Well, it was, and it wasn't. We, meaning both of us, woke up mid sex once. I remember the dream was a waitress dream, one that, for some reason, I didn't mind the guy reaching up my skirt. That was unusual. Usually I'd auto-react with a thumb-breaking move, especially in a dream, where hitting won't get you arrested, but this...for a body that reacts counterproductively when it comes to sex, it was wildly wet. Not something I ever get. Yet this time it was uniquely cooperative. I was bent backward, over his arm, back arched, and he slid in. I don't know if he'd been there while I was sleeping, and that turned me on more. The uncertainty made me very aware of my body. Splayed beneath him like something tiny to be played with in all the best ways. And he did. He didn't wake until climax.
This memory has stuck with me because I woke to my body's reaction, waves of pleasure, because he didn't stop to check on me. While checking on me is fine, and sometimes even necessary because of my past, he has made a habit of it in a manner that makes me feel like porcelain which I am NOT. Ok so it feels like it recently, it's not a permanent state. And in many ways I need him to stop worrying about me. I know, hell of a problem to have. I know it's not that I don't want him to care, I want him to care enough to understand that my body and my mind don't sync. Not on a regular basis.