Morning sex : is it a female thing?
I am lying in bed with my eyes half open, trying to guess by the light in the room what time of the morning it is. Is it a decent time to wake Xander up yet? Sunlight in Belgium is highly volatile at any given moment of the day. No way around it, I have to go ahead and take my chances.
‘Xander… are you asleep baby?’ I check, passing my hand over his forehead.
‘Do you want me to leave you in peace, love?’ I feign politeness.
‘Mmm, what? No, no, baby…’ he answers promptly in a sleepy voice.
I am not normally a morning type. Not when it comes to any kind of physical activity. No yoga, gym or running for me in the morning. I like to start my days leisurely.
Except when it comes to sex. No matter how much sex we have (or haven’t) had the night before, I invariably wake up in the morning feeling horny again. I don’t know if there is a scientific explanation for my matinal urges. Maybe it’s the smell of sex still lingering in the bed. Or it could be that morning sex is another of those female things.
Morning sex is different. It’s calmer. Less urgent and often less kinky than evening sex. More straightforward. No massages, no sex toys, no porn in the morning: just plain good sex. I find morning sex more intimate: it involves more cuddling, but is in no case less satisfying than our wild after-dinner sessions. During our lazy morning encounters, it’s me who is generally more in control; because I am the one who is initiating and possibly imposing it on my half-sleeping partner. Not that Xander ever complains. He is very categorical when it comes to our sexual needs.
‘You can have me anytime you want, baby. Even in the middle of the night, if you feel like it. I will never leave you without sex. I want you satisfied!’
I push the sheets aside and snuggle up against him. I start kissing him softly on his chest. His eyes stay shut but clearly his body is awake and excited. Without hesitation and without any more talking, I climb on top of him. These morning moments are precious, there is no time to loose. Outside our locked bedroom, I already hear the little muffled voices and lego bricks being placed on top of each other. We might not have long.
We start softly and gently. I set the pace and Xander follows silently. At moments, I even stop completely and lie still on his chest, hearing his heart beating. I feel more of him when we move slowly. I feel muscles and spots and pleasures which I lose at brisker tempos. All sensations are intensified: his hands squeezing my back, my buttocks; his breath, warm and regular but trembling; his sex inside me growing stiffer.
Despite the low rhythm, soon we are covered in sweat. Xander’s eyes are still shut but his lips are parted and his response is getting more rhythmical. He puts his hands on my waist, as the intensity is getting more physically demanding. We are approaching climax greedily but when it comes it is of the wrong kind: a high-pitched voice is calling out from outside.
‘Mommy, are you awake? I cut my finger!’
It takes one last flowing movement and then a spasm before I manage to answer.
‘Mommy is coming, darling!’