Little Deaths

Little Deaths

He cums and you don’t.  But it feels good when he’s kissing you, and you want him and he wants you and it’s this thing you both want.  But then he cums and you don’t.  And maybe it doesn’t bother you right away, not at first.  Because it was hot, the fact that you made him cum (though later you’ll find out he cums for other girls and porn and a bottle of lotion and the idea of almost any girl ever eating a banana slowly).  And so it turns out you’re less of a wizard than a receptacle and isn’t that just the grossest way you’ve ever thought about your vagina and your body.  You don’t want to be a receptacle.  And maybe you’d feel less like one if he was bothered by the fact that you didn’t cum.

I hear you say the sex was great, the sex is amazing.

Do you cum every time I ask and you pause.

Well, no.

Then what the fuck are you talking about, trying to convince me that just smelling a cheeseburger is enough to make you feel full for the week and you don’t even seen the insanity of it.

And maybe I could get on board with the whole it’s the journey not the destination (relax, I said maybe).  Except he’s always cumming.  He’s cumming everytime.  And there’s all these excuses like it’s harder for women and we’re more complex and you’re goddamn right it is and all the more reason to pay extra attention to it.  Because at what point are we just saying that we love watching a man eat steak while we only ever get to think about how great it would taste.

They used to call orgasms “little deaths” which didn’t make that much sense to me, masturbating to my imagination’s content as a teenager.

But every time I hear girls talk about sex like their orgasms don’t matter I die a little inside.  So I kind of get it now.

…And Then He Left, Like All The Rest

Dating Mistakes

 

He Pressed His Chest Against My Breast…And Then He Left, Like All The Rest.

Okay.  Before your heart starts crying on my behalf…bear in mind my love of a good title, so take this one with a grain of salt.  It’s not nearly as tragic and dramatic as it sounds.  But it rhymes, like a boss.

The morning after our sexy romp, France texted.  It was sweet, it was cute, it was usual.

And throughout the week that followed there was lots of texting.  And yet…it never really seemed to go anywhere.  Which was unfortunate given that I was raring to go.  But I’m not a girl that can’t take hints (all evidence to the contrary in this blog, I know).  Nonetheless, hints are not facts and since he continued to communicate as frequently as before, it was hard to believe things had just fallen off.

Not one to mince words or worry about fucking things up with someone I didn’t care about in any meaningful way, I finally just asked him one night.  I went balls to the wall.  Because what did I have to lose?  Either he was already not interested and this was my chance at certainty or he was interested and this would be his chance to step things up.  Plus, honestly, with school starting in a few days I wanted to know sooner rather than later and skip all the stress and uncertainty.

So I asked.

Point blank.

In a text message.  (don’t judge, when there’s a language barrier, talking on the phone seems near impossible and just plain awkward).

Okay well actually first I just said Hey.  (this time I left off the cutie).

And he returned with Hi.  (leaving off the sweet of usual).

I knew it was over.  It seems small and insignificant, the use of pet names.  But still, I knew.  We bantered for a minute and then I asked, point blank, if he was still trying to hang out.

His answer not really.  BOOM!

And I could’ve left it at that.  But this was my opportunity.  We’ve been through this before, dear readers, you know I love a good answer though people rarely get them in dating.  And so I asked.

No worries I texted, Do you mind if I ask why or what changed?

I was hoping I was asking nicely enough that he would feel comfortable enough delivering whatever brutal truth he had without fear that I’d become hysterical or suicidal or whatever the reason is that boys pull the fade instead of just manning up and spitting it out.

And then I went one step further and added and btw thanks for being honest, I really appreciate that 🙂

I was worried it seemed a bit kiss ass but they didn’t come up with that adage about catching more bees with honey than vinegar for nothing and I wanted to make sure he felt he could be completely honest.  Which he was.

His answer (unedited):  im honest so i tell u, i dont like the time we get sex And u take toys. that Not fair for a men the first times, for me is nothing i dont care. But next dont do it. Because for me that mind he cant give u plaisir natural and u need toys for that. I for me, blowjob is more important then sex. And u not do it. And im really not patience for nothing.

His answer (edited):  I’m honest so I will tell you.  I don’t like that you used a vibrator when we had sex.  That’s not fair for the first time with a guy.  For me it’s not a big deal but with the next guy don’t do it because, to me, that means he can’t give you pleasure naturally and you need a sex toy for that.  Also, for me, a blowjob is more important than sex and you didn’t give me a one and I’m not patient enough to wait around.

His answer (edited with translation):  I’m honest so I will tell you.  I’m a misogynistic dick.  Your pleasure doesn’t mean anything to me and only matters in as much as I can be the man giving it to you.  Your pleasure is merely a reflection of the big-dick-swinging man that I am.  And given that I don’t care about you as a woman, let alone as a human being, I would prefer that you acted according to my desires and my needs and hid your own sexuality (along with that terrifying vibrator) back under the bed.  I am insecure about my abilities.  I don’t understand anatomy.  And mostly I don’t give a shit what you desire or need to make the experience the most pleasurable for you.  That being said, for me, I need blowjobs and not so much sex which is a totally valid desire and though I incorrectly assumed you weren’t into that (given that you haven’t represented your blowjob hubris on any scale to me), that is where my understanding lies and so I must discontinue our relationship as I don’t have the patience to find out if my assumptions are right, which is my prerogative.

The good  news:  I’m not a dud.  Hooray!!!

The bad news:  And that’s the end of that.

Except technically…well…I guess…we’re still sort of friends.  And I use the term “friends” very loosely.  But not in the sexual way that people normally would.  We’re friends in the sense that normally, from what I can gather, he doesn’t keep women that haven’t worked out, in his life.  But, I guess, it seems he’s keeping me.  Which at first flattered me, but comes with two inherent problems.

1.  Guys always say let’s stay friends.  Now, this comes on the back of one of THE MOST HONEST (admittedly jackassy, but still…he was fucking honest) explanations of why a guy wasn’t interested in me, so it would seem that I could take him at his word.

2.  Did I actually want to be friends with this dude?  I mean, let’s be honest.  This escapade had an expiry date from the beginning.  And while, in general, I hope the best for him, in the same way I do for every human being, there was no emotional attachment and there likely never would be.  We didn’t have the same values, interests, language…or, to be brutally honest (and sound like a bit of an asshole myself), have a comparable intellect.  While I’m open to the possibility in romantic comedies it’s rare that a Graduate Student and a Fitness Trainer are going to be compatible in any real sense.  Not to mention the whole misogyny thing.  That being said, beggars can’t be choosers in a town without friends…at least until I meet some (note from the future: I will meet some great ones ;).  So I said, sure…and we’re still facebook buddies.  And hey, who knows, maybe we do become friends and somewhere along the way I illuminate the error of his views and some lovely lady can benefit from this enlightenment in the future.  Look at that, changing minds,  changing lives right?!?

So I guess that’s it with France.  *Disappointment ensues*

And as usual, I was disappointed because things hadn’t worked out like I had fantasized as they would, at least a few months maybe a year of hot amazing sex that was only ever a couple blocks away and maybe a movie or a conversation or two.  Blargh.

The irony of the whole thing, which I kept to myself because I didn’t want him to think I was bitter and/or that he still stood a shot at getting one was that I had been totally preparing to give him the beej of his life, perhaps a few of them and that in actuality it was him not cashing in not my hesitance that kept him from getting the blowjobs he so desperately sought.  Irony, ain’t she a bitch.  But like I said, I kept this info to myself.  Unless he ever asks, because after all, I’m honest too.