He took off, leaving me to bathe in my excitement. Slowly, my rational self rose from her slumber and I started to think. Wait. He didn’t leave, he fled. A quick, “I want to get out” type of escape. He chickened out abandoning a few things behind.
I know what spooked him, it’s the same thing that spooks them all. I’m an over-enthusiastically happy lover. I laugh, loudly. I talk, probably too much. I kiss and bite, both with the same passion. I’m excited and over the top. I’m probably overwhelming considered this encounters don’t usually survive a one night stand.
But I’m not going to say “I’m sorry”. Not this time. I can’t bear the serious sex, either deeply involved or extremely detached. I can’t help but be lightheartedly present. Caught up in the electric energy created by the body of someone I like. Delighted by this comically rejuvenating feeling. Absorbed in this ecstatic moment though not committed for life. Somehow my euphoria translates into engagement, as if I’d ask them to marry me at every laugh. No, sir. Oh, God no!
I only want some sex I can recall with pleasure and joy. Sex that will put a secret private smile on my face while recollecting fragments of its memory. So, no. I’m not going to beat myself up over another frightened selfish guy. Too bad for him. I’ll continue to be an over the top partner, loving in my own ridiculous, crazy and happy way until I’ll find someone that can appreciate what I do, and correctly decipher why I do it.
To all the others that didn’t get it, you’re the lovely assholes I’ll remember fondly because of some really good, happy sex.