The art of restraint

The art of restraint

It's a strange thing, making love with the intended purpose of not making love! It is strange, meeting a man whom you are wildly attracted to, who's funny and sweet, and an excellent home-maker to boot! Yes, I admired his flat, his furniture, his kitchen and his liquid handsoap, which smelled of the freshest strawberries this side of New Zealand! I did the whole gay diva act. And he did the whole gay diva mommy act. And we listened to some amazing music and took some fun pictures.

Then came the making love part, and that was what was really interesting. I'm a great kisser (I don't believe in modesty), and it was hard at first to kiss and not climb the steps to the next level. It was strange, laughing and groping and touching, and always stopping just in time. There was a need to rein ourselves in, if only for the sake of a few Hindu rituals - but those rituals were important to him, and I respected his faith too much to shatter it. So, though I teased and played and probed, I stopped just short. He told me: he would probably have broken, had I pushed a wee bit harder. I'm glad I didn't.

But it's an art, I think. Making love with the intent purpose of not making love. Touching hands and fingers, licking and probing, and you realise that the most homely parts of your body, if stimulated in a particular fashion, would soon have you ripping your clothes off like a sexy gay version of The Hulk, (minus all the green thingies!) and grunting like your average Tarzan on an ape hump. Bad picture. I meant to make it seem romantic and tender.

You know what? It was romantic and tender. ;-)