The Best Sex Ever

I’ve had a lot of good sex. Probably more than my fair share, in fact I’m pretty sure I’ve stolen other people’s quotas of it. But that doesn’t mean I’m at all contrite about it. There is hardly anything in the world I love more than sex.

Most of the best sex I’ve had has been with long term partners. Usually someone I cared deeply about and who cared about me. I’ve never understood relationships where the sex is not right, I’m not judging anyone, I’m just saying as a core value I need it, or the relationship is over. I’ve never said the words ‘I knew it was over, we were barely having sex’. I’ve slept with all of them up until and including the day it was over. That’s the one thing that never waned.

Once with Don Draper, it got to three weeks – and I burst into tears, a very unlikely occurrence for me, the tears. He had no idea that I had been going insane since week one. I was trying not to make a big deal, holding out on mentioning it until I had something substantial (3 weeks felt substantial) and his response? ‘It’s only three weeks, it’s not that long’. Well the tears turned to rage then. But the simple fact was that I had a way higher sex drive than him. To his credit when I googled this and found that Korean Ginseng was known for giving you energy and boosting your sex drive he happily took it, no coercion needed. He used to say to me ‘but I’m into it when you do start it’ – yes Don, but if you could once, just once initiate it.

I have never loved any man as much, and as completely, as I loved that man but my god if my best friend wasn’t sick of hearing me complain about how much sex I wasn’t getting.

But when I did…. Sigh.  Ten years later and he is still in my top five.

Not that it matters now I know he loved me

 

Apollo was another. He was a troubled but exciting and great craic person. He was 6’5” and super fit, but he was also the most beautiful faux geek. He could do anything with IT – I’m not sure how he knew this, he just did and he knew some super geeks, guys who couldn’t even make eye contact with me. He pissed everyone off and then made them forgive him. You just couldn’t stay mad at him. He was in my life for about 6 years. And he had boundless energy, he was up for it as much as I was, anywhere I wanted. One night we were out, having the time of our lives, I thought, and he turned to me all excited and said ‘Babe, come on, let’s go home’ What? Ah Apollo no, I’m having a ball. He’s still smiling, laughing in fact, ‘Babe, come on. Let’s go home and have sex, there’s no one in your place, we can do what we like, let’s just leave early for once and have sex for hours – when do I ever say this?’ He had me there, he never wanted to leave early. He’s still smiling like he’s given me a present and not like he’s desperately trying to convince me to leave. But I was always going to.

 

We are super giddy and wide awake. I don’t know why we have water guns but we do. Or, the house does. We’re upstairs in my room, music blaring, drinking wine and devouring each other. At one point he goes down stairs to get some water and finds the guns, he comes up with one filled and the other empty, he throws the empty one at me and tells me I have 4 seconds to go fill it and he’s coming after me, but he squirts me anyway. This feels amazing on my sex-sweat covered skin but I scream anyway, more with delight and am out the door and down the stairs before he gets to do it again. It’s a big enough house, I shared it with 3 others, and we chase each other around it, naked and screeching and getting water everywhere. I scream his name more times than he’s ever been called it. He has me in the kitchen (I let me him catch me that time) he has me over the couch, on the stairs, by the front door and over the top bannister. This does not let up all night. I adore this boy and he cannot ever seem to get enough of me. I’d say if I rang him now he’d remember that night in a flash. Mostly because we weren’t actually alone in the house. My housemate Brendan had gone away and lent his bedroom to his friend. I believe she was traumatised by us.

