Rosie Labrun is a lot of things: a college student on the cusp of graduation; an intern for the Portland Pirates, a romance novel connoisseur; and the most recent addition to her resume...the girlfriend of a professional athlete.
She won't let it d...
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Couples having what's called a sex routine, is something that took me twenty-one years to find out – and exactly thirty seconds on Reddit to confirm, with multiple sources. Much like a dynamic duo (aka a pair of fuck boys) have a routine they follow when they're at a club, or a con artist has an act they use to reel someone new in, it appears that couples have a routine they follow when getting down and dirty.
Unlike a schedule, or a task-list that can be crossed off on Google, sex is neither predictable nor routine. And if I'm being honest, that's one of the things that always terrified me of it. Sure, in romance novels everything always goes well: the woman gets riled up from nothing but a minute of kissing; and the two leads somehow manage to orgasm...at the exact same time.
You can imagine my disappointment when I learned what sex was actually like, and realized that it is neither moistening nor enjoyable when a man tries to stick his falafel in your all-too dry vagina. And you're just laying there like, am I supposed to be enjoying this? Is this what sex is supposed to feel like? Is this what I've been rubbing myself like someone with a bad case of chicken pox, imagining that I will finally do?
These are all valid questions; ones that I've pondered often during the course of my adult life. The answers to them have come in waves - and are unlike those in the back of a textbook. Simple instructions that once seemed straightforward, have remained practical in theory but horrible in real-life.
Which is why I'm thankful that I managed to find someone like Erik, who actually cares. And not just about making sure that I'm consenting, but that I'm having a good time; that I'm enjoying myself; that I'm usually having that wonderful thing called an orgasm.
And for that fact alone, his existence makes me think that maybe there is a god, after all.
"God. You drive me fucking crazy." He murmurs - he being Erik, not god. I just wanted to clear that up; because I'm neither a cheater nor someone that would be attracted to a man with hair long enough it could be styled into a man bun. Sorry Jason Momoa, maybe next time.
Erik's positioned himself right between my legs, which seems to be his favorite place on this earth. Fuck Disney Land; and strip clubs; and Starbucks on a Saturday morning. Because apparently having a girlfriend who'll let him go multiple rounds in the same day, is this man's dream.
"In a good way?" I ask, pulling our mouths apart to let out a laugh. It's something I do, sometimes when I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by things. The feeling of his mouth moving against mine; his hands moving all over my body; his erection, throbbing underneath me.
He rolls his eyes playfully, briefly making eye contact before moving his mouth to my neck. That blood sucker has left more marks than a pair of uncomfortable high heels on a night out. Or in my case, a pair of running shoes that I didn't wear socks with, and thought would be okay to walk to the gas station in. I guess we all have to make sacrifices for the things we want (in my case, a slushie).
