Deconstructing Sex

4 min read

I’m a petite girl. The kind you can pick up and throw around during sex; playfully if you so choose.

My hair is dyed red. My eyebrows dark brown. I have small tits, but nicely shaped. I put bronzer in between my breasts to make them look more pronounced. I like my body, I picture it through the eyes of men who have held me close in my most naked and vulnerable moments. I have managed to shelter myself from the harshness that comes with physical comparison to other women. My body could always be something different, but it’s not. It’s mine and I choose to feel and be sexy within it. I credit my ability to separate body preference from actual worth, to the men who have strayed from me. Some people find more beauty than others. Some people find beauty more irresistible than others. The quote that captures it best:

"I love women. I have all their albums." — Hank Moody, Californication

It’s Sunday night. I took my pants off at 6:00pm. The concierge at my building nods at me when I walk past. Sometimes, when I walk down my hallway I wonder if there are secret security cameras hidden in all our apartments. Maybe he's seen me, maybe he knows the minute my door clunks shut I drop my pants and put on my slippers to make a tea.

I shake my booty as I waltz to my bedroom just in case he wants a show.

I’ve been semi-naked for two hours. My panties have been wet for one. I’ve been thinking about a man. How his body presses against mine. How his confidence renders me vulnerable. How he’s the good kind of smart, you know the self aware kind. And how all of that fuses into combustible, scream out loud sex.

Then I started picturing you, the reader, on your phone. Whoever you are. Reading this at your kitchen table, slumped into your couch or lying in bed. One hand on your electronic device, one at your side. Waiting on my next word. Waiting to see if I’m going to take you inside me.

In my ears are two earbuds. It feels like a string pulling me towards the song, its instruments, its voice; suffocating me along the way. I find music so fucking beautiful. I remove my earbuds, and the room becomes a vacuum of silence. My emotions sucked away with the noise. I am left empty, with a room full of possessions, waiting to be observed with a naked eye. My work clothes thrown across the floor, carelessly. My blush brush resting in a glass container, rosy from overuse. My vibrator made in China. Travelled miles overseas, touched by the factory labourers working at 6am with silicon moldings. I have a room full of possessions, each with their own stories to tell.

My hands are smooth from freshly applied lotion. My nails cut so short I can rub the tips of my fingers together, and it feels like they’re gliding across jelly. It reminds me of my pussy. When my underwear rubs against the top of the exposed skin above my clit; it turns me on. I pause to move my hand up to my neck. I wrap my fingers gently down the base of my hairline. The sensation gives me shivers as I let my fingers drop. The feeling of self touch makes me feel sensual.

My eyes are makeup free. I rubbed them clean before climbing into bed. They feel fresh, and my vision clear. The world moves fast outside my little apartment. The cars fly by, the people talk loud, the lines move slow but the pressure is hard. Most of my visual intake becomes blurred. I don't see the man waiting in the corner of Starbucks for his coffee date. I don't see his hands shake as he tries to gain composure. I don't see his lips quiver unconsciously to rapid thoughts. I didn't see this. I walked in, exchanged friendly words with the barista, and walked out. In my bedroom, my world is simplified and my vision can help me magnify my surroundings. I can sort through my own library of thoughts. I can deconstruct my perceptions and separate them from reality.

My nose is smelling the flowers that blow in with the wind from my windowsill. It’s jasmine, my favorite flower. It lifts me from the inside as I try to swallow the air. I lean down and smell my vanilla perfume. I spray it on my inner thigh, my breasts, and my hair. When I come over, you smell it as I move around you. You smell it as you hug me hello.

My tongue lifts up against the roof of my mouth, I press it hard as it runs against my cold teeth. The bone feels smooth against the tip of my tongue and rigid as it hits the roof of my mouth. I look up at him before I begin. He breathes in as he looks down at me. He takes in the aroma of our sex. He swallows as I watch his Adam’s apple shift. He closes his eyes as I nibble on his inner pelvis. I dribble a trail of saliva as I trace back over with my breath. The cold air wakes him up. I want his senses heightened before I lick the tip of his cock clean. I grab his cock and press down with my tongue against the tip. I remove my mouth, and lie face down pressing my breasts into the mattress. I spit into his asshole as I run my tongue along it. I love playing around, finding my way inside with my tongue. The outer ridge circle imprints my tongue. It plays games back with me as it pulses. I come up for air and shove his balls in my mouth. I want them wet so when I grab them my palms can glide and my fingertips can tickle. I run my tongue up and down his shaft until I feel him extra hard. I wrap my mouth around his tip and pulse my tongue against the tip as I grab his cock with one hand and his balls with the other. I move my fingers up and down playing with his wet asshole, gliding across his plump balls. His breaths become deep but short. He wants to cum so I tighten my fist around his cock.

My mouth fills with his cum. I swallow and lick the rest off him like a vulture claiming my prize.

I pause before my exit and look at him. I think about how I’ve tried to read men before. How I’ve tried to gauge how much they care. How I’ve searched for answers in their movements and words. How all my thoughts have poisoned my moments.

I pause. My mind goes blank as I stand at the door. This moment will not exist ever again. I didn’t think about how it came to be. I didnt think about what he was thinking. I didn’t think about my pause or his perception of my pause. It was just a moment, staying right there, exactly how it is.

He smells the vanilla as I hug him goodbye.

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