In the 4th year after his death, I stopped feeling like I was going to throw up every time I saw a person of the male sex looking my way. Slowly, I began to open up to the concept of someone else. Then, I had my first kiss, and it’s awesomeness woke up everything inside of me. All the parts that had been fast asleep for almost half a decade, now wanted to come out and play again. I started dating, got into a short-lived relationship with someone, and a couple of weeks before the 5 year mark of my husband’s death, I finally lost my widow virginity. The widowed mind is a curious thing, and 5 years with absolutely no intimacy will eventually make a person a bit loopy. Some strange, deep, and often hilarious thoughts were going through my brain, right smack in the middle of experiencing my first time after the last time. Here are just a few of those thoughts, in no particular order:
“OH SHIT!!! I think I forgot how to do this …. oh, wait …. Never mind. NOW I remember …. ”
It really is like people say all the time: “It’s like riding a bicycle.” Except, not at all. Instead of a bike, there’s a person there, and I suppose there is or could be riding involved. But there are no wheels or spokes or handlebars in sex, unless you’re into that sort of kinky thing. Look, the point is, there are rhythms when it comes to things like kissing and grinding and moving and everything else that is involved in the dance of sex. When you haven’t done it in a very long time, and when the last time you did it, it was with your husband, whom you had been ‘dancing with’ for several years, you start to think that maybe you won’t remember how to do this weird dance with someone new. Maybe you will forget what comes next. Maybe you won’t be able to … oh, wait. Is that my shirt coming off? And my bra? Is that me moaning like that? Oh okay. I remember this now. It’s all coming back to me ….
“Stop judging me, CAT!”
Right in the middle of the beginning of the action, which started in my living room, and then quickly moved through the apartment and into my bedroom – my damn cat was just sitting there, on the corner of my bed. Staring at me. I found it extremely ironic and hilarious, that I was being stared at by my pussy, while someone was licking my pussy. It was also incredibly distracting, because the damn cat was right inside my line of vision, so I literally couldn’t look away. And he was judging me. He was sizing me up, and he had decided that he was disappointed in me. He didn’t care for the way I was writhing around, and I didn’t care for the way he was staring at me. All of this is going through my head, and at the exact same moment, I am somehow feeling intense pleasure.