I Just Want to Make Love To You

The other day, this guy e-mailed me with a suggestion for a topic I should discuss. I was quite delighted, until I read what he wanted me to discuss.

It’s not dirty, or owt, but it is something I have never experienced whatsoever. I’ll quote my dear reader.

What are your thoughts of a man saying, ” I want to make love to you.”?

My first reaction was “I’ll ask Twitter”. Because I literally have no clue what my thoughts on this are. Nobody has ever said this to me. I’ve never been proposed sex or love making or fucking or even bumping genitals (my obvious obsession with frotting will be addressed in a future blog post, I promise).

My Twibe’s reactions were varied.

-Sounds very seventies

-Only if you’re a Victorian Vampire.

-There are different ways to show love.

-Does have impact.

-Only if I really mean it, to communicate a certain tenderness of intent to someone I love deeply.

I still don’t know what to make of it myself. On the one hand, it does evoke an image of sensuality, rose petals and smooth jazz, which I quite like.

On the other hand… Sometimes you just want sex. Nothing sensual, nothing fancy, just balls to the wall schtupping. Or at least I think so.

I have no knowledge on “making love”. I know that it’s something that movies and soaps make a very piss-poor attempt to portray.  With writhing and lots of raising your head in the air, gazing wistfully at the ceiling and producing a little mew that needs to resemble a moan. Don’t kid me. I know what a moan sounds like. I know what an orgasm sounds like.

So, dear reader, if you still want my answer to your question, it would be that I don’t really know what my thoughts are on this. I’m in two minds. It seems quite sweet but also incredibly stale.

That’s just my two cents.

Insert picture of Kent Brockman here.

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2 Comments

  1. I made love to a man on Saturday evening. No writhing or moaning. No penetration or taking. Not even a kiss. Just feeling and trust.

    We were clothed. He wore a leather kilt and I an unbound kimono. We stood face to face in a room. Half a dozen others who were doing their own thing; playing and chatting and such. It was a warm Antipodean night filled with good wine, laughter and friends.

    So there we stood, this Warrior and I, arms holding each other gently. And it was as though the universe was ours. There was such quiet tenderness as we touched; his hands between the silken folds of my garment; strong, commanding, tender. My fingers moving slowly over his bare back; hardened muscles under the warmest of skin that held the slightest of moist sheen.

    Our faces touched the entire time. Gentle, caring. I yielded ever so slightly to his familiar touch. We moved as one. Slowly. Sensuously. Male and female. Opposites meeting. Our bodies touching; sometimes through fabric, sometimes through flesh. Intermittent, slow, sacred. Our union pure; perfect in balance and form.

    And for that moment we were making love.

    Catherine

    Reply
    • Hmmm… sounds incredibly lovely. I’ve not looked at it in such a way. My ideal vision of love making would be what I said about rose petals and smooth jazz. Just lying there, holding each other.

      Seems that I have a very clichéd view of love making. Blame my infernal upbringing! 😀

      Thanks for commenting!

      x

      Reply

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