There’s a contented sort of lovemaking that is less an expression of desire and more an expression of….something else. Its hard to find the word. Its a sort of bodily plenitude. As if your body is so replete with ease in the nakedness of your partner’s body. And that plenitude spills out as lovemaking. Almost incidentally.
Incidental sex. Sounds discourteous, no?
But its not. Bodies that are so at ease with each other open themselves to an unusual tranquility in lovemaking. Their leisureliness brings the rim of the soul into view.
Words are unnecessary. No “I want” or “Harder” or “Turn around”.
Breathing is smoother and movements are more measured than normal, choreographing the body into cellular peace.
Arousal shrugs its way into orgasm, reluctant to disrupt its own placated rhythm.
I slid peacefully from arched spine to slumped-on-his-chest, to heavy eyelids, to sated sleep.