Not that it matters now, I know he loved me

 

There was The Gypsy (not an actual gypsy, but that’s what his family called him) He made me come 8 times the first night. The man was so insecure in life but so utterly in control as soon as we were naked. He was way prettier than me, and I’m not the worst looking sandwich in the picnic, but he really was way prettier than me. Not supermodel-with-a-troll prettier than me, but I got the ‘Didn’t she do well’ stare from girls one too many times. And some people even just said it to my face. Sometimes the impoliteness of it stung but mostly I couldn’t have given two fucks. You know why? Because he never made me feel like I was less than him. And he said this killer line after I’d seen a picture of his actual model ex-girlfriend ‘Sure she might be prettier or have a hotter body but do you think I give a fuck about those things? No one I have gone out with has been sexier than you and no one has turned me on more’. Well played Gypsy, model ex-girlfriend will never be mentioned again. He might have been making it up but the fact that he would have swam through broken glass to have sex with me makes me think he wasn’t.

Not that it matters now, I know he loved me.

 

 

But above all of these is someone who is the ultimate and the very best, on every scale; he can control me psychologically like Don Draper, he has the energy of Apollo and he has the sheer wanton desire for me like The Gypsy.

But what makes him just so good in bed, why is he the very best?

Well I can tell you, I’m happy to say. I know exactly why he is the ultimate sexual partner and I’ll also tell you why I hate this.

 

 

He is open to everything, nothing is off the list. He wants to do everything. But if I don’t then he doesn’t either.

The better he is the harder I work. The harder I work the better he is  – it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy that perpetuates itself. The more he tells me how sexy I am the more I want to please him, the more I please him the more he tells me.

He is the only person so far, and as a writer I detest myself for this cliché, who gets me. At least sexually. He gets me in a way I don’t think anyone else has before. He understands something in me that I didn’t even understand in myself until I met him. All he wants to do is satisfy me, all I want to do is satisfy him. I am more myself on my knees with him than I am anywhere. I can say anything, I can suggest anything – everything is ok. No idea shunned, nobody gets upset or shoots down new tricks with derision. I would do almost anything he asked me to do. Or I would at least consider it.

 

Because I know he respects my desires. He doesn’t want to do anything to me (although he does) he wants to do it with me. He’s never after his own agenda it’s always: what’s the hottest thing I can do for her. Which I suppose is really clever because in return ALL I want is to make him as happy as he makes me. We are whores for each other and we’re both getting everything we want.

So I think you might be lacking some basic human understanding if you can’t see that that’s as addictive as crack cocaine.

And like any drug it’s detrimental to my peace of mind and general happiness.

 

I cannot reconcile that the best I’ve ever had is with someone I don’t love let alone even being in a relationship with them? I just can’t make peace with it.

 

I also can’t stand that there’s a girlfriend. Not that I think I would be happy with that title – that’s not it. I just can’t shake the feeling that I am somehow being slighted in this deal? That it doesn’t matter if he thinks about me when he fucks her the fact remains that in this story I am playing second violin. And I refuse to be a supporting actress in my own life.

That isn’t what irks me though. No. As I said the real issue is that I’ve had better sex with someone who doesn’t truly know me outside the bedroom than I’ve had with boys who were in love with me. I am actually a romantic, an unconventional and wholly unsentimental one, but definitely a romantic. And my romantic self is not willing to accept this. It wants me to stop.

It wants me to give up this drug in case we miss the chance to be with someone more suitable….

 

But what people often forget, when they’re busy pitying or hating drug addicts, is that drugs are so very hard to give up because when you’re taking them NOTHING. ELSE. MATTERS. Nothing in the world. (That might sound like I’ve taken heroin when I want to point out, I haven’t. Ever. It’s just the only thing I can compare it to)

 

 

What I have to remember is, my own words to someone else in fact, ‘The best thing about the best of your life, is that it can always be topped’.

There has to be better, but I’ll never know if I don’t go look for it.

 

So ok romantic side, you jerk, I’ll go cold turkey. I will hold out for another while and see if I can replace this ‘Best ever’ with a best ever that I actually give a shit about and, you know, might … like. Someone who might get me on both levels.

 

 

*Sorry!

I didn’t really describe any hot sex there did I. I know, I’m a bitch. But I will soon.

 

**

There are loads of guys that have been spectacular in bed – but the 3 listed were guys that were around for a few years. Guys I was in relationships with. Which is my whole point.

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