we kissed for hours

April 4, 2020

The first time I had sex with a woman, just her and I, I marvelled at the pace. Sex with men always felt pressing, driven by an intensity that climbed quickly. Sometimes I liked that energy, it made me feel wanted, desired. The rush was fun, like tearing open a present. Other times I felt like we skipped over the good parts, like I could have pressed against him while he kissed my neck for hours. Sometimes I felt like I was trying to catch up, I was too young and inexperienced to say “Slow down.”

The first time I had sex with a woman, and it was just her and I, we kissed for hours. Literally hours. Slow, tender, swollen-lips, hands in our hair, teasing tongues, moans and soft sounds, our hips pressing together, in no hurry but never staying still. By the time I pressed my hand between her legs her panties were soaked right through. That little wet spot made fireworks in my head, my clit throbbed. This was divine. I didn’t pull her cotton underwear aside until she was already close to orgasm, just from my fingertips tracing over the fabric, and her eager grinding against my palm.

After she came we slowed down but never stopped touching each other until she’d had her second, third and fourth. There’s a difference between “I came” and “I’m satiated”. Fucking someone who understood that made sex an entirely new thing. We fucked until we were finished, exhausted and spent. I finally felt satisfied.

The next time a man touched me all I could feel was the energy propelled by his hard-on. The rush that rush-of-blood to his cock put him in. I felt like I wasn’t there.

Heart
Reflections
Queer Enough Zine, March 2018

Edge of the Wild

November 3, 2019

It ends and starts with intention, for all beginnings are ends.

Invaluable, it doesn’t count for much, I know, but I try. Hard.
There are ways to repeat this, a chorus of crows, a fluttering of sound.
I might get used to it, after some time, but I’ll often be on edge, pinfooted.
It would look like spying, but see here, what I’ve quietly done.
Love and love and more love: evergreen,
Warm, belly-full; cool, satiated, a wilding of grin, romp and ballad.
If all my fears went driving, all stirrings travelled on,
I’d still be here, finishing things; planted and pruning.
There is no gateway; no golden harp.
I am in need, I am in want, I am in hope.
It isn’t a secret, a sheltered hideaway or a silent hurt.
I am admiring the view now, seeing all that it is full and plenty,
And wanting it for myself, closing the distance of one jealousy to another.
Forever; wild and steaming, rioting and skimming the sky with resilience
I am mostly staring at stars, backlit by moonlight.
Most nights, I wonder, half-handedly curious, yet struck with ebbing
Let me, help me to see the worth, the riches, the flourish under the hibernating.
I am so afraid of being troubled and alone at the end of this world,
At the start of whatever is next.

Leah Umansky