I used to think I was fine the way I was.

For years, sex was just sex. No feelings. No expectations. I wanted it, I got it, and I moved on. I did this with random guys. I knew how to enjoy my body without getting attached. It worked for me. Or at least, I thought it did.

Then there was him.

We had been dating for months. Proper dating. Dates, calls, random check-ins, laughter. He didn’t rush me. He didn’t try to own me. He just stayed. And somehow, I agreed to be with him.

That night, I was at his place for our usual movie night. We were on the couch, legs tangled, popcorn on the table, some random Netflix movie playing. Nothing special. Just us.

Halfway through the movie, I don’t know what came over me. I shifted closer and slid my hand toward his trousers, slow and playful. He laughed immediately and caught my wrist.

“Cassy, what are you doing?” he said, smiling. “We are halfway through the movie.”

“I know,” I replied, not moving my hand away.

He raised his eyebrow. “So, you want us to abandon the movie?”

“Maybe,” I said softly. “Or maybe you want to stop me.”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, his hand slipped into my own trousers. I gasped without thinking. My body reacted before my brain could catch up.

“You’re not fair,” I whispered.

“You started it,” he said, his voice low now, serious in a way that made my stomach tighten.

The movie kept playing, but we weren’t watching anymore.

What happened next didn’t feel rushed or careless. It was intense, deep, overwhelming in the best way, on that same couch. My body felt awake in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Afterwards, we were snuggled up together, my head on his chest, his arm around me. The room was quiet except for our breathing and the movie still playing in the background.

“That was… a lot,” I said.

He laughed softly. “In a good way.”

Then he went quiet for a bit. I felt his chest rise and fall under my cheek.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

I nodded.

“What does sex mean to you?”

That question caught me off guard.

I lifted my head and looked at him. Nobody had ever asked me that before. Ever.

I thought about it for a moment. About all the nights that meant nothing. About how sex had always been easy for me, but talking about it never was.

“I think… I use sex to feel close without being vulnerable,” I said slowly. “It’s easier than talking. Easier than explaining myself.”

He nodded like he understood. “I don’t want sex to be the only way we connect,” he said. “I want us to talk too. What we like. What we don’t. When we’re not in the mood. When something feels off.”

That was the important thing. Communication. Not just bodies meeting, but honesty meeting too.

“I don’t want to feel pressured,” I said. “And I don’t want you to assume anything just because we’re together.”

“I won’t,” he said. “And you should always feel free to say no. Or say what you want.”

I rested my head back on his chest, feeling something warm settle inside me.

For the first time, sex wasn’t just about satisfying an urge.

It was part of something real.

And for once, I didn’t feel like running.

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