He stopped mid-stroke to push my hair back and said “I want to look at you” and I am never recovering… I've been hòoking up with this guy for about two months and it's been good. Like objectively physically good. He knows where my clìt is (revolutionary for a twenty-year-old, I know), he doesn't skip foreplay, he asks if I'm okay during, he does the dishes after if we ordered food before. By all metrics it's been working. But it's been fast. Lights off, face in the pillow, get there get there get there, collapse, breathe, done. Which is fine. I like fast. I like rough. I'm not complaining. What I was not prepared for was last night. We were on my bed and he was inside me, missionary, which we don't do often because it's intimate in a way we've been avoiding by doing everything from behind or with me on top facing away. But my room is small and we started against the wall and ended up on the bed and he was on top and my legs were around his waist and he was moving in me slow, like actually slow, not the usual pounding, and I could feel every inch of him, the ridge, the way he curved slightly upward, the way he filled me up and pulled back and each thrust felt like it lasted ten seconds.