So I know I’ve mentioned various members of my MENagerie before, and more recently how I’d cleaned house except for the one guy. Well the longest running member has now also fallen, and my what a fall it was.
A few weeks ago I went over to his apartment after work, nothing new. We hadn’t seen each other in a little while so we had some catching up to do, but before long got right to the foreplay. This is his favorite part, and I tolerate it. I mean it’s fun for me too, when it serves it’s purpose, which is as a precursor to sex. The problem is when foreplay is no longer a precursor, but in fact the main event. I’m sure you can agree that that is just wrong- akin to trickery, bait and switch, like paying to see a movie and being forced to leave after the previews…. but worse. Here’s why…
After like 20 minutes with the kissing and the touching, I’m fully aroused and ready to go. But before anything happens, like before we even reach for a condom, and waay before he ever gets near to being inside me, he cums all over my leg. (fyi this has happened a few times recently, and I try to be cool. It happens- I know that- I’m not totally heartless) But that day, I was so so so keyed up, my hormones were all over the place. I couldn’t be cool. I flipped out. My thoughts were racing. (I kept trying to figure out if in fact he really just ejaculated on my leg, as if, magically, I could will his dick to get hard again, like sexual telepathy, this could not be real and had to be some sort of sick joke)
I started to whisper “I can’t believe that just happened.” “I’m so mad right now.” “I think I hate you.” I’m saying this as I start to strangle him. Yes, I was sitting on top of this man, squeezing his neck and looking with blind hatred, into his eyes, whispering about how I wanted to kill him. I Imagine this is what roid rage is like. For a minute, I was totally that chick- the crazy one you tell your friend’s about. I was just so frustrated and in that moment my frustration, anticipation, and ultimate disappointment was manifested as murderous rage. He didn’t even try to stop me from strangling him- he knew, he totally knew what it was. I think my sex-rage frightened us both.
I get up, wash the jizz off my leg, get dressed, and go to yoga.I think he may have even apologized and suggested that he’d go see a doctor. I was waaaay to fixated on not-freaking-out again and trying not to be totally resentful, to listen to what he was saying as I jetted from the apartment. A few minutes later, as I sit on the 1 train, I begin to think that perhaps I overreacted. All this yoga and chanting, and peaceful intentions thwarted by hormones and lust. I get to the yoga studio and tell my friend about how I just tried to kill a man. Concerned she asks, “Who?” I say, “my j.o.” and she descends into laughter.
Maybe a week and a half later I see this guy at the gym, and nothing, no hello, or even a nod acknowledging the other’s existence-not from either of us. So I figure he’s either still afraid that I’ll kill him or (rightfully) pissed that I nearly strangled him. We haven’t spoken since.
And alas, the final member of the MENagerie falls into obscurity. I guess it’s a rebuilding year.
What can I say?
Easy cum, easy go.
