On Bitter Disappointment and Disappointed Bitterness

overqualified

The first time the ‘just close your eyes and think of Europe’ line applied was also the first time a guy ever went down on me.

This had been a long time coming.

Not because of any particular attraction I felt towards this person, but because we’d been explicitly told not to do it.

Another girl he’d been hooking up was a friend of mine, and one night she called me while messaging him – telling me if anything happened between us she could no longer be my friend, while telling him she would not be comfortable with him hooking up with me specifically, but of course their relationship was just casual and of course he could hook up with other girls and of course she was a ‘cool girl’ who could handle it all.

There’s something always fascinating in the forbidden, isn’t there? That desire to touch which can not be touch, to feel which can not be felt. Your imagination builds it up so much in your head, making it into something that will be fantastical and wonderful.

More often than not, it’s mediocre, at best.

It’s part of why I’ve never understood abstinence only education programs, or programs like D.A.R.E., which, besides being proven more often than not that they don’t work, only make the thing seem more deliciously fascinating.

So one night, when I had friends over, hanging out, beer, pizza, good times, and he came up behind me, I did not say ‘No,’ I said, “We shouldn’t.” I dared him to continue.

And in my tipsy haze, in my sex starved body, he felt warm and smooth.

We didn’t get very far before we passed out. It was late, he was high, and I still had a voice in the back of my head saying, “This is a really bad idea.”

In the morning, he was young and clumsy. He was rough in the wrong places, trying to take control of a situation like he normally would, expecting me to swoon, and I refused. I refused to fake my enjoyment when all I wanted was him out of my room.

Guys, I have already stated that girls will fake orgasms. Sometimes, it’s just easier that way.
If we aren’t moving, if we are enjoying ourselves, you will know.
If we tell you “Keep doing that,” “Don’t stop,” “No, just there,” Or any variation thereof, why would you change what you are doing? Unless you are in a play situation of orgasm denial – why deny us when we are giving you clear cut instructions? If we’re going down on you and you say “Just like that,” “Yeah, faster,” or “Not that hard,” when we’re sucking on your balls, do you want us to go harder and/or bite the damn thing off? No.
(Yes I know that there’s a difference in the harm involved there, but the concept is the same.)

So by the third time I was asking for the incessant drilling of fingers in my pussy to be backed down to a tolerable level/the angle to be changed, when I’d been denied twice already, I gave up. I gave up on instructions. I gave up, and I got irritated.
Very irritated.

We both liked biting, and but I had stated that I did not want any marks on my body. He had no such qualms.
I started slow, nips here and there, finding the correct spots. And moans and groans led me further and further.
I understand that this was not the most mature way to handle the situation, but I was rather unhappy. Unhappy that this had built up so high, that I’d been hearing about the amazing, take control skills of this guy for months, how fantastic he was in bed, and how it had been ohso amazing. Unhappy that he’d been flirting so much with me, telling me things he wanted to do, and that none of it was even remotely close to living up to reality.

I was annoyed that this was the first time I’d let anyone sleep in my own bed, stay in my room, invade my personal space, and it was so profoundly disappointing.

So when his tongue started to lick at me like a hyperactive puppy I stared at my ceiling and held out for as long as I felt reasonable – before using his neck like a cat scratch post.

I can’t say that either of us were particularly satisfied that morning, until he came back because he forgot some of his stuff. My flatmate opened the door, I heard them muttering, and buried myself deeper into a blanket cocoon.

“Uh, what the hell happened last night?” If I’m remembering correctly, she didn’t even bother knocking.

“What did he say?”

“He said he felt like he was returning to the scene of the crime,” She tried to suppress a laugh, “Did you mean to maul him?”

Eh. Kinda.

“He didn’t seem to mind at the time,” I shrugged.

I will say, that we stayed friendly after that. We fell out of touch due to distance and just simply to not having that much in common. And I’ve since found better ways to channel my slightly sadistic frustrations.

TL;DR – Don’t eat the apple. There’s probably a worm in it.

2 thoughts on “On Bitter Disappointment and Disappointed Bitterness”

  1. Love your descriptions of sex and the ineptitude of some men (well, most men). I also refuse to fake orgasms and I’m pretty damn tired of not getting my needs met because some guy has no idea of a woman’s body, not concept of ‘less is more’, no idea of how rough they are being, and also very little actual interest in orgasm equality. Sometimes I think we have gone backwards as a society in the past decade or two and men now actually have less idea of female sexuality than they did in the 70s and 80s. I have no way of knowing of course!

    Like

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