Okay let’s be real, most of us have had more than one sexual experience. I mean we are human and humans are sexual beings. Not to mention you have about the same chances of winning the lottery as you do of finding an adult that is still a virgin, and no, the odds are not in your favor.
Different sexual experiences always result in different connections we can have to others or the lack of. No person will ever feel the same as the last. Either way you felt something! There’s different levels to this shit, man.
I am twenty-eight years old and last night I had my first feeling of intensity. Not in terms of an intense orgasm but an intense sensual connection. Just touching his skin and kissing him in the simplest way was the most euphoric feeling I have ever experienced. It was terrifying yet cosmic. I could use a hundred words to describe it but not a single one or a combination of them all would be able to appropriately describe the feeling I am trying to convey in my writing.
I met him in the fourth grade. He moved here from Memphis, TN. I was no longer the best math student in our class, I despised him. Even at that young elementary school age I admired his confidence and his desire to learn. He was the genius kid and is now by far the most intelligent man I have known. His thirst for knowledge is never quenched. Conversations are never dull with him. The only time we are at a loss for words is when that feeling hits, euphoria.
This man is confident in who he is, he has worked hard and knows his shit yet grounded and humble. He is the stranger that feels like home in a crowded room. He is charismatic yet approachable and always wears a smile that will become your favorite drug. He is the type of person that so easily locks eyes with you every time he speaks to you because even in that way he is equally confident and comforting.
We will say ten, that was the age when I saw that spiky haired math wiz for the first time. We were in Mrs. Davidson’s class and he was the new kid answering math questions faster than I could raise my hand. Last night, 18 years later, he came to my apartment to show me how to do a job that I am drowning, I mean training for. The math wiz went to college for numbers and stocks and I am currently getting my bachelor’s in English and after that Law School.
I realized that numbers weren’t my thing but he has always had a way of making them sound amazing. I need proof, facts, something I can show to support and argument, I am an English major. He understands stock markets, economy, transparency in terms of money. I am not even sure if that is how I should word that but says to forget the word cryptocurrency because it builds a wall between me and my ability to understand the world of digital money.
We made it 18 years without the first kiss or skin-to-skin contact. We made it through our awkward years, bad relationships, highschool graduation, hardships and becoming single parents. Out brothers were even best friends, they died a year apart almost to the day, might have been exactly a year. I don’t know for sure and I don’t ask questions because I know how it feels when people bring up my brother’s death. Point is, he has always been a part of my life in some way but last night was the fist time we actually touched. He has always been right there in front of me but I don’t think either one of us thought about actually trying until this year.
It’s like when you’re sick and you google the symptoms. The feeling was so intense that I had to pull out my Macbook today and research it to see if anyone else had felt it. I mean I could tell he did, I didn’t have to ask. If there could have been a visual to represent the connection the sparks would have burned a city down. There was sexual tension. His kiss makes my body shiver with passion. He’s the kind of drug you can’t quit, you go to rehab but your urge to feel that high again never subsides.
I have a thing where I ask people what their favorite book is or one they recommend. I always read whatever book it is because it can tell you a lot about someone. He sat down on my bed that first night, running his fingers over the stacks of books from various authors and completed college courses piled high against one wall in my room and asked me if I had ever read Mark Danielewski’s novel House of Leaves. I didn’t even have to ask for his recommendation, which is an amazing one by the way. He walked in the second night and laid the novel on my bed.