I personally think I’ve all these problems that are usually incredibly well under control, beneath the disciplined art of ignorance, but when I get drunk, the lot just pours out. I used to be able to want to control them and send myself home right away to prevent any unwanted insanity, but not of late.
At about
I supposed I should have taken myself home, but for some odd reason or other, I couldn’t stop thinking about Martine. I think about him far too much then is natural for me to think about a guy, and I am absolutely sure of that.
The thing is, the fear with his company finding out he’s screwing around with the kid of their client is, to me, irrational. Oh, it makes sense in some way, I suppose. For one thing, it would be a big PR disaster. Secondly, if he got fired on the basis of such a Clinton-esque scandal, getting another job in the country would be a serious problem. So yes, I feel terrible for being so selfish, but on the other hand, who is to know?
Trust me, I have wanted, so many nights now, to just hop on a cab down and ring at his door. But I was so afraid of getting rejected. So far, he seemed like he was holding out really well, and I thought that the chances of me getting kicked out were just about pretty high. And I do like him, the relationship we have now, and really didn’t want to ruin that. I am a selfish bitch, but I try my best not to show it.
But I was waiting, oh I really was, for an opportunity where I could do what I really wanted to while not being made to feel accountable for it. And early this morning was Just It. I was drunk enough to not give a shit about anything, other than the frustration I felt from the sort of emotional need you get when you really want to fuck someone. Or be completely, utterly, possessed by them. In short, I was completely infatuated with the idea of him, sex with him, and a very biological burning to be fucked by someone I greatly desired.
I like his doorbell. It’s the sort that only requires you to hit it once and it doesn’t stop ringing until the door is opened. I was sure I wouldn’t have had the courage to hit it more then once if he didn’t answer the first time round. I was drunk, but some innate fears, like a great aversion towards troubling other people when they were doing something else, cannot be as easily doused down by a few shooters.
Him, ‘Oh my god, why are you here? You’re so incredibly drunk. Where were you? You shouldn’t be doing things like that to yourself.'
Me, ‘Cayote. I was at Cayote. I couldn’t stop thinking about you all night.’ Of course I was lying, I was also thinking about jumping the G-Spot and making out with the other girl on the bar. I know I’m horrible, but we’ll address the problem another day.
Me, ‘I desire you so much, you have no idea. The more you tell me you can’t, you won’t, the more you fan my lusts. I like you as you are, or at least, I like what I think you are, but it’s no longer just that!’
I streaked past him and the living room, dumped my things by his dresser and threw myself on his bed.
Me, ‘I want to fuck you so much. I want it, all night long, then before breakfast, and after, and you can choose not to sleep with me until this whole deal with your company is over or I stop being my father’s daughter, whichever is first, but now, now, Now.’
I was drunk then, so I didn’t quite think about how he reacted, but now that I’m only slightly hung-over, I realized that he had no intention whatsoever of kicking me out. In fact, I find it quite incredible that he had been asleep prior to me coming over, but had fucked me like he did.
<>He wanted me, nearly as insanely as I wanted him, and I had known that, but it was beyond fantastical to have it actually manifest upon me.There was no need for having to demand the Now. He had tried to remove my dress –an annoying little number with a laced back, but when he couldn’t, he’d said something like, ‘never mind about it’ and lifted up my skirt to pull away the thong. But I insisted on getting it removed. He pressed himself down upon me, and it was as if weeks of desire and a great deal of boiling in the imagination finally broke open all the misgivings he had had.
He didn’t care. And I loved how he didn’t care. Stuff it all.
Stuff it all into me
It’s amazing how sex can overcome people the way it can when it’s staring you in the face, leeching to every part of you; when he smelled it in my breath and heard it in my breathing, in the motion of my body, the way my back arched in pleasure. He pressed himself down on me and kissed me violently. The ulcer hurt, and I gave a sharp cry. There was no, ‘are you allright’. He was entirely obsessed with possessing me.
He took my hand and placed it on his dick, and I tugged it violently. It was so perfectly, fantastically erect.
‘I want you to fuck me. Now.’ I half-demanded, half-begged.
‘No, wait, in awhile.’ He replied, biting my nipples, kissing down my stomach to the insides of my thighs.
