There are casual sex rules.

I don’t think I’m wrong in saying that there are casual sex rules.  I’ve written about how to fuck a neighbor and I’d say casual sex in general isn’t that different.  If anything, it’s easier because there’s no forced proximity and emotions might be more easily moderated.

Below are the rules that I live by.

Hy b&w in polkadot shortsRule #1: He doesn’t have to say everything right.  Just some things.

I don’t over-emphasize sapiosexual foreplay and keep in mind the connection that needs to be built is the physical one supported by the emotional.  Not vice versa.

The Little Marine wore shorts, a polo and flip flops.  Again, the bar stool beside him was reserved for me and I pulled it out and sat down gingerly next to him.  I ordered a cheap French red and he sipped on a beer.  We ordered some apps and settled in.

He was wound up and chatty and when I asked him a little bit about his history he launched into an overwhelming monotribe of a dozen siblings, some alluded racial stereotyping, and a passionate love for pitbulls.  I sat there for quite some time musing that he was handily opting himself out of any kind of long-term potential, but reminded myself that my personality and beliefs criteria were different here.

I needed him to be kind – check.  I needed him to be smart – check.  And I needed him to be hung – possibly check.  Where he fell on the political spectrum didn’t matter, how he handled his family didn’t matter, his seeming inability to ask me questions about me didn’t really matter either.  I was happy to listen.

When there was a break in his story, I shared some of mine, then injected some raunchy ones to lighten the mood.  It worked.  Then I nearly lost him.

“Do I look as fetching tonight as I did the other night?” I asked flirtatiously.

His face fell and became hard.  “You’re setting a trap for me.”

“What??” I shook my head.  “No, I’m not!”

Apparently, he didn’t like my hair pinned up into a loose bun and didn’t know how to tell me.  Forget that my breasts swung loose beneath my dress and I was wearing heels and I looked like I did on Monday when he thought I was the best thing since sliced bread.

Deftly, I navigated us away from a confrontation.  “Look, Marine,” I told him as I took his elbow and we headed back to his apartment.  “It’s not all or nothing.   You can still be honest about how you feel and complimentary.  You could say something like, ‘You look beautiful, but I like your hair down better,’ and I’d have laughed and not thought twice about it.  Put your mind in Date Mode, not Logic Mode.”

“I didn’t think of it like that,” he admitted.  “You’re right.”

Rule #2: He doesn’t have to be my physical ideal, he just has to work what he’s got.

I don’t overlook someone right under my nose because they’re not what I’m used to.

He looked good.  And compact.  He had the V from shoulder to hips that I like so much and his hair was cropped short.  If nothing were around him for scale, you’d have no idea he was only 5’6″.

Later, on his couch, I accidentally spilled red wine on him.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed.  He sat there mostly unbothered.  “You should take your shirt off,” I suggested laughing.

He laughed, too, and got up to throw his shirt in the wash.  I watched him as he peeled it off and his muscles flexed under the canned lighting.  He was a miniature Adonis.

He turned towards me and the tattoo on his pectoral curved outward with the muscle.  His abs were rock hard and long and his biceps were mountainous in a size-proportionate way.

He looked fucking edible.

I thought about all the women who pass him over because he’s short and thought what a goddamned shame that was for him.  He didn’t care, though.  He loved to crawl over any woman taller than him who was willing to let him.

Hy purseRule #3: The sex isn’t supposed to be mind-blowing.  It’s just supposed to be satisfying.

(However, in this case, it was pretty fucking great.)

Sitting shirtless on the couch now, he invited me to sit on his lap.  My panties were shoved down into my purse in anticipation of this moment.

I straddled him and we began the dance.  Nibbles and bites, moans and soft, wet tongues on warm, clean skin.

I slid down to the floor between his knees and released him from his shorts.  He was clean-shaven and bigger than average just as he’d promised.  I couldn’t call him hung, but I have been ruined by The Neighbor in that regard and I looked at him hungrily for a moment then fell on his shaft with my face.  Fuck The Neighbor and his giant, glorious, perfect cock.  I was going to show this one a great time.

I slurped and gagged and pulled on him while he shuddered and clung to his control.  I pushed him as far as he’d let me, then he pushed me off of him.  He stood and pointed at the bed and his eyes gleamed with passion.

I quivered inside and felt 9-stories tall.  I hadn’t seen a man filled with this much desire because of me in very long time.  He fucking glowed.

I pulled my dress off and laid down with him.  The paper light in the corner cast a soft glow on us as I mounted him and sunk down on him.  It felt so good to be penetrated by something other than a cold, 9″ silicone dildo.  His warm human-sized cock pressed into me until it completely disappeared inside.  I began to move.

It didn’t hurt like it did with The Neighbor and I bucked and rode him harder than I’ve ridden any other man in two years.  I came and I screamed and I clawed at his flexed chest.  He gripped my wrists and told me to go easy on him.

