A Night of Passion That Challenged My Sense of Self
..it was wonderful, I'm a little shocked at myself and just a little conflicted. I'm an urban professional female in my late 20s, unmarried and otherwise unattached. I've been in a few long-term relationships (one of which recently ended), and have never had any scandalous affairs--that I know of. Socially liberal but fairly conservative in my own (love) life. Lifelong atheist who believes in karma and doing the right thing in the here and now. I can pass for one of the cool, extroverted kids and can play the part of the saucy, life-of-the-party character when I have to but would much rather be out with a few close friends or curled up with a book or pursuing one of my many geeky interests. I've got a mad thing for electronic engineers and other science-y guys. Sex for me has always been an expression of lust and love for a person I have a relationship with and care deeply about. Until now. The other night I went home with a friend of a friend I had met only hours before. He was a witty, charming, intelligent and utterly beautiful (head to toe, ahaha) man with a devastating accent also living in the city. I tried to play aloof at first, but we had an instant connection. I knew what was happening every step of the way. It was safe. He was tender and respectful. I felt worshipped, sexy, desired, wonderful. I knew we would part ways--frankly, I wouldn't know what to do if he were to find me and ask me out again. It's days later and I still grin and blush at flashbacks of the night and my colleages have noticed a significant spring in my step. Needless to say, I loved it. The experience has opened my mind--it was akin to being moved by a piece of great literature, a breathtaking landscape, a bite of heavenly cheese, only it was... sex. I gave in to lust and sex and seduction freely, like a single man more commonly might. (Certainly not all men, of course!) It's been a rite of passage I didn't ever think applied to me. I've always been a "good girl" but I don't know what that means anymore. I'm absolutely glad it happened and will cherish the memory, and I also recognize this as something I probably don't need to do again. Probably. Not to overthink this delicious plate of beans, but I'm feeling a little guilty for not feeling guilty, if that makes sense. And I'm not intentionally being secretive, but I haven't been able to tell my friends just yet. ("Guess what happened this weekend...") I'm not sure what I would say. I'm not sure they'd understand. Actually, I think they would. Do you? I'm not really looking to figure out if I'm a late-bloomer, a jezebel, a prude. And I'm not bragging, I promise! The question that's been lurking in my mind is this: Dishing to friends is one thing, but if you were my future life partner, would you like to (vaguely) know about such an experience or would you rather not know? Would it be wrong or reckless to want to share a toned down version of this? Would it be wrong if I wanted to keep it to myself as my own happy secret?