Oh well

After the aborted mission of last week with the ex, I came home feeling a bit down. The ‘what if I had gone through with it’ kept lurking in the back of my mind. At the same time, I knew I was happier with that feeling than the irreversible regret of doing I wasn’t one hundred percent happy about. We texted back and forth for a bit, and he mentioned he had a girl flying over from Switzerland the weekend, and another from England to come see him the weekend after that. Right. By then I was a little fed up with the whole thing. I asked him if he had given them fair warning he would not engage in oral sex, but that he needed his dick sucked in return. He kind of laughed it off and then threw in that he just didn’t feel that way with me. Say whut? Was there anything I needed to know? No, he just didn’t feel like it. The honest truth, I was upset with his lack of respect and let the whole thing escalate. I told him I felt it was better to cut all ties. He said he didn’t understand where that came from, but oh well. Oh well. If I needed more reassurance, there I had it. I wished him good luck with all his whores, and that was the end of that.

On the upside, the Tinder sex date  kept messaging me. He asked to see me again and then settled on a weekday last week, which he had to cancel because he didn’t feel well. I was bummed. And horny. He immediately wanted to set up a new date, and said he was afraid I found him too much trouble and call the whole thing off. Guess he picked up on the ‘I-ain’t-taking-no-shit’ attitude. And so we rescheduled for last Saturday. As I had to be in his town anyway, he was quick to offer me a place to stay, and even came to pick me up from where I was to go back to his house. While walking (in heels, ugh!) he mentioned that he knows someone at my company, and that he’s told this person that he’s dating me. I wouldn’t call what we’re doing dating, but anyway. He’s got a tiny but super clean apartment, made me a drink, showed me a few videos of the festival he went to, and then jumped on me. Super easy. He’s a great kisser, and loves it too, if only he didn’t nearly rip out my nose ring while going at it, but oh well. We moved into his bedroom, and quickly got naked. His oral skills hadn’t improved greatly, but with a few subtle pointers, I quite enjoyed it. Again, I had to do some work to get him hard, but he got there. He threw me around a bit, I got a few good swats on my ass (yay!) and then he told me to sit on his face while I sucked him. No need to tell me twice. I don’t know what he did, but his fingers and mouth where everywhere. He had remembered my comment about ass play, and when he worked my ass while licking me, I came so hard I lost the plot for a bit. I don’t remember getting such a fantastic orgasm since the Musician. He asked if I was ready to fuck. Hell yeah. He was kind of sweet about it, he seems to want to make sure all the time I am okay with what’s going on. The shitty thing was that he lost his hard on after only a minute or so. I don’t know if it had been taking too long (a good two hours) or if it was the condom, though he didn’t say anything. Eventually he finished himself off. All good, though I always love to actually fuck. We’ll see how he gets on a third time, if there is.

Also, I am meeting the Stud on Saturday. I had told him straight up his message about his butterflies for a forty year old with a kid didn’t hit me as well as I had anticipated, even though I had had my doubts about him for a while. I actually hadn’t contacted him for a good two weeks, thinking that if he wanted to see me, he could make the effort. I told him since that sleepovers were no longer an option, he should come to my town since I was a little tired of the traveling back and forth. So, I’ll see how that goes, the likely scenario is that he’ll kind of forget to talk about what we’re supposed to (even though he even suggested it) and then I am too chicken to bring it up and wait until the last minute. I am kind of determined to not let that happen; he wanted to talk, so let’s talk. I’ve got some preparing to do. Like figuring out what the point is.

Finally, I have a Tinder date set up for Sunday. A normal date. I’ve been talking to this guy for a couple nights in a row, and he sounds pretty awesome. He’s got a man bun, works for a web designing agency, rides a motorcycle and plays the guitar. He seems to have stuff to talk about and doesn’t seem shy about the whole thing. So we’re going for drinks on Sunday afternoon, and dinner if we’re having a good time. I deserve a good date, for crying out loud.

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The night I lost and gained my self-respect

First off; this shit’s embarrassing and I’ll be judged by a couple hundred strangers on the internet I don’t know. But, since my anonymity is still intact, off we go.

There’s an ex I have been in touch with sporadically ever since we broke things off. (You go figure it out). It turned out we happened to be partying in the same city last Friday. By the time we found out, he was already on his way home, and I was pretty much done. We however kept in touch since, and conversations got hotter and heavier. By Monday, things reached a climax.

We were gonna live out this fantasy we (mostly he) had been discussing. I was persuaded to go see him, a good hour and a half away from where I live. What he wanted was this; a whore. He wanted me on my knees, fuck my mouth until I choked, gag me and fuck me in the ass and spank me until I would be begging for mercy. He sent me pictures of what he’d do to me. They were explicit. He wanted me to bring toys. There is a lot in there I can go along with, if not everything. But I was missing two things, respect and empathy.

