He Couldn’t Contain his Excitement (part 4)

Stop X

Stop X (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

He knew that anything he said would incriminate him.  Yet he knew that everything rested on what he said next. I picked up where I had left off. “And that’s why I’ve tried to maintain my distance from you: I know you are faithful to your girl and I’d feel like crap if I attempted to interfere with that. I know you’re not the kind to would even consider such things anyway…”

“Oh, sweetie,” he half-moaned.  “Don’t look so sad. I can’t stand to see you with that expression,” he said, taking my face in his hand. I knew this was the beginning of the end.  He was resolved about what he would do, how far he would go.  He groaned, stroking my cheek with his thumb, “What can I do to take away that sad face, huh?”

“Stay with me,” I said plainly.  No need to mince words anymore; it was time to cross over together.

“Stay?” he repeated like he was in a daze.

I nodded like a little girl, not sure yet which character he most liked.

He chuckled faintly.  “How long?”

“As long as you want,” I said, instead of what I really wanted to say: forever.

He made a final brave effort to go. He stood up from the sofa so abruptly that I felt disoriented and humiliated.  My cheeks burned from embarrassment at having been so confident that he couldn’t resist me. “Uh, I better—“

“Yeah, I know,” I said, looking down at the floor.

“Well,” he sighed awkwardly. “Come here.” I guess he wanted to hug me goodbye. I couldn’t. Defeat had me glued to the sofa. I shook my head no.

“Don’t worry,” I said.  “I understand why you have to go.”

“Oh alright then,” he fake-grumbled, feigning gentle exasperation with me and with the situation. “Even if it’s just a little hug…” he said, almost to himself; as if he was explaining to someone like his absent girlfriend or whatever god, or whatever principle may be listening.

He sat back down on the sofa, scooping my unresisting body up into his arms.

He Couldn’t Contain his Excitement (part 1)

English: Cropped version of a photo taken from...

English: Cropped version of a photo taken from http://www.flickr.com of a woman wearing a blue bra. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Have you ever made a guy ejaculate without touching him? I mean just by looking at you? If you have, then welcome to the prestigious circle with me. I didn’t even know I possessed such power, but apparently I do. Or at least that’s how it seemed…

A few years ago I met this guy, Haven, almost completely by accident because I needed a new tire and the shop where I usually go didn’t have what I needed. And now I ask you, “Why do I always only want the ONE guy that I cannot have?” Why am I doomed to never meet this guy first, before he is already obligated? I’m not exactly proud of what I did, and I would really be an emotional wreck if I didn’t have such a sturdy and resistant conscious. But since I do then I’m frequently able to keep things in perspective when other women start that insipid self-loathing and self-deprecation.

I mean, no one can say I literally seduced the man. He is a grown man after all, accustomed to operating in a man’s world—which is more than I can confidently say for a couple of my sexual partners (or victims, based on whose viewpoint you ascribe to). He accepted my invitation to lunch with his own motives even if it was only ostensibly to allow me to properly thank him for pulling some strings to get his friend to pass my car through the inspection this year, if you know what I mean.

However I am mature enough to admit that meeting him at the door with a see-through black tank-top that didn’t even pretend to cover the fuchsia lace push-up bra that lifted, separated and left bare almost half of my breast would have put him into the strange predicament of having to either pretend that he had suddenly gone legally blind, or that he simply was not truly a member of the male sex.

And really I don’t hold it against him for his premature ejaculation. Under normal circumstances that would have been downright unforgiveable. But when I think about it, there was not a lot going on in his favor at that moment when he arrived at my house:

Just in case the sight of my upper body wasn’t enough for him, I’d also donned low-rise body-hugging, highly stressed jeans that strategically allowed the tip of the satin and lace fuchsia panties to show. The sparkling, dangling earrings that were a perfect color match to my should-be-hidden undergarments, the nearly 30 pounds gone from my body since I’d first met Haven 6 months ago, the knowledge that he was alone with a beautiful, discreet woman who is head-over heels for him in spite of the fact that he’s happily living with someone…well, I suppose all those things working together would be enough to bring any man to his senses about what inevitably must be done in this moment…

 

Butt-Ugly (or “Why Internet Dating is NOT for Me”) part 4

Online Dating. Oh Yeah.

