We often jump straight into the exciting parts of a relationship: the sparks, the butterflies, the whirlwind romance. But like any well-constructed building, love requires a solid foundation. And that foundation is built with each layer essential for the overall structure.
At the base is honesty. It’s the cornerstone, the unwavering truth that holds everything together. Without honesty, trust is impossible.
Trust is the next layer. It’s the safety net that allows us to feel secure and vulnerable. With trust comes emotional security, the belief that we’re seen, heard, and valued. It’s the fertile ground where intimacy can grow.
Intimacy isn’t just physical. It’s the deep connection, the shared vulnerability, the knowing glances and unspoken words. It’s the foundation upon which sexual attraction can flourish.
And finally, there’s the physical connection, the spark that ignites the flame. But without the previous layers, it’s like building a house on sand. It might look impressive at first, but it won’t withstand the storms.
It’s a journey, definitely not a destination. Building a strong relationship takes time, equal effort, and a willingness to be open and honest. Remember, love is a verb. It’s an action, a choice, a commitment. It’s about nurturing the connection, day by day, brick by brick.
Rain lashed against the windowpane, mirroring the storm brewing within me. Evan sat across the table, oblivious to the turmoil in my heart. His eyes held a faint glimmer of the warmth I used to see, a flicker of recognition when I’d compliment him, a fleeting smile when I surprised him with his favorite food. But mostly, there was a hollowness, a vast emptiness that no amount of affection on my part could seem to fill.
We met at a wedding, two broken souls drawn together by the therapeutic rhythm of reception music. He was a sculptor, his hands whispering stories into the formless earth. I was a writer, weaving narratives on paper. Yet, the story we wrote together was one of mismatched languages.
My love for him was a vibrant tapestry – a sunrise over a mountaintop, the laughter of children at play, the reassuring warmth of a crackling fire. It was loud, expressive, a constant symphony yearning for a response. His love, if it existed at all, was a faint whisper – a lone wolf howling into the night, a flickering candle flame in a drafty room.
Our days were filled with stolen moments of tenderness – a lingering touch on his shoulder, a slow dance in the kitchen to a forgotten melody. But these moments were islands in a vast ocean of silence. My attempts to draw him in were met with flinches and unspoken apologies. It was like trying to teach a bird to swim, watching it struggle against the current, fear clouding its trusting eyes.
Slowly, a heartbreaking truth dawned on me. You can’t love someone into loving themself. You can’t force them to understand a language they’ve never been taught to speak. My love, a nourishing sun, was withering on the vine, starved for the reciprocating rain of affection.
Letting go wasn’t a dramatic affair. There were no tears, no accusations. It was a quiet understanding that settled between us, a recognition of the inevitable. Over breakfast one morning, I simply said, “Maybe this isn’t working.” He looked up, a flicker of something akin to pain crossing his features, before nodding silently.
Even now, as I pack my bags, leaving a life once filled with hope, a part of me still aches for him. I yearn for the man I saw beneath the layers of hurt, the man who might have learned to love, someday, if only he’d had the chance.
But for now, our paths diverge. I carry the love I had for him, not as a bitter reminder, but as a testament to my own capacity for caring. He, I hope, will find his own melody, his own way to heal, his own language of love. And maybe, someday, our stories will find an echo in another life, a life where love flows freely, a song sung in perfect harmony.
⚠️ Warning ⚠️ This post contains sexual content that may not be suitable for some audiences. Reader discretion is advised.
I turn over and nestle my head on his chest. He adjusts his body and wraps his arm around me. This is home. Sleepily, I enjoy the sound of his heart beating while my head gently rises and falls with each breath that he takes. This is peace.
He’s still sleep or so I think. I place my hand on the center of his chest. I could lay here forever. But it’s not the weekend…and we have to work. The thought was nice. But while I can, I will enjoy this. This moment of being still. In love.
I didn’t notice as I laid there in such a state of peacefulness that I had to began to caress him. Rubbing his chest, stomach and arm with just the pads of my fingertips and sometimes my nails. It’s a habit and it’s soothing. I was trying not to wake him. Rest. He needed it.
I think to myself, every morning should begin with a noticeable action of love. And sex doesn’t solely define love. Do it right with enough time to spare and I’m cooking breakfast. And that’s breakfast in bed.
When I feel his hand gently rub up and down my back, I know he’s awake. I continue gently caressing him and thinking. I hear him speak softly from what seemed like miles away. I was in deep thought. I reply “Huh?” because I didn’t hear anything he said. Why is he awake? I try my best not to wake him when I can’t sleep. He asks me, “Can’t sleep?” I take a deep breath and respond, “Nope.” Like clockwork he questions, “You need some help?” I chuckle at the thought because I never reply to that question. I imagine it’s always rhetorical. And the unspoken answer is always YES. “Come here…” he says as he hugs me a little tighter.
