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the sexual me Part 8 before/after
the sexual me
part 8
There is no graceful way to explain my Saturday.
I had talked to Lydia several times during the week, and she agreed to come up "early" Saturday, as I had mentioned a place in Boulder where we could climb and have a picinic at the peak of this red rock formation and have a panoramic vista of all of Boulder and the Front Range of the Rockies.
I got woken up by Roomie at 9:00 a.m. Saturday.
"Hey, Arg, wanna go see the Stanley Cup?" he asked.
Why, yes I do.
So we went to Aves practice and I saw the Stanley Cup. Being a devout Red Wings fan (found their most recent teams on the cup!) I felt like a stranger in a stange land, a spy in enemy territory.
Came back, and still no Lydia. I figured I should call.
So I started looking for her number, which is gone, gone, gone, and she called. She was lost in Colorado Springs.
She still sounded confident, but had trouble accepting my advice as how to get "unlost".
I told her not to worry. My key concepts for the day were "mellow relaxation" and "plenty of time for whatever".
So she said she was going to go home, get some sleep, and be fresh for the evening. She had a headache, and was feeling a little run down.
Fine.
I wasted the day with odds and ends. Come to find out, a friend of ours was having a bachelot party on the north side of town at a seedy biker bar. At six o'clock, the owner agreed to lock the doors.
So I called Lydia at five to discern the situation.
"You're probably wondering where I am." she said.
"No, no. Just wondering when you're going to show up." I replied.
We bantered a bit, and she asked if I wanted her to get dinner down there before she arrived. I encouraged this, and she said she'd be there by seven thirty.
I resigned myself to missing the bachelor party. She means more to me than carousing with strippers, and really, generally speaking, if you've seen one bachelor party, you've seen them all.
As it turns out, the guys wanted a ride to the party so no one would drink and drive. Ever being a helpful soul, I drove my friend's SUV to the seedy biker bar, with full intentions of dropping them off and leaving.
"Are you gonna' stay a little while?" he asked as I dropped them off.
"Well," I said, "I'll come in for a ciggarette."
Came in, and a lot of the gang was there.
I grabbed some pizza, and someone poured me a beer.
Well, why not, I need dinner, and there is nothing going on right now.
As I finished my pizza, the strippers show up. Its seven o' clock.
Very attractive girls, thin, blonde, vivacious girls, they hadn't gone down the slope of the other side of the stripper business, yet. They knew what they were doing, they liked what they were doing, but hadn't picked up a lot of the baggage that some of the vets have. Yet.
I felt awkward and torn. I wanted to support my friend. I didn't want to leave as the girls arrived. And yes, I wanted to gawk at sexually aggressive, confident pretty women.
They started with some of the simple stuff. Tuck a dollar in, and where ever it is, the bachelor has to take it out with his teeth.
They stuffed dollars in the bachelor's pants, and they took them out with their teeth.
And then they stripped him down to his boxers, put his belt around his neck, and started tugging at his underwear, calling him, "bitch" repeatedly.
"An-al, An-al, An-al!" shouted Hellvis.
The look on the bachelor's face was priceless. Much like scooby-doo when he first meets the "monster". Wuuu-aaah?
Then they had them demonstrate their next money gathering trick. They showed where, for five dollars, a guy could spray wipped cream on them, and then lick it off.
(And while I'm on the topic, let me just say that this is one of the nastiest things. Really. I'm not going to lick the same place fifteen other guys have just licked, whether she cleans it off with a baby nap or not. And this, also, is in part, other than the mercenary ascpect, and the degredation of women, why strip clubs have fallen out of favor with me. Especially the part where they take the dollar from your teeth with their breasts. You can literally see how many guys nasty, oily, scabby faces have rubbed on that VERY SAME SPOT that you just had rubbed on your face. Its just non-hygenic.)
This is when I left.
I got on the road at seven fifteen. Made it to my house at seven forty-five. Lydia had been waiting there for fifteen minutes, unwilling to enter, or go around to the back, where she thought I was. She, instead, had been calling on the phone.
I suppose I could understand her not wanting to tangle with Brixton. Brixton likes her, because I like her, however, he would savage anyone who does not belong, and given his size, I understand her apprehension.
I explained that I had been dropping off friends on the north side of town. I didn't get into the whole bachelor party aspect, because her last boyfriend went to a bachelor party, and she had issues with it. Not that he went, entirely, but the fact that he called her and gave her hourly updates as to the action. Tool.
(Seriously, what a dick. This is one excellent girl. So far she seems decent and trustworthy, and you just don't treat people like that. All things considered, I'd probably go, and watch. Given my stand on the lack of hygenic worthiness of these pursuits, its safe to say I wouldn't participate. (Which then renders it a non-issue. I've already seen this stuff time and time again. And I'll never cheat, not that I'm committed to anyone right now, but I'm just saying, its worthy to show Friend's Support, and not be Scared To Do As You Will.) But I definitely wouldn't call my girl and update hourly. That's like rubbing it in, and speaks more of underlying issues in the relationship. How...petty.)
