You could call this an invitation, though I’d rather think of it as an experiment. Not the lab-coat kind, more the kind where you set a few conditions: curiosity, time, trust, and then see what happens when two people meet. Formulas have their place, but not here, desire doesn’t solve neatly.
For me, sex isn’t about choreography. It’s closer to kairos, those slippages in time when the ordinary suddenly cracks open. A conversation that stumbles because the air between us has shifted. A laugh stopping short because attention has suddenly
moved elsewhere. The gravity of leaning in, knowing full well what you’re doing, but pretending you don’t. See, you can’t plan this, and if you try, you ruin it.
I like encounters that work like that: unscripted, curious, a bit unruly, never quite the same twice. No checklists, no pretence. Just two people following the thread to see where it goes. I’m not interested in scripts or performance, and if you’ve read this far, I doubt you are either.
Of course, not everyone arrives open. Some come with nerves, or with the mask that gets them through their days. That’s never a problem. I like the slow shift, the way someone softens once they realise I’m not keeping score, not asking them to impress me. Patience has its own kind of charge, when the spark comes, it feels all the better for having taken its time.
Most of my life is elsewhere. A career that keeps me
on my toes, swims outside even when the weather argues otherwise, dinners with friends where the bottles empties faster than the plates, books stacked higher than I can finish, new cities to find their rhythm in, and Mandarin reminding me weekly that curiosity can be humbling. I like it this way. Which is probably why this matters to me: not escape, not necessity, but its own new intensity, a different current worth explorimg for a while.
And if you’ve got this far, perhaps that current is already tugging at you. The worst thing is you get in touch and nothing happens. The best? We stop treating this like it’s hypothetical.