That time I [m] had sex with the love of my life.

“You felt that, too?”

“Yes. Fuck.”

Listen, I don’t believe in karma or fate, astrology or christianity, alternate universes or spirits. I believe in serendipity and fortune. And in making your own decisions.

So after I’d picked her up in the valley (I remember the song playin – Get Me by Dinsoaur Jr), and walked around the park (I remember her yoga pants, the way the sun morphed her eye color), and cooked dinner (Tuscan chicken, where she chided me for using a paring knife to chop garlic), and kissed her and felt the universe smile, I knew I was in trouble. About as tall as me with bee stings but an ass that was honest to god unfair, full lips, thighs from heaven, and a smile and laugh that melted my icy heart.

She didn’t want to do anything sexual, but she was trembling and damn close to cumming just from kisses. Like I said, I knew I was in trouble.

The next day, after I ordered us a sushi platter, she lay there, perfect butterfly wings moist, one yoga pant leg off, looking at me with a beautiful vulnerability I’ll never shed.

I licked her for over an hour – labia, clit, thigh, navel, behind her knee, inside her, her earlobe. I was positively awash in her juice and it was the nectar of love.

Trouble.

“I didn’t know it could be like that..”

“I told you, you’ve only been with selfish losers.”

The next week, I drove to see her. I napped on her ass and she video’d me doing so. She cooked and played music for me, and I felt myself slip a bit further down, knowing it was about to be an avalanche.

By the time we went to bed and I had her in my mouth again for almost an hour, and after she returned the favor, I was swollen inside, aching with something that wasn’t lust.

There’s sex. There’s fucking. There’s making love.

And then there was this – something like a cosmic union. Again, trouble.

I was over her, and when she guided me in, I was blown away by how tight she was, and she immediately started gasp, almost hyperventilate. I had to be slow, not least of all because I didn’t want my dick to get stabbed by her IUD, but also because, christ, I’d have torn her to bits. I’ve hurt a lot of people I love and she was not, I swore and promised and declared, going to be one of them.

As we moved, I kissed her ear and neck, and she shivered, trembled, shook. It was the least pornographic thing I’ve ever seen.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m absolutely wonderful. You’re wonderful. Oh my god.”

Not yet the avalanche; soon.

On her knees was…unreal, to say the least. Heartshaped and perfectly sized. A literal view of the most stunning pussy in the world. True lipsthatgrip material – and I’m only above average, so to see that in action was beyond arousing. I left deep red handprints, and she said, “He thinks doggy is going to work with the size of that?” Which, thankfully, she was wrong about.

By the time we finished, she stood and shook, Bambi on two legs, holding the door frame for support, and I brought her to water and she looked at her ass in the mirror and smiled. There’s the avalanche – that fucking smile, hair in disarray, cum everywhere, and still happy.

Over the weekend, we went to bed a few more times, each more amazing and calming than the last, but in the early a.m. on Sunday, I woke with her in my arms, and she silently cried, and I told her a few dozen times that it’s okay.

And then I was gone, and she was gone, and someone else is inside her, and I know wherever she is in Europe she’s laughing, and I am left with vivid memories and thirty poems and the knowledge that, despite the overwhelming loss, I was lucky enough to be a part of something ethereal and cosmic.

(I know this is quite different from the rest of what I post, but I needed to get this off my chest in diary form instead of in verse.)

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/v8ygvd/that_time_i_m_had_sex_with_the_love_of_my_life