Pussy-licking devil jokes aside, Noodle’s advice was good. I felt (somewhat) relaxed and confident. A minute or two later the obnoxious fella who was going to meet me out tonight, Wednesday, texted me. He wanted to join me for a drink. I conferred with my dating coach and she said, “Do it! It’ll give you a reason for being there!”
He was a young (27), blonde, Bill Pullman type with lacquered black jeans and a too tight pearl snap shirt. He wore his insecurities high on his flag pole. There was no avoiding them. We clicked in a mismatched way. I was far too perceptive, he was far too sensitive. The thick, warm summer breeze tossed his locks like in a shampoo commercial. He squeezed my waist with his hand and pulled me close. I let him.
We chatted, he flirted, we kissed. I liked his weird, nervous energy. When I was done with my last glass of wine we closed out and made a deal. He wanted to come home with me, but, “We’re not having sex,” I told him. “No touching, no hands, no fondling, nothing.” He agreed.
“We’re just getting tanked. Got it.” He laughed his baby-faced laugh.
He followed me home and watched the sway of my hips up the 40 steps to my front door. I filled two wine glasses, pumped up my music, and we sat outside.
He kept going to dark places and I kept pulling him out. “These kinds of chats aren’t meant for first dates,” I said.
He touched my legs and massaged a foot. Eventually, I straddled him and kissed him passionately. He spanked me and moaned that he’d destroy me in bed. I reminded him of our pact.
“Yeah, I know,” he mumbled into my lips.
The velvety night around us layered upon the wine which wound its way through my brain and limbs. I felt heavenly and happy. Completely and utterly distracted.
“When was the last time you had sex?” he asked me suddenly.
I looked down at my bruised knees and thought of beefy, but nerdy. I took a breath and forged ahead. “Yesterday.” He went rigid in his chair like he just went from cooked to raw spaghetti.
“And before that?”
“Well, yesterday was with a cool guy I know and Thursday was with my neighbor.”
“That neighbor?!?” he emphatically waved over at The Neighbor’s black balcony.
“Yeah. But it’s over. It’s no biggie.” I could tell that he was having a hard time processing. I gently brought him back around, assured him none of it meant anything and that I really dug him as much as he dug me. He relaxed under my words and pulled me back onto his lap.
“I really have to go. I can’t stay. I will end up trying to fuck you if I stay and I can’t. It’s only our first date.”
I tried to persuade him, but he was firm. I walked him to the door, gave him a hug and a kiss and he left. It was 2 am.
I wobbled back to my phone and picked it up. TN had texted 15 minutes earlier. He wanted to know why he wasn’t invited to my party with Downstairs Neighbor.
“Come over.” I texted back.
“Put on your pants. Don’t be ridiculous.”
Then, KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. His sweet, pale face and icy blue eyes were a sight for sore eyes. I hadn’t seen him in days. The strap on my sundress had just broken and it flopped down over my black bra and swung lazily from the swell of my breast. I hiked it up when I saw him looking at it.
“Who was over here, Hy?”
“Oh, nobody. Just some kid who ran out because he was afraid of fucking me.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
“Yeah, really. But, whatever. What’s up?”
We lay on the couch together, as we always do, and canoodled. I told him I’d gone out to avoid him. He looked sad. I told him to fuck off. “You’ve been with your goddamned girlfriend every night since Friday. I couldn’t take it any more.”
“I wasn’t! I was only with her two nights!”
“Well, whatever.” I crawled up his chest and got nose to nose with him. We just sat there looking at each other. Me, bleary and drunk. Him, well, him. “You cheated on Thursday.” I said flatly.
“Yes, I did.”
“You’re cheating right now.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing. I don’t know.”
His erection was huge and pressed up against the cradle of my hips. We were still nose to nose, his sweet breath tripped over my mouth. I inhaled hungrily and ground against him. “How about this?”
I dipped my mouth to his and watched his eyes as our lips touched. I closed my eyes when he did. He grabbed the back of my head and crushed me to him. I kissed him like I know he loves to be kissed and nibbled his neck and lowered down to his arousal. His fucking cock pulsed and jumped for me.
I pulled his basketball shorts aside and gripped his shaft. He moaned. I looked at him again for permission. He made no move to stop me. I bent my head and took him in my mouth, his salty precum a decadent treat. “Fuck, I love your mouth, Hy. You are so good at that.” His hands were on my head holding my hair back, his eyes locked on my face. The taste of his skin, the stretch of my mouth around him, the pure awfulness of it all made my pussy gush.
I sat up and straddled him, but then jumped off and ran into my room. I came back with two golden wrappers. The meaning was implicit. “You’ve had sex,” he said.
“Yeah, I did. With a nice guy. I like him. We wrestled.” He looked wounded. “What? You’re over there fucking your girlfriend.” I said it matter of factly with no trace of malice.
“Yeah, I know.” The pain on his face was endearing.
I sauntered over to him and climbed back on him, but the mood had shifted. The reality of using condoms had pierced whatever revery he’d constructed to be with me. “I can’t,” was all he said. The bubble had been burst.
I didn’t push the matter. It was enough. We lay in each other’s arms and discussed him vacuuming for me before my friend arrives Friday. “I’m going to make you wear my panties.”
“Yep. And you’re going to love it.”
“It’s true. I’ll wear them for you, Hy. I promise. I always wear them for you.”
He left then and I went back to my phone. It was 3:30. Bill Pullman with the painted on pants had called me and texted; completely flipped out over the news I’d had sex the night before. He called me a ho.
When I could catch my breath from my hysterical laughing I texted him to get a grip and that we probably shouldn’t go any further.
This morning he said he was “beyond pissed.” I told him I couldn’t figure out what his problem was and that calling me a ho was laughable. He said, “What’s laughable is your description of your body.” I laughed so hard again I nearly cried. I describe myself as having rounded arms, breasts, hips and a curvy form (and that it’s not a euphemism for fat); that if you imagine a farmgirl, that’s me. I even give my measurements (43-32-44).
I told him “Peace out. lol” and it enraged him again. I deleted him out of my phone and texted TN to set a time for vacuuming. When I get back from my party tonight I’m going to call him.
All I can think about is what panties to put him in.