Two things (at least)

1) For every girl who is sexually active but uses zero form of birth control (pulling out doesn’t count as birth control, but it’s what I use), seeing that ever so slight shade of pink on the toilet paper when she first starts her period is the most wonderful sensation ever.

2) I don’t think I want to cheat on my boyfriend.  Let me tell you a story:

A couple of weeks ago I went to the bar and noticed another man when he sat down a few seats over.  He was huge and hunky (he’s a fucking fireman–just kill me now).  He had a goatee.  Dark hair.  Full lips.  Strong jaw.  Big hands.  Oh my god, his hands…  He was probably the most attractive piece of man meat I had seen in a very, very long time.  We started to talk.  We got along.  I don’t remember what we talked about, but I never mentioned my boyfriend.  He walked me to my car.  We talked some more then said, in a very nice way, “well, then let me get your phone number and we’ll meet up again.”  I told him I didn’t have a phone number to give out.  He looked confused, then said “okay,” and was polite and wished me a good night.

As I drove away, I noticed that, for the first time since meeting my fiance, I wanted to sleep with someone else.  Sure, I’ve felt the urge to turn a trick, but this time, it was a specific person, and it was because I wanted *him* to stick *his* dick in me and fuck the living shit out of me.  It wasn’t about money or games or power.  It was about being so physically attracted to another man that I wanted him to tear me to pieces.  It wasn’t me looking for an experience that I could have with pretty much any random stranger to be fulfilled, it was me wanting to have sex with one particular man who is not my fiance.

I saw him a few days later again.  This time, most of the seats were taken, and my purse occupied the seat next to mine (yes, I do it on purpose so I decide who sits there).  Fireman looked around for a place to sit, and I said, “you can sit here if you want, you know,” and he set his jacket on the chair, ordered a beer, and then went to the bathroom.  I had been telling my bartender about this guy not a moment before he walked in, and that I had had those… urges for him, so I told him that I had to leave before fireman came back.  He said, “well then, why the hell did you invite him to sit next to you?”  Damnit.  Ya got me.

I saw him last night.  The bar was mostly empty (it’s small).  He sat at the other end with some nerdy guys and they talked politics.  I heard him ask another guy, “are you some kind of conspiracy theorist?”  That made me like him more.  We made eye contact once, and I immediately looked away.  Then, he was watching me first, then he caught my eye, and he had his glass up and made a gesture to say “hello.”  When the bar closed, I went to the bathroom first, while he and the conspiracy theorists went outside and continued their discussion in the parking lot.  When I came out, I walked past them to my car, and he waved and said goodnight.  Of course I smiled flirtatiously and said goodnight.

I then went home and fantasized about him in a myriad of ways.  First, we just talk for a while outside of his car.  He’s so sweet, and I’ve been so fickle, so I know I have to take the lead, and I just open up the door and climb into the back seat and he follows me.  I imagine we start kissing, he runs his hands over me, slides them up my skirt, pulls my cosabella boyshorts aside and starts to finger me.  I pull his dick out and I find–to my utter and extreme delight–that he is uncircumcised and huge.  I go crazy, and I jump on him, taking his cock into my mouth and furiously sucking up and down while he fingers me with two fingers until I squirt all over his leather seats.  When I cum it turns him on so much that he shoots into my mouth and I swallow the whole thing in one gulp, but of course I still squeeze his dick until I get every drop onto my tongue and down my throat.  Of course we have to end it there because I have a boyfriend and sex would be too much.

Then, in the next fantasy, that whole idea goes out the window.  We are at his place.  I am on the couch, my legs spread open off the edge, and he’s on his knees, fucking me at the edge of the couch.  His dick goes so deep and hard and hits me in that magic spot and I cum and I squirt all over him.  He fucks me for a few more minutes just to watch me squirm, then decides he wants to cum in my mouth.  He stands up, and I’m still sitting on the couch.  He shoves his cock in my mouth, grabbing my head with both hands and skull fucking me.  I get so turned on I have to rub my clit while I take him down my throat.  Once he starts to cum and grunt and shoot delicious juice into my mouth, I cum too in excitement.  I don’t know what happens after that.

