Every so often, when the planets and stars and heavens are in perfect alignment, a woman will allow you, against her better judgement and even better desires, inside of her. It’s a win for the heterosexual man unlike any other.
What I’m specifically talking about is that first inch, that first bit of penetration. That’s the feeling I’m talking about. And I’m not talking about your girlfriend on a Saturday night in year three of a relationship where she tolerates you coming inside of her after five minutes of heavy breathing, writhing and totally useless sweating (for her).
I’m talking about the first time in a long time. The first time since you don’t know how long it’s been. Maybe a whole year, maybe a whole month, perhaps even a full presidential term. Point is, it’s been a while.
After all the conniving stunts you’ve pulled and drinks you’ve paid for and stories you’ve listened to on a drunken night, there’s no better reward than that first inch making its way in.
For me, the final two inches and 95 seconds are just a let down. Maybe that’s just me though.
Polar opposite feeling?: Discovering the condom you just used was, in fact, ripped.