It was a question I’d wanted to ask countless men before him, but something in the innocence of their nature made me feel intimidated to broach the subject. Simultaneously, the avoidance or dancing around the topic on the part of both parties always left me wondering if I was somehow not enough, leaving room for more to be desired.
It was what I’m not even sure can be labelled our second date. The truth was, we hadn’t properly been on a date. Having met out at a bar, our introduction the product of a mutual connection between two groups of otherwise strangers, our first night together was substance-fueled, long, and unplanned, but intimate and telling.
This, our second meeting had grown out of a volley of back and forth in the weeks following our initial interaction, where we distilled down the reality that we were both again out on the town on a Saturday night. While he still feigned chivalry at the intention to take me on a date first, like all twenty-something men before him, he wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity to sleep in someone else’s bed.
The question came the morning after, the afternoon after to be exact, following a morning in bed, a swim and breakfast at my local beach and some additional mischief in my flatmate-free apartment. We lay on the couch, hand-in-hand, lazily whiling away a sunny Sunday watching a documentary on Netflix.
“What’s your sexual fantasy?”, I asked before my brain had the time to catch up with my mouth and prevent my unobstructed candour.
Without realising it, I’d opened the gates of honest sexual conversation between myself and this near stranger, and in a way that not only made me feel able to divulge these desires but safe enough to.
We talked openly about our experiences and interests, and what we landed on was that we were willing to try any of these ideas together, and be open and comfortable enough to talk about how they made us feel.
And we did some of that, he took my thoughts onboard and when I invited him to experiment things I may not have been comfortable with prior, I did it because he made me feel safe, not because I wanted to be sexually exciting enough to secure his return to my bed.
So now, we’re one date and three sleepovers in, and as his communications waiver and I’m left feeling that I’m not allowed to discuss the merits of timely, honest communication, it’s raised an interesting question in my head…
When did I reach a point where it’s more comfortable to candidly discuss butt stuff than emotional needs and desires? Is this just me?