Sounds contradictory? Maybe. In the final hours leading up to this, he made a few things very clear. If I wanted this, I would come to him. He did not want to leave his house. I told him he would have to come pick me up from the train station, and also that I would need a ride in the morning. Initially, he did not want me to stay. He said there would be enough time to catch my last train home at eleven thirty at night. I refused. It was not until I told him I did not want to be thrown out on the street like a hooker and have to sit on a train for two hours in the middle of the night. Mind you, it was a Monday and I had work the next day. It was not until I pointed out any man with a shred of decency would not let a woman travel on a night train by herself for two hours that he succumbed. The other major roadblock was his unwillingness for cunnilingus. Literally. ‘I am not going to put my mouth on you’. I had actually heard this from him before, so was not majorly surprised. He made it clear I was there for his satisfaction and not mine. I had agreed to this, so I could not blame him. After all he said he was being honest about it. ‘I don’t care if you get off’.

In the heat of it, I accepted all of it. I knew he was a jerk, so I wasn’t very surprised. But as I had taken my shower and was on my bicycle to the train station, my heart started to sink a little. Did I really want this? Yes, I was horny for it, very much so, but he had demonstrated very little understanding for what I was about to do. While I waited for the first train, I contemplated turning around and going home. I could just not make up my mind. I wanted it. But did I want it for the right reasons? I was making a huge trip, really put myself out there, and for what? The train came, and I got on. I was torn and told myself there was still time to go back.

During that twenty minute ride, I waited for a sign. I was going to be fucked in every way imaginable, and would not be able to walk the next day. I would have a sleepless night, and would have to get up very early at that to make it to work in time. I was going to cancel on my yoga buddy. For a fuck. I got to the station, and needed to wait for another fifteen minutes for my connection. I texted him. ‘I am halfway and breaking out in cold sweats. Say something please.’ I needed him to say something nice, to reassure me it would be alright.

He did neither. He wanted to know what was wrong. I told him I couldn’t decide if I was doing the right thing. He sent me another explicit photo and proceeded to tell me I’d come halfway, what was the problem? Didn’t I want this? Hadn’t we talked about this? I told him the train had arrived and I had two minutes to get on. He said he wasn’t going to talk me into anything. If I wanted to come, I should, but he was cooking now.

The train left. I texted him. ‘I can’t do it.’ We went back and forth a bit. He wanted to know what the real issue was. I sent him a long text. I was afraid I would not be able to look at myself in the mirror the next morning. I was going to be a slut, and I didn’t know if I’d be okay with thattomorrow. That because I was making so much effort to get to him it was too easy for him and too cheap for me. He was putting in zero. I couldn’t justify it in my head. I was doing everything and he was doing nothing. That made a full whore circle in my head. I would have done it to myself.

He said he understood, yes he knew he sounded rude and selfish, but that it was part of the fantasy, he had thought we were on the same page.  I had thought so too, but all these second thoughts made me realize I was better than that. He would use me and spit me out like he had done a year ago. It didn’t matter to him who fulfilled his fantasies, as long as he had a warm, hot body. It didn’t matter to him how I felt about it, as long as he could do whatever he wanted. There was zero empathy and respect for me.

Another train passed by. I turned around and went home.

*tbc

 

Done Chasing

My Tinder sexdate from last Saturday happened! Up until an hour before, he was still texting me, and I could tell he was anxious. I told him we’d go for a drink, and if either of us didn’t like it, there was still plenty of time for him to get home. I was getting a little irritated myself, but when he got on the train, I went to pick him up. When I arrived at the train station, he was already there, and relieved to see me, as he’d been worried the bag-lady at the door was me. We went to a bar and while I could tell me was a little nervous, it was fine. He was a talker and I think he’s  just naturally a nervous person. He looked like his photos, though he was a little shorter than me and maybe he looked a tad older than his thirty three.

We had a few drinks, and when they cranked up the music, he wanted to leave. He paid (!) for the drinks, and off we went to my place. Had another drink, and thankfully he didn’t wait too long before making his move. After making out for a while he said he was glad I was a good kisser. Great. Off to the bedroom. We quickly undressed  each other, and after he pushed me down on the bed, he immediately went down on me. I remember the times when you wouldn’t do oral on one night stands, but I ain’t complaining. Unfortunately he didn’t excel, and so when I got bored I flipped him on his back, and it was then I realized he still had his briefs on. Even more, when I took them off, he wasn’t hard. Oh boy. My efforts by hand only got him half hard and he then told me to not worry, sometimes it took a while. Okay. I switched it to a sixty nine, and while he licked me, he put a finger up my ass. I came right then and there. I love ass play and loved that he’d picked up on it somehow. In the meantime, he had gotten very hard, and I could taste the pre-cum. Time to stop. I got him a condom, and he fucked me in missionary.

He fell asleep quite quickly afterwards, and even though he’d told me he was a spooner, I don’t think he touched me all night. In the morning, after a bad night’s sleep for me, I wanted him to go. He wasn’t into morning sex, which is fine, but then I want you out the door by nine. He did not. He took forever getting up, wanted to talk about the sex, and finally got up at ten thirty for a shower after I’d told him to a few times. He was gone by eleven. All in all, definitely a good experience, no different than picking someone up at a bar, and I’d do it again. He texted me that night he’d had a good time and good sex, so I guess it worked for him too.

