My First Love 4

I was 12 going on 13 … He was about three years older than I was.

For the purpose of this blog, let us call him Robert.

I don’t quite remember how it all started but I know that I was a rather popular 12-year-old with the older boys. I was … ahem … kind of pretty and so these boys used to come up to me on the pretext that they wanted to use me as an intermediary to meet my sister whom they assumed to be as pretty as I was.

But Robert had far more class than that. He talked to me as though I were his equal and never once pretended that our increasingly long conversations had anything to do with my sister. Before I knew it, I found myself getting irritated with all the other boys who ingratiated themselves into my space with their mock pretense at getting to my sister. I mean, who were they fooling? My sister was in a totally different school, at least 30 miles away and what were these boys doing touching me all over if their real interest was in my sister? Now, don’t get me wrong, the attention of all those boys (and believe me there were more boys vying for my attention when I was in Senior One than I could get my head around) had mostly been flattering. And, truth be told, too, I didn’t mind being touched up on behalf of “my sister.”

But all that changed when Robert took an interest in me. Suddenly, the questions from other boys about my sister became an irritant and I stopped seeing the fun of being petted like a puppy and being held in tight squeezes by the boys with straining erections, and who always made it a point to try and monopolize me during the ‘bull’ dances that happened in our dormitory after lights out. Interestingly, Robert never once joined in the ‘bull’ dances and that is what made my increasing yearning for him to join in all the more bewildering for me. Why did I feel that he was the only one I wanted to dance with when they were all these boys (the bird in hand) who regularly ‘squeezed’ me and allowed me to touch them liberally anywhere up to and including guiding my hand to their throbbing dicks – something I came to do readily and willingly?

Within what must have been a period of about three months, I was spending more time with Robert than with my own peers; after class, when he came back from playing football (soccer), after supper, before lights out and after lights out. He, however, never once touched me up in any sexual way (it was the other grubby boys who did) and never attempted more than to just … talk. But we held hands a lot as we talked.

Sitting on the bed beside him, his football cleats stank and his football socks clearly needed washing. But dirty football cleats and smelly socks had never smelled so good in my life. The truth is that I even adored the stench of Robert’s dirty soccer gear.


And then one night, after lights out, he kissed me. Here, too, I don’t know how it came about, but one moment we were holding hands and talking absentmindedly as we always did, and the next our lips were locked together. My world literally came to a standstill. I was transported into at least three stratospheres with ecstasy. It would be an understatement to say that, in that moment, I lost all my senses. Eventually, somehow, I managed to extricate myself from what seemed like an eternal lip-lock, and breathlessly but, strangely, calmly bade Robert goodnight and staggered to my bed. To this day, I have no idea how I got there or how I managed to climb the double decker. I don’t recall whether I slept that night or not but it is safe to say that my life was turned inside out with that kiss.

I had never been kissed by nor kissed anyone like that before; the gentleness, the passion, the naturalness of it was dizzying. That kiss remains to this day as vivid as though it were yesterday and I still find myself asking myself whether I have really ever felt as I did when Robert kissed me. Call it a childish crush but that was the first time that I actually felt like I was walking on cloud nine.

The following day, life carried on as usual. I met Robert on the way to class, we exchanged a cursory nod – like nothing had happened between us the night before – and went about our separate schools days. That night, we found ourselves on the same bed, holding hands and … yes we kissed again. It was then that it finally hit me that the first time had not been a dream after all. The second time was as intoxicating as the first and, again, I kind of tottered back to my bed in a daze. The questions as to whether this was really right were swirling in my mind of course, but what I felt was simply too good, too real for me to be bothered by the morality or correctness of what I was sharing with Robert. And the sharing went on for the rest of the term, with me staying up later and later, night after night, talking and kissing with what had now become the epicenter of my life. I was irretrievably, hopelessly in love.

