[dropcap]So[/dropcap] He was here in 15 minutes. I went down to the lobby and let him in.
I gave him no big hug. I gave him no big kiss. I was pissed. Relatively speaking, there would have to be some wooing.
Not the kind of wooing that involves flowers and poetry. Not even the kind of wooing that involves caring and interest. But the kind of wooing that shows, yes…look…I’m sorry I fucking wasted your time…that was a dick move…and I get that you’re pissed…and that’s valid…but we both want to bone each other and we’ve been making out and dry humping for something like 3 weeks now so if we could just forgive everything for the moment and get our freak on that would be amazing. Or something like that.
…and then we were all in the sheets…
…and it was good…not great…but there are always pros and cons…
…his body…my god his body…
…but he wasn’t as rough as the earlier couch-breaking-dry-hump-sesh had been…
…he moved too quickly…but don’t they all???
SIDE NOTE: Guys. Seriously. I know you’re always in a rush. But if you ever do anything right in your lives…let it be this (and being a good person). Go SLOW. You don’t have to go slow forever, I mean, of course, there is a time for speed and strength, but when you think you’re at that point…wait another 5 minutes…at least (unless she verbally instructs you otherwise). Because honestly. No girl ever wanted a lollipop that was thrown at her from a moving vehicle and hit her in the face. She wants the rocket Popsicle that she first heard the music for, and then ran to get money, and then ran to make the ice cream truck stop…and then stood there for another 5 minutes while she made her selection…and then waited to be handed this dreamsicle of a treat…and then enjoyed it…slowly…deliciously…until it almost completed her. Or something like that. But seriously. SLOW THE FUCK DOWN. Because either you care if it’s good for her…or you don’t. And if you don’t…well…honestly…you’re a horrible fucking person. And if you do…then I assume you just don’t know better…and that’s okay. I didn’t figure this stuff out when I was 19 or something. It’s been a learning process. I’ve done my research 😉 and now I’m imparting the wisdom on you. SLOW DOWN. I know you’re ready. She is not.
…but it was fun…and he was smoking hot…and the kissing was good…
…and did I mention his body…
…and then he flipped me over…
…and I was totally game…given this is my favorite position…
…and I casually reached for my vibrator…
And then language became that bitchy barrier that she has a habit of being.
You see. I tried to explain to him. Like I’m about to try to explain to you. And you wouldn’t think it would be awkward. But it was. But it is. And you wouldn’t think it would be a big deal, I am a sex and dating blogger. But it was. But it is. See here’s the thing. With men, of size. And I’m not even talking massive length, I’m really just talking average (or…er…slightly above average depending on which race we’re talking about). Like 6 inches. No big deal. That’s not so big right? Except if you add to that the fact that the dude is huge and solid muscle and the thrusting is going to be….well…you get the idea. Basically. Awkward. Um. Okay. Here’s the thing…I don’t need a dude to be poking my uterus. (ps…I know it’s actually my cervix but uterus just sounds funnier and it’s just how I refer to it the billion times I’ve talked about this with people). So like I was saying…if we’re going to be doing it doggy style I really can’t be having a dude trying to dent my uterus. And thus comes in the vibrator. Besides the obvious awesomeness of it making things more enjoyable for me…the additional stimulation does something to the inside lady parts…that’s biology for you. The more turned on I am, the more aggressive and passionate the sex can be and VOILA ain’t life grand.
You try and say that to someone who doesn’t really speak English. I mean fuck.
…but he rolled with the punches and we kept on keeping on…
…and it was good…
…admittedly I had a good time…
…mascara smeared across the sheets kind of good…
…he appeared to have quite a lovely time as well…
…and with a couple of full bodied sighs, we rolled off each other…
But not that far off each other. He stayed, arm draped across my back. He curled me into him. I got up to get water. In all honesty, it felt a weird being too cuddly. There was chatter. We made jokes. We talked about all kinds of things. He has a friend who raps but could use some help with elevating his writing and how much do you charge for that sort of thing. It was comfortable. It was sweet. It was nice.
