The better option.

I love sex.

I’ve engaged therein all my life since my puberty gladly passed away.

It was a roller coaster of orgasms & climaxes in the beginning that increased my libido to seek the next goal, the next body to conquer, the next pussy to hang on my wall like a scalp, the next accolade to myself that I’m the best.

God’s gift to woman was my self appreciation. No woman existed that I couldn’t fuck. To the outside world I was successful in my vocation, I was well-bred (?), dressed well, socialized with the best, sharp, witty & entertaining.

To the ladies that I invited to my chambers I was handsome, nice body, above average endowed and gave them pleasure.

Perfect ? Not so. I grew up.

I started seeing flaws in myself. Voids and gaps in my euphoria. I was seeking a missing something that was not satisfied by my physical encounters with some of the most beautiful women.

Atlas shrugged (quote Ayn Rand)

I met a girl (woman !) that kept me at bay. Who acknowledged my charm & wit, enjoyed my tête-à-tête’ romantically, but drew a line to the ultimate act. She grew more & more attractive to me then what she all ready was due to this barrier. She started sharing her inner thoughts, hopes & likes with me. Exposed her soul in relating her yearnings, wishes and own flaws. She was shooting roots in my heart and cleansing my egocentric complacency.

She was awakening me to bond with her in soul before cohesion in body. To reach a plato of mutual kinship & appreciation with respect. To Be and allow her to Be with me. Can there be a purer goal ? A more positive aspiration ?

That’s when fucking becomes making love.