One or two of my friends eventually raised it with me that Robert was kissing me after lights out and I just laughed it off. The truth is that I didn’t care what they thought or said; I was so completely, madly, in love with Robert that anything anyone said would have been water off a duck’s back. In retrospect, it is impossible that most of the other boys didn’t know what was going on. Our shenanigans went on in a open-plan dormitory, albeit with the lights off. When we stared into each others eyes, time stood still, and this happened often in broad daylight. It is inconceivable that the other boys didn’t notice this. I guess we were simply too besotted with each other to care. I think that the reason why our blatant goings on didn’t raise open gossip was that Robert was a sportsman of some renown in the school. His sports prowess gave him a ‘celebrity’ status that stopped boys who surely knew what was happening from running their mouths openly about it. Robert was too important an athlete, and also too nice a person, so no one really dared embarrass him by blabbering about his nonacademic activities with a younger boy.

Our affair spilled over into the mid-year holidays. I returned home for the holidays but not before we exchanged postal addresses. To me, Robert had the most beautiful handwriting I had ever seen next to God’s. I lived desperately for his love letters. And they came like clockwork, I think weekly. I devoured every beautifully crafted word and would read the sign off ” I love you” at least five hundred times. My letters were no doubt as deep and involved but it is not for me to describe them. Suffice to say that by this time I was a total emotional wreck over Robert.

We returned for the third and final term of that year. Robert had to read for the exams that would determine where he went for his high school. Our affair continued throughout that entire term and through his exams. As if sensing that time was running out, our kissing sessions became more frantic and our conversations took on added intensity.

Robert was a star student and, of course, he did well enough in his exams to qualify to return to the same school for his high school. Over the Christmas holidays, though, our letters became less intense and and frequent. By the time I returned for my next class in the new year, I had grown a litlte more of course. Robert returned a couple of months later as a high school student and he was now resident in the high school dormitory. We bumped into each other about two days after he returned to school, exchanged greetings and carried on. No words were needed for either of us to know that it was over. Interestingly, I wasn’t devastated or anything like that. Robert had shown me the best life of my young life and I couldn’t find it in me to see him as anything other than my first hero.

Of course I moved on to other conquests but none of the ‘affairs’ that happened thereafter (mostly with boys my age) reached the same level of intensity or wanton abandon. I guess I was older, less glassy eyed and therefore more guarded. Chances are, though, that it was a question of the first cut being the deepest.

As in Abba’s Our Last Summer, I gather that Robert is now working in a bank, a family man and a sports fan. How dull it seems … yet he still is the hero of my youthful dreams.

I can still recall, our first kiss, I can see it all …

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At last … I Am Getting Married!!!

David Catania has introduced the bill that would legalize gay marriage in the District of Columbia (DC). The DC Council is in favor of the bill by 10-3 and the mayor has said he will sign the bill. That means that, come January, I should be able to marry the man who will have me.

Hallelujah! Now I have to think about what to wear. Everyone tells me that I looked drop-dead gorgeous in white at the White Party last July so I likely will wear white. Of course that means that I have to be revirginized but that can be taken care of by a quick visit to my bottomist.


Then I have to decide what I want the wedding reception to look like, who should be in the bridal entourage [two friends have already asked and they have been accepted] and what kind of champagne to serve. Can anyone advise beyond Veuve Clicquot and Bolinger? AfroGay won’t serve cheap champagne – something to do with maintaining a certain image and ensuring that my guests don’t wake up with splitting headaches the next morning – so please suggest champagnes that are of equal quality to or better quality than Veuve/Boli. Nothing less will do.

When all the arrangements are made, venues booked and outfits delivered [no, my bridal party needn't wear matching outfits, and they certainly don't have to have local sewing machine stuff], I shall then have to find a man to get married to. Ever the eternal optimist. Aiyee!

Unless the earth moves from its axis, DC will join Massachusetts, Ohio, Connecticut and Vermont in legalizing gay marriage. And, trust me, the earth will not move off its axis any time soon. So my wedding plans can go ahead without worry that they will be derailed by a supernatural occurrence.

DC has a population of about 500,000 souls. Of those half million, anywhere up to 10% are gay. Surely AfroGay cannot fail to find a man to marry with such a high number of potential suitors.

Yes, yes, yes. You will get your invite in the mail or couriered to you vial DHL and FedEx. So, please don’t lobby or try to bribe my wedding planners. That may lead to your being invited only to the viewing of the wedding photos online. And we don’t want to ruin my big day with bitchy barricades, tarty tantrums and hissy fits, do we?