The third scenario was the one I had while my boyfriend was in bed next to me.  This time, we’re both in his car, in the front seats with the console between us, and we’re listening to music for a while and eventually we discuss our mutual attraction, and my unfortunate attachment.  This time, I compromise by saying I can only play with myself, but he can watch.  Of course, he takes out that giant uncut cock to pleasure himself, but I still can’t help myself.  I start sucking his dick and I stick my pussy in the air and grab his hand and slide his fingers into me.  He finger fucks me while he’s in my mouth and as soon as I begin to taste his cum, I squirt on his hand and it splashes on the seat and drips down my legs.  Or course I milk him for all he’s worth.

I had these thoughts in my head all day.  This morning I sucked my fiance’s dick because I just wanted Fireman’s cock in my mouth so much.  Then I made my fiance fuck me–hard–and I imagined Fireman’s dick in my pussy and hands on my throat.  But the whole time, I knew it was my fiance fucking me, and it was great.  He did an awesome job.  [Editorial note: he’s been much better at the oral sex lately, but I am actually on my period right now, and I don’t really expect anyone to chow down at that time.]

Tonight I decided I wanted to see Fireman again.  I drove through the parking lot to see if his car was there already.  It was.  When I walked in, he was sitting next to my favorite seat (the seat I was in the night before, of course). with another woman.  I was so relieved.  I was hoping he was on a date, maybe setting a boundary, but whatever the case, it would be the perfect time to mention my boyfriend.  Of course, he said hello when I sat down.  I was friendly about it, but I ended it immediately to ask the bartender about what was on tap.  I read a book for a few minutes, then his lady friend started talking to me.  I was listening to their conversation some, and I realized it wasn’t a date; they were friends and she was actually obsessed with another man at the time.  Fireman got up to go to the bathroom and Kendra almost immediately introduced herself and started talking to me.  It was almost as if (and this could just be the narcissist in me) Fireman had said something about me before I arrived (or maybe whispered it while I was reading or ordering), and she was trying to access my availability for her friend.  I’ve done things like that before; it was a possibility.  While he was away, I mentioned my boyfriend.  When he came back, neither she nor I brought it up.

Even though I didn’t mention it, it got to a point where I was pretty sure I didn’t need to if it wasn’t natural to the thread of the conversation.  As I heard him talk more about himself and his life, I discovered he was a person.  He has feelings.  He’s not just the meat machine I thought I was looking for.  If I brought him into my world, I would destroy him.  I saw his destruction.  I saw him weak, and I saw him with that “why doesn’t she love me?” face.  I hate that face.  I saw that he would try to win my affection, and I saw that he would drain me.  I absolutely cannot stand the thought of another person needing me to give them emotions.

I’ve already agreed to ride this ride because it agrees with me.  Even if Fireman is a hunka-hunka burnin’ love, I don’t think there’s any amount of uncircumcised dick (my faaaaaaavorite) that could make me try to care about a different human being than the one I’m with.  I made my decision a long time ago (the night we met, actually).  I’m just sick of having to get to know another person’s emotions, and I don’t want to have to learn about yet another’s.  That’s not to say that I don’t, in some way, enjoy the challenges that my fiance poses: I know that I need to be better, and he helps me with that.  He helps me be more tolerant.  It’s work, but I’ve always enjoyed challenges, and I truly believe that I am capable of anything.

And of course, I thought about what would happen if my fiance found out.  I imagine it would be come out in a situation where my fiance and I went to the bar together, and Fireman sees us, hurt from my fucking his lights out then abandoning him for my fiance, and here we were together, all over one another like we usually are (I really only know how to express myself physically, so I show him my love with constant touching and kissing–I very rarely use words).  I imagine Fireman makes some kind of smart comment, not fully giving away the truth, and of course, Fiance doesn’t know any better, so he sticks up for himself (and me), but by the end of the night, it won’t sit right with him.  We’ll go home and he’ll know it.  He’ll get angry.  He’ll throw things, grab me, and slam doors.  He’ll sleep in the guest bedroom.  The next day he won’t talk to me.  The second day he’ll tell me to leave.  And then it will all be over.  I’ll have to start all over from scratch.  Do you know how hard it is for me to find someone I agree with?  And then, to find someone I agree with for more than a few months?  I’m getting too old for this game.

