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Red roses. The universal symbol of passionate love. Tonight my boyfriend gave me three. One for each year we have been together. For the next couple of hours, work is nonexistent in our minds. The goal: bask in each other's glow in front of a scrumptious pasta dish. Dressed up, him in a shirt and tie and me in a skirt and fishnet stockings, we make our way to an Italian restaurant.
The restaurant was medium at best, but the company made the night magical and full of laughter. We step out of the heated location and the freezing wind reminds me of my boyfriend's strong and soothing embrace. As our night is ending, I ask him if he could accompany me back home. He accepts and we get to my front door in record time. Looking at his lips, I ask him, "Do you want to come in for coffee?" "I would love to," he answers confidently. He hates coffee.
We have barely taken off our coats that we are already kissing on my bed. We start with slow, deep, and passionate kisses mixed in with wandering hands. Courtesy of my fishnet stockings, my legs and butt get a lot of much needed attention. As clothes get thrown on the floor, our breathing intensifies. Our heartbeats start to synchronize with our moans and become almost inseparable. We use the tie as a submissive element; to remind us both of our vulnerability towards the other. As per my pleading, my partner uses his fingers to stimulate my genitalia. With each thrust, I can feel the pressure rise inside of me and my heart growing with ardent emotions. As I reach climax, I can't help myself but to start crying in the middle of sex. Scared that he was hurting me, my boyfriend stops to make sure I am alright. I cradle into his arms, like a puppy that finally found his home on a rainy day, and he covers me with a fussy blanket. He holds me close as I try to calm down, reassuring me that he is here for me and only me, that I'm safe with him and that this reaction is okay.
In my case, crying as I reach climax is not a rare occurrence. Even after three years, my eyes still tear up almost every time. Since my experiences are always very enjoyable, it is not a sign of physical hurt. Although sex does create a surge in hormones, I do not attribute this reaction to biological hormones alone. It is not something I am ashamed of and neither should you. I am proud of this. This is the way my heart clearly communicates with my tangled mind to help dissipate some of the shadows. I have to be ready to listen to it.
I cry because I feel understood to the deepest of my being. I cry because I can abandon myself in someone else and know that I will be taken care of properly. I cry because I can trust my partner with this part of me that no one else sees. I cry because I am grateful for the chance I have to have found someone like him, just perfect for me, in this big wide world. I cry because I can finally shed the mask, this layer I have become way too accustomed to, I display for the outside world. I cry because I feel safe and free. I cry a way to thank my partner, not for the physical act of love making, but for the emotional connection he allows me to have with him.
During sex, I cry happy tears.