On my couch, exhausted, wrapped in nothing but my new pink, silk robe I sat. The man whom I’d just fucked was likely the first person to see me in it.
I looked to my right, into dark brown eyes and said with a sigh, “I love you.”
Our gazes locked. We blinked. I felt safe and accepted.
“I’m so glad you can’t talk,” I added.
The dog lowered his head to his paws and blinked some more.
“No, really. I’m so glad you can’t talk.”
The dog has seen me with 3 men in the last 5 weeks or so. He missed the one in a hotel on the north side of town.
Each tryst filled with promise instead fell flat. Or soft, as the case may be. Or uninspired. Whatever: wholly unsatisfying.
Mediocre sex doesn’t mean I didn’t cum. It doesn’t mean I didn’t have chemistry or titillating conversation. It means I never lost myself. It means something didn’t work right, either me or him or both. It means I went through the motions and worked hard after the fact to make him feel ok because I felt like he deserved a pat on the back since a hug and a quick goodbye would have been too obvious.
When I was in London with Ben we stuffed his meat in me as much as we could in 36 hours. Not only did we have chemistry and a special connection, but his deliciously big cock worked like we wanted it to and I was able to completely lose myself in the act itself.
The act where I fell down a rabbit hole of pleasure and felt like my skin was lathered in peppermint in a cool breeze and my insides turned out, my body covered in salty sweat, tears in my eyes, my face pink and blotchy, and mascara smeared to my temples. That’s great sex. That’s magical sex.
It’s what kept me bonded to The Neighbor for so long and it’s ironic because that feeling, while bonding, is the epitome of letting go, like being bound by a gossamer thread.
But I have not been having that kind of sex.
Ben was the last great sex I had. Before that Bones was ok — not fantastic, not horrendous. His big dick took center stage, though he wasn’t the most creative lover. There was Remington, The Welder, Captain. As I push the calendar back my memory fuzzes. There was Petya and The Soldier, David, TN — always TN, the man who blew my mind, body and heart to smithereens.
Try as I might I can’t seem to shake him from the number one spot. It kills me, digs my heart out with a spoon, that he is still one of the most spectacular sex partners of my life. He’s not alone, though — Troy shares the honor to a large degree — but the fact that our sex was so incredible from day one and continued to be pretty pussy-fucking awesome until the very end feels more like a curse than a gift. No one ever stands a chance.
The men I’ve dallied with recently were good men, decent fellows by all accounts. One was an Eastern European man I met on AFF who drove 3 hours to see me.
He took me to a very nice dinner, we flirted over drinks, and we kissed gently on a rooftop. I marveled at his beautiful naked body back at his hotel, but he struggled to stay hard and instead of switching to focus on me he was obsessed with his erection instead.
I became a live Fleshlight as he pumped into me and sweat dripped from the tip of his pretty nose onto the bridge of mine. He complained I was hard to make cum. I ignored the passive insult and kept my legs spread willing him to get hard enough to cum.
I sucked him, I jerked him, I performed as if this were the best night of my fucking life. Eventually he came on my tits and we were done with it. I politely — and quickly – said my goodbyes and left. He wanted to see me again, he said.
Another was a tall glass of water I met on Tinder. After our first date he came clean about having a girlfriend, but we remained friends nonetheless. When he came over during a rainstorm one day he had mechanical issues, but we made out and his enthusiasm was contagious so I let him titty fuck me and spray me with his hot ropes of jizz as a consolation to a real fuck.
When I invited him over months later to go swimming we rolled around like puppies, but I was dismayed to see his cock was hiding from us again. However, he didn’t miss a beat and immediately went down on me and with deft fingers and mouth made me cum like a geyser.
The next night, a beautiful blond man from AFF came over. Nervous, yet virile, we flirted slowly all night over a game of Scrabble. I soundly beat him and then he ripped my shirt off and sucked on my nipples until I cried out. His cock refused to show up, but like my tall glass of water from the afternoon before he immediately switched to his hands.
I came with my vibrator pressed against me while he finger-banged me from behind and he jerked off all over my white, upturned ass and back.
And most recently I met a man who’d pursued me for a year on various dating platforms. It wasn’t until we crossed paths on Match that I relented to his date requests. He was confident and sexy and when I found his lips on my neck in my kitchen I was impressed with his moves.
Then things began to unravel: we lost a condom in me and, unbeknownst to me, he had cum and not knowing this I continued to try to get him back up which created greater frustration in me and possibly embarrassment in him.
If a man makes no noise or motion whatsoever to indicate his orgasm, how on earth is a woman to know the show is over?? It’s infuriating. It’s like sitting down to watch a movie and the very next thing you know it’s over, you’ve missed the show entirely, and your date thinks it was the best movie he’s ever fucking seen. Fucking bullshit, man.
None of these men are bad men, none of them are even necessarily bad lovers, but what happened between us was royally mediocre, the pinnacles of mediocrity to varying degrees, and it’s highlighted how much I miss great sex. The kind where I am transported to a field of poppies in the sky and can’t walk straight the next day and where I smile secretly as I think of the filthy things that we did to one another.
I’ve admitted to dialing it in before, but I didn’t any of these times. I was game, I was on fire, I was fucking ready to be fucked to the moon, but for whatever reason shit went sideways and with each one it was a Whoopee Cushion blart instead of angels crooning.
I don’t have the answer to any of this. I don’t know how to make sure I have great sex or how to even avoid the bad. It’s all a crap shoot. If you know the answer, please share (not really). For the time being, I’m just going to cuddle up with the one male in my life that I know is a sure thing: the dog.