At some point I asked him more about what he was into. Not that I was already planning our next romp but let’s get real, the dude was a fucking babe, he turned me on, he was sweet with me, and he lived for blocks away. The booty calling writes itself.
SIDE NOTE: While I had easily forgiven him for the earlier bail and this sort-of-stand me up…it was on a purely physical basis. There’s no way I could continue to date someone who didn’t understand time management…and let’s be honest…well actually let’s save the honesty for a bit later, back to the story.
So yeah, I asked him what he was into. He wouldn’t tell me. I wasn’t impressed (I’ve mentioned how I don’t like private people right?? Private people are boring…you know what’s not boring…people who let you get to know them.) The conversation went on for a little while, I talked about what I was into. Maybe he needed me to say things first. Could he really be shy? That seemed an ill-fitting jacket.
And then. After much prodding. He started to talk.
Well actually, what he said was you didn’t do it this time and then I can’t remember exactly what else. But I do know that my impression was this. He was partly joking. But he was partly serious. Like this was some sexual test that I hadn’t yet passed and I would get one more try before being asked to walk the plank. I smiled and laughed and we carried on the joking but in all honesty, I thought it was a pretty big dick move. The fastest way to make sure I don’t want to do something is to demand it from me or make me feel compelled to do it. Not cool, bro.
Only. Then he eventually said it. Blow job. He was into blow jobs.
And at first I was like…word…obvs…and in all honesty there hadn’t been time. Okay, as I think about it now…is it possible that’s why he “forgot” condoms on our third date…the hope that a nice beej would be the fall back? But even so….you know what gets you a beej faster than anything boys? Eating some muff. Real talk. If I offer it up all on my own, sure thing. But if that’s your prize target, well shit son, work that mirror magic and what’s good will come back to you.
That being said, I was just kind of like. Okay cool. Good to know. Wink. And all that. But he went on to explain that he was into blow jobs more than sex.
In all honesty this kind of freaked me out a bit. So much so that when he left and I was regaling my friend with this news and trying to find out if this was the norm that boys just keep to themselves or if we were looking at a dealbreaker here. I mean, I’m all for a dude who loves BJs…in fact…if you turn me on, I am ALL OVER THAT!! But when it becomes something you want more than sex…that scares me a bit.
SIDE NOTE: So of course, I did some googling (after he was gone obviously) about whether or not this was a common thing. I’m still unclear. What I did find was a ton of information on just exactly why guys love the beej so much and it’s was pretty common logic if you ask me.
1. They don’t have to do anything.
2. The perspective.
3. They don’t have to do anything.
4. Mouths are warm and wet.
5. The perspective.
6. Mouths have more abilities than even the most special of vages, what with the lips and the tongue and the movement (and don’t forget those side-kick hands).
7. They don’t have to do anything.
Okay…so yeah…got it. Somehow I was less freaked out (that’s what logic and common sense do to me, a calming effect).
So back to France. After about half an hour? and hour? something around there…he eventually figured it was time to go. I’m surprised my tapping my wrist and constant yawning didn’t give him the heads up sooner. I joke, I joke. Anyway so as we were getting dressed, I remembered that I had learned something (a new French friend had taught me). I had learned how to say: I’m happy to see you. I had originally been planning to say it when he first arrived but after the debacle of lateness by the time he got here I was no longer so happy to see him.
We were kissing. We were touching. We were hugging. He had me in his arms and then I looked up at him and said…
Je suis contente de te voir
And I swear, I could almost see his knees go weak. And his face lit up as if aglow from the inside out. He grabbed my face in between his two hands and said say it again. And I did, and the reaction was just as intense. He apparently found it quite sexy when I spoke French to him. Then he said a few things, asked me to repeat. I’m sure I bumbled excessively, but he smiled all the same. There were several sexy grabs, a few more sexy kisses and eventually I walked him to the door and bid him adieu. It was an amazing way to end our night.
He pressed his chest against my breast…
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