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Its Not Called PornStar Head For Nothing before/after
Okay, here's what happened. This is what I've been reticient to write.
I told her I loved her.
I know, I know, freakishly too soon. And I probably had ulterior motives. The prior night of fooling around, at one point, she stopped and asked, as if I had said something, "Why should we have sex?"
I knew the rote guy answer, ("Because I love you?") but being anything but true is impossible for me. Still, it started the wheels spinning, and I had been dimly aware of that thought process.
Ugh.
It was right after simoultaneous orgasm. (69 again) I get all sappy when that happens. Fuckin' sue me.
Also if I'm surrounded by girls I fall in love forty times a day. Especially if I'm not committed to anyone. That's just...me. College was tough in that manner, just walking to class.
I flopped together with her in a tangle of flesh and collapsed, both of us panting.
"I suppose its too soon to tell you I love you." I said.
"Yes, it is." she said.
I cleaned my house because I suspected she would come up on Saturday.
I wasn't entirely sure, as she was supposed to hike up Pike's Peak, and then drive something like an hour to see me.
The house was spotless. And then she called.
"I didn't go on the hike today. I feel bad about it. I sat around and moped all day long."
I thought I had kept her up a bit late last night. I guess I have a problem: I can't stop kissing this girl. Try as I might, I cannot keep my tongue to myself.
She showed up and had lost her wallet and ID. No fake means no bar.
"Well," I said, "We could go get a bottle of wine and soak in the hot-tub."
And I tried to precisesly explain what I meant.
I've gone out with girls for years and never told them I loved them, to my interminable shame.
And then I dedicated a couple of years of my life to dispensing therapy and family work to inner city kids and their families. The kids...drew the loving side of my personality out of its long somnolent condition.
The friends and co-workers I met shared love freely. It opened my eyes. That's the way its supposed to be.
Free. There's no test or entry requirments. You just give it away.
"I just can't do this without feeling something for you. I can't." I said, which is partially true. If she was better in bed, I suppose mechanically it could still be fulfilled. Actually, I'm sure of it.
But if I get into her head not caring a thing for her, it would be a bad thing.
And I'm so tired of unfullfilling sex. Let me love. Let me love.
And I told her how I learned to share and express love.
"I mean, I love you, but I don't know if I'm IN love with you. Maybe starting to a little. But that's a whole 'nother conversation." I said.
"I suppose that's all right. That's an important distinction between loving someone and being in love. That's fine." she said.
She was quiet for awhile after she showed up. We walked down the block to a pizza joint for dinner. I wanted a calzone.
She told me how she missed the hike, and all the calls to wake her up. She also said she talked to her ex-boyfriend over email or something.
This guy has been the only real boyfriend, I think, she's had. He's twenty three. And he sent her a paper for her to edit.
Full of grammar mistakes, spelling mistakes, punctuation.
This is my competition? For her?
I don't really get bothered with stuff like that. There have been times, of course, where one has to 'clear out the dead wood' as they say. But really, especially at the start of something, it doesn't matter so much.
Edit my papers? I think not.
Tool.
"I'm still intimidated by you." she said. We had separated a little on my bed, still naked on top of the comforter. "Any other guy I've gone out with, I've always had the upper hand. Intellectually. And with you...I don't. Its intimidating."
"Well," I said, "I suppose if we keep seeing each other, we can work on it."
It took a bit for me to get our conversation started. She was still mopey. She watched a man with a club foot eat alone, and felt sorry for him.
"Let's go sit with him. Keep him company." she said.
"Lets not. He may not like it, you know? Who are we to say anything?" I said.
"You may be right. Okay." she said.
We walked over to the liquor store after eating dinner, and got some wine. She picked it out, and for a twenty year old, has a fine knowledge of wines.
I know how to judge a wine, and the basic facts. I know what I like. But going beyond my range of knowledge is much like throwing darts at a dartboard.
And we went back and drained the bottle pretty quickly.
I couldn't keep my lips off of her. Before I knew it, I had my jeans unzipped and she was pawing at my cock.
"Lets go downstairs." I said. And we went.
And we did sixty nine on top of my comforter. And then I told her I loved her. I really like this girl, and on a certain level, I do love her.