I leaned back and let him grind up into my neck.  I grabbed the backs of his knees to pull him in further.  He moaned, wild, and his hips slammed up into me and I came and gushed all over his waist.

“Where do you want me to cum?” he panted as he suddenly began to lift me off of him.

“All over me,” I panted back.  “My tits, my fucking face, anywhere, everywhere!”

His jizz spurted out and hit me in globs.  I rubbed it into my sweat and it kept coming.  It hit my chin.  I heard him exclaiming at the sheer volume.

I preened under the layer of cum on my body — a badge of goddamned honor — as he looked down on me, mouth hanging open and lids heavy.

We lay exhausted on the little full-sized mattress and I couldn’t think.  Or move.  Stars bloomed behind my eyelids and my limbs felt like anchors.  Minutes passed in quiet satisfaction until he bade me to get on my back. My hands were heavy with the lead mittens of orgasmic bliss, but I silently complied.

Hy with no filterRule #4: Don’t compromise on what I want.

My current dating criteria are: he must be kind (respectful), smart (quick), and hung (empirically large).   My body needs a larger man, my mind wants someone nice.

On my back I lifted my knees and he gently guided himself in.  Our eyes locked.  Neither of us could feel the other.  I was so wet, so opened, so soft and throbbing that he’d have to have been twice as big as he was for us to feel it.

“There’s no friction,” he whispered.

He pumped a few times and it made it worse.  He stopped and lay beside me and invited me into his nook.  I limply cuddled in and dozed on the post-coital clouds that still floated about me.

“I’m too wet,” I murmured.  “I came too much before we tried that.”

“Yeah,” he said and kissed my temple.  “I didn’t think of that before.”

Frankly, neither had I.

The Neighbor’s sheer size prevented him from becoming completely invisible to me, though I could lose him in the cavity of my body after too many orgasms.  He felt me more than I him and The Little Marine was about three-quarters the size of The Neighbor.  Not small, bigger than average, but not huge like The Neighbor was.  No wonder we couldn’t feel anything.

Fuck me…

Hy on her tummyRule #5: Know your limits.

This isn’t a relationship that requires traditional nurturing.  It’s an agreement between two sentient animals who have needs and who have an understanding between each other.  My limits are time and emotions.  I won’t give a whole lot of either.

We lay there for a while and he jokingly said I wasn’t allowed to leave for another 45 minutes when he’d be ready to go again.  Just then my phone alarm went off signaling it was time for me to go.

“Wait,” he said and pulled himself up and rolled me onto my stomach.

He spread the cheeks of my bottom and began to press at the pucker.  “I fucking love your ass,” he hissed and I felt his hardon on my cheek.

I raised my hips and let him play with my asshole.  He suddenly seemed to have 8 arms then and rolled on a condom, kept my cheeks spread, his finger on the star and pushed the head of his cock at my pussy hole.  It felt like a soccer-field’s worth of area being stimulated and I moaned and writhed and smeared mascara all over his white fucking sheets and didn’t give. a. fuck.

He pushed into me and we both felt it: tight, throbbing, scorching hot.  He pumped and slapped and poked my asshole slipping his finger inside every few strokes of his cock.

“Grab my balls,” he barked.  “Now!”

Mindlessly I reached through my legs and grabbed his soft, dangly balls and tugged.  He moaned and thrust harder.  I reached out a finger and pressed against his tight little asshole and he moaned louder and cheered me on.

I gripped the headboard with my other hand and yelled.  He shushed me and I told him to go fuck himself.  He laughed and kept at me until I had to pull my hand back to hold onto the earth.

I came and went limp.

He flopped back down next to me and began to jerk off as I whispered how fucking big he was and how tight his ass.  How many times I’d cum and how I wanted him to cum all over me again.

He leaped up onto his knees, hissed where did I want it, and came all over my offered breasts.

What seemed like 10 beats later I was dressed and he was escorting me to my car.  It didn’t even occur to me to kiss him goodbye; I was in a fog of sex and I wanted to be home.

I thanked him and robotically drove home thinking about The Neighbor the entire way and how beneficially medicinal casual sex can be.  My heart felt better in a way I couldn’t describe: I was bringing myself pleasure and that in itself was pleasurable.  I was answering my own question of Why Hyacinth? with positives and not negatives.

The thing about casual sex, especially when all the boxes get ticked, is that it feels like self-care, like meditation after a long day.  It recenters me and reminds me of my humanness.  Participating in this thing that practically every other person on the planet also participates in connects me to the essence of what it is to be alive and safe and healthy.  Forgiving myself for my preferences and my urges is one step, maintaining a healthy distance is another.

Next step, unrelated to the rules of casually fucking, is making sure I protect enough emotional energy for the real healing I need to happen lest I get sucked down the drain of 1000 cocks again.  At some point, none of these rules will apply and I’ll need something real.  I’ll want to be loved again and hopefully love in return.