Online Dating. Oh Yeah. (Photo credit: Devign Elements)

So, yes as you already guessed I allowed him to come over immediately, no more excuses. I was dying with anticipation. Oh, would to God that the anticipation had killed me indeed! That way I would never have had to see the face of the ugliest man with whom I was ever destined to have sex.  (Just in case you are wondering, the answer is YES. Roberto IS the guy who I referred to formerly when I said I’d only ever had sex with one truly ugly person in my whole life.)

Let me do the honor of asking the question so you won’t have to do it: Why on earth would I voluntarily have sex with what has to be the ugliest human being on the face of the earth? Well, the answer lies right within the question.

As a matter of fact I did not volunteer at all. I was so taken aback at the sight of him that I literally gasped, but when he unexpectedly popped the trick question, “I’m not too ugly for you, am I?” I failed miserably. How can you tell a person that you want to run away and hide underneath your bed because they seem to be the mythical Boogie man from whom you always hid as a kid? You can’t!

So we had to do it. But to my credit I was protesting and crying in self-pity the whole time. Or almost the whole time.

He embraced me as a greeting when I lied about him not being too ugly. And then things went from bad to worse. He used his weight to walk me backwards and close the front door with his foot behind him and then he literally attacked me with kisses. He wasn’t going to give me anymore chances to view his bulbous nose, pock-marked skin and lips that were fat and already wet.

He was kissing me and pawing me and ripping my clothes off like his very life depended on it. Yes, I was afraid, but not for the reasons you might imagine. Crazy stuff was going through my head like, Dear God what on earth will the child come out like if I get pregnant by this monster?

And then, totally catching me off guard, he pushes me onto the sofa because I am clawing him and threatening to call the police. In spite of my kicking and flailing and trying to pull my clothes back into place he murmurs gently, as though he is a completely sane person, “Baby why would you do something like that? I swear to you we won’t do anything you don’t want to.” And with that, he fell to his knees, pulling my underwear down with him and begins worshiping at the temple of my vagina.

The Boxer with 3 Fists (part 4)

Clenched human fist

Clenched human fist (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As you read this, you are probably not distracted by the amazing feelings of approaching climax via oral sex. So you have probably already guessed that it was not a brick after all, but that third fist that was trying to make its presence known.

I am a huge fan of intuition, especially after all the crappy things that I could have avoided if only I’d listened to my gut. I would encourage you to pay attention to messages, both subtle and not so subtle that your inner voice is trying to get to you. Don’t end up like me. Because I was so lost in my world of pleasure I didn’t give full attention to the third fist until it was sitting right in my face, punching me in the bottom lip and threatening to give me a black eye if I didn’t comply with his wishes. When Marco was sure I’d been utterly satisfied, he slid up my body until he was sitting astride my chest. I was pinned immobile beneath him, making his wish my command.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been threatened at gun-point or knife-point. Personally, I can thankfully report that I have not. But when it comes to being threatened by fist…well much to my own chagrin, I have to say that, not only have I lived through it; but it just so happens that it can be quite a surprising turn-on. Like, WHO KNEW?

Admittedly, it was not a TRUE fist, but a huge penis about the size and shape of one, which may make a key difference. Again, because of the altered state of conscious I was in—due to the approaching orgasm I was telling you about—I was in no way ready to confront the THING that nearly attacked me when this man assured himself that I had been thoroughly satisfied. Without so much as a warning, he slides right up into a sitting position: right on my chest! Honestly, that was the only warning I got.

Oh, Come Now! (No, really; I mean NOW!!) -part 5

Suggestive church

Suggestive church (Photo credit: kouk)

And in spite of everything, there was my body responding positively even while I swallowed back something like repulsion and hatred.  I swear there couldn’t have been more liquid if he had freaking peed inside me! Jeez, the pressure was like someone was vengefully squeezing a douche bag up me, super-hard for punishment or something.

