Je ne parle pas français, but please fuck on

There is sometimes that wonderful moment when eyes meet. The eyes you look into start to sparkle and shine. The other person's face appears harmonious and bright. The corners of your own mouth and the wrinkles around your eyes begin to twitch slightly. You can't see yourself, but you can feel that you are sending exactly the same signal. A connection is made that sometimes only lasts a fraction of a second, but opens the door to so much more. Without knowing anything about the other person, neither preferences nor taboos, you know that something can work together. The fact that almost everything is still in the dark makes it exciting. It is clear that you still have to go on a search and discover each other, but also that the search will be successful. Curiosity about each other spreads easily, warming and tingling throughout the body.

I had one such encounter in the south of France. More precisely, in a gay sauna in Bordeaux. I was on my way to the changing rooms because I actually wanted to leave. He was standing in the shower and I only saw him from behind. The water ran down his broad, hairy back to a beautiful, plump arse, where it got stuck and finally dripped to the floor. Just before I turned the corner, he turned round and we were connected. It struck like lightning and was gone just as quickly. I stopped a few steps away and took a few minutes to come down. I felt drained, as if after a heavy high. I didn't realise what it was, but I wanted more of this feeling.

Of course I went back, I had no other choice. I was sure that he was waiting for me somewhere. Not because I thought I was particularly beautiful, sexy or horny - that's always a question of taste - but because I knew that he felt the same way I did. It wasn't about me being desirable per se, nor was it about him being desirable. It was about him meeting me and me meeting him. This chemistry is only triggered by the right combination.

He was lying in a half-darkened cubicle, in a slightly reddish light. With his back against the wall, his big belly and massive thighs looked even more attractive. The situation made me horny, because this is exactly the type of guy I fancy. But it was only when I looked at his face that the intense feeling of connection returned. I couldn't see the smile across his mouth because of his full beard, but the tightening skin around his eyes spoke for itself. I accepted this invitation and locked the door behind me.

Our faces were now in front of each other, our gazes were deep and he said a few sentences in French. I didn't understand a word and my language skills were only good enough to reply with a moaning "Ouiiiiii!" before we kissed. I could have changed the lyrics of a popular song at the time to "Je ne parle pas français, but please keep fucking!". We made out for quite a long time and kept taking breaks to look at each other. Suddenly he turned me round and, as if this beefy daddy I was now lying under wasn't gift enough, he gave me a gentle, almost tender slap in the face. He fixed me with his gaze and waited until I understood: "Oh, Oui!"

I had never let a man beat me before. He hit me harder and harder over time, gripping harder, fucking harder and torturing me in a pleasant, exciting way, playing with and varying speed, positions and strength. It was my first S&M experience - and what an experience it was.

I used the "Oui!" rather playfully throughout the evening, we didn't need words to communicate with each other. Our gazes were enough and what was in them gave me the feeling of being safe and carried. I forgot everything around us and was completely focussed on the river we were in. There was no boundary he could have crossed, because miraculously he seemed to know how far he could go and take me. He recognised what I needed and gave it to me. He recognised me. It was the same the other way round. Deciding for myself that men can beat and dominate me makes me hot. Good sex makes me feel seen, accepted and that I belong. Sex is the most impressive way for me to be shown that I'm okay. Impressive, because some things don't have or need words, but can still be communicated through the use of our bodies. Okay, because I show, surrender and confide my innermost self and the other person recognises me and my needs and even fulfils them. It is a reciprocal permission for this. In that wonderful moment in Bordeaux, me and the unknown man not only saw and recognised each other, but also felt that our own pieces of the puzzle fit together.