Anima, Animus

She is a roomy woman. Within her are spaces that are both functional and intimate. She invites you in the way an old farmhouse does, that same sense of secure frame and solid foundation discovered only when curious enough to step beyond weathered exterior. Blocky shoulders roof her frame giving her the look of a thick T. Or maybe B. Not that you would necessarily describe her as fat. She is full and fleshy and definitely capital letter warm among the trendy lower case hot.

She is thick and soft. Doughy breasts and a pillow-top belly lull you more to lie on her than lay into her. My first time fully seeing her, I was disappointed but not shocked by the beanbag body. After all, less is more. However, I had made up my mind on the hour drive to meet her that despite what she fully looked like, I would bed her. I hadn’t been laid in months, and I liked her face, the pictures on the site–all of them various poses of her only neck and up–brought erection and suspicion. Once meeting her, I told myself I could focus on her eyes and lips as I rode her because her body isn’t one a guy wants to admire as he’s plowing. So we drank wine and began kissing and then I felt her subtly shift herself to press against me in such a way that her body began embracing me. Not her arms, but her body itself. It surprised and pleasured me, this warmth and softness of her, and it infected me. Then we had sex. The first of many times. That was a year ago.

Each and every time, her body welcomes me so I feel hugged and fucked at the same time. While most men are hesitant to admit it, we’ll take the assertion of huggy warm any time over colder insertion of body parts. We like connection, but because that always has more emotional responsibility attached to it than we are really comfortable with, we favor a focus on physicality. Less is more. Still, what she lacks in eye-pleasing turn-on, she makes up for in that way her body pillows and hugs me and the way we do each other.

Each time I come over for sex, I feel myself somewhat giving over to something I know is really beyond me. I know she is deeper and in some ways better than me. She is bigger than me in ways more important than physique. Still, less is more. When I ride her, I like feeling that she is unbreakable. Yet, I don’t look in her eyes anymore, because when I did, I saw the haunt of something ready to flood in them. Or vacate. I wonder if she is really pleased. But, she says yes every time I text her. And she offers a river of words during sex to indicate satisfaction. And since I like that float on her currents, I go over often. But we never go out. I mean, I am not sure I want people to think we are a couple. After all, less is more.