Precisely.
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I Am Gay … and I Have No Idea How to Come Out

The following letter in the Washington Post from a gay teenager could have been from anyone, teenager or older, and could certainly have been written by an African gay teenager. . I think it sums up every gay man’s dilemma as they go about coming to terms with their sexuality and determining how to reconcile their homosexuality with family and social expectations. I feel that Amy’s response is absolutely spot on, too.

Read on:

DEAR AMY: I’m a gay teenage guy, and I have no idea how to come out. My family is more liberal than most, but I can’t even begin to gauge their reaction. I know they’re comfortable with gay rights, but how do I know if they’ll be comfortable with my being gay? I’m not sure about my friends either — we never really discuss “serious” issues with each other, so how do I bring it up? With Facebook and e-mail taking over, should I tell them in person? And I have no clue what to do about the relatives and friends I don’t see every day — do I call? E-mail? Tell them over the holidays? … I might be able to bring myself to do it then, but it’s tough to do when I can’t tell how anybody will react. — Nervous

And the following is Amy’s response:


DEAR NERVOUS: … I don’t like is the pressure it might put on you to come out on a specific day. Coming out is a process that doesn’t follow neat guidelines or timetables. Start the process by talking with the person in your life whom you deem most likely to be supportive. If you have any “out” gay friends or relatives, they might share their experience and offer advice. As you and your friends mature, you will all wrestle with questions of relationships and sexuality (and a lot of other things). Please do not make important personal disclosures on Facebook. Tell whomever you want to tell personally. You can rarely anticipate and can never control how another person reacts to any particular thing. But this will go best if you present it as a fact of your life. If people have a problem with your sexuality, then they’ll need to do the work required to come to terms with it. …

The Supakoja (agony uncle) in me couldn’t really come up with a better answer than this and I have to applaud Amy for her thoughtful response. Obviously, such a subject is almost impossible to broach in our African settings where sex and sexuality are rarely, if ever, discussed. I am sure most of my relatives know I am gay (well, the Red Pepper made sure that those who didn’t were brought up to speed) but I have never really sat down with any close relatives to discuss my sexuality; they know what they know and that is all there is to it. In my mind there is nothing to discuss. That said, they must have questions that I know they dare not ask, but perhaps which would clear the muddy waters if they were asked.

I am going to pass Amy’s advice around to see what others think. Could she have given better advice than she did?
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Why is Nigeria absent from Adam4adam (A4A)? 3

Why doesn’t Nigeria feature on Adam4adam (A4A)?

You have small countries such as Benin on A4A but Nigeria, with a population of more than 100 million is noticeably missing. Perhaps there are really no gay men in Nigeria as one Nigerian minister once claimed, I thought to myself. So, I decided to go to the source for answers.
I wrote to A4A and asked them why Nigeria didn’t feature on their dating site. I got no response.
You know what they say about curiosity; it killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back. I became even more curious and asked everyone I could for a possible reason. Though most people I spoke with hadn’t noticed (A4A is mostly an American dating site, popularised mostly by black men), the consensus of those who gave it thought seemed to be that A4A has decided that the reputation of Nigerians as the most crooked people in the world may have played a part in A4A’s decision to excise that country off its dating map.
Hm … I thought to myself. It kind of figures. Let’s face it; the track record that Nigerians have earned as 409 charlatans and scam-artists is well deserved. Only recently a friend who visited that country told me a telling tale about her hotel stay. She was in Lagos for a three-day conference and was booked into a reputable four star marquee hotel that shall remain nameless.

On the morning after she checked in, the hotel management sent voicemail to the guests, giving them the dreadful news that there was a water outage. The situation would be solved if each guest coughed up about $20-$30 dollars to pay for a water delivery truck. Obviously, everyone went downstairs to the lobbby and promptly paid up. About 20 minutes later a water truck pulled up and headed for the back of the hotel, ostensibly to replenish the water tanks. Within no time, the water was back on tap flowing in every room and the guests went about their bathroom business, happy and contented. It didn’t seem to occur to any guest that it was odd that just one water truck was able to fill the water tanks to a 200+ room hotel in just one trip. But my friend, being Ugandan, and knowing a thing or two about life’s scams, noticed and kept her ears open.