She was all right, and understanding. I hopped in the shower, got clean, came out and put on some jeans, brushed my teeth and demanded a kiss.
I love, love, love kissing this girl. Can't keep my lips off of her.
Things progressed. She started tugging at my jeans, and I whipped out my cock, yet again. I'm shameless.
After a bit, I suggested we go down stairs.
In my room, I started taking off her clothes, and she made an effort at mine. Naked our lips met, and I thrilled to feel her soft naked skin against mine.
We mutually masturbated each other, and I put my cock next to her wet pussy, as if to enter.
She waited a second, and I sensed the internal struggle, so I waited.
"I can't." she said.
"Okay." I said, "Fine by me." And I presented her with my erect cock, leaning my head towards her thighs, her pretty little tasty pussy perking up at me.
Salivating, I descended.
"And I don't want to do this, because of all that talk of PornStar Head." she said.
I was beyond all caring. Put a pussy in my face that is well trimmed (blonde hair starting to grow back, but well maintained), pretty, and damn tasty, and I feel much like a shark on the Great Barrier Reef in the middle of chummy waters. Its a feeding frenzy.
I tasted her pussy, and it was on. God, I wanted to lick each and every part of that pussy, and give each and every part the attention it deserves.
I'd like to say I went slow, elegant, and teasingly, but I didn't. I just could not get enought. Licking, tasting, tugging, pulling, gasping, and every once in a while, for amusements sake, like a child with a new toy, I would see how far my tongue would go inside her, and how much of her I could taste at once.
She took my cock in her mouth in under fifteen seconds. And she took it well. In a weird way, that comment about PornStar Head has lead to two of the best blowjobs she's been kindly enough to give me.
She made me cum quickly, to my mild embarassment, pulling my cock out of her mouth, and stroking my manhood with her magical hands.
She is to handjobs what David Blaine is to pointless publicity stunts. Un-fucking-real. I have no explanation for it, other than maybe that's what she did in high-school to keep her numbers low. Or at least maybe. Maybe she lied about her numbers as some girls do. I really don't care.
I grabbed a towel and we each cleaned our selves off. Then I started to finish her off, when she stopped me.
(This, I believe, is some come-uppance for me stopping her while blowing me last week, with a proferred, "Hey, its all okay if you can't get me off.")
"Its okay if you can't get me off." she said. "Come here."
And I lay naked on top of her, and she kissed me passionately. No surprise or retience like the time we kissed after I had just had my tongue in her pussy. In fact, I suspect she relished it, or at least, relished kissing me so much that she didn't mind. Either way, like I said, if I was a girl, I wouldn't care, either.
We lay and cuddled for a bit, and then got dressed and went upstairs. I had a cigarette, and she bummed one of mine.
And we talked a bit. Confessional style, this time into drugs.
It was a conversation I had been dreading, especially since it started with her supporting her friend who said she would break up with her boyfriend of three years if he tried acid.
"Have you ever tried acid?" she asked.
"Well...yeah. That and other stuff." I said.
"Have you done it a lot.?" she asked.
"Define 'a lot' ." I said.
"Never mind, its not important." she said. "You said that 'and other stuff', what other stuff besides pot?"
"uhhh." I said.
And while watching Pulp Fiction, the scene where Mia Wallace OD's by snorting heroin came on.
"Heroin?" she asked.
"My God, no." I said.
"Coke?" she asked.
I hesitated, but I have been honest, so I plowed ahead.
"Yes."
"That's okay. I've tried it, too."
And she went on to explain the circumstances and a reckless friend she had.
The conversation went on, but this was a great load off of my mind. I thought she'd freak, and actually, she's pretty cool.
"Now you probably think I'm a freak, or a cocaine addict, and don't want to see me anymore." she said.
"Not at all," I said, "Actually, I like you a lot more."
Which was true. Hiding stuff is the death knell of budding relationships after a certain point of exploration. Plus, like I said, if she were perfect, I wouldn't like her.
So we chatted a bit, and then left for the show Don was playing at the BlueBird Theatre.
On the way there, Lydia obsessed about her fake ID. She has memorized all the vital stats. I spoke of confidence when approaching the bouncer, neglecting to mention that I would likely know the guy checking ID's...and the guy behind the bar...and the waitress...and the guy tearing down the stage...and so on.
So we got in with nary a problem. The Geds had just started to play, and we got drinks. They played very well, as well as I have ever heard them, and since the recent return, I have seen every show except two.
Don is my roomate, and I support him. His bandmates are people I have grown to respect and love. What can I say?
Lydia sucked down the drinks with abandon. She outpaced me, which is not a big deal, since I am a light drinker any more.
At one point, they gave her a double for regular price. Probably to keep her from coming back so often, I suppose.
I would like to think its because they saw her with me, and knowing me for a good guy, showed some favor, but this is likely not so.
After the set, Lydia was impressed with the lead singer. So I introduced Lydia to her.
It was funny, because Lydia was a little star-struck, but she handled it well.
I introduced her to a bunch of my friends. The music was loud, so there wasn't much conversation.
