Learning a Lover

It is a beautiful unfolding, this process.  Like so many sexual petals unfurling.  It is an exquisite evolvement, a fragile flowering.

Learning a lover.

It is one of my favorite things about a relationship.  The exploration, the questioning, the delving in.

The learning.

Learning his hot buttons and how to push them:  where to touch, how he responds, what turns him on.  Finding the line between OhNoGodNoCan’tTakeItAnymore and Don’tStopDon’tStopDon’tStop.  Riding it.  Nudging that line, pulling it taut.  Pushing at its edges until they blur.

Learning what makes him tick:  Where his mind goes, how he thinks, what he reacts to.

Learning to read him.  Him, learning to read me.

Learning new things, with him, about myself.  About my flexible boundaries, my hard limits.  My physical capabilities.

My emotional responses.

I remember the first time I cried when I orgasmed.  It was with a lover now gone – vanished completely – and it was as frightening as it was beautiful.  Overwhelmingly compelling in its unexpectedness.

“Move how you want,” he’d said, and I took him at his word; I barely moved at all.  Straddling his hips, seated on his cock, I looked him in the eye and rotated my hips in tight circles, clenching and releasing again and again, feeling his swollen head throbbing out his heartbeat against my inner walls, the rapid tattoo beating its rhythm against my g-spot.

It was a matter of moments before he orgasmed, and afterward I stilled my hips, reveling in the sensation of his cum dripping out of me. Rubbing my clit, swollen and slick.  Clamping my muscles ever tighter around his erection until he gasped.

Somewhere between the lock of his gaze and the joining of our bodies, I floated out of my body and fell into his soul, my orgasm rolling through me in a tidal wave crash that subsided in shaking limbs and salt tears.

It was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever experienced.

And it was terrifying.

I can smile about it now.  At the time, though…
To say neither of us knew quite what to do is an understatement.
Sigh.  Live Love and learn.

I remember he once said he wanted to try things, together with me, that were new for us both.

THAT was definitely new.

Trying new things, discovering them – and each other – together…  It can be a test of strength, this mutual vulnerability.  And it takes patience.

Trial and error.

Building on what works, discarding what doesn’t.  Revealing wants, revisiting fantasies.  Introducing one another to erotic delights.  Unearthing desires.

Sharing pleasure.

It still fascinates me, after all our time together, to share new pleasures with my husband.  To learn what he is discovering about himself, to hear him articulate his needs, to incorporate those things into our lovemaking.  To feel him inside me – fingers, tongue, cock, toys – and share his excitement at the way my body responds to something new.  To smile at the spark in his eye when he laughs soft and low in the back of his throat and says, “Ohhh… I think you like that.”  To see that heated humor flame to crackling lust when all I can do is choke out a moan in response because I’ve been rendered speechless in my bliss.

Not that I am normally speechless.
Ohhh, no…
Far from it.
*smile*

I tend to be a bit…  Hmmm…  How shall I put this?

I tend to be a bit vocal.

I recently spent a weekend with my paramour, who is – according to him – not vocal.  At least, not typically.

But he is with me.
And I *love* it.

The primal sounds he makes…  The way they are almost involuntary – torn from his throat in atavistic pleasure – speak to my most primitive instincts.  My hands, my mouth, my mind, my voice – my being – all seek to trip that trigger again and again and again.

And I am learning how.

I am learning him.

What makes him moan, what makes him sigh, what makes him swear, what makes him scream.

What takes his breath away.

What is too much.
What is not enough.

What is just right, right then.

He told me recently, “You can do the exact same thing that – five minutes before – felt amazing, but in that moment…  It’s too much.”

Ahhh, yes.  I know this all too well, and I tell him so.  My fickle clit, my pleasure/pain, my surprise drops off orgasmic cliffs, my frustration when I can’t climb, my fatiguing plateaus…  I tell and tell, in fits and starts, and know that there will be more to tell as time goes by.

So many things to tell.

What he did that worked.  What I liked.  What I learned.

“I like that we are learning each other,” I tell him.

I do.
And we are.

Learning a lover.

It is definitely one of my favorite things about a relationship…