Tonight, Kendra, Fireman, and I were all talking about the virtues of my hometown versus our current town.  I actually prefer the new place, but no one can believe that this little shithole has more to offer me than a famous city.  The bartender (who knew that I almost lost my shit with this guy before) loudly interjected that I “came here to settle down.”  It’s true.  I’ve decided on this future: husband, kids, in-laws (I love my in-laws; my mother-in-law is a super sweet, generous chef, and my father-in-law is a scientist and we drink bourbon and discuss everything from cosmology to the psychology of feral cats).  The life I have is the life I want. This is what I have always wanted.  I have always wanted to be on a team of two.  We’ll have allies, for sure, but I’ve always wanted to share my awesomeness with someone else, and to have another person teach me what love means.  As much as my mother didn’t turn out a sociopath (she’s actually very empathic towards a lot of people, especially strangers), she’s always been a tit-for-tat kind of person.  I was a fat kid, so if I ever wanted something, I would have to lose weight to earn it.  She wouldn’t buy me a car (not that I really thought she had to, I was fine with public transit as it was all I knew and I’m kind of a hippie), until I enrolled in her favorite college (and of course, it took her three years to provide her end of the bargain that she offered [mind you, I paid for college 100% out of my own funds–savings bond left by a relative, straight work, and flatbacking–except for one small loan for which we co-signed to help build my credit, but which I had paid back completely within one year].  My fiance’s family doesn’t make me write out a payment plan on loans they give us.  They don’t even give us “loans”.  They just give us money when they know we’re struggling.  They don’t expect us to pay it back, but I recently got a new job that would allow me to pay them back 200% in 12 months if I choose (it’s a slow start kind of position, but “residuals” is a beautiful word).  They haven’t asked for that, not at all, not even moderately implied, but I imagine that’s what I would do for them when I was able.  Perhaps I will simply put the money into a savings account of some kind (whatever has the best return) to allow for my in-laws to be well cared for when they are too old to care for themselves (whether we build an in-law unit or set them up someplace swanky).  But everything my mom has loaned me, I have paid back according to her terms, which are always in the short term.

I saw the future.  I couldn’t stand to lose this one, and I couldn’t stand to give a shit about the other.  I have it really good where I am.  He’s on his way home now, and when he gets here, I’m going to shove my face into his chest hair.

DTMFA?

Here’s my shameful truth: my boyfriend (so called fiance) has gone down on me approximately six times in our year long relationship. I can only count five times from memory (the night we met, our Halloween vacation, valentines, my birthday, and once since then, of course after I complained), but I will assume another instance happened as well, for his sake.

I only cum from oral sex, as far as contributions from a partner are concerned. I can get off with a vibrator by myself just fine. But that’s what being single is for (and “being single” to me means, “the three weeks at most between this dick and that”).

The last guy I had sex with before I met my fiancé was Charlie. I had known him and wanted him for a while (he’s a redhead, a great one at that, and that is my THING, for some reason). Finally, over a year after we met, we talked about our mutual attraction. That night, I thought, I was out of commission on account of my period. He told me “I was married for seven years. I’ve seen it all and I don’t care. I just want you squirming on my face, no matter what, where, when, or why.” He cheerfully agreed to follow me home and eat me out, despite me being on my period. This carried on with similar enthusiasm for a while. There were many times when I just wanted to suck him off, because yes, that gets me off, but I knew, if I needed it, it would be there.

There are no such certainties with my fiancé. I don’t know why he doesn’t do it, and he won’t explain why. I figure it’s the usual reason immature men have: women smell/taste gross down there. So, I shower, I shave, and if he attempts to go down after I went for a run and haven’t showered, I turn him down. I’ve explained to him that I don’t do this because I don’t want it, but because I know how much he obviously hates it, and I don’t want to make the experience any more difficult than it already is.

