I Miss Great Sex

Did I shoot myself in the foot?

A few months ago, I ended my situationship with Thomas. Dude didn’t have anything in his life together. He lived with his wife whom he separated from, hadn’t filed for divorce yet (despite my asking twice over three months), and didn’t seem to mind that he earned less than the minimum viable income requirements for our city.

And instead of buying a house, Thomas dumped all his money into continuous improvements of his stupid fucking Jeep. A vehicle that has over $100k in improvements. I never want to sit in a Jeep ever again.

Lately, I’m seeing a guy named Vance. The red flags are creeping in, like being overly judgmental and somewhat high-maintenance. I’m not sure if I dislike those things because people would describe his flaws as my own characteristics.

I learned from our first date that while we have serious chemistry, I have some turnoffs. Mostly about his body. If you’re a part-time parent with no medical issues, there are no excuses not to lift weights for thirty minutes a day. He’s mushy. Vance only does cardio; I’m pretty sure my 100-pound self could easily beat him in an arm-wrestling match.

Before anyone comes after me…suck it. I’m not like a stereotypical overweight, middle-aged guy wanting a twenty-year-old bikini model. I put in the work on my body and everyone I’ve dated has some level of defined muscle. During sex, I’m not fucking his mind.

It’s Cinco de Mayo. Instead of going out per usual, Vance and I agreed we need an easy night in watching a movie. He’s told me that he hasn’t watched a horror movie with anyone he’s dated in over ten years.

There’s no question that Vance sees me as a long-term potential, even wife material. I check off his criteria, like having my shit together and a desire to watch scary movies. He invited me to a small birthday party a friend is hosting for his infant. In all my dating escapades, no one has integrated me into their life (nor did I include them in mine).

“Are you nervous about meeting my friends?” Vance asks.

“Nope. You’re the one who should be nervous because you’re the one who has to deal with it if they dislike me. It’s no skin off my back.” I quip.

He brings over wine and random snacks. This is our fifth date but we talk and text constantly. By text, he’s less aggressive with his opinions and funnier in his comebacks (he could be Cyrano de Bergerac-ing me for all I know). He easily turns me on by phone and text. It’s a shocker that I didn’t drag him to the bedroom the instant he arrived.

I give Vance the house tour while he asks home renovation questions. He says he’s impressed by all the projects I’ve done myself. I guess that’s another checklist item: a chick who knows how to use a cordless drill.

We start kissing and I tell him we need to put our wine down and head to the bedroom. He lays down and I climb on top, kissing and grinding old school 10th-grade style. Eventually, clothes come off as I flip him over so that he’s on top.

Vance has the second-biggest man meat I’ve ever had. I keep forgetting about that. In my mouth it goes. I reach up and there it is: the mush. It’s like putting my hand on dough with no resistance. I put my hands on his thighs and again: the mush. It’s shocking his body is capable of walking given his lack of muscle.

It’s bone time. He slides it in and starts his thrusts. I immediately think of Thomas. Despite being a useless member of society, he was *chef’s kiss* of sex. He read my body with the ease of a children’s book and adjusted accordingly. Endless positions. He knew how to build me up, make me wait, and how to make my toes curl in pleasure. The bedsheets were always covered in my female happiness goo long before he came.

Focus. Need to focus on Vance.

Does it feel good? Yeah…sort of. It’s like eating a cookie when you craved chocolate cake.

Vance lacks the stamina of the guys in my past. He’s dripping with sweat. I look down and instead of seeing his cock sliding in and out, I’m blocked by his stomach. It looks like mine the day after I gave birth; it’s low on his torso and oddly round.

Every guy I’ve dated stepped up their gym game. I’m a good but subtle motivator. “Your arms look sooooo good, damn,” I tell him among the typical random sex talk. “Really?” He briefly looks at his bicep. Positive reinforcement, even if not warranted.

At this point I just want him to finish but after coyly telling him to cum, Vance replies “I’m not done with you yet.” I get that guys think that line is sexy. Really, I appreciate the effort. But anytime a guy says that line, I groan on the inside. My only superpower is my ability to cum easily; I don’t need marathon sessions.

Before he has a heart attack, we flip over and I stay on top. Given his size, being on top feels much better than with most guys. Being on top contradicts my extreme desire to be a lazy cheerleader during sex. I know how fast and deep I bury him in checks off another box on his list. “Yeah, grind that tight little body of yours,” he purrs.

“You could be tight too if you lifted a fucking dumbbell,” I yell in my head.

So far I’ve cum maybe half the amount I would have with Thomas. Fuck this noise, I want to go downstairs and eat the Cheetos and grapes he brought over. I hop off and get into doggy-style position.

I assume that’s an easy position for guys. I’ve never thought to ask. Bonus that I’ve got a fan pointed at the bed and it shoots directly on his sweaty body. I arch my back and attempt sexiness to get it over with. Thankfully it works. Vance cums and mumbles something hot that I did with my head (ummm…I kept it attached to my neck? WTF does that mean?).

We lay in post-coital bliss. Well, semi-post-coital bliss in my case. Eventually, we get up to continue our night of wine and movies. Since it’s a work night, Vance can’t stay late.

I kiss him as he leaves and gives a little laugh. “You always kiss so passionately,” he says. “It’s nice. Don’t change it.”

My brain assesses his use of teeth when kissing. Teeth. I was married to a bad kisser. Makeouts with Joseph felt like french-kissing a fish. Now I’m kissing a piranha.

Do you know who was a good kisser? That’s right. Thomas. Dammit.

I’m staying up too late as usual. I cleaned up after Vance’s visit and am laying in bed scrolling TikTok. Obsessed with the Johnny Depp trial. Suddenly, I realize that I’m still horny.

That rarely happens. I finish myself off as best I can, yet another cookie when I need cake.

Fuck. We’re so compatible outside of sex. And he thinks we’re a perfect fit in the bedroom. Vance isn’t messing around when it comes to a relationship. His life and career are great. Having a partner by his side is the only missing component but he’s not settling down with just anyone. He is someone I can integrate into my life too, easily blending in with my friends and a high income that covers vacations.

But sex matters. Good sex matters. There’s only so much I can teach when I’m limited by my physical attraction to his body. And kissing isn’t teachable past the teen years.

Sigh. I mentally walk myself off the ledge that is considering Thomas as a friends-with-benefits option.