He drove into me from behind.
And, fuck, I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt. At the same time, damn it, I'd be lying if I said that it didn't feel good.
To put it simply, it just felt weird with him just hovering behind - and in - me. So, after a few seconds of his hands lulling me into what I was guessing was supposed to be a trance, I pushed back on him; a way to say get the hint and MOVE.
To my pleasant surprise, he came back full force. It knocked the breath out of my lungs as I struggled to focus on something other than the damned bliss.
Bot of course he couldn't just conform to coaxing his mass of flesh through my muscles. No. Of course not.
He had to trail kisses along the base of my neck - sweet, breathy, fleeting kisses that left an odd burn behind. He had to caress me with his hands, which were the slightest bit cold to the touch.
And I'd be lying if I said that all this bothered me at the moment, even if later it would.
At that very second, something within him seemed to go haywire. He became faster, much to my disdain.
Why disdain? Because, when he did that, it made everything feel better.
So, settling into the fact that I was not going to get away with getting him out of my mind, or my behind, I settled for trying to, at the very least, control my breathing.
But I'd be lying if I said it was easy. He'd made sure it was just a bit more than difficult to breathe - to think, even - and my breathing only became worse.
I could tell he was trying to be gentle. Perhaps that's what angered me most of all because, to me, gentleness meant emotion. And emotion equalled heartbreak.
So, in my own masochistic way, I did want him to make me feel even a little pain. Because, then, it wouldn't hurt as much later. I'd be more prepared.
With all of his touches - his kisses were the worst - and with him being inside me, it didn't honestly take long for me to cum right there, on his couch.
One of us would regret this. I was sure that person would be me.
Still, I felt him cum not long after I did, which felt a little more than strange, by the way. It was like trying to inject some jelly into a donut.
Weird analogy.
Especially since I dislike sweets.
My whole body seemed worn and, even though I was obviously expecting that, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't mostly from a mental breakdown.
He pulled out of me then, sitting back on the couch's edge, looking tired as well. I supposed being 'top' required quite a bit of stamina.
I didn't have that kind of stamina.
Furthermore, I wasn't a very active person in general, but I admired displays of physical endurance, such as running or playing sports. At a distance, of course.
Even so, all I could do right then was stare at him as he gazed down at the space in front of him. I felt something deep in my stomach then; that weird feeling you get when you know something bad is coming and you're going to hate it.
My muscles tightened up in anticipation. I was waiting for his reaction to this.
But, even through all of this nervousness, I found him undeniably beautiful, what with the moonlight's glow washing over him and the strands of his hair falling and curling every which way. He was a beautiful person.
I had given my virginity to this beautiful man. Thusly, I'd be lying if I said I didn't love him.
But, my mind countered, you're a liar.