His Romantic Journey: Not the Right Starting Point

"It was surreal: I was twenty-one years old the last time I had sex with someone for the first time. That was more than a third of my life ago.

Our kisses turned more demanding, the faint scent and taste of cabernet playing high notes on top of a fragrance I didn't recognize. Her hand returned to my neck, then slid up to run through my hair. Mine caressed the small of her back, drawing her closer so that she bowed back into an arc: lips against mine, chest lightly brushing me, legs stretching back along the couch.

She pulled her mouth away — "Uncomfortable," she murmured — and squirmed her hips around. She placed her glass on the console table behind the couch and, pulling my closer leg up onto the seat, settled onto it. She wrapped both arms around my neck and then leaned in to resume what we were doing."

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