It’s been a long day and I get home tired. I’m looking forward to a night of mindless TV show watching and perhaps a few glasses of wine. Best of all, I’m looking forward to doing all this in the arms of my sweetie, cuddling under a blanket, not saying a word. In case you’re wondering, yes I fully intend to treat him like my own cuddle-bear that exists only to cuddle the hell outta me. The very thought of this makes me very happy.
Soon enough the wine bottle is opened, Orange is the New Black is playing on Netflix, and said sweetie and I are lounging on the L-shaped sofa – we are off to a good start. I am fully prepared to binge watch OITNB until I fall asleep right there on the sofa. This sounds like an effing great night.
Before we go on, I have to say that I am a master cuddler. If they were giving out awards for the art of the cuddle, I would be there winning them. My cuddles will make you feel safe, warm, wanted and loved. I have to use them responsibly, because you know, with great power and all that…
With that said, I unleash my cuddle on my partner certain that this is one of those times a good cuddle is in order. I am cuddled back. This is good. All is working as planned. I can feel my tension slowly oozing out of me, perhaps through my pores, being replaced by a flood of Oxytocin – the all-famous love hormone.
But then it happens. Slowly and hesitantly at first… His hand, which was innocently wrapped around my waist, is now slowly creeping up to cup my boobs as we spoon. I intercept like a ninja, linking my fingers through his. Hah! Foiled! The cuddle continues. But he is not to be outdone. He pulls me closer now, his hips slowly grinding behind me.
I feel a small wisp of annoyance creep up, I swat it away. Instead, I turn around and nuzzle my head in that space where his arm meets his shoulder. It is too late though. He is hard and can’t sit still. It’s going to turn into one of those times I just want to be held while his hands rove all over me hoping to turn me on as I get more and more annoyed.
Now let me be clear, I am almost always down for sex. I love having sex. However, there are times when I really need a cuddle more than being banged, hard. At times like this, I wish my man would understand that not all cuddling is a prelude to sex.
I know, it sounds like such a ‘womanly’ thing to say, “I just want to cuddle!! Why do you have to ruin it??!” I know that. But the fact of the matter is, well hell… sometimes I just want to cuddle! To be held without it going anywhere. That it ends there. In an all encompassing, delicious cuddle puddle. Yum.
After a few minutes of me trying to stay in the cuddle and him trying to turn me on, he wins, and I get turned on and we end up having sex. So yeah, I totally get that I am giving him the wrong signals – he knows if he persists he gets sex. But what’s a girl and her libido to do? When you’re on, you’re on. But back to the cuddling, after the sexy time, I turn to him annoyed (probably not the best strategy, but we had to get the important bits outta the way, am I right?) and mock scold him that I wanted to ‘just cuddle’. He obliges and pulls me to him and wraps me up tightly, as we ‘rewind’ Orange is the New Black to catch up with the bits we missed.
I am shrouded in post-orgasmic bliss, full of oxytocin and perhaps even a little tipsy on wine. I’m not saying that cuddles that end in sex are the best. I fully support that sometimes I just want to cuddle. But right now I am content to let this lie, for next time… next time I shall be stronger…