Didn't kiss me like before

I've never understood how in movies and tv shows, the girl wakes up after a drunken night and doesn't know whether or not she had sex with the hot guy lying next to her. Debra Messing with Dermott Mulroney in The Wedding Date or Carrie with the struggling artist after fighting with Mr. Big on the Sex and the City episode where he gives her this ugly little bejeweled purse instead of saying "I love you."

How do they not know if they've had sex or not? How do their bodies not tell them?

My body aches....EVERYWHERE!

Every inch of my body tells me I've been intimate with someone. I feel it through my skin, muscles and bones. I feel it there, I feel it everywhere.

So how are these storylines written? How drunk do you have to be? OK, I can understand being so drunk that you didn't feel any discomfort or soreness during, but once the alcohol wore off, wouldn't the soreness remain in your body?

Now you know.

He's here. We saw each other. And yes, I finally succumbed to him.

He didn't kiss me like he used to. It was the first thing he always did. I could get lost in his kiss and embrace. But today, today several agonizing minutes passed before his lips approached mine and when they finally met, it was all too brief. Clothes were discarded quickly; eager for that satisfaction we'd waited far too long to achieve. Almost three years since it all began. Almost three years of sexual tension.

Too much time had passed since my last night with P, so when I started giggling, it threw me off for a second before I remembered that was a good thing; before my brain understood and felt how good it was indeed. It didn't come easily, though. It had been too long and I was never very experienced, so when he entered me, it was like my first time. No, worse. He reached places never touched. And in many ways, he was truly my first. He did things to me I could never detail here. I giggled and giggled...a lot. My legs shook and my body vibrated. Multiple times.

I almost backed out, chickened out from seeing him, being with him. I was hit with a bout of nervousness and low self-esteem. But I knew I needed to be with him in order to finally close the chapter on us. It doesn't seem logical that I would need to have sex with him for things to finally be over with us, and yet, it is. Once our time together ended, I knew I didn't want to f*ck him again. Don't get me wrong; it was good, very GOOD, but it was over. Let's face it, it's completely obvious that we're not a good match. We're only compatible sexually, but as much as I enjoy sex, so much more is needed to make things work. Let's not forget, he has a son he's never bothered to tell me about.

When he told me he was coming out to visit, I knew I would finally have sex with him. My reasons were purely selfish. I just wanted sex. With everything that's been going on in my life, I just wanted to feel good, I wanted him to make me feel good. I went into this with eyes wide open. It was just sex.

As I lay there afterwards, I missed the intimacy I shared with P. What he lacked in sexual prowess, he made up with in romance. His touch and caresses; the way he marked me, making me his; the love songs he sang, though predictable, oh so endearing and effective.

And now my body aches. It's definitely the good kind of ache. The ache that makes you feel alive; lets you know you're alive and satisfied.