In our time together, I have never mentioned that he has an abnormally hairy penis. That’s right. He has hair growing halfway up his dick. It’s not a lot, but when I go down on him, sometimes I think I have a hair stuck in my mouth, but really, it’s a still-attached dick hair. It’s really only maybe like eight hairs total, but they are full sized, and still very uncommon for my dick sucking experience (which exceeds the 100 point for sure). What’s weird is he will shave his balls, but he completely ignores his dick hair.

But I shave everything constantly to keep him not-uninterested. I don’t know how to get him excited about it, so I just try to make myself as presentable as possible.

But charlie wouldn’t give a flying shit. Not one. If I went three weeks between shaves, he didn’t give a shit, my pussy was a wonderful source of enjoyment for me, therefore for him, then both of us together. I can’t even think of a fucking JOHN who didn’t eat my pussy first. They paid to eat it of all things!

My no-contact client told me the other night how much he loved eating pussy. He could do it for hours, he said. I’m almost tempted to call him and just ask him to eat me out. No money, just eat my pussy for an hour.

What the fuck am I supposed to do? I’ve never had a mate so reluctant to give me pleasure. I figure I’ll stay with him, because he’s great in every other way, but I’ll just get my pussy eaten on the side. So long as there’s no reciprocation on my end (giving oral or sex), can he really complain? Really?

I mean fucking really?
It’s not like he’s established a monopoly on it. He’s not outdoing the competitors. If I, as a business owner, hired a company that did legal and financial services, but found that while their legal services were fantastic, their financial services sucked, could they really get mad if I used them only for their legal skills, but turned to someone different for financial advice? There’s no contract yet. Even if there were, failure to provide on any one aspect would warrant the agreement null.

I don’t want to cheat, and I don’t want to break up, but I am comfortable cheating. More so than breaking up with him. I told him, before, that a recent study said men performed cunnilingus to keep women from leaving them. In fact, the study said men performed cunnilingus to keep women from cheating on them. but I didn’t want to scare him.

But that’s the truth we’re facing. Any advice is welcome.

Update: Oh, and to let you know, I suck his dick probably 97% of the time that we have sex. He does not eat my pussy to make it wet, nor does he like it when I spit on my fingers and then rub them on myself to make up for the lack of actual sexual lubricant. He complained about that, so I stopped. So, unless I suck him first, it’s dry cock going into dry pussy and it is painful and unnecessary. Just eat it god damnit.

“I’m bad, and that’s good. I will never be good, and that’s not bad. There’s no one I’d rather be, than me.”

I like to joke a lot and say extremely narcissistic things to people, or in a crowd, and people think it’s funny, because I don’t think they could believe I really feel that way.  The thing is, I believe everything I’m saying, but I know it’s fucked up.  I don’t think I’m wrong for how I feel, and I can justify the most horrifying of actions, but I know I’m different, and I know I’m not normal, and certainly not what I’d call right.  Of course, I can turn that to my benefit because it makes me special.  But yes, I still know right from wrong, and I know that the behavior I poke fun at is not acceptable in society, and I try to fit in.  We watched Wreck-It Ralph the other night.  It was better than I was expecting (only because my boyfriend didn’t explain that it starred John C Reilly and Jane Lynch), and I actually found it a little bit uplifting.

I have always wanted to get married.  The thought of someone promising to love me forever has always excited me, and every time I get into a new relationship, from the very beginning I ask, “Could this be it?”  I’ve had a lot of men fall in love with me, at least that’s what they said, over and over, while I insisted they did not.  A few weeks ago, my fiance pulled me close to him on the couch and put his arm around me.  All of a fucking sudden it hit me: he did that because it felt good to him to hold me, just like when it felt good to me to cuddle with him.  It was the first time I had ever noticed that in the two decades I have been slutting around this planet.  I think that may have had a reason it was so hard to believe anyone loved me (that, and like, the abuse).  But you know, I always found “proof” they didn’t love me, usually the fact that at some point, they tried to break up with me (or succeeded and we reunited).  Once that happened, no matter when in the relationship, that’s when the real cheating would begin.  I would occasionally turn tricks behind their backs if I wanted money (or just because I fucking like it), but that’s not really cheating since it’s just a job and I’ll never see that guy again (well, I saw some of them again. One guy wanted me to come back and play with his girlfriend while he watched.  That bitch was so coked up it was ridiculous, she was naked and bouncing on her tippy-toes when she walked around and just totally out of it.  I fucked her with a dildo on the couch.  She just flopped around and looked blank.  I wouldn’t be surprised if she died that night.)

