Sheldon and his Sweetheart

Sheldon and his Sweetheart
copyright 2007-2012
@aladreth antoinette brown
previously published 2007

Sheldon Perry was a very attentive man, so attentive that if he let up on one thing he did for you, you worried he was slipping away or maybe had lost attraction for you.

Some men you don't expect much from.  Sheldon you expected superiority, you expected everything from Sheldon, because that's what he brought to the table.

When he slowed up, you thought he might have found some deep, dark secret about you he just couldn't live with.  You wanted Sheldon's attentions.

Everyone wanted Sheldon.

Sheldon Perry, however, was a hard man to read.  Oh, if you asked him, he'd tell you, "What you see is what you get," and "I'm telling you everything, honest."

All the same, and not to be cliche, but every person is like an onion and you must peel back layers to see who they really are.

No one is an open book, even those who seem to be very up front.  People answer some questions, "I don't know," but they really want you to force the answer out of them, because they do know.

Sometimes I feel like Sheldon is my son.  Sometimes I feel like he is my father.

Sometimes he is my equal.

Hard to admit that because my mind and even body is not accustomed to just a straight line between two people.  No, I think there are too often times where the scale tips to favour one or the other.  One is dominant, boss, controller, and one is submissive, servile, obedient.  One is the top, one is the bottom, and whatever side you fall on for the day, week, month, year, or even your entire life, you have to play it to the maximum.  You are a star and relationships work better when there's some type of rules written, if not on paper, at least on your heart.

This morning, Sheldon Perry and I made love.

Maybe my mind thinks in an analytical, logical way and yes, I can be the cynic about love, but I like to detail things down to definition.

Oh, everyone knows what you mean when you say, "We made love, we screwed, we had sex, we got down and dirty," but I like explanation, step by step session information.  Was there kink involved, who was on top, how long did it last, what was said, and so on and so on.

But, I want to try hard to stay away from that 4/4 beat of music and play jazz with Sheldon.

Jazz is all over the place, you don't know what to expect, you don't know what line is coming next, what beat, what flow, but somehow it is all in synch and grooves together.  Sheldon and my lovemaking is like that.

My mouth was hurting from the dental surgery a week ago, I had some eye pain, I had been up for thirty hours, no sleep, so I was in a half-dream state and I was laying on my left side under many covers and blankets.

Sheldon was propped up on his elbow and facing me and it all began with his hand on my stomach.

I have a girlfriend who says when a man touches her thighs, she knows he loves her.  She knows he accepts her because she thinks her thighs are the least attractive part of her body.  I beg to differ, but that's how she 'tests' men to see if they are 'real.'  If they pay attention to her thighs, then they have her for life.

I want Sheldon to want me.  That comes from a song in the 1980's, I think, but don't we all want to be accepted for who we are with all our flaws, imperfections, and faults?  In some cases, our very freakish, almost fetish-like appeal is what we want taken advantage of, worshiped, and loved.

So, his hand was on my stomach and that is how it all began.  He took his hand away and then placed it on his own flat stomach and then back to my tummy, definitely not flat, full of stretch marks and several years of hateful abuse to myself, but he laid his hand there, he touched me there and that is where he started.

And, after this, details, are really a dime a dozen, aren't they?  You can pick up any cheap porn magazine or log on to numerous sites on the Internet to get details of love making.  Even some parents still sit their kids down to tell them, "The Facts of Life," and "The Birds and The Bees."

So, to skip ahead, I had an enormous orgasm.  Normally I can only get out half of his name.  I scream it as I'm ferociously coming, "Shellllllll...," but this morning, the wave lasted so long, I was able to say his name at least four times, "Sheldon, oh, God, Sheldon, uhhhnnnn, ohhhh, ahhhhh, Sheldon, Oh, love, fuck, God, Sheldon," all in one high wave crashing and cramping the shore.

Then I started crying.  I hadn't cried in years after an orgasm.  I was embarrassed, scared, and vulnerable.  He immediately started saying, "Wait, wait, wait," as if he could stop the steady stream of heartache, pain, anger and fear all mingled with satisfaction, joy, adoration and love.

He calmed down quickly though and he let it roll, brushing my hair off my forehead, my wet hair, catching my tears on his lips, kissing my eyes, licking a salty tear off the corner of my mouth and saying over and over again, "I'm not scared, sweetheart, I'm not scared, sweetheart, sweetheart.  Sweetheart, I'm not scared."