Sometimes, in sex (and life, of course), the body and the brain do not see eye to eye. Sometimes, the brain will want things of the body that, however willing, it isn’t able to do right then and there. And the body will rebel against the brain.
I felt exactly that last night.
It wasn’t bad sex. Not at all. It was good, decent, god-we-needed-this sex. But it was marred by my body wanting nothing more than a good night’s sleep. I’d been ill for most of the week, with Wednesday night being a particular low point as I struggled to do just about anything other than keel over in immense pain.
So, my body wasn’t exactly fit to be fiddled.
But my brain tried to convince me of the opposite. It just went sex sex sex more sex shagging shagging fucking COITUS.
And who am I to deny my brain?
I should have thought better of it, to be honest. Should have listened to my body instead. And from the impression I got, as we were lying on the bed afterwards during the come-down, he wasn’t feeling on top of his game either.
“We should practise more.” he said. I agreed. And then added “But with a slow build-up, right?”
He nodded, before telling me that he wanted me to masturbate along with him because he wanted me to have my orgasms as well.
Needless to say… I slept very well last night.