I was electrified. I mean, REALLY, like his penis had become a rod conducting electricity and we were both being electrocuted. It was gross and insane. Who the hell comes like that?

It was something that I honestly never want to experience again…unless it could be filmed just to prove that I am sooo no lying and that it really did happen just like I’m saying. If you think I’m about to start criticizing the Church for its stance on pre-marital sex, think again. The only thing I’m saying though is that I wonder if the reason he couldn’t just let go and come was because it had been so freaking long since the last time he’d done it. I can’t help wondering too, if maybe a person like him would do well to masturbate on a regular basis and get used to ejaculating. Of course, the church he goes to teaches against that too…

By now, you will wonder why on earth I ever had sex with that same guy again. Well, it’s complicated. I mean he was a Christian, so I felt absolutely terrible about breaking things off with him just because he couldn’t orgasm in a timely way. I mean, what does that make me look like?

Oh, Come Now! (No, really; I mean NOW!!) -part 4

English: What a smiley looks like when thinkin...

English: What a smiley looks like when thinking of a disgusting level mushroom (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I totally lost count of how many orgasms I had faked before he finally gave in and faked one himself! Disgusting right? But oh, so full of poetic justice. I felt so cheated. Since when do MEN fake orgasms? And do they really think we are so stupid that we won’t know the difference?!

I never mentioned it to anyone and never even confessed my total disappointment in my own diary. Why? Simply because I was afraid that I was probably going to end up marrying him. To admit to myself that I was disgusted would have been to admit how insane it was to continue the relationship. And I really wanted to get married. You wouldn’t think so, given what I went through with my ex-husband…but oh, well the fantasy of being happily-ever-after married is not something a girl gives up on that easily.

I kept telling myself that it would be unforgivably shallow to break off a solid relationship because of sexual dissatisfaction. I told myself that God would surely help me be patient with him and would also help me not to fall into temptation due to unfulfillment.

Anyways, on a different night, we had been going at it again for more than half an hour.  We were exhausted and sweaty and he had been promising for the last 5 or 6 minutes that he was close, that he was going to come.  He had me sucking and biting his nipples, harder, harder. (Yet another detail that disgusted me beyond measure.) And then thankfully, mercifully, I heard this strange sound escape him almost like…painful surprise or maybe surprised pain of God only knows what and something so nearly femininely ecstatic that I recoiled, but too late.

Now he was cumming a constant stream, a gushing river, a disgusting sea of unexpected sperm like it had been locked up for 17 freaking years! It was blasting up the walls of my vagina, past my dilated cervix into my womb.  Yes, I swear I felt it explode up into my open uterus (because I was on my period!)

No, I do not believe it’s a good idea to have sex while menstruating; it can only lead to the worst types of disasters and embarrassment…but that’s another story I’ll tell you about later.

FART-ners for Life? (part 1)

Fart

Fart (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

No matter what your stance on premarital sex and in spite of all the pro-abstinence people and their campaigns I am a champion of not only having sex BEFORE marrying a particular candidate, but literally sleeping with them as well. Indeed, if it had not been for my commitment to this rule, I could very well have ended up with an involuntary farter for the rest of my life. That’s ‘til death do us part! And that, my friends is no laughing matter.

I have no complaints about the lovemaking with this dude named Perry. He was a rare jewel indeed. Ready, willing, and able to please on every level and in every room of the house; and selfish enough to insist on the occasional wham-bam-thank-you, ma’am that all women need in order to remain sexually fit and psychologically sound.

There was just this one problem that I never would have suspected. I mean, like WHO KNEW?

There we were, having crashed after the rather athletic sort of sexual work-out that was characteristic of our times together.  A thin layer of perspiration covered our bodies and we had serene smiles on our faces as we drifted off into that sacred silent space called the afterglow. I knew we were both satisfied with having satisfied each other and felt self-satisfied at our individual performances. Then we drifted right off into a light afternoon nap.

I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this before, but if you see me asleep, for heaven’s sake PLEASE do not wake me!