Maybe I’m just hard to please.
I’ve had two past relationships — genuinely good men, bless them — and one thing they had in common was how much they enjoyed taking their time with me. The kind who’d happily stay between my thighs or keep their fingers on my clit while kissing me longer than necessary, almost addicted to the little sounds I make whenever I’m trying so hard to stay quiet. They loved watching me fall apart slowly, begging for “just one more” even when my legs were already shaking. And whenever I’d try to reciprocate, they’d barely let me, too busy enjoying me instead. 🥹
Now I’m nearing 30, tired most of the time, and weirdly hesitant about intimacy again after a few rushed encounters. I’d honestly rather sit across from someone in a café and talk for hours first.
So if I ask you to grab coffee first instead of coming over, it’s not me playing hard to get. I think I just miss feeling safe enough to soften around someone again.