Cirque du Soleil

Date #3 with G was the proverbial turning point. I made a delicious summer dinner of shrimp goi cuon and sliced peaches for dessert. We took turns tripping over our words as we each unloaded a work-week's worth of angst and goings on. It must have been the peaches (2 yellow, one white, all perfectly ripe and juicy) but I couldn't get my mind out of the gutter. As we sat on the couch leafing through an album full of DVDs, I leaned in and kissed him.

Next thing I knew, he was devouring me like I was the last fresh spring roll on the platter. It must have been a combination of the knowledge that we were indeed finally alone and that this was something we both wanted, but we couldn't get enough of eachother. From the couch to the floor to his spartan-inspired bed, we groped, kissed, grabbed, and nibbled whatever we could reach. The actual sex was more than I'd ever experienced in my 34 years... there is definitely something to be said for the stamina and ingenuity of a 25-year old. He was earning his wings as a fledgeling boytoy position by position.

The next day, as I debated how to fill in my entourage about the night's events, I texted them five words: Last night: Cirque du Soleil.