But it's fair to say you will still haunt me.

writingsforwinter:

I want to tell you something about sex. It is not about lust or passion or the heat of the moment. It’s about tenderness and desire. You’re inside someone else’s skin. Do you understand that? You are exploring a part of them no one else has ever dared to touch. I want you to take a flashlight and a knapsack, and a water bottle too, because you’re going to be down there a long time. You need to use this time to discover. Maybe you’ll be gone for a few minutes; maybe you’ll be gone for a few hours or even days. It doesn’t matter. What you choose to do with that time is your business, but I want you to cherish every moment of it.

Human beings are inherently secretive. We’re private. We’re locked-up. You have to accept that. Not everyone wants to let someone else in. So respect that. You have to. You have to. But maybe one day someone will come along and they’ll let you kiss the backs of their knees; you’ll wrap your legs around them and slide your palms down their back. Be tender and slow. Don’t let this hurt them.  But I want you to know that you will feel it, the moment they want to let you in. Take the key and unlock the door, softly. Don’t make too much noise as you enter. Don’t leave muddy footprints or dead leaves on the carpet. Open the curtains and windows to let the light in.

Maybe the two of you will start out slow. And that’s alright. It’s alright. Be as delicate as a sparrow and as tender as a dove.

But remember-under no circumstances, under absolutely none, are you allowed to have sex with a person without their permission. That is the one rule you can never break. But listen to me: if you do all of this right, if you love the person you’re with and touch them like they’re made of glass, you’ve made it.

You’ve made it.