“Are you complaining?” Rob asks regarding my comment on his size. Without waiting for an answer he gets on top of me and begins to make love to me. He’s slow, gentle and it’s quite extraordinary. I scream with abandon. Like for real. I’m talking about the wake-up-the-darn-neigbours type of screaming. Like the I-know-my-life-is-better-than-yours type of screams. Basically, the I–can’t-have-sex-with-anyone-else-inside-the-house-because-this-is-what-it sounds-like-when-doves-cry type of screaming. Three orgasms later, we dose off. For all of 15 minutes. Then he wakes me up again. He is already rearing to go. Where does he get the strength? In the gym, clearly, I’ve never been with someone who is as ripped as he is. It’s strange because even though I’m not in the same shape he’s in, we still click. He leads, I follow.
The kisses this time round, are more passionate, less bland. And he screws me. This is not lovemaking. Before he was Luther Vandross, a piece of velvet. His lovemaking every bit as rich as the special looms woven out of silk that create velvet. But, no, that’s Luther. This is more of the rock band Guns N Roses – whose belligerence and reckless disregard for society’s rules made them famous. Someone once described their music as a sawed off shotgun. That’s what’s happening to me right now. Getting banged by a sawed off shotgun. It’s crass. It’s noisy. Complete with a creaky bed with a headboard banging against the wall, there’s flesh on flesh sounding like wild clapping sounds. There’s perspiration dripping all over the place. There are moans and groans. There’s dirty talk. Rob takes me in different positions, gets rough, spanks me, and pulls my hair back. As kinky as it is, it’s still strangely mild. I can feel him holding back. Kind of testing the waters of what I like. When it’s finally over, I’m very sore. And also very well loved up. We lie there for a moment. Both of us processing what just happened. Luther was phenomenal. But Gun N Roses is probably more exciting for him. I can’t move.
“Were you holding back?” I ask remembering the restraint.
“You could tell?” he asks.
“Yes, what did you want to do to me?” I ask.
“Have you ever tried erotic asphyxia?” he asks.
Mmm. He’s referring to depriving my body of oxygen, either by cutting off my air supply with his hands around my throat or perhaps using a plastic bag. This could lead to unconsciousness or even death. And all this goes down while he’s inside you. Choking your partner is supposed to heighten sexual arousal and orgasms. But who wants to end up in a morgue?
“Isn’t that dangerous?” I ask.
“You can tap me if I go too long and I’ll let go,” he says.
Freaky Scorpios. Sigh. “Does it hurt?” I ask.
“Not while I do it but later, yes, it might,” he says.
He’s done this before. Why I’m I not surprised?
“But it’s worth it,” he says. He leans towards my neck, kisses it and moves his lips to my ear and gently whispers.
“When my hand is around your neck, the loss of oxygen will increase the feelings of lightheadedness.”
He puts his hand around my throat and continues whispering.
“It creates a near hallucinogenic rush. It’s euphoric. Sex will be an out of body experience for you.”
He squeezes my throat gently. “You have to trust me,” he says. He keeps squeezing as he rubs my clitoris with his other hand. He dips a finger inside me and I try and gasp from the sensation but his hand is still around my neck. The pressure doesn’t totally restrict my breathing though... The whole thing feels very intense and I’m getting seriously aroused.