Sound-Track Sex

You know the sound a record makes when you scratch the needle over it?  That played in my head, along with……..”What?!  You have GOT to be kidding!?”  I kind of froze.  I mean, if he wasn’t transported by the music, well, I can accept that.  But why wasn’t he transported by the other magical goings-on?  How in the hell could he have been analyzing the music while he…..

I said, a little defensively/snippishly, “You are welcome to pick out some music too, you know.  I guess that until then, we’ll have to play what I’ve picked out.”  Pout. (Just a little though, because I am learning NOT to take this kind of thing personally.)

He squeezed me and said he looked forward to all of it: my (melancholy minor, “You are not my melancholy baby” he says and I have to laugh) music and/or his choice of music.  That stopped me.  Inwardly, I kind of cringed.  It hit me that he just might follow through and pick out some music.  You see, he really likes jazz – the hard core stuff, not so much the soft jazz.  I do too, but in small doses, and not to make love to.

So now, if he does brings his jazz to bed, I guess I’ll be in the same position he was in last night (figuratively, folks).  Will I nicely say that honey it was terrific but that there was too much…uh… let’s say…. be-bopping going on for me to really catch a good rhythm, or will I keep my mouth shut?  Mmmmmm.  Just like him, I suspect (ok, I know), if the music isn’t just right, I’ll tell him.

I must say, though, it’s a very exciting proposition…trying to find music we both dig making love to.  In fact, I hope we make a lot of mistakes.  It just means that much more experimenting.