This is when we start to escape reality…we call it magic…
Our bedroom is dark. The corner of the room is the only area illuminated by the light of the fancy diffuser sitting on the dresser. His kisses are always deep and passionate. Even more when he’s trying to be nasty. And don’t let him begin to explore my Magic Kingdom with his extraordinary tongue…stick a fork in me, I’m done.
This mere activity stops time. I mean literally. We can lose track of time and do this for hours. Penetration doesn’t have to occur immediately or even at all. We’ve mastered the resistance and the urge to fuck like rabbits at all times. Believe me it hasn’t always been this easy. It took great practice.
This morning I think his objective is to put me back to sleep. His hand ever so gently strokes my breast then down to stomach. As he slid his hand over my Magic Box, he brushed against my secret pearl with his finger. As he kisses me our souls begin to dance.
It’s about to go down…And I never once looked at the clock.
In one clean swoop, he rotated me from mounting him to him kneeling between my caramel thighs. It’s always something to look up and see a chocolate, fine, bearded specimen in the dark lol. He’s perfect, he’s all mine. He leans in to kiss me. We fit together just like a puzzle. As he kisses me, he slowly slides his now awakened and erect dick inside me. Reaching the point of no return and he stays right there lightly tapping my cervix until he is done kissing me. I melt…I gush all over him.
It’s been how long now? This ‘love me long time’ feeling has never went away…I hope it never does…
He is in the zone now, giving me deep, long slow strokes he touches the edge of my Earth over and over again, until he shakes my ice capped mountain and causes substantial flooding in my magical wonderland. The portal opens and we completely exit this realm and make love in the galaxy. There’s stars, still ones, ones that twinkle and shooting stars. There’s asteroids, fairies, unicorns, and lost balloons. It feels ah-mazing. Together we let our love explode. After what feels like hours we descend back to this realm; spent, hyperventilating, sweating, tachycardic and slightly lethargic.
I find the energy to turn over on my side to face him. I see the sun peeking through the side of window as I lay in his embrace drifting off to sleep. I rub his beard and mumble “Good Morning My Love…”
This is an interesting topic that came up yesterday with one of my guy best friends. We have experienced some of life’s greatest and terrible moments together. He’s a thorn in my side at times but I appreciate our friendship as he’s always able to give me the male perspective on any situation and just be genuinely his crazy self.
Yesterday he hit me with some numbers lol. According to studies, 90% of friends who become intimate are not able to function as friends.
Backstory: We were friends all through high school. I spent time at his house with his family as a friend. We messed around as adults well after high school. We decided we were better off friends. So we never had sex again and just remained friends.
This took me by surprise. Like why is he even bringing this up. Is he about to make this awkward? We’ve been friends for almost 20 years…please don’t do this man. My friend count is low because people just aren’t real anymore.
He then asks, how is it that we don’t fall into that category? I replied saying we’re in the 10% that are able to mature and have a friendship outside of sex. And ultimately we respect each other.
I’m sure to people we dated and married, our relationship was weird. When he’s dating, we don’t talk often. It is almost always a problem when a woman finds out that he slept with his best friend and we are still friends. I’m as chill as they come. So I welcome all his lady friends and warn them that he’s crazy as a joke. I listen to his problems. I give him advice sometimes. But to avoid conflict in his relationships with women who are obviously insecure and not confident, we would rarely speak. He’s been married 3 times (I hope he’s done this time) and I’ve been married once. My ex-husband was not cool with the idea of me being friends with someone I slept with but I explained to him either you trust me or you don’t.
I think with all friendships, sexual or non sexual we have to have a certain level of trust. He and I have that. As friends we trust each other with secrets. Things that have happened in our relationships and personal lives. Problems at work or issues with our kids. We are truly friends with no romantic feelings. We can hang together, eat, watch movies and it is not awkward or weird. We are sort of like siblings but that makes it sound very nasty so scratch that lol.
The conversation was interesting. As we never really sat down and talked about how awkward it was that we slept together, figured out that that type of relationship was not for us and then just never spoke of it again.
I care about him as a friend. And I am always genuinely happy for him. I’m glad that he has finally found a really good woman that he loves and she loves him. I’m always supportive of him even if he doesn’t help me put things together like he says. I wouldn’t trade our relationship as he’s been a ride or die for me for so long and I him. It was funny that the topic came up but as quickly as it began, it ended as we began to talk about the kids.
We say I love you because we do love each other. In the same aspect of loving family. He tells anyone he’s like my Big Brother. If I cry, he’s coming. He wants to meet guys I date now because he apparently knows all men intentions and he doesn’t want me hurt. He listened to the nonsense from my 15 year marriage and he wiped some tears and sat on the beach with me when I was sad. Things that I couldn’t even get my girl friends to do. He’s been in my corner through a lot and I appreciate him.
Is there a friend that you have that you’ve had sex with, been in love with and you’re still friends? Is it awkward? Does it affect your outside relationships at all? I’m curious so please share…
In My Unapologetic Life... 