Immediately after the first few strokes I regretted the decision to let him hit. After being celibate for so long, my desires finally whispered louder than my conscience. I let curiosity kill the cat. Or at least I wished the cat would be killed, these little baby strokes weren’t enough to even make her purr.
But I was stuck, because I actually liked the guy. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I knew it would be ego crushing if I just asked him to get off of me, roll over and go to sleep. There would be no 2 hour pillow talk, just snores filled with resentment and hurt. What man is able to fully accept that they can’t please a woman? Or at least not the woman they like.
At first I had to check myself, had to make sure I was bringing the right tools to this occasion to make it enjoyable. Warm. Check. Wet. Check. Tight. Check. Throw it back like a pro. Check.
After running through the list quickly, I had ruled out me being at fault for this underwhelming experience. I remember wondering if maybe I just had a mental blockade because of the last guy I dealt with — I was connected to him more deeply, maybe that connection was making me sexually unavailable here.
I began to wonder, am I the only one that’s not enjoying this? I un-squinted my eyes, nah he was in sheer ecstasy. I tried harder to contract my vagina to grab his dick firmer, hoping maybe it would make him come quicker and give me a little more pleasure. Kegels have got to be good for something right?
Still not exciting. Now he’s working over time to change up the positions, and I have mentally checked out. I started getting upset with myself, why was I still wasting my time? I should’ve just kept it at the unknowing. I’m never having sex with this guy again. Like I might legit laugh the next time he makes a sexual reference towards me. I had to end this. I could see how badly he wanted to feel like he’d conquered me.
So, I faked it.
I faked it from start to finish. I had like 3 or 4 fake orgasms. I let him walk away that night thinking he put it down. The only thing he put down was another useless body on my count.
I applauded myself for the academy award winning performance.
I had multiple different types of orgasms. The one where her whole body starts to spasm and everything tightens up. The unexpected one where it creeps up on her and she just calls out his name or God’s name (sorry Lord). The freaky deaky one where her eyes are rolling back in her head while she’s touching herself and spreading her cheeks while he drives inside her.
As I was acting, I remember channeling each of those orgasms from times I’d actually had them. I mean, isn’t that what good acting is about? But when I realized my performance was just making him want to prove more, I had to “tap out”. Generally the tap out is because he has tore the pussy up and the woman just can’t take another stroke.
This guy couldn’t tear up a piece of paper in my book. I just wanted him awf of me. I wanted to lay down. And I wanted to sleep. Afterwards on his walk to the bathroom he gloated in his victory. I let his ego swell and never told him that he just got a participation medal but he could never place in the race.
Every time he talked about “tearing that thang up” or “giving that dick” I could literally feel my eyes roll a complete 360 degrees. I’d say in the front of my mind, that you can’t really call what you got a dick. You gave me some penis. You only get to call it a dick if it’s 6 inches or longer and wider than kielbasa sausage fam.
Apparently objects in gray sweats are smaller than they appear. And those that try to spit the most about their dick game are generally the weakest. Thanks to this guy, I had to become a born again virgin all over again.
Thanks for nothing,