Sometimes, the individual moments all come back to me.

I remember Rebecca tentatively unrolling a Sum41 condom over my dick as it steadily grew harder and larger. Louise laughing at me in the pool both before and after sex in her car. Alicia pushing my head back down after I’d licked her to orgasm, so I could do so once again. Lilly running her hands through my long hair talking about how much she liked it. Screaming with pain as I got a charlie horse while doing snowdrop in the doggie position, and then trying to style it out as a moan of pleasure.

And, of course, there are plenty more. I (consensually) brought the Seamstress to orgasm a fifth time even though she said she couldn’t do any more after four. Got a red handprint on my arse after Catherine spanked me a little too hard when I wasn’t expecting it. I specifically remember Jill practically floating on the ceiling after the “we have forgotten about the neighbours” sex during Eroticon, although I also fondly remember the cheese triangles I’d eaten during the event directly preceding it. What a day.

There are, of course, always these little flashes. Little gold nuggets of sex history that return to you in lucid, horny, or even sleepy moments… whether you’re blindsided by them on a lazy Thursday afternoon, or appear in an imaginative flight of fancy during a train journey, or in your mind’s eye when commuting on the bus.

But, of course, they aren’t all there is to do with sex. Sex is both simple and complicated at the same time. It manages to be both beautiful and terrifying in its complexity, and yet seems so easy to do, especially once you’ve started. Given the increasing number of small children that have started appearing alongside the couples in my friendship group, it seems that rather a lot of people are finding it quite easy, as well.

However – and this is what I was thinking about last night, so the reason for this post – that’s not all. Sometimes I find myself thinking about how sex can become something of a routine. You’re in a relationship so it’s de rigueur that you’ll be having sex every night, or every x times a day, or whatever your average is. Of course, you may love sex and the fact that it happens so regularly, and to be honest, that’s ideal, more power to you, go ahead and fuck.

I’ve always been the most excited by the bits before sex happens. Those little moments when you’ve passed the point of no return, and it’s definitely going to happen; the only question that remains is how long it’s going to take before it does. When it’s the first time with someone new, of course, that can be even more of a turn-on. I’ve always found the dichotomy between the comforting familiarity of my penis inside a warm body and the thrill of a journey into the unknown!!! to be a particular moment of joy.

But that’s not what this is about either.

Sure, sex is great, and excitement is great (if it pays off – spent excitement on a let-down is never too fun). But the best sex I’ve had – the very best – has always been the sort of sex that makes me feel the same way as I did the first time.

Whether it’s the second time we’ve had sex, or the seventh, seventeenth, forty-seventh, or hundredth (I’m sure it’s happened several hundred times by now), if I’m still getting the tingly feelings of anticipation, excitement, or wonder before we have sex, amazed though I am that anyone would even begin to think about having sex with me (never mind actually doing so!), then that’s the best kind of sex.

Whether it’s planned or not, whoever it’s with and when, where, why and how it’s happening… they all matter. But if I’m excited about you, and if it’s a long-term relationship I can be after years, then that sex is always going to be the best.

Every single time.