It was sleeping-in day.
You know the kind — void of annoying alarm clocks and the week’s daily grind of tasks. She rolled over and cradled my face with one hand and pulled me closer for a kiss, eyes still closed and still groggy. It was cute, real cute.
I hardened instantly of course, my hand reaching around to pull her in closer and grabbing my phone to take a selfie and capture our moment. I just needed to see all this again and again, and maybe brag to my buddies that my girl was just this fine, and loved me just this much.
Ya, I guess she’s softened me emotionally and I was proud of her, of me, of us. She was the longest running girlfriend I’d ever had, and by far the hottest. I originally fell for her because of her looks and I know that’s shallow, but it’s the truth.
Truth be told, she probably hooked up with me for the same reasons — looks. I was young and fit, made a good living, checked all the right boxes. We wanted to be the “hot couple” in a world of fake living and Instagram models.
At first it was a role I was all too willing to fill. My friends thought I was cool and wanted to be like me. Her friends wanted to be her.
That initial attraction based strictly on physical appearance faded fast, much faster than I ever thought it would.
But then something happened inside me and our entire relationship changed in an instant and I remember the moment I fell in love with her, I mean who she really is as a person. It’s when she slept over and cuddled with me.
She gave a slight moan, noticing my body’s excitement and sighed at the warmth of my touch of fingers dancing across her tanned skin that smelled delightfully of coconut oil and I think, roses. She smells so good!
It’s as though all her defenses were down and she became vulnerable and open to me. I didn’t grab her ass, or massage up her tits for my own personal enjoyment like she was a piece of meat for my own needs and wants.
I didn’t whisper some bullshit lie in her ear.
I didn’t flex my chest to remind her of the hours I log in the gym.
Nah, she never cared about any of that and I don’t think I did either. We were playing roles, like little dancing puppets, we did all the right things in other’s eyes to get attention and be popular. Oh those Instagram likes feel so good!
Fuck! What an asshole I’ve been.
In that moment of my own self-reflection, she drooped herself across me like a comfy couch you sink into on movie night next to the fire with friends. She didn’t ask, she wasn’t playing games and nobody was watching, she just wanted to be close to me.
Today we’ll begin the day slow and fast, soft and hard.
We’ll make love, instead of just fuck.
I’ll hold her, versus just grabbing at her.
I’ll look at her in the eyes when she’s speaking, rather than nodding off.
I’ll get to know her wants and needs, rather than fitting her into my box.
I’ll skip the performance-based escapades that I thought girls wanted and needed, and sink into a slow rhythm with her.
I’ll show her who I really am and be brave to be real.
God I love it when my girl cuddles with me.
I write about Romance, Relationships, Men’s Health & Healing, Life Purpose and Sexy Short Stories. I coach others how to connect to your authentic voice so you can change the trajectory of your life. For more => RobinReedAuthor.com.