Roomie and I rounded up the troops and went to buy some beer. I got some beer and wine for Lydia and me.
People gathered at my house. I introduced Lydia to more of my friends. And she was wonderful. She got into a political argument with two of my friends, and held her own as they ganged up on her. She struck up conversations with everyone, was affable and intelligent. In short, she was wonderful.
And she drank most of the bottle of wine, aside from two glasses. And, as everyone prepared to leave, she got hit like a landslide from all the booze she drank.
Swaying, and not making much sense, she literally flowed through my house and over obstacales, almost falling down several times.
I sat and watched a little bit. Told her to drink water, and that she would be all right in a little while, despite her protests.
Then I closed up the house and picked up a bit. She eventually flowed to the bed...and then back to the bathroom...and then to the bed, until I convinced her that if she liked, she could vomit in the utility tub downstairs.
She then laid briefly on the floor of my laundry room. Yes, it was her Sloppy Drunk Moment.
I got her up off the floor.
I went and got her things out of her car, and poured her a glass of water. At one point, as I came downstairs, I even went and held her hair for a moment, but she had the dry heaves. At least I think it was the dry heaves.
This is a real moment for me. Usually, I just go and continue to party with my friends, while the girl picks up the peices of herself. Nurturing, at least in this sense, has never been my strong suit.
Lydia again flopped on my bed.
"Look," I said, "Why don't I get you undressed, so you don't puke on your clothes."
She flipped over with a goofy smile on her face, and I stripped her naked, and put a t-shirt on her.
I got naked and went to bed. She got up and got some water.
She flopped back down on my bed, and cuddled up. Somehow, my carressing led one thing to another, and I was fingering her wet pussy from behind while she played with her clit. I loved it.
She was very wet. I actually managed to get two fingers in, and she moaned all the more loudly while playing with her clit.
Then she rolled over, and spread her thighs. Not a word was shared. I slowly worked my cock inside of her, and very, very slowly started to fuck her with the first half of my cock.
She moaned, and started breathing hard, clutching at me feverishly, grabbing, holding, exploring my body shape.
Then I hefted the rest of my cock in, and she arched her back and let out a loud moan. Her pussy felt so tight. Wrapped tightly around my cock, I fucked her with excruciating slowness.
Inch by inch. Her breathing increased. My abs slowly tightened up. She moaned more in passion, gasping.
Eventually I felt the orgasm cumming, so I gave her a series of hard strokes to finish, and pulled out. Kneeling over her, she stroked my cock and lifted my shirt while I came on her.
I grabbed the towel and she cleaned herself off. I think she put some on her finger and tasted it, but I could be wrong.
Then she rolled over, and became very, very still.
I actually checked to see if she was breathing, and it didn't seem so.
"Lydia. Lydia?" I said.
"Hmmm. Hyuh? What?" she said.
"You were so still...I almost thought you were dead." I said, thinking of Blood Alcohol Poisoining or Weird Allergic Reaction, or Medication Interaction for all I knew.
"No, no. I'm all right. And just what would you doooo if I were laying here, next to you...dead?" she asked
"I'd call 911." I said.
"Would you turn it into a story? Would you use it to get more sex...sympathy...more girls into bed with you?" she teased.
"No. I'd be heart-broken." I said. And I meant it.
"Oh, that's sweet." she said, "What would you tell my parents?"
"Well, I'd say 'Mr. and Mrs ____________, I'm sorry, but I fucked your daughter to death." I said.
She laughed. She has a dark side, yet she keeps it hidden well.
I drifted some more, and was woken by her returning to bed, likely after getting some more water.
She snuggled close, and again my carresses led to my fingering her from behind, while she played with her clit. This time, her pussy felt remarkably looser. I easily got three fingers inside of her, and was contemplating a fourth when she again rolled over and spread her thighs for me.
Not hesitating a moment, I plunged my cock into her well lubricated pussy, and I fucked her hard. I couldn't believe how loose her pussy was at this point. I must have made her cum, likely more than once the first time around to cause this.
It was a straight hard fuck. And maybe I shouldn't say fuck. 'Cause both of these times I stayed close to her, cheek to cheek a lot. But having said this, I fucked her hard.
She moaned loudly and uncontrollably, and in the background I heard people walk into the house.
Fuck it, y'know? I don't care who hears or sees, really. If its on, its on, and I stop for no one except for the girl I'm with.
My abdominals were getting very sore. I felt the orgasm cumming, and I didn't resist it. I pulled out, and she stroked me as I finished.
She lifted her shirt and I came on her stomach and breasts.
We were both gasping and heaving, as I grabbed a towel for her and collapsed next to her.
We snuggled close, still gasping for breath, and I drifted off into sleep with her in my arms.
I awoke early the next morning to her getting up. She was packing her stuff to go.
"What's going on?" I asked
"I have stuff I have to do today." she said.
I watched her get dressed.
"Go back to sleep." she said.
"Okay." I said.
She gave me a nice warm hug, walked out of my room, and out my front door.
And then it was Sunday.
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