I woke in the morning to a gentle breeze caressing my sleepy face. I opened my eyes and embraced the moment: sheer chiffon curtains, playfully yielded to warm air currents, revealing a magnificent panorama of lush greenery dissolving into the ocean sparkling under the sun. I burst into tears, realizing that all this time I have been living inside a dream I once imagined. I gazed at this view and thought about how incredibly important it is to dream. I thanked my rich imagination and the deeply rooted belief that, as the tattoo on my left arm says, “By drawing pictures in my mind, I create my reality.” There it was—right in front of me.
And the man of my dreams was sleeping in the next room…
I decided to wake him with a gentle kiss and linger for a while in warm embraces before heading out to surf. Tiptoeing into his room, I quietly giggled when I saw he’d fallen asleep sitting upright in bed, a laptop resting on his knees.
“Good morning, workaholic,” I whispered tenderly into his ear, lifting the computer off his lap.
He mumbled something adorably, wrapped me in his arms, and pulled me under the blanket. A sudden, overwhelming wave of arousal washed over both of us. It felt far more intense than usual: breathing grew heavy, hearts pounded harder, and we were drawn to each other as if by a magnet. My entire body begged for deep union, and he was clearly unable to resist the hormonal surge, guided by a semi-conscious haze of sleep that hadn’t yet fully released him.
Suddenly, something purely animal stirred in him. He gripped my wrists tightly, leaving me no chance to pull away. I couldn’t resist—nor did I want to. We fused in a fierce kiss, and I felt him inside me. My orgasmic cry may have woken the entire neighborhood, but we didn’t care in the slightest. Soaked with arousal, we devoured that long-awaited first time, forgetting every tantric principle we had ever known.
Chaos. Forceful thrusts. Wild possession of each other. Lust completely overtook us—and I realized it only at the moment when pleasure—deafening just a moment ago—shattered inside me, colliding with a sharp, cutting blow to my vulnerable womb. My moans broke into a strangled cry, desperately pleading for this madness to stop. My body, once soft and yielding, clenched, tensing every muscle—but it was already too late. He was clearly nearing release, and all I could do was… endure. One—two—three…
With a sharp movement, he pulled out, exploding into a powerful orgasm. Completely drained and spent, we collapsed on opposite sides of the bed, gasping for air.
“I’m sorry…” “Forgiven…” I said, heading to the bathroom, knowing this was our first—and probably last—sex.
I was angry with myself: for giving in to a fleeting surge of passion, for surrendering to raw lust, for not stopping him and guiding toward something that could have been truly magical for both of us. But most of all, I was furious at myself for betraying my already suffering womb. I clutched my stomach and cried, standing under the shower, washing away the deepest disappointment and pain.
“You okay in there?” Snake asked softly, quietly stepping into the bathroom.
I stayed silent.
“I imagined this moment completely differently, but I just...” “Shh,” I stopped his apologetic speech and beckoned him closer.
We embraced and stood under the spray for a long time, gently caressing each other, silently promising that such a rupture would remain the first—and last—of its kind.