Yes, you guessed it. The manager was the owner of the water truck. And, yes, the hotel water hadn’t run out; the manager had turned it off, fleeced the unsuspecting guests of their money and turned it back on.
Of course it is unfair to suggest that all Nigerians are scam artists, but in the absence of a nationwide poll of that country to determine the complete picture, what has any observer got but the pervasive stories of crookedness to base a judgment upon? After all, don’t we all consciously and [mostly] subconsciously judge others based on broad stereotypes? The English even have a saying for this: one bad apple spoils the barrel. Isn’t that an explicit acknowledgment that stereotyping is mother’s milk to mankind?
AfroGay has no evidence one way or the other but the street smart wisdom suggests that Adam4Adam has excised Nigeria off the face of its gay map because it is wary of Nigerian charlatans using that dating site for their scams. And we all know that when the sex johns hit you, there is nothing you can do about it. Nigerians (and West Africans in general) are famed for their humongous dicks. Even in the West, most men on these dating sites are using fake pictures, usually purloined from Jamaica [where dicks are really, really big] and/or Photoshop enhanced. Imagine what the Nigerian scammers would get up to once they realized that they could take naive Western men for a ride simply by taking pictures of their real dicks and posting them on online? Obviously, it would be open season.
But, as always, perhaps AfroGay is reading too much into Nigeria’s absence from America’s most eminent black gay dating site. Still, since Ada4Adam didn’t respond to my request for answers, I can allow myself the luxury of letting my mind wander.
Related reading

Twinks? 2

Gay Nairobi Man reacted to my jail fantasy by mentioning his preference and gave me food for thought. I have heard the word “twink” bandied about all over the place but have never really given much thought as to what it really means.

So, I went digging. The ‘twink’ images I have dug up leave me thinking that “twink’ refers to young, fresh and pretty-faced, barely out of one’s teens and with hardly any flesh on one’s bones. GNM … perhaps you can help me out here because it is possible my impression is far off. Anyhow, here are some of the pictures I dug up of what I am assuming to be “twinks.” None of them are my type (GNM was right about my taste some time back) of course but this is not what this is about:

GNM please correct me if I got some (or all) of them wrong. Are any of the following twinks?


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Homosexuality blamed for HIV/Aids spread in prisons 2

Speaking of thuggish jail types, I have a suggestion for Uganda’s incompetent government; make me Chief Inspector of Prisons.

A while back I suggested an indisputably sensible solution to the alarming (but seemingly inevitable) spread of Aids/HIV in Uganda’s jails; issue condoms to prisoners. Needless to say, the prison authorities were not listening. And so they are now back, in talking-shop conferences, waxing lyrical about an issue to which AfroGay presented an obvious solution ages ago.

Psst!

Money quote that proves that I am right:

Coerced or not, it is a fact of life that homosexual activity is rife in jails. How could it not be? It is thus obvious that condoms should be supplied in order to prevent the men who are incarcerated from catching chronic diseases and passing them on to their innocent partners when they are eventually released. That Uganda’s prisons chief is talking about this same subject, barely ten months after he admitted that homosexual activity is par for the course in jails surely confirms that it is well past time to act. And apart from distributing condoms to prisoners, what else can the authorities do to check the transmission of sexually transmitted diseases in jail? They have no practical way of preventing homo-sodomy from happening, do they?

Does this really require divine intervention to figure out that the solution is condoms?

Psst!

Related reading:

1. Aids Rocks Uganda’s Prisons

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AfroGay’s Jail Fantasies 5

Let’s face it … it is many a gay man’s fantasy.

Being locked up in an all-man jail with limitless thuggish criminal elements with nothing to lose except a lot of pent up sexual energy and man juices. Who hasn’t dreamt about that, gone all soft at the knees at the grity jail images of muscle, washboard abs, pulsating dicks and libidinous swagger? Only a liar would say that the jailhouse fantasy doesn’t appeal to him. And AfroGay will not be one of those liars.

Below are some of the jail types Afrogay dreams of being locked up with in no particular order of preference …

With such an ungodly supply of thuggish types and bolts, AfroGay would happily be locked up for life. Ooh, la, la.


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Coming Out in Middle School 3

When and how did you know that you are gay?

