I’ve never done a Wicked Wednesday before not because I haven’t loved the idea, but because I’m not an organized blogger. I can barely keep it together for my own meme and I think I only participate in Sinful Sunday about once every 6 weeks or so — again, same fucking problem: disorganized — but as I saw this week’s prompt and posts roll in I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
The prompt reads:
End of what? A story? A relationship? End of a project? Or maybe the end of a movie, or a song, or a holiday? Tell us about “the end” – a happy one, a sad one, a funny one. Share your “ends” for Wicked Wednesday.
My life this year as a single person has been filled with ends. Ends of week-long courtships, of interminable dates, of a 3-year love affair, of nights with clouds of semen sprayed in the space between us like little gloppy paratroopers.
He towered in my doorway and then he towered inside of me. He hooked his fingers into my body and made me weep around him like a faucet. He rammed into me like he was angry at me and I hit back with all my might. His body blocked out the candlelight and he growled in my ear, his words as punishing as his hips. I trembled my finish and my chest heaved with sobs of release and sadness. I didn’t want it to be this man. It was supposed to be The Soldier. I wasn’t prepared.
I had planned on tracing his tattoos with my fingertips, my hot, wet tongue. I had planned on relearning my body around his. I had planned on becoming friends. I had planned on kicking his ass at dominoes. However, before it even began, it ended and with a crescendo of confusion and hurt feelings.
I also ended the reel where I pretend I don’t care about being mistreated. Late at night — lo, early in the morning — limp from [mis]use by the giant fireman I checked my phone one last time. Still nothing.
So I guess you don’t give a shit about me.
Super glad that I arranged my entire day around meeting up with you tonight.
I don’t get it. I thought you liked me…
I’m actually super sad (super sad emojis)
I broke character that night in order to admit I wasn’t the sex robot I appear to be. I’m a person who has expectations. Low ones half the time, but expectations nonetheless. Like showing up when you say you will or, at the very least, letting me know that something’s changed for you and it can’t happen, or never will again. It’s all good. I’m actually more like a robot in that way than you might imagine. I have a program for communication and understanding; I resort to full on reactionary human, however, when I am disregarded. I think it’s a pretty good new start to things.
I’d like to say that this is the end of all the bullshit, but I reckon it’s somewhere in the beginning to middle of a long brown streak of shit in my life until I settle down. The threat of harm from indecent, ignorant, or otherwise incapable people is always there, but when you deliberately — and unknowingly — put yourself directly in their path, well, you know: shit happens.
Saturday night was the end of one particular story line in my life, a continuation of another I thought had ended. As many endings as I’ve experienced the past 10 months I’m not entirely convinced they’re all true. People reemerge, they change, they soften. Sometimes, my resolve is weak.
I wish I could say I want the endings to stop, but that’s not true. As tiresome and hurtful as some are, others are equally hilarious and enlightening. Like the fella on Tinder today who unmatched me when I said that in addition to no strings sex, I’d also like to be able to enjoy a beer with my lover. I’d say that end afforded me to dodge a bullet. Thanks for that, Jordan, 30. 4 miles from you.
Then there are the endings at the end of a cock, the ones which keep me warm at night. The kinds where I shiver and cum streams upon us both and he quivers with climax and holds me close. The kinds when our hot mouths part and the heady spell dissipates into pressed, smiling lips and crinkled eyes. And the kinds that were high, kept above the fray of tangled feelings and left alone on the perch of fond memory. The kinds of ends that remind me of why I persist with the beginnings.