When I haven’t had sex in a long time, I consider myself a virgin again. After my 11-year marriage ended, I was a virgin…and a single mom who happened to be the proud owner of a house that needed some work.
Anxious to get started, I hired a friend’s brother to help with some odd jobs and heavy lifting. The day we met, he reached out to shake my hand, then turned it over and traced the calluses on my palm with his finger. A surge of his energy pulsed through me and my nipples hardened instantly. It’s been TOO long, I thought to myself.
At first, I wrote Aaron* off as a romantic possibility. He didn’t seem like my type—he was 15 years younger, wore home-made lace up gladiator sandals, and lived in a yurt (yes, a yurt).
But as we worked side by side on my home projects, I found myself studying his long hair, the golden strands gleaming in the sunlight. I watched his full lips, hidden by his mustache and beard, nibble at the cookies I made for my son. My body tingled when his piercing blue eyes studied me as I explained jobs I wanted him to do on the farm.
Too bad he’s so young, I caught myself thinking. I want him.
One night, when I texted to let him know I had more work for him, he took it upon himself to inform me that he’d just made a rope mattress. Then he mentioned that it was comfortable and he wondered how it would “perform.”
Then...he asked if I’d like to help him find out.
Me?
I wondered if this was a prank—maybe it wasn’t him texting me at all. I tested him: “Tell me something only you would know about me.”
“You like white chocolate tequila lime truffles.” Fuck. It was him. We’d stopped at a sweet shop days before and that’s what I got.
I was gonna get laid.
As I mentioned, it’d been awhile. I thought about how wonderful it would be to have a first kiss with a new partner. But what if he wasn’t a good kisser? What if he didn't like the way I looked naked? Maybe I could keep some clothes on. There couldn’t be A/C in the yurt, right? What if I got too sweaty? Self doubts were coming fast and furious as I drove the tree-lined country roads toward carnal pleasure.
Breathe, girl, breathe. You can do this. He invited you. He wants you.
I turned down the path he’d marked with ribbons. Suddenly, there he was, walking up the hill, barefoot on the rocky drive. He had on khaki shorts and a white short-sleeved shirt, unbuttoned all the way. A towel was slung over his shoulder.
“Hey. Just took a quick shower down the hill.”
One question answered: no shower in the yurt.
I followed him down a wooded path blanketed with pine needles. The yurt was larger than I imagined, with real windows and a door, which he held open as I entered. His bed was right in front of me. I saw the grid of the rope mattress beneath a comforter hastily tossed over it and a couple of pillows on one end. A fan spun overhead. He had electricity, but no running water. I asked the bathroom question.
“I pee outside and go down the hill for, you know.”
I hoped I would not have to “you know,” or even have to pee, for that matter.
He stood close and seemed to be waiting for me to make the first move.
“I, uh, well, I know this sounds strange, but I just want to get this out there from the start.” He raised his eyebrows, urging me to go on. “Well, at any time, if one of us is not comfortable with this, or if we don’t like how the other one kisses, or if one of us is just not feeling it, we just stop, laugh about it and go on as before. Okay?”
“Deal,” he said, and reached out to pull me closer.
His hand touched my cheek and landed behind my head, pulling me in for a kiss. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t get distracted. His kiss was so gentle and soft, as if he didn’t want to frighten me. He reached his other hand up and held my head lightly, so at any moment I could pull away if I wanted to.
I didn’t want to. I kissed him a little harder. His hands tightened on my head and I drank him in, inviting his tongue to meet mine. I opened my eyes and met his gaze. His kiss turned into a smile.
“Well?” he asked.
“What do you think?”
“I think we work well together.” His arms encircled my waist and held me tightly to him. The kisses became more urgent and demanding. I opened my eyes a little to look at him and found his bright blue ones looking right back at me once again.
“Do you always kiss with your eyes open?” I asked.
“Yes, I like to see what’s going on. Take off your clothes,” he half asked, half demanded.
“That seems unfair. You should too!”
“No, you first.”
