Delicate Details

So I think I may owe a little elaboration. I wanted to get into the delicate details in the last post, but, seeing as the topic was confessions of love, I didn't feel it was well placed and highlighted and deleted what I thought didn't meet the sentimental milieu.

What I meant by "unbelievable sex in every sense of the word: literal, suggestive, and up for interpretation:"

Many will remember when I deemed myself a hopeless wistful without. Lately, however, I'm fairly confident that my current sex life could leave Anakin and Padme trembling with jealously from their distant planet paradise. Sex no longer needs SEX: we've discovered that we can make love by rubbing, grinding, squeezing, nipping, tugging, licking, caressing, talking, and breathing; sitting or standing, outside, inside or in a stairwell, clothed or unclothed.

The loudest lesson coming from all of this is that sexual pleasure and, particularly, orgasm, is easily over 70% mental. TMI's savory French urging me along breathily in my ear can nearly push me over the edge sans physical contact. It's otherworldly.

What it got me thinking about today is how truly good sex, and, listen up here, relationships, come with a powerful degree of egoism. A necessity to put yourself first. Thinking too much about your partner leads to a lot of "I dunno, what do you want to do?" and "I only did it because I thought you liked it," which frankly doesn't get anyone anywhere. If you mean something to one another, your well-being is collective. The better you feel the better they feel: applicable inversely, backwards, and all over the place.

AND IN THE COMPLTELEY UNRELATED:

I spent the day today working in a fair-trade coffee shop, pulling espressos, toasting waffles with powdered sugar, and speaking French like a champ. RAD.