Benoit Denizet-Lewis’ article in the New York Post Magazine is a trifle disconcerting … bewildering … and ultimately a source of hope. But that is my view. It is best left to readers to make what they will of the article.

In a nutshell, it is about youngsters, some as young as 11 coming out and openly declaring themselves to be gay, lesbian or bisexual. In an African context, that is the equivalent of a primary six student announcing to his class that he or she is gay, lesbian or bisexual. Phew!

Money quote:

As I indicated when I plotted my own personal story, about 10 months ago, I knew I was gay when I was nine years old and actually experimented with my gay feelings at around the same time. But I didn’t really engage in active gay sex until some years later – when my feelings had coalesced and there was no longer any adolescent confusion in my mind. In the interim, I always knew I was different and yearned to follow my feelings. Alas, the repressive sexual climate I grew up in didn’t offer up that chance, but neither did it do so for my straight peers, a number of whom dabbled in gay experimentation with me and others all throughout our high school years.

But some of the kids in Benoit Denizet-Lewis’ story show astonishing confidence and clarity of thought that can ultimately only be a good thing. Please follow the link and read up on this story if you do nothing else. It is eye opening … and AfroGay would like to predict that is a precursor of what is to come – as more and communities open up to matters of sex and sexuality – yes, even in seemingly closed-minded sub-Saharan Africa.

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Hoima Businessman Charged With Sodomy

Yet another hysterical pedophile homo-sodomy story comes out of Uganda where an individual is tried and convicted of sodomy before he is brought to trial. These disgraceful goings on are made all the more distressing to read when one looks back and finds that NONE of the recent high profile accusations of sodomy in Uganda has resulted in a single court case. But the accused have all had their lives turned upside down.

Sickening money quote:

“If the medical reports indicate penetration, we shall charge him with sodomy and produce him in court, if the tests [indicate] normal, we shall charge him with attempted sodomy,” Ganyana said.

Ganyana [the police spokesman] has already decided this case. The man in question has been accused of sodomy. Thus, if the tests show no signs of sodomy, he has no case to answer. But that would be proper justice and Ganyana seems uninterested in that.

The mockery of the law is as shocking as it is shameful.

Related Reading:

1. Police clears coach Ayiekoh of sodomy allegations

2. Aldrine Nsubuga makes an unmarketable argument

3. Police get Kayanja off the hook

3. Father Musaala named homosexual
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What Is Good Sex? 7

A gay PYT asked me this question recently and it occurred to me that this is a difficult one to answer. We are all wired differently and even our wiring can change over time, meaning that our sexual tastes can evolve, regress, progress etc. In matters of sex, it is absolutely possible to teach an old dog new tricks with phenomenal results. So, there is no simple answer to what good sex is.

What I think one can peg down a little more easily is ‘bad sex” and so it is likely best to answer what good sex is by focusing on what makes for bad sex.

1. The wilting willy:

It is obviously bad sex if the engine constantly conks out and you have to work desperately with hand, mouth and Lord knows what else to get it going again. Trust me, when a man is ready, he is ready. There is no need for prayers or turning tricks to rev the engine of a man who is into you. So, if your man’s engine takes hard work to start, ask yourself whether he is really into you. If it wilts at crucial moments during the sex act, his mind is not where it is supposed to be. If it goes flaccid due to physical circumstances that have nothing to do with you, that is sad but you are still not going to get good sex -which is what sex should be; good.

If getting him hard seems to you like far too much hard work, it is. There is something that is not right with that sexual relationship if your man only struggles to half mast, and it is best to try and figure out what the problem is and fix it … if indeed it is fixable.

2. Premature arrival:

I am sure you have experienced it (and if you haven’t, hope that you don’t) … you get all worked up, the juices are flowing, the hands are all over each other and then, within seconds…. aiyee! The premature cum can be pegged down to excessive excitement and once the high octane heat is emitted, things can get elongated and very exciting. The premature ejaculation thus doesn’t worry AfroGay as much as the wilting willy. Better to have someone who is too into you (and can’t control his excitement) than one who isn’t (and can’t get it up without a hope and prayer). The former can be fixed with skillful tricks, but the latter offers … just a limp dick.