Once the cheating started, it was all downhill from there.  If they didn’t love me, it didn’t matter if I cheated on them, it couldn’t hurt them.  Even if it did, I didn’t care.  I don’t owe anyone anything if they don’t adore me.  Although I can say I ended it with most of my boyfriends, it was always a preemptive strike because I knew, once they tried it the first time, they were going to keep trying to break up with me until it stuck.  And I could always sense when that final time was right around the corner.  I’ve done it by moving out of state at least a time or two.

I’ve realized that with my behavior, and the frequency of divorce, marriage is no guarantee that I will not die alone.  I want someone to love me forever, and I won’t have that if I keep acting like a fucking sociopath of a narcissist all the time.  I had a boyfriend a while back who pointed out every single narcissistic thing I did.  Freaking everything.  My current one has to stop me and say “it’s not always about you, you know,” and frankly, it shocks me every time.  “It’s not??” That’s the thing people don’t want to understand: sometimes, it’s innocent.  I really don’t know how things are or how I sound.  Of course, when it’s pointed out to me, I am willing to try to make it somehow not about me (old habits die hard, y’all), and I do try to compromise.  I’m not trying to be horrible all the time.  I just am that way.  I try so hard to be nice when I go out in public.  But it’s exhausting.  It’s just not who I am.

But as Wreck-It Ralph says: “I’m bad, and that’s good. I will never be good, and that’s not bad. There’s no one I’d rather be, than me.” I can use my badness for good.  I’m the friend you can go see gory movies with and hide your eyes, and you can trust me to describe anything plot-specific you may be missing, and of course the proper moment to open your eyes again.  If someone’s picking on you, and you’re in my chosen few, I’ll scare them for you.  When we walk down the street alone, in the dark, don’t worry, I’ve got a knife and I’m looking for rocks or pieces of metal to grab, just in case.  Is someone spurting blood? Let me put a bandage on it, at worst I’ll just get horny.  And I’m sure there are other applications.  Just because I have no means to really care doesn’t mean I’m outwardly malicious.  I am friendly when I like the people I’m with.  But yes, you still have to pass a difficult test.

I have one female best friend.  She lives in another state.  I have a few casual girlfriends (not that kind of girlfriend, perverts), but I only ever make plans with one of them, once every several months.  The others I see when I run into them or am looking to sell some stuff I don’t want.  All of my friends that I feel I have some kind of connection to (except the one BFF) are ones I’ve slept with.  Whether it was once, a few times, or a relationship long enough where you don’t count, those are the people I want to be around.  They’re the ones I feel comfortable with.  Knowing they still want me is certainly awesome, but… I spent about twelve minutes trying to think of a way to finish that sentence, and I couldn’t.  It’s because I still have a hold over them.  That’s really it.  And it’s so fucking fun.  But that’s about all I know how to do.  Even now, I have a scheme for every man I meet.  I can’t act on any of them, of course, but I still plan them.  It’s what I do.  On a platonic level, and I actually do have some platonic male friends, I get along better with men.  There’s still the potential for sexual mischief, but it doesn’t have to go there.  I still feel more comfortable talking about aggressive and intellectual kinds of things.  But yeah, in the end, it comes down to who I could have sex with.

 

Well, y’all, my fiance will be here soon and I don’t trust no kind of newfangled technology to save my post, so I’ll have to post the next part on of this tomorrow.  Trust me, I’m getting to a point.  Enjoy the long walk with me.