He licked me in that soft space between my legs, gently, as if he didn’t quite know whether I would be into it. I’m not, but I hadn’t had anyone go down on me in such a long time (ironically because they know it isn’t one of my fancies), it was refreshing. It was allright for awhile, then I tugged at his hair and persuaded him to come up, I’d like his lips better on mine then in between my legs. There were other things that felt infinitely better (to me) down between.
His dick was throbbing against my skin, against the entrance of me. He hadn’t wrapped it, but I always amaze myself at how I’m able to remember these things, no matter how drunk I can get.
‘You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this. I want you, I want you inside, over me, around me. Clutching me so tightly as if my bones would break and slamming me against you. I want all of that, and anything else; more, whatever.’
He pushed himself into me, made me gasp. He was huge, beyond satisfying, and filled me up so entirely and absolutely, slammed against the end of my tunnel, making me cry out. I had to grab the lower half of my stomach, it hurt, oh it hurt, but it was so fantastic. I didn’t ever want it to stop. True, slightly smaller might have meant less pain and more pleasure, but I loved how it hurt just the right amount. This came as close as I possibly ever had recently to the benchmark of what I deem mind-blowing sex. Which I believe I have had had. (So I rank the people I’ve slept with, should that be a surprise?)
I loved him in bed. He knew what he was doing, and it worked well with me, because I loved to direct between the sheets, and there was a great deal of pushing and shoving and the slamming of each other against the bed and over the sides of it. But he is much bigger then me, and very much so. When he maneuvered my little body, turning me on my side, bringing my legs across his shoulders to switch me from missionary to doggy, he had made me feel like a paper doll. He placed me on my knees and made me grab the bed frame, and push against it as he slammed into me. And oh god I hurt, but it mustn’t stop.
It was all over in awhile but I didn’t know it though, and had to ask him if he’d come. We cuddled for a bit, and he said I couldn’t stay over. He’d a lot of work to do and was expecting a colleague at 11, and it simply would not to do have me around. And he really needed to sleep.
‘So just sleep already.’ I said, slightly upset. I took his arm off me and curled into a ball, with my back facing towards him.
‘There, you aren’t touching me,’ I said, ‘I don’t see why you’d have a problem sleeping now.’
‘It’s not that. I’ll be fucking you again in an hour, and be besieged perpetual erection all night. You have no idea how you affect me. You’re too young, and too beautiful, and look, you just can’t. If you want to have this relationship with me, you must understand the position I’m putting myself in and…’
“Ugh! I do understand it, that’s why I haven’t been able to do something as insane as tonight until tonight. I can’t help it. I like you a great deal, or the idea of you at any rate, and the more you hold back, the more fanatical I get…Damnit!’
He pushes me onto my back and makes me face him. The moonlight was quite good, and I could make out his profile, and it was the only memory I have right now of how he’d looked like last night. The rest of it has passed in too much of a haze of alcoholic sex.
I sighed and crawled on top of him, burying my face into the curvature of his neck.
‘Don’t mention work, I know it all, I know how you feel. I just can’t help it, not that I would want to help it in the first place. I’m know, I’m so selfish, I’m a horrid, self-serving little girl.’
I was even more drunk now. On alcohol, and sex and a whole cacophony of emotions I didn’t feel like controlling. And I started crying.
‘Why are you crying? You mustn’t do this to me, you know I hate hurting absolutely anyone, and certainly not you. This is a mess. I’ve got a girlfriend, and she’s a very nice person, not someone I’m going to marry, but still…’
My crying turned into a self-mocking sort of laughter, turned back into tears then into laughter.
‘You must forgive me. I don’t want control tonight.. Christ.’ I said, slightly exasperated.
‘You are very melodramatic, and it’s strangely becoming on you.’
He insisted I had to wear my dress before I went into the cab. I didn’t want to because it was such a hassle, but he put me in it anyway, and gave me his favourite tee-shirt to wear over. I went home and fell asleep in it.
When I woke up, I felt confused and hurt and slightly hung-over, and more then anything, wanting to have sex with him. Again, and again and again.
xoxox
No comments:
Post a Comment