings with J, fingers and legs and lips entwined, but our feet planted firmly on second base.

Because t-minus three days 'til The One With The Girlfriend's girlfriend gets home.