This might turn into a twofer.
Not sure yet.
I need more coffee.
Okay I’m back.
Once upon a millennia ago, I sat across from a man on our first date.
Didn’t know it was our first date as it had been constructed and arranged by my bestie at the time and her boyfriend.
As I sipped my coffee and picked at my nachos I was still thinking they might show up, they didn’t.
I also didn’t realize that in that moment I was Newton and an apple was about to hit me in the head and I was about to discover something wonderful.
I sat and watched this man, whom I’d had a crush on for months, eat his dinner.
He was magnificent in that moment.
Smirking, smiling, indulging. Making little grunting noises of pleasure while devouring his food.
Cut to a few hours later when he was smirking smiling indulging and making little grunting noises of pleasure while devouring me.
The theory is this.
Men fuck like they eat.
Women fuck like they dance.
A few days after we had sex I started my career as a burlesque entertainer and proceeded to fuck a boatload of dancers and proved the second part of the theory.
And in the years that have followed I have never been proven wrong.
Men that are nervous to eat in front of me, or don’t finish their food or push it around on their plate…
So it is at the dinner table, so it shall be in the bedroom, or on top of the dinner table after the dishes have been cleared.
Men who eat with gusto and passion, fuck the same way.
Women who are controlled and shy on the dance floor (or stage depending) will be so in bed. Those whom vodka assures them they can dance and move with reckless abandon do so dancing in the sheets.
Is dancing in the sheets a euphemism?
Doesn’t sound right, but whatev’s. Y’all know what I mean.
I had a man once, who cooked me a steak dinner with all the trimmings. I wasn’t allowed to help. I have taken on the habit of not holding back when I am happy, and I too tend to moan or roll my eyes back when something good is in my mouth. He did the same. He has really good taste in Scotch and after dinner we sat and sipped smoky splendor and talked about the universe. A most perfect dessert.
And when we got upstairs, he did not disappoint. Traced every inch of my body with his fingers and his lips. Made happy noises throughout and finished everything off with a massage that made me melt even further. Just like good scotch. Fireworks in my belly and that full satisfied feeling for days after.
I think I am going to take the analogy one step further. If they are competent in the kitchen the likelihood of them being a competent partner increase exponentially.
I was quasi-married to a dude for 5 years and every single domestic duty fell to me. The sex and relationship ended up being a dissatisfying rote routine that sucked the life out of me.
That pattern has repeated.
This is where the Siamese twin posts that threatened to stay together are successfully separated.
To be continued…