Don’t overthink it.

A lot of people are silly and playful with sex. The notion is almost completely foreign to me. Some folks giggle and make puns, and some folks try hard to look sexy, through dance, and tease and games. My preference, with sex, boils down to intensity or shame.

I am a big fan of lust, of pinning someone against the door, and going down on them as their fingers slide into my hair and squeeze it into a tight ball. I enjoy gentle intensity as well. Holding someone, leading them in comfortable silence to a bed, and simple acts like stroking their spine with my fingers. Hell, I like the intensity of snotty, crying, let me think about anything other than my pain, sex.

Let me mention shame, and then we can set it aside for the time being. The more I isolate myself, the lazier, the more disgusting I feel, the more I crave the horrible kind of sex. I don’t need anyone to give me anything. This sex is only done in the dark. The silence is uncomfortable, but sacred. The more talking, the quicker I need them to leave. This sex is functional. We meet, I give, you leave.

The only way for me to overcome this shame, to receive, is through pain. Physical, emotional, and I haven’t tried it with a partner yet, nor do I understand what it is, but I am quite certain that I could handle spiritual pain. This is dangerous sex for me. I should avoid it at all costs… but I won’t.

So, back to the good stuff. The damned good stuff. It had been a while, for me, since anything like this had happened, see above. I was out of shape, and out of practice, and, as I told Abby, hard pressed to find my moments. Having confidence is crucial for me since I value control. Not having it was a chastity belt.

In my experience, nothing removes those pesky chains like a fire pit and some good whiskey. Abby agreed to a late night, hastily enough to remove any doubt I might have been having. So, we sat on the patio, in flimsy deck chairs, with the light and heat of the flames pushing out waves of heat that pressed at our faces, whilst the whiskey worked its warmth from within.

I had shimmied closer to Abby during one of my terrible stories that had us both in stitches, to where I could hardly tell it, and she could hardly listen. I hadn’t noticed when I closed the gap, so as my hand fell onto her knee, a little too familiarly, we had both paused for a moment before I withdrew.

She reacted fast, and with drunken imprecision grabbed my hand, holding it in place. I was looking to the floor as she did but glanced up to check her expression and caught the slightest smile before shifting focus to the flames. I kept my hand there with hers.

I am unsure if this is an anxious behaviour, or because I am some kind of narcissist, but I like to test the waters sometimes. Make sure I know they are interested in me. Even at eleven pm, with a date choosing to be alone with me, and drinking, I test them. Suffusive to say, she passed.

“Hey, stand up.” I say, regretting a lack of a plan.

“Okay.” she replies, and I help steady her to her feet, using the clasped hands as I do.

She stands facing me, and the joined arms rotate down to our sides, and my fingers intertwine with hers. She looks confused.

“I am sorry. I didn’t have a plan. I thought for a moment about dancing with you, just so I had an excuse for making you stand.”

“You just say all of your thoughts out loud, don’t you?”

“No, less than a fifth of them, to be honest.”

“Oh. Did you want to dance?”

“No.”

A nervous laugh escaped from her. “Okay.”

“Sorry, I just wanted an excuse to get close. Then I got nervous. So, here we are.”

The fire crackled, and a branch fell. The sparks and the noise drew our attention, and we were both hit by another wave of heat. I enjoyed staring at the fire.

“So, what did you want to do?”

I understand it as an invitation, but I feel uneasy, and it lacks clarity, so I don’t bite.

“Did you want another drink?”

“I should probably slow down.”

I am a grown man. Why am I acting so feeble?

“I could be persuaded to have one more, I suppose.”

“Why am I so feeble?” Damn, that was out loud.

“Uh, you’re not.”

“Oh, sorry. That wasn’t meant to be out loud. It’s just…” I take a mental deep breath and bring my empty hand up to meet her jawline. “You’re very pretty.”

This isn’t right. All this talk of intensity, and I flap around like this.

“Thank you.” She steps closer to me and leans her head into my grasp.

One thing I know, is myself. If we stay here, nothing will go well for me. Not here tonight, just here, in this spot. I need to move, to reset my brain, so to speak. So, I step away from her, and pull her away from the fire pit, towards the patio door.

“Come on.” I say with conviction.

She follows. We reach the patio door, and I swing her round to face me. I step in, pressing myself towards her, making the kiss an obvious, but certain thing. One last test to see if she will leave.

We kiss. Her lips press into mine, but as the gentle movement comes to an end, I push the kiss deeper and pull her into me. I squeeze my fingers into the nape of her neck, and her hands drop to her side. She grabs the bottom of my t-shirt and pulls it down tight against me, as if fighting the urge to tear it off.

I bring my other hand to her side, and I push up into her ribs. Her top bunches as I slide up. I pause, and let out a breathy “Do you–”

“No.” She interrupts, grabbing the hand and pushing it higher.

Under her top now, I grasp at her breasts and stumble harder towards her. We fall against the brickwork, and I use my hand to shield the back of her head.

She slides the now free hand between us, squeezing through the tight gap to run her hand down to my jeans. Grabbing at me through them. The sudden intensity of it catches my breath. I release her chest and move my hand down to her jeans. I run my finger along the waistline, half inside them, but never going in. Instead, I move my hand down over the jeans and run firm fingers between her legs, too.

She arches her back, and I kiss her neck.

She reaches to undo my trousers, and I grab her hand to stop her.

She reaches up to my shirt and tries with both hands now to disrobe it.

I pull away again, and say, “Not here. Let’s go upstairs.”

“Mhm”

She grabs my hand and waits to be led.

As we climb up the stairs, I look back to her and say, “You pass.”