Best sex is no-sex

The best sex is no sex. No really! Don’t stop reading; you have to follow me here. This isn’t some advertisement for anti-sex activists (please don’t tell me there is such a thing) just hear me out. You know how much I love sex. I love sex in many, many forms. But have you ever thought about just how erotic NOT having sex could be? Imagine…..

A couple starts a hot steamy love affair. They meet weekly at the hideaway hotel, pulling up the driveway in separate cars, racing to beat the other to the door; their clothes have barely hit the floor as the door closes behind them. It’s forbidden, this meeting. They cannot commit but to this once-a-week rendezvous. This is all they think of during the week, how many more sleeps ‘till Tuesday. They wake up with the thought of the other, memories flashing back to the shower they shared, a quick wash up before heading home to their separate lives when their passion takes over and yet another interlude takes place. Water showering them as they thrust their soapy bodies against one another. They have no time, they know they must leave but cannot find it in them to separate. Just once more…

This goes on for a month or two. They play it casual when their paths cross outside of Tuesday nights. There’s a look from the corner of his eye, a smile from the corner of her mouth. They cave to the temptation of kissing as they pass in the hallway during a retirement party for a co-worker. It’s oh so forbidden. They sit in the boardroom and listen as presentations are being made. One foot crosses over to his and she rubs his leg with her toes. Their eyes meet, they can’t wait for Tuesday.

Something happens, something that brings her to end their Tuesday nights. He is devastated; it hurts her even more so. She lusts for him, her desire is unbearable yet it must not be. It can not be. And it hurts. He wants her. He needs her. He tries to reassure her. She wants to say yes, she wants him to say they will be okay but she knows otherwise. It just cannot be. She dreams of their first time, his kiss so intoxicating. She closes her eyes and sees him, looking down at him as he takes hold of her face telling her he needs to look at her. She watches him as he cums. This is what she sees when she goes to bed at night. He lays there and thinks of the very same things. They connected in a way that neither had shared with anyone else. It was so damn good, yet so damn wrong. But it felt so damn right.

They meet in the lunch room and it is hard. Hard not to see the look from the corner of his eye. Hard not to see the smile from the corner of her mouth. Hard not to brush against one another as they pass in the hallway. He calls her in the night; she rolls over to answer the phone. His voice makes her smile. He says all the right things she doesn’t want to hear. But she is glad he says them. She wants him too, she says. She misses him too, she says. And there they are, both undressed and finding themselves reliving their most sacred Tuesday nights. She hangs up and wishes it could be. He hangs up and says it must be.

And so they find themselves one day, alone with a few moments to pass. There is nothing to be said but that one kiss they shared that said it all. It said “I want you”, “No, it just can’t be”. It said “I need to feel you, naked with me” and it said “You can dream of being naked with me” and it said “We will never be done” and at last, “No, it never will be”. But that kiss, that kiss they share during brief forbidden moments alone are the most intense and erotic kisses she has ever known. They never know when their next moment will be so they hold on to each as though it were to be their last. Every touch, every glance, every smile and every kiss, they hold onto as though it were their last.

And he tries, every moment they have alone. He uses his eyes to seduce her, the touch of his hand on her shoulder to comfort her, the warmth of his breath on her neck to arouse her. She grabs his cock in her hand through his jeans to be sure she still has the same effect on him. He is always hard, always ready, always wanting her as she is lusting for him.

The sex was amazing, phenomenal, wild and sensual. Yet the no-sex, the wanting and the knowing of what she is missing, her memories of Tuesday nights that fill her heart with more desire and passion, and that she can feel all of this in just one kiss that makes no-sex even greater, something so much bigger than sex. It’s the knowing what the sex is like together, the always wondering when the next sex will be or even if the next sex will be, the temptation and the need for one another that keeps that passion so alive. Passion runs the risk of dying with sex. Even with only Tuesday nights, one Tuesday it just may be one too many Tuesdays and that passion fades. That could never happen with no-sex. Never.