3. The pain tripper

Pulls (no, yanks) your nipples, bites your bits hard, very hard; pistol-shot slaps you with abandon, holds you in vice-like arm locks, chokes you, gouges your eyes out … If you are not into that sort of S&M thing, the sex is a very painful experience, and thus not fun at all.

4. The funky groin/crotch

No matter how good a man looks, if there is a funky smell coming from down there when the underwear comes off (eeergh!) it is off-putting. This is of course specially pertinent with our uncut brothers. Should you smell something awful, and find that you are in a situation where a nice supply of soap and water are not handy, put your clothes back on and bolt for the exit. Nothing good is going to come of that encounter if your partner’s dick and/or crotch smells foul. Imagine going down to give him head when you have already smelled his stale fish funk. Yuk!

5. The Saliva Factory

No matter how some men try, they can’t help slurping over their kissing! Kissing is supposed to be nice, sensual and very affirming of love-making. That means saliva has to be kept to a minimum. You don’t want a man who slobbers all over your mouth, you just don’t. And of course saliva cools once it leaves the mouth so it is vital that your man is not oozing excessive mouth fluids onto your body during the sex act. It is a real downer. I won’t even mention the funky breath (pass the sick bucket).

6. The kinky (dirty) talker

Yes, yes, yes, AfroGay knows that some men, especially in the Western world, like to verbalize their sexual feelings in real time. AfroGay, however, thinks that turning the sex act into a talkathon is as affected as it is un-African. We know we are loved, liked, appreciated by feeling or experiencing what others do for us and to us.. Africans don’t talk about love or feelings; they just show them. And that is how we are used to it once the bedroom door closes. Verbalizing how one is feeling at every touch, stroke, thrust doesn’t make for a convincing experience for most of us. Most Africans will thus understand it when Miranda from Sex and the City says that during sex “is one of the few instances … where it is perfectly appropriate — if not preferable — to shut up.”

In fact, manly grunts and ecstatic sighs excepted, a sexual act that has hardly any articulate sound emanating from either partner can make for the most intense and mind-blowing sex. On the whole, AfroGay feels that verbal diarrhea during sex is contrived and is best left for commercial sex workers.

7. Jack rabbit sex

I don’t know if you have seen that scene in Sex and the City with Carrie and the guy she picks up the night before Charlotte’s wedding. He bangs her so frenziedly during sex that the bed posts rattle and the walls shake … while all the while she is hanging on for grim, painful, death. Little wonder that she can hardly walk the morning after.

Gentlemen … sex is supposed to be a body conversation between the partners. Listen to your partner’s body if nothing else. First of all, understand that the butt wasn’t designed to take anything bigger than an enema probe. Inserting anything larger in there thus has to be a work of art.If he wants it gently, you will sense it. When he is ready to be pummeled like there is no tomorrow, his body and/or verbal language will guide you to it. As a rule of thumb, think more in terms of starting with a legato (smooth, even) water or oil drilling and then work your way to the staccato (rapid fire) sewing machine feed dog crescendo if at all your partner’s body tells you that it is okay to go there.

Don’t assume that sex is about tearing into someone and pounding away as though your masculinity depends on it. That sort of thing might look impressive in porn movies but, trust me, not many men like to be treated like a mortar. If a man cannot walk on account of pain incurred during a bout of hard pummeling, the sex was one-sided. If the bodies and minds meet, there is no reason why either partner shouldn’t be able to walk normally after the deed. The only reason why walking should be a problem is if either of you is still giddy with the sexual after-glow, NOT PAIN!

8. The Mercy or ‘Why Not?’Fuck

You are not feeling particularly horny. Or you don’t really like the guy that much. But you still agree to go home with him despite your better judgement. Bad move. The sex will be bland at best and you will feel cheap and dirty afterwards. Chances are you are also likely to struggle with the problem at number 1 if you allow yourself to have sex for the sake of it. Hold out for when you really want to get laid. That way, even if the sex doesn’t live up to your expectations, you can still work yourself into a good ejaculation.

When all is said and done, there are no hard and fast rules about what makes for great sex so it is a highly subjective matter. But if you both can’t wait to do it again, that is the best indication that the sex was/is good.

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