I paused, then began to unbutton my top. He helped me impatiently, pulling it over my head, then watched me wiggle out of my jeans. Standing in front of him in a bra and panties, I felt exposed but not entirely uncomfortable. He had that way about him. I could tell he enjoyed women’s bodies, no matter what shape.
He undid my bra with a flick of his fingers, tossed it across the yurt and gently pulled my panties down so I could step out of them. I sat down on the bed hugging a pillow to my chest and told him it was his turn. He ignored me. He moved slowly, running his hand over my body, stopping to pinch my nipple. It hardened quickly. He kissed the other, then blew on it, watching it get as hard as the first.
Oddly, I enjoyed this feeling of vulnerability—being naked when he wasn’t. His caresses stopped and I opened my eyes to see that he was finally getting undressed. His body wasn’t perfect, either. In an instant, he was next to me, gathering me in his arms for more kisses.
I was wet and so ready for him. His hand drifted down to see how turned on I was, exploring with fingers that seemed to be toying with me. They lingered on my clit, lazily tickling.
Button, button, who’s got the button—that always went through my head when a man found my sweet spot. He FOUND the magic button.
Eyes still closed, I reached my arms up over my head to stretch—and felt a warm and wet sensation under my left one.
“Blech!” he spat out. “You used deodorant!”
My eyes flew open. Doesn’t everybody? I was embarrassed that he had even kissed me there. But, I consoled myself, even if it ended here and my apparently offensive antiperspirant habits threw off his groove, it was still so wonderful to be touched after so many months of nothing.
Except he wasn’t done.
His lips moved to my breasts, down the swell of my stomach. My legs opened, inviting him to move lower. I felt his fingers spread my lips, and when his tongue touched me, I gasped, then moaned. Delighted.
He moved with the precision of a skilled lover and I came almost immediately. He wasn’t satisfied with that, though. Soon I began to lose count of the orgasms and begged him to get inside me. He lingered, taking his sweet time, making me crazy with desire.
The rope mattress seemed to be holding up well. It was pleasantly springy, but tricky keeping your limbs from falling through the holes. Lucky for me, I was on the bottom, leaving Aaron to worry about holding on. Condom in hand, he balanced on the ropes and rolled it on. He started slowly, filling me up and then withdrawing, staying in the neighborhood but not going back in until I whined about his teasing.
I came again quickly and we both enjoyed the tremors from the aftershocks, thrust after thrust. He still hadn’t come. He was holding himself back to make sure I was completely satisfied. This can't be real, I thought. What man does this?
I tightened my pelvic floor as he entered me again. He seemed surprised that he wasn’t the only skilled one in this yurt. We moved in sync, working together until he let out a guttural moan and his body froze. I grabbed his hips with my legs and raised mine, sealing us together. He fell back next to me and stared blankly at the yurt roof.
"I lost count of how many times you came," he said finally, proud of himself. I was glad he didn't see me roll my eyes.
“Where did you learn all that?” I asked. He didn’t seem like a player.
“I grew up going to Renn fairs. Lost my virginity to an older woman who was a great teacher.” I mentally thanked this woman.
I rolled over to nibble Aaron’s ear. My elbow sunk in the rope grid and got stuck. He pulled me out and I landed on top of him, pinning his hands over his head. “Ready for more?” I asked playfully.
He broke free, rolling me over and underneath him again. He paused, kissed my nose and hopped off the bed. The sound of violins and accordions filled the yurt—traditional Romanian dance music. What a strange sex playlist. But he seemed energized by the frenetic energy of it, moving in time and counting his thrusts, eight short ones and one strong, deep one that made me gasp every time. His body was slick with sweat and it dripped off him onto me. His pace was intense, unhinged—but I didn’t want him to stop.
He pulled me on top where I could control the pace. Our bodies slid against each other, wet from passion and sweat. He let out a big sigh right as I was about to come. I rocked on him, trying to keep him inside me while my muscles tightened, pushing him out anyway when they did.
We collapsed together feeling pretty damn good. Suffice it to say, the rope mattress performed better than either of us could’ve imagined.
*Name has been changed
