It Sunday afternoon and you have nowhere to be but here, in bed. Your phone is off and you have carefully ensured that there are zero commitments. The sunlight heats your bare legs and every so often, a soft breeze pushes the curtains in and out, as if they were taking slow, deep breaths. You feel the air drift across your body and you lie still, able to concentrate on details, like the strand of hair on a pillow, the slightly raised mole on his lower neck or the smell of lemon mixed with sweat that makes you want to lick the sheets. Outside, you can hear the neighbours raking leaves and the occasional gear shift of a bicycle riding by.

Yes, this is the perfect time to have anal sex.

Slow, methodical, clean and satisfying: This Sunday was made for moaning. Anal is particular and deserves a proper allotment of time. You first have to understand your body, if you’ve had three cups of coffee with brunch, and haven’t hit the bathroom, then it’s not time. It is also not advised to get fucked up the ass when you are drunk. You want to feel in control of your body, comfortable to communicate and confident that you can take it, otherwise, you’ll just worry. Or worse.

As someone who deeply enjoys anal sex, but rarely finds the occasion, I knew that this past Sunday was perfect. We started off with quiet oral and then first progressed to regular fucking. I can’t do up the bum for more than 10 minutes, so I need to ensure he’s at a certain point before we go there.

Some missionary with eye contact,  doggy style into the mirror and then when we were both close to orgasm, so I told him to stick it in. Slowly. S-l-o-w-l-y at first. While he did that, I rubbed my clit and MY GOD does that combo ever feel good. Fuccck. When I started to feel comfortably in a groove, we went harder and deeper, then a frantic conversation ensued:

“FUCK, that feels good. Are you going to cum soon?”
“I think so. Ahhhhh.”
“Ahhh, me too. FUCK yeah!”
“Ahhh. FUCK.”
“Sorry. I’m commiing.”
“Oh fuck. Yeah, commmmee in me. Ohhhh, ohhh, fuuuuuuuuuuck.”

The dialogue isn’t terribly original, but it doesn’t have to be.

I always feel sort of accomplished when I finish smoothly – no yelps, panics or runs to la toilette – just some seriously feel good ass fucking to get you ready for the work week. It’s a release all right! Blissful and relaxed, we went to yoga class later that eve and finished the night off with a slow bike ride around the neighbourhood. Monday has never felt better. Fuck, yeah.