The other night I got to engage in some light petting. As in the opposite of heavy petting. As in, he literally pet me like one pets a pet. No kisses, no touching any swim suit parts, no sexy times, just petting. Palms and finger tips on backs and shoulders, arms, hips.
And damn was it good.
This summer I’ve had (some good, but also) some of the worst sex of my life. Dissociative sex, sex that made me feel like I didn’t even need to be in the room, checked into my body for it to be happening. You know, in the bad way.
But this was the opposite. For the most part at least. There were a few moments when I thought, “Is he going to want to progress from this and then we’ll have to figure out what that is,” but then he didn’t, or we didn’t.
I had fleeting fears of ‘what if he feels cheated, like I owe him something,’ but then he didn’t.
And when I said I couldn’t stay too long because I had a lunch to attend, he jokingly said I should cancel it and stay and get petted a little longer. Which was the moment I realized that he was enjoying this delicious sensual (not sexual) moment just as much as I was. And that he was enjoying being the petter as much as I was selfishly enjoying being the pettee.
On my way to the lunch which I did eventually make, I realized that this petting could have served as foreplay but that it would have cheapened the deliciousness of having a purely sensual moment. And at the same moment I realized just as sadly that it not being foreplay for something else was a waste and left me a tad… dehydrated. And I couldn’t decide which thought left me more sad. I guess there are pros and cons for everything.