Darkness set when Jenny and I entered my bedroom on Wednesday evening. The body boundaries of the previous two afternoons peeled away.
I glossed, thinking through why in the haste of touch. Mutual keen desire created new skin territory to explore. Two lives sped up to overdrive following a sequence of kisses.
In a darkened room, fleeting time escalated the momentum of flesh manipulation. Stroking, cuddling, and nestling faded in combined nakedness—accelerated by stripping as panties and briefs crumpled on the carpet. The bedside lamp was left overlooked as mood lighting.
Jenny's body filled my head; blended flesh dominated as she hovered above me in the night, partially covered by the doona. I lay primed for our encounter, yet unprepared for her initial signature sexual glide and its genital exquisiteness. An adroit manoeuvre composed of a sole deft sliding of her slick labia on my rigid, dry penis. The crafted movement stunned me as I received her gift — a potent caress — despite no pressure between our bodies.
The focal point of contact our stroking genitals. A defining, inaugural sexual advance, Jenny's decisive touch. She gifted pleasure to her partner. What her genital gesture signalled as a direction I didn't know or ask. In time, I learned Jenny's positional preference in bed.
Later, I imagined, she thought, Penetrate me now.
Her feminine slide roused sensational male pleasure. I leave my description there, though my fancy wishes, her gossamer winglets draped, re-anointed, over my rod. Given her wondrous labial slink, Jenny might have wondered about my lack of feedback. No approval proffered or an agreeable male groan. Yet she cosigned her skim comprehensively in its intimacy. Jenny imparted her sexual autograph, and I sensed it sought reciprocation.
So, I provided the gentlest sex of my life. My penis floated, suspended in Jenny's body. Though I created an unpromising start, we moved, and I lay above Jenny, a fluid repositioning. Then, a setback, mishap, or screw-up. As I aimed, I fluffed my entry. I miscued my penis's positioning and pressed high. In pulling back, unease circulated in Jenny.
I know as she confided, "What's the matter? Aren't I attractive or desirable enough?"
After I corrected my entry, I said, "No, it's okay. I'm nervous."
In a flurry, I failed in the murk. A false start doesn't mean you cannot recover. I set my rhythm to gentle, extended thrusts. Easy to sustain in her sea of feminine moisture. My penis floated like diaphanous memories. Jenny's interior invitation was filmy wet. Private flesh mixed as a perfect pastiche of the malleable and the robust — sharing twined sexual elixir. I sensed the need to be gentle, maybe too gentle. Yet, I believed it was befitting sex, incorporating absolute respect. We were new to each other as our bodies figured their fit.
Much later, my thoughts included, where were our minds in the changed parameters of two selves? Do minds catch up to bodies later? I indulged in gentlemanly sex. Then I qualified this; the tenderness and affection flowed paired.
Jenny's body steadied underneath mine during our sex. She accepted my caring movement. Yet her signature motion showed she could direct and include elevated excitement. Here, she gave me the lead on this genteel Wednesday where my genitals played well-mannered, a surprise for the brashest part of the body.
The after holds longer as we lay together, close, accepting natural function. We embraced the tranquillity of sleeping in each other's arms. Klimt is the artist who helped me understand our post-sex closeness. His painting, Fulfilment, focuses on the female's face — after sex. The model shows a satisfied woman, wrapped by the male who embraces her. Klimt's signature gold leaf is full of shapes mixing masculine and feminine. He depicts a gentle, fulfilled love stretching to embrace the spiritual.
Later, questions circled in my mind.
Was the spiritual present? Was Jenny fulfilled?
I doubt Jenny achieved orgasm, as my male one found its joyous release.
Could gentleness fulfil and create the wish for more?
A spiritual experience! We hitched young, tasted the proffered, and to apply the cosmic to beginners' sex smacks of conjecture. We snared sex, though more happens when viscous substances combine in a brief mental high. Somewhere in life, the spiritual-sexual journey begins or expands.
I thought none of this on a Wednesday night as our exertion carried us away to sleep. Later, I considered my fancies, respecting first-time sex. I liked the notion of touch dominating with the sheets in place and shared bodies not wholly seen.
Nostalgia shapes our first together because Jenny revealed intense vulnerability. Am I desirable?
This is a question many of us think about but rarely ask, unlike Jenny. Desire, we seek it, yet we need more; paired and confirmed, that another desires us too. To be desired is the aim - to question your desirability at the point of penetration surprised me even as I knew her words were in response to my fluff.
'Desirable enough'? Jenny, you drove me insane. But, Jenny, I already desired all of you, body and self.
Again, it's Klimt who understood every facet of desire. His canvas, Expectation, shows a woman waiting as Jenny waited before penetration. The woman hovers between The Kiss and Fulfilment, lush. Her fixed gaze goes across and out of the canvas to her lover. Supporting her thoughts are her hands around her face. Yet her musings stay a mystery, even if they circulate in the gold leaf swirls of the painting. Using his renowned gilt method, Klimt forms the moment of expectation on a static canvas. In life, expectations are fluid between a kiss and sexual fulfilment. The great artist understood this, and the model tilts in Expectation.
Desirable, Jenny expressed her expectations.
What's the matter? Aren't I attractive or desirable enough?
I am forever glad her moment of doubt found fulfilment on a long past Wednesday night.
The following morning blurred into a rush. Habitual daily life stuck its butt in unrequired. Places demanding our attendance following a quick coffee exit from my share house. I drove Jenny home, and we parted. She held my hand as I parked.
"I wanted to on Saturday," she said.
Her words and smile were disarming as I formed a brow line.
"I had my period, unexpected; it made us wait."
Jenny squeezed my hand before we waved goodbye. As I drove off, I scolded myself. I believed she teased, whilst, in truth, nature made us wait.
Our separate engagements of the day split us.
Driving, I pondered. Had anything unfolded, right?
We prod for faults even in hopeful starts. I recalled my awkwardness under the doona and replayed Jenny's open expression of doubt—next, my gentle sex.
My limited experiences seemed far off and unadaptable.
Coral and filched sex in the boathouse. Lena and Leise, a fortunate adventure. Porn, too, offered guidance, yet I let it float flimsy through my thoughts like a tattered piece of gold leaf.
The auras of other women to this point in my life dimmed to the marchlands of memory. Jenny and zesty ardour framed my immediate view.