Then, the guy I had a date with on Friday night has been in touch as well. I say in touch, but really it’s been me. I am the one to initiate messaging, and even though he responds super quickly and enthusiastically at that, I don’t think I’ll message him again. If he wants to see me again he’ll have to make some effort, and if not, that’s fine. I’m not gonna chase after him.

The Stud texted me last night to ask how my weekend was. I told him I’d had a date and a sleepover, which is his euphemism for sex. If he tells me about his little adventures, why wouldn’t I? And then I didn’t hear from him for a day. When I texted him this evening to ask what was up with that, he sent me a bunch of messages about himself. Not one question about my being sick (which he knew) and what not. And then he said he would be a little busy for the next couple weeks when I asked about meeting up. Call me suspicious, but in my mind, that’s an excuse for ‘I don’t really want to.’ And then he told me he had finished the business case for the sponsoring thing, and just needed to translate it. Well well. I feel like I am being used. So the plan is to wait for the case, respond to it professionally but inconclusive, and then wait for him to come up with a meet-up plan that is worthy of my looking at his business case. And if he doesn’t in the very near future he will get a piece of my mind.

I hate being used, and I have a sneaking suspicion he is in it for just that. Have the fucking guts to say it then.

I am very close to being done with him if won’t make some serious effort soon, and I am done chasing all these men. I’m over it. I’m tired. I deserve better.

Be a dick about it

You remember John. The one I shouldn’t have. I never used to see him at work and yet this week, I’ve run into him three times. Hello’s exchanged, no biggie.

Yesterday, I sent out a group email to my relay race team to ask for their leg times as I needed to compile them for a sweepstake. (Anyone wanna take a wild guess at who the slowest runner was?) So the answers start trickling in, as did John’s. He had avoided the ‘reply to all’ and sent me a private one to say that he had delegated the task of keeping his times to someone more responsible, which would be anyone else but him. I though it was as a positive sign, and sent him a ‘responsibility was debatable anyway :)’ email. He replied with a ‘Think the whole team was very irresponsible.’ Full stop. I took it as an asshole way to cut me off and to reprimand me for thinking I could hint at it. Which I wasn’t, by the way.

I took an hour, had a shower, and decided not to be harsh like I intended but send a reply he could take two ways. And lo and behold, he took it well. Maybe I had misinterpreted his previous message. We exchanged a few more about nothings, until 11pm when he said I should stop working as he was going to, and enjoy the last hour of my Tuesday. So I guess we’re on good terms again. Which is good, because we’re all supposed to have drinks sometime soon. Still, I don’t feel so good about the whole thing, I feel like the air is heavy. I’d feel so much better if we just had that drink, got a little drunk, made a stupid joke about it and get it out of the way. How very girlish of me. Or maybe he could just flat out hate me and that’d be clear enough. Hate the hot/cold. Anyway.

Last Saturday, I went out with Selma, who needed to get laid. Her words. She told me it had been two years, and she needed some. I am very much not used to her talking that way, so I was amused, to say the least. We have had conversations about why it seemed easy for me to do whatever I wanted and why I’m not bothered by casual sex, and she’d always said she wished it was the same for her, but she just couldn’t. I guess she got over it. She had spotted a guy she wanted, and then chickened out. And I figured out why she takes two years as well. This woman is difficult! As soon as she’s approached, she shoots them down with sarcasm. Not good. Eventually, I struck up a conversation with the guy at the bar, and at the end of it, he invited himself and his friend over to our table. I gave Selma advance warning, and told her to be nice.

A few more hours pass, and somehow (and this is where it becomes somewhat vague) we decide to go to my house as I live the closest. I am being told, in two separate conversations, that both men are only coming along for me. That’s not good. I’m not even flattered, because the guy Selma’s after turned out be 22, and a whiny little bitch. So I shut him down and focus on his friend. Who’s not incredibly hot, but he’s nice and he has something to say. At my place, a bottle of champagne gets opened and things go downhill from there.

I get summoned into my own bedroom by the friend, and leave Selma and her guy to it in the living room. So the friend is Asian looking, shorter than me and sadly, the small dick prejudice was true for this one. But Oh. My. God. He was incredible at everything else. In one of my posts I’d written that I’ve never been lucky enough to encounter a man good at oral sex. Until now. Seriously, I am still smiling when I think about it. He had too much to drink to get it up, which meant he completely dedicated all his time to me. I am talking hours of oral and hand jobs. I lost count of the amount of orgasms I had. At some point Selma and the other guy left, and I never even noticed. I was dragged all over my own house, and I’m sure I left a trail. Those couple of hours, he was a god. I get weak in the knees just thinking about it now. Lucky me. He woke me up after 1,5 hours of sleep, and this time, got it up. He was still small. And again, lucky me because he was out for anal sex.

Right after he left I got a text from Selma, that she’d finally gotten laid. The whiny guy had taken her home and somehow she’d had the guts to invite him up. Good for her, guess that’s out of her system now. I’d say that was a night well spent! As for my oral god, don’t know his name, didn’t get his number, he disappeared into the early morning, and I am completely cool with that.