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I was discussing "love making" with my boyfriend recently. I must have said something too brash because this disgruntled look shot across his face- "Have we ever made love?"
He just chuckled it off, and I went to elaborate, but it felt useless.
For someone who has had a man, or men in some cases, force themselves on you- sex is just different. I don't get the butterflies in my belly and eyes welling with "omg ily" tears. No. Sex to me is trying with all my might to prove I'm worth more than just an hour and the "let's just be friends" talk. I don't know who I'm trying to prove it to, them or me, but puppy love is not how I'd describe my emotional state typically. I do get the adrenaline rush from time to time when I've somehow ended up with a smokin hot hottie or an absurdly intelligent guy. But it's short lived and I try to detach quickly to avoid being hurt again.
I sat here this morning pondering what it would take for me to consider a sexual encounter an act of love... and I'm not sure anything sexual will ever fit the description.
If you want to "make love" to me, make me promises and don't break them. Look me deep in my soul and tell me that you won't leave; seal it with a forehead kiss and quick tuck of my hair behind my ear. Plan a roadtrip or outting where it's not an inconvenience if I can't find a babysitter, because my child should never be seen as such.
There are many ways to make love to me... it's just a matter of if that's what you really want.