I’ve been having such great consistent sex lately, it hasn’t been this available in forever.

The first night was horrid because I was too familiar with sex being something I did alone, in private and was straight to the point. Off the strength of guilt and guilt alone I made amends though, mentally swearing on everything I’d break her off proper. The stigma of how much better it could’ve been that first time on my end drove me bonkers. Usually memories of having sex seem better than the actual sex that was had but every time after that initial one matches perfectly. Inwardly I had to tell myself to get over myself and try to put my confidence in check which would make me feel like I was downplaying the sex and confidence was rise again. T-shirts were soiled, and condoms weren’t going to see 2015.

There were a handful of things I found myself sort of watching in stupor as it was happening and thinking about later a lot. A large part of me wanted to instagram my dick going in from the back out of pleasure, vanity and to reminisce on when sex isn’t this available. I found myself looking at my dick a lot with skepticism and stern approval at the same time, everything about what was going on was a beautiful mess. Looking down at my dick sort of had a grotesque sexy gleam to it that wouldn’t exist if we weren’t fucking but because we were it subjectively became hot.