Last year I went to a Smut Slam event, expecting to get mildly turned on while listening to people tell sexy stories about first time fucks. I didn’t expect to find myself asking out the cute human who told a story about their first time doing knife play. I didn’t expect to go on a date with them the next day, and I didn’t expect that the date would lead to them blowing the strap-on dick I’d packed in my handbag without any real expectations of using it to fuck your face. I didn’t expect you, and I definitely didn’t expect to fall in love with the constellation of freckles on your back.
This is part of a series of posts that I started writing months ago but am finishing and posting in late October and November. I apologise for the confusing order in which content is appearing!
You turned my world upside down. You are the first person I’ve ever dated. Of course I’ve been in love and I’ve been fucked and I’ve been on dates, but you’re my first romantic partner and I can’t believe how lucky I am. I have navigated the ups and downs of my first relationship with someone clever and creative and kind. Someone who inspires me, someone who makes me a better person, and someone who I am not afraid to be honest with.
Someone who is patient with my silly head and gentle with my stubborn heart. Someone who encouraged me to explore my gender. Someone who’s not afraid to be honest with me.
We’ve been dating for a year now. Sometimes I have to stop and pinch myself, because I can’t believe that this is my life and my relationship – how have I been dating someone for a whole year? We decided that we’d celebrate our anniversary today, the date of our first blow job. It’s also the date of our first date and our first kiss, of course, but we’re both sex nerds who place importance on sex. It’s also the day I started falling in love with you: even though we didn’t ‘officially’ start dating until three days after our first blow job; even though it was another month until we agreed that you were my enboifriend.
I love that I started off as your girlfriend and now I’m your boyfriend. In the year we’ve been dating I’ve learned so much – about relationships and about myself. You have made me stronger, braver, and happier. Your presence in my life is one of the reasons why the last year might be the best year of my life, even though it feels like I’m hitting new lows with my mental illness every week. You have helped me step into my identity and you have helped me grow. I love the person you think I can be, and I love that you think I am that person.
I fell in love with you quickly – but I always fall in love quickly. In the last year I’ve found so many new ways to be in love. With you I’ve discovered what it’s like to be in love that grows and changes as we grow and change. With you I’ve learned how you can build love into a relationship, not just a feeling but a choice we make every day. With you I’ve started to trust, slowly, that I cannot fuck up in a way that will make your love disappear in one earth-shattering moment. Because of you I now know that love is boundaries and hard conversations as well as the orgasm-soaked moments post sex where I trace the freckles on your back.
I love that I keep finding new ways that I love you.
I love how I am not afraid to share all of myself with you, even the parts that are flawed and fucked up. I love that I can share my most filthy thoughts without fear that you’ll judge me. I love your writing and your work and your activism. I love your charm and your quirks and your queerness. I love how my heart lurched when you called me one of the loves of my life, right before I was supposed to read some of my erotica at your event. I love how you trusted me to help you run that event – I felt like I was flying all night long, high on the strength of your trust and your love. You have never made me feel like you’re ashamed of me.
And fuck, I love fucking you. I love the intimacy and vulnerability that is so easy to find with you, and I love how you understand if I need space or I can’t be the horny slut I want to pretend I always am. I love that you let me beat and flog and spank you, even though I am an inexperienced impact top. I love that you showed me how to hurt you, encouraging me until I was confident enough to hit you as hard as you want without being scared that I would hurt you more than you want. (I never want to hurt you more than you want.) I love how you moan when I drag my nails down your back until there are red marks alongside your freckles.
I love fucking you and I’m so fucking in love with you.
I’m in love with your dom voice, the low, stern tone that can make me instantly wet. I’m in love with your eyes, especially when they go soft when you look at me as though there aren’t enough words in the world to describe how much you love me. I’m in love your stretch marks and your tattoos and the noises you make when I hurt you. I’m in love with your grin and your mind and your outrageousness and your courage. I’m in love with how it feels to kiss you after months apart, as though there is nothing in the world but each other.
I love you. I’m in love with you. And though I’ve tried, I don’t think a blog post can capture how much I love you, any more than I can map the constellations of freckles on your back.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.