Dating : Spice It Up

Do we need to spice up our sex life more, do you think?

He’s pumping slow, rhythmic.

He’s not close to coming yet. He’s been working on how to control it, when he cums.

It’s an esoteric, sex magick kind of thing. Magick with a “k.” He’s like that — super into how the mind and body work together, become one, become something he can manipulate in sync.

That’s why he meditates on a hard purple cushion in the corner of our guest room, his office, every morning. Even Sundays, when I’m still in bed, swiping through my phone.

That’s why he runs two miles every weekday, or more. He does it after he meditates, while he’s still in that Zen mode.

He stands up real quiet and carefully places the cushion back under the bottom of the bookcase. He pulls his running shoes from the jumble of sneakers and clogs next to front door — my fault, I just sling my shoes anywhere when I come home, step on the backs even — and laces them tight.

And he runs, for two or three or four miles. I’m still in the bathroom, putting in my contacts, picking black crusty sleep from my lower lashes, pulling on my robe, making for the kitchen to start the coffee.

There’s a steaming mug waiting for him when he gets back.

He drinks it standing up, chest heaving under his sweat-stained shirt. He takes in alternating gulps of liquid and heaves of air. It takes him less than a minue to finish his coffee, then he joins me in the shower. Every morning.