Since I haven’t been blogging recently and not writing for school anymore, my writing has become quite atrocious. I mean, just look at the three posts below.  The writing quality in those is sub par. I haven’t been reading either–just working, sexing and sleeping.  So I bought the new-ish David Sedaris book today, as I am a big fan and find similarities in our writing style, however I am not even 1% of the writer he is.  But so now I’m determined to write more and read more, so I can get back to something that is at least somewhat respectable.  I’m determined to find my readers again and write stories worth reading again.  But the sex stories are coming soon and we both know that’s how you really get readers, so patience my dear friends.  The sex is good and the stories are better, but I can’t just jump to it, we all know foreplay is important. So now back to regularly scheduled programming…

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What started as innocent cuddling and movie watching, led to us intricately intertwined on the couch. Choke ended up being a movie about a sex addict and his dying mother (appropriate much?) and was kind of strange–I don’t recommend it. Not only is this boy tall, he’s in good shape and quite lean and I barely took up a fraction of his body.  The overwhelming feeling of being safe took over, which really is such a cheesy thing to say, but that’s exactly what it was and then an even more startling realization set in: I hadn’t been really spooned by anyone since October.

Amaya said to me one night while working that she “missed a man’s touch.”  I understood what she meant, but I completely understood it at that moment.  All those nights I went running after Baseball Player, I think that’s really all I was looking for and was entirely the last thing I got.  I missed it and I needed it.

Somewhere halfway through the movie, my head on his shoulder, our fingers laced together, I turned to him and his lips found mine.  His hand moved to my face and easily covered the entire thing. I couldn’t help to think what those massive fingers could accomplish, but I was determined to not find out that night.  He rolled on top of me and had the perfect rhythm and mix of deep, lustful kisses and quick, tactful kisses. I smiled through kissing him, I hadn’t been kissed that way since October and the difference between all the kisses since then was exhiliarting.  The almighty vag was coming alive and protesting my strategic plan as he pushed into me.  But for the first time in a long time, I told her no.

He looked down at me and said, “You broke my pants.” Bewildered, I looked at him and his pants and then realized what he meant. I’ve “broken” many a pants since then, in fact perhaps all of them.  Frankly, we’re gonna have to go pants shopping soon at the rate we’re going .  After awhile after things slowed down, I peeled myself off of him and asked if he was hungry. He replied with an enthusiastic yes and asked if I wanted pizza.  Always.

As he dialed the pizza place down the street, I climbed on top of his lap, my dress falling over the sides of his knees.  I’ve always enjoyed teasing guys when they are on the phone, especially if the person on the other end is their mother. It’s a cruel move of mine, that I enjoy entirely too much.  He promptly hung up and grabbed me and said, “I wish I could kiss you with as much energy as you have, but I’m afraid I’m going to break you, you’re so small.”  And really, I’ve never felt so small in my life. My crazy work schedule already leaves little time to eat, so I’m the skinniest I’ve ever been and now feel shorter than ever.  I smiled at him and reminded him that I like to be thrown against walls, he won’t break me and if he did, I might like it and then his pants broke again.  I so badly wanted to see, to know what I was in for, but I refrained.  Instead I tried to inconspicuously work my leg around it to see, but my kneecap was never good at determining size.  However, I could tell that I was dealing with another machete status boy. Mmm.

His hands found my legs and he remarked on how smooth and strong they were. “I could break your neck with them,” I told him. “I wish you would.”  “Not tonight,” I replied.  No more than twenty minutes later the pizza showed up, along with his drunk roommate, who quickly ran off to his room.  While eating our pizza, he looked at me and said, “You definitely intrigue me. When the cocktail girls told me about you, I figured they were wrong, but they did a good job.”

When our hunger was sated, I asked if we could watch The Virgin Suicides–one of my favorite movies that I haven’t seen in a long time.  A perfect excuse to stay another two hours and to hopefully deter the almighty vag for awhile.  But naturally, as we found ourselves making out again on the couch, she yelled out. He got grabby and asked if I wanted to go to his room. I simply shook my head no over and over again when he insinuated that he wanted to do more than just make out.  My self control was astounding, but I knew I was making the best decision I could, despite the protests coming from down below.

Finally around 4:30, over 12 hours since I first arrived, I said I had to go. I pulled my dress back down to my knees and stood up.  Weary eyed, I found my shoes and purse and walked with him to my car.  The sun was going to be coming up in an hour and I needed to get to bed.  He kissed my goodbye and I drove away from the house with the cute porch in the historic district, down the street and over the bridge that overlooks the city skyline that twinkled in the background.  I smiled and hoped this time it would in fact be different.

The next day he said I made the right decision not sleeping with him, as much as he wanted me to, because he would have written me off if I had.

to be continued…