Every intimate story holds two truths.

Find the his perspective at the end.

First Night

On the first night, I chose the couch: a deliberate creation of distance.

After all, I hadn't come for romance. Inspired by layers of shared resonances and mutual curiosity, I arrived at the threshold of his home.

I said yes to a sort-of four-day social experiment predicated on creation: a "hackathon" in the sense of the meaning: we would work & create until something was born... It was a leap of faith— not necessarily a leap of lust— but not necessarily not that...

Not to mention I never sleep well with a new person, platonic or otherwise. Deeper beneath my consciousness, my body harbors distrust. Escalating a relationship sexually before my mind and body are saying yes in congruence, is a sure fire way to end something with potential prematurely.

If this was to metamorphose into romance, I wanted to play the bases in order: a measured dance of increasing intimacy. And we hadn't even kissed yet!

Sleep eluded me anyways. The couch was too firm, the air too warm, my body too acutely aware of his presence just beyond the bedroom door. Morning light refracting through the windows, he rose and greeted me. I welcomed him with a gesture, an invitation to bridge the careful gap.

Joining me on the narrow couch, our bodies found confluence in a sweet, compressive embrace. His Fruit pressed against me. A silent declaration of desire that didn't need to be acknowledged aloud. Nothing else was suggested. We both recognized a delicate seedling of trust.

All day, we laughed and created. He nourished me with his listening, his unfiltered presence, his support for my absurd and visionary antics. I felt myself opening to this form of love, wanting to reciprocate.

"It's funny," he mused casually at one point: "once you unlock kissing, almost all of a sudden the distance and wall that was there before dissolves and closeness is allowed to flow"

Second Night

He proposed we share the bed. If sleep failed to claim me, he’d retreat to the daybed’s solitude. I agreed, with the boundary that I only want things to escalate if and when I initiate.

We shared with eachother some erotic short videos we had each found from different niche corners of the internet. I showed him a video of a man and a woman naked opening a pomegranite, the red juice dripping down their naked bodies. He showed me an almost comical video tutorial of a proper "lingam massage."

Somehow it didn't feel weird to be doing this, it felt about as normal as showing each other our favorite videos. We were both resonating on this similar sex positivity and love for erotic art and education. We traded massages, I think a deal we made earlier in the day. I believe that massage is a neglected aspect of relationships, platonic too, and it is something that ought to be frequently shared!

Then. Kissing was unlocked.

In a swift-swooping-slow-motion. I inclined toward him despite hesitation tapping on my shoulder. Cultural programming & past experiences chiming in. But I could almost smell his pure sweetness - if I could see aura's it was very peachy.

We snuggled up and rubbed up. I could certainly sense his sexual energy - strong-masculine-passionate – the way I like it. But also controlled – the way I like it.

The restraint itself is a sort of aphrodisiac, that wanting without taking is a powerful form of foreplay. I have always reveled in that stage of building tension and anticipation.

We slept well that night.

Third Night

Earlier that day, half-joking, half-serious he said, "Tonight the rule is: no underwear." Needing space after constant togetherness, I took time for solitude in the living room, writing alone.

I drifted toward sleep, negotiating whether to "accidentally" succumb to slumber where I sat, still uncertain if I was ready for more exploration, and apprehensive that joining would take us on a path toward goiong-all-the-way. When his light clicked off, despite my weariness, I rose like smoke and drifted to his door, drawn by energy beyond my half-conscious mind. I slid beneath the sheets, keeping my underwear on, a silky barrier.

My body pressed close to his, heat radiating from his skin. He was warm, skin soft, his Fruit hardening against my thigh. It felt like velvet over steel. His scent a mixture of sandalwood & salt & man. His hand found mine, guiding it to the rigid length of him.

Not coercion, but a gesture of invitation, a bridge across my hesitation.

I touched him, held him, explored him, my hand tuning into his rhythm, his desire echoing through my palm. Pulsing in my hand, a vibrant conduit of wanting. I liked feeling him, feeling this responsiveness, this wanting.

His fingers traced the edge of my underwear, a soft brushing over my Flower.

I allowed the explorations to start, the dance to begin.

For a short while at least...

then I gestured for this to ebb gently to stillness

we both throbbed with quiet hunger

our bodies communicating in a soft language

his restraint a gift I cherished.

Soon, dawn's light found us, awoke us

His hands slid my underwear down. The barrier removed, I yielded to his touch, trusting at last. My breath slowed. Time stretched like honey as he moved with unhurried intention, his palm pressing reverently against my Flower's mound.

The gentle compression sent waves through & through. A gesture nodding to his high comprehension of feminine physiology. Staying there, touching me, holding still with his patience,

I held my breath as he lowered himself beneath the sheets, my Flower vulnerably and inescapably in his view. His tongue, a decisive, velvet touch, found my clit and began to reanimate its nerve endings.

More armor fell away.

Tension melted.

Petals opened.

I inhaled into the fullness.

I gave further permission with a subtle re-alignment of my hips. He resumed, reading my body's every signal drinking in the feminine semiotics of my pleasure.

His finger slid inside my Flower — I flinched — he paused — not retreating but sustaining space for my adjustment. With more devoted attention came more trust

came more blossoming came more nectar.

He expressed his enjoyment of the sweet ooze.

However—to really give in - to truly surrender... that does scare me... that takes more time, more trust and attraction built.

Thus, soon enough my body pulled, instinctively recoiling.

He understood this signal too — slowing to a stop then holding me against the length of his body.

Feeling a lot of feelings, I felt safe sharing them, even some bittersweet weeping.

It wasn't a defeat

it didn't feel heavy

instead a glow suffused us after: deep, loving, safe, connected.

The engulfing light-energy of intimacy

That day, we realized this social experiment was "hacking" something: intimacy. This feels valuable, potent and calling to find forms to be shared. So, we declared the entrepreneurial intention and named the project: Fruit & Flowers.

Every intimate story holds two truths

This was hers.

Read his perspective here

New York, June 1, 2025

Two Perspectives by Fruit & Flowers