But it was like all the old parts of us came flooding back. Maybe sex in a tent never is, I told myself. After weeks of acting like we were dating, sex felt inevitable, and I was so excited to spend the night together. It was nothing spectacular – slow, soft, gentle – but all the emotions came flooding back and I was left feeling things I hadn’t felt in years.Īfter that, we went camping.
Later on, it was a hike and then one day, as he dropped me home, he kissed me. We started with a dinner, and then the following week we saw a movie. Until three months ago.Īlmost six years to the day since we’d ended things. Something he never did once in three years.Īmongst a myriad of reasons, we eventually broke up, and I never saw him again. I wanted anything out of our ordinary.Īnd mostly, I really wanted him to go down on me. Of trying different positions, and anything outside of the box. I dreamed of him just grabbing me and taking me, then and there. Yet inside, it always left me wanting so much more. It was all wham, bam, and straight to the point. The same three positions were on constant rotation. There was no passion, no excitement, and definitely no spice. We had fun, and I always came to the party, but between the sheets, the ice cream was straight-up vanilla soft serve. Incredibly sexy, in a way that made others tell me he looked like Zac Efron, and with a strong sex drive to boot. Because, despite our three-year long relationship, it had never been like this before. A compulsion neither of us could control. Hard, passionately, up against the sign as I stretched out, calling up into the wild. Then, just 100 metres from the bush carpark, he took me. With expertise I didn’t know existed, he dropped his own shorts in a second while holding my body up. A need like I’d never felt before.īy the time he pushed my bikini bottom out of the way, I was wet with desire. As his fingers made their way up the bottom of my shorts, I clutched at the aluminium, frantically holding on, and gasping for more.
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