I love a lot of people.
I suppose its kind of generic and bland.
I got up and left her there in a puddle of flesh, and likely emotions, and went and played guitar. I played some of my songs, as well as Johnny Cash's 'Delia'.
Delia, woah Delia
Delia all my life
If I hadn't shot poor Delia,
I'd have her for my wife
Delia's gone
One more round
Delia's gone.
Oh, I know. But what's life without some flavor and excitement.
I can just hear her tell her friends. "So then he told me he loved me, but it sounded like in a generic sort of way. Not like he was IN love with me." [pause] "What's that? No, he went upstairs and sang a country song about a guy who shoots his girlfriend."
I went back and cuddled some more.
"I like listening to you." she said.
"Thanks." I said, and we snuggled close.
"I'm almost ready to get dressed." she said.
We went upstairs and sat for a moment. I got a call from my brother. He'd be home soon if I wanted to jam.
Then my house started to fill up with drunk obnoxious people.
C.J. sat down next to us with wild eyes.
"Fungus?" he said, offering me magic mushrooms.
"No." I said.
"Fungus?" he offered to Lydia.
"No, thank you." she said.
More people arrived. I was dreading the possibility that someone would show up with some of Juan Valdez's Finest Columbian crystals and throw down, freaking young Lydia right out.
So I took her to my brother's.
He was pretty well torn up when we arrived. This was expected.
We played some songs. I played my steel guitar and my regular six string acoustic.
We sounded okay. We have sounded better.
She seemed to be impressed, and said so.
We went back and chatted breifly with the people in my house.
Then we went downstairs, and fooled around and talked until five in the morning. I heard more people show up as late as 4 a.m.
She drew me into uncomfortable areas, but as I have stayed true to myself, and completly truthful to her (which isn't a problem for me), I went with it.
She drew me into such uncomfortable topics as:"How many girls have you been with?"
and "So how did you know I had only been with three guys?"
Which I handled as delicately as possible. At one point I pointed out her relative inexperience giving head.
Which was wrong, and I feel badly for doing so. Technique can be learned, but this is truthfully where I figured it out. That and her tight, tight pussy.
At one point I was fingering her with two fingers. She said, "I think one fits better." I am still so grandly amazed.
And she does give respectable head. She likely has yet to learn how to do me, I guess. But, staying with my theme of Complete Honesty, I chose the lesser of two evils, because the "How do you know that my pussy is tight" conversation could break very badly for me. It could break very well, also, pointing out and noticing the positive. But really, it could go so wrong.
"Its not that you do anything bad. What you do is great and I like it. But if you had been with a bunch of guys, it would be more like PornStar Head."
Ugh and whoops both at the same time.
"PornStar Head? What's that?" she said.
"You've never seen a porno?" I asked.
"Well, once. My last boyfriend asked me about it, and then at the same time, whips one out after asking me. It was an all girl porno, so no, I've never seen PornStar head."
Later on in the night.
"What are you thinking?" I said.
"I can't stop thinking about PornStar Head." she said.
So we fooled around a bit more later, and I presented her with my erect penis.
She kind of clucked. Like "huh". A kind of confluence of me striking at her fellatio skills, and having the temerity to go there after 'insulting' her skills.
Not that it was an insult, really. Every girl has their own style and way, much like every snowflake is different. And I think noticing that she doesn't suck dick like a champion says something about values that she holds dear.
Not that it matters to me. As I told her, past is unimportant to me.
And I gently brushed the tip of my cock on her lips. Delicately. Ever so lightly.
She wrapped her lips around my cock and actually made me cum in a record time for her.
It still wasn't PornStar Head.
She's such a sweetheart.
She got up late. I made her a bowl of Fruit Loops.
She sat and ate her Fruit Loops while I sat across the table and smoked a Marlboro Light. The contrast was delightful.
Around us lay the detritus of the pseudo-party. Bottles and ashes. Empty packs of ciggarrettes. Glasses. And an empty packet of Juan Valdez's Finest Columbian Crystals, which she, thankfully, didn't notice.
We chatted a little bit, and I sent her on her way.
If it was just to be these sparse moments, then that's what it was. And I'm still happy.
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