by Jamie
At first, she was merely a few words on the screen. They were well-written words, clear and direct. And I knew from a decade of Craigslist perusal that she was real – not a bot luring me to a pay site – and that we were looking for the same thing. “Good sex on the regular,” I think that’s how she put it.
There are other sites, more serious sites, perhaps better ways to find a match, but Craigslist – dear, departed Craigslist – was my playground of choice. I enjoyed seeing that wide swath of humanity mustering their courage (if not their sophistication) to reach out and try to make a connection. I enjoyed the brief friendships that arose and melted into the fog of anonymity – usually just a conversation, commiseration, a shared laugh. And yes, I met many good lovers (and some not so good, as no doubt some of them saw me) via Craigslist.
Sophie’s post caught me at the peak of a cynical spasm. The current Craigslist effort was not bearing fruit. The site was poisoned; for every 100 posts, 95 of them were fake. And of the remaining five percent, not all of them were looking for what I wanted, or they wanted it from somebody different. Usually that meant younger.
So I led with what I perceived to be the drawbacks. I pointed out to Sophie that I was older than the age range she had implied, but otherwise we seemed to be a good match. She responded, somehow plucking me from the tsunami of responses that all women receive after posting, and we exchanged messages and pictures.
And then she disappeared. Later I learned that life simply got in the way. She had things to do and people to see, and Craigslist had to take a back seat. A few weeks later, on the verge of closing the current Craigslist chapter, I saw our exchange in my inbox and decided to make a final attempt. “I want to talk to you,” are the words I used that got her attention.
And so we talked. And from that reboot blossomed an amazing exchange about sex, music, and many other things (including, ultimately, this blog). We confirmed what I suspected. We were kindred spirits.
And so we met. It wasn’t a date. It was the end of a long hot day outdoors, somebody had stolen her phone, but somehow my suggestion to come over got through to her and sounded good. I remember the dress she wore. I remember the easy way we talked, our easy laughter. I remember the first time she touched me, her hands both elegant and strong. We kissed, we shed some clothes, we determined how well our bodies liked each other. But we didn’t fuck. That happened the next time, and many times afterward. As I write this, it will soon happen again.
It is hard to talk about Sophie’s appearance succinctly. She is a beautiful woman, turning heads on a daily basis. She is also a bigger woman, carrying some extra weight that comes and goes. I like the way she looks, and so do many other men. But surface details do not define her beauty. Her beauty is transcendent and comes from within. She is a force of nature. She is a ball of energy. She is always in motion. She is the hub of her social circle. When I told her I wasn’t sure how to go about describing her in this piece, walking a line between accuracy and anonymity, she shrugged and said, “just say I’m fat.” Such a loaded word, yet she was completely unconcerned. Like any human she is not immune to vanity. She loves praise, her face opening like a fresh flower when she receives it. But she doesn’t need it. I have never before met a person so comfortable and confident in her own skin. I have learned much from this aspect of her, as well as others.
There are relatively few people in the world who have as much sexual experience as I do, but Sophie is one of them. In fact, in terms of numbers her experience dwarfs mine. (We are both proud that our efforts to remain disease free when it comes to sex have been successful.) Undoubtedly for some people with this background, sex can become uninteresting over time, but not so with us. Every time we fuck, it feels as if we’ve reinvented it. We do not lack for invention and imagination, but even the tamest vanilla sex feels edgy. With sex as with pretty much any other activity, Sophie is animated. Her joy is evident and abundant. Her pussy is muscularly tight and drenched, her labia and clit engorged. Her orgasms flush her face, neck, and chest. She makes no effort to remain quiet (as the neighbors have humorously confirmed), giving full-throated expression to her pleasure.
I like watching her walk through the door. I like sitting across the room, chatting about what happened that day. I like watching (and helping) her disrobe. I like making her squirm and writhe with my mouth between her legs. I like entwining with her like two snakes, rocking slowly, gravity and pressure doing the work of thrusting. I like spreading her legs amazingly wide (thanks, yoga!), or bending her knees to her chin, or taking her from behind like a human piston. I like watching her ride my cock, her entire body glowing with wonder and lust (her phrase). And between sessions, I like watching her walk naked down the hall, looking for her glasses or phone or whatever got forgotten when we took to bed. I like the ass she says doesn’t exist and the legs she downplays.
If Sophie and I took one of those HR personality assessments, I have no doubt we would land differently in numerous ways. We move through the world differently. Since Sophie started coming over, my small and quiet and tidy world has had to adjust. Everywhere I look there are halves of things – a forgotten drink, an unfinished meal, myriad prematurely snuffed cigarettes – and multiples of things (four kinds of rice, three kinds of butter). I have never been happier. These differences are the spice that seasons our favorite meal. What started as a quest for good sex on the regular has become an open-ended commitment based on mutual respect and, yes, appetite – and love. Sophie has my back, supporting me through some dark moments, and she can always expect the same from me.
I could go on forever, but at the moment Sophie is waiting in my bed. She playfully suggested that Round 2 would be delayed until I finished and posted my thoughts, and I chose to take the threat seriously. So now I will stop talking about these experiences with Sophie and get back to enjoying more of them with her.
amaranthine border 