Him, for all his ‘man, that girl’s a crazy whore’, is actually a completely lovely boy. I met him after watching the Phantom of the Opera with the Girls, which wasn’t terrible, but a vast disappointment. He’s always trying to get me to go out for drinks with him, but as circumstances would have it, I was always busy. Now that I think about it, perhaps I should have played a little harder to get, it would have made it all the more fun for him. But I honestly couldn’t help it, not because I’m such a horn dog I’ve no control over myself. Everything just seemed right, and it wasn’t the sex I enjoyed so much as the cuddling and the consideration he gave me. The sex honestly wasn’t stellar; he asked, and told me to be brutally honest. And I told him so.
I was a little surprised that a guy would ask that of me though, I generally thought most of them would like to think of themselves as gods in bed, regardless of whether they really were or not. Most of them talk like they are anyway, and sometimes it gets too much for me to stand, up to the point where I want to tell them, look, the girl only says that hoping it’ll encourage a better performance.
What I really liked about him was how he never really tried to hit on me. Up till last night, we’d always kept an uncomfortable distance (not cuddling someone I’m on a couch with is certainly something I’m not used to) between each other. Kinda like I was a bloke, although we both knew I was an attractive specimen of the opposite sex; and he wasn’t all that bad himself. In fact, he’s actually really good looking. We’d sit around getting drunk at any time of the day (usually whatever time he finishes work) for a couple of hours, and amazingly, keep our hands off each other. Aside from the one time I’d lost my panties and let him feel my ass through the silk cocktail dress I was wearing, just for the heck of it.
But aside from that, he’d never insist on trying anything. I wouldn’t say I didn’t want it, but I had been pretty obsessed with Martine for quite awhile the past few weeks, and Élan had always struck me as a little too cruel to some girls for my taste. Of course I can handle it, but I simply didn’t want anything affectionate conspiring with a bastard (he wasn’t a bastard to his friends or to me, just a little off with some of the girls he’d slept with. But of course those girls were off in their minds as well, so I never blamed him).
Then last night, it hit me that damn, he is a decent guy. Promiscuous, certainly, but possessed of a very sincere character. Of course that can come across as rather undesirable to some people, because he says and does it like he wants to. And I am glad I’m on the right side of his affections. It’s a silly triumph, but it feels good to have him like me more then the other women who are into him.
Anyway, he never really hit on me, never insisted on taking me home, and didn’t mind that I was going to meet Martine after I’d hit his place for drinks. He was always insisting that I cancel on M, and then offering to call a cab to take me home. ‘It’s for your own good’ He’d tell me. ‘Play hard to get’. I’d shrug and reply with some shit like how after you’ve slept with someone for as many times as I’ve slept with Martine, and more importantly, let him see my soul and how I felt about him and how he touches me deeply in so many ways (all puns intended), playing hard to get was perfectly useless. And besides, while being desired greatly is very fulfilling indeed, I get more out of being in his arms then in being wanted from afar.
I was sure he was absolutely exhausted last night, but nonetheless, he’d waited up and quit his friends, to hang out with me. Without expecting anything. Nothing. Of course he’d like a little cop and cuddle (who doesn’t) but the thing was he didn’t try anything. Even in the complete privacy of his living room, on the couch, and while cuddling. I found myself thinking how odd it is that women never really give a thought about which part of a guy they touch. He didn’t even stroke a boob until I got fed-up and made him palm me.
He’s good at understanding how girls think, I do believe so. He knows I’m no iron panty, but I get annoyed when guys hit on me for no reason other then I’m attractive. I’ve no idea why some really attractive girls don’t have a problem with that, I’d presumed they’d get sick of it, but if Élan’s escapades are anything to go by, they all just seem keen on purchasing a date at the ROM with their sex appeal. And that sort of ‘liberalization’ is definitely not gender emancipation. And I bet he knew I was the sort of girl that loved to hit as opposed to getting hit on, so he let me. Most men that strike me as worthwhile don’t need to do that bit of the relationship, and as far as I’m concerned, have never been wrong on this count. I just like that self-assuredness.
If you thought about it, hitting on a girl, like really hitting on her, is technically sexual assault. And that’s happened to me a number of times, and I’m referring to really serious cases where he drives into an alleyway and starts trying to snoggle me. I usually drop the case in a couple of minutes after demanding that I be sent home right away, but if there’s one thing I’ve found out, these sort of people are insanely insecure. And that’s annoying.
I don’t think Élan behaved the way he did last night and in the past few weeks with me in general, consciously. Clearly not hitting on a woman would make her think (as it did make me think) that, ‘hey, this guy is no horn-dog. He likes me for the person I am, or he would like to get to know the person I am’ and all that’s a very attractive thought. And trust me, the women that sell themselves off to him really freak me out. I’ve never seen that side of him, or in fact of any one I’ve slept with. The sort of feeling where you want to kick someone out of bed the next morning and never ever see the person again. I suppose it must be a very terrible feeling, to have given yourself under the presumption you’d get acquire acceptance. And maybe for awhile you did, which makes it all worse the next day when you realize in fact, that you haven’t.
The only time something like that came close was the night I turned up completely drunk and very emotional at Martine’s doorstep. He’d fucked me and sent me home right after, but it wasn’t as if he didn’t want me (and as the relationship has turned out now, all the skeptics who said he’d just used me can go to hell). Nonetheless, to be thrown out of somebody’s place right after you’ve given so much of yourself to them really sucks. Somehow, I’ve the feeling that men don’t take it as hard, because in a sense, it’s social and scientific (biological) convention that it’s allright if they screw around and leave it at that.
But I digress!
I’d gone over to Élan’s, and he’d gone out to get a bottle of wine because I asked for it, and we’d taken it back to his place where I popped in the De-Lovely sound track (which I must say, is absolutely delightful). I’d been in a wine and jazz mood last night, and it was all perfect. He has the most striking pair of eyes I’ve ever seen. I’d only started noticing them this week, and I thought they were a really gorgeous pair. All this while, I’d been telling myself, keep my hands off, keep my hands off. But looking at them, with the jazz and wine, and the fact that he’s just really sexy anyway… By
He’s really know how to worship a girl. I doubt there was even an inch of flesh that wasn’t kissed, and he could feel what I really liked and did loads of all of that. Which essentially, if you’re wondering, is spooning while having my back kissed and breathed upon. Unfortunately, with him, doing it like they do it on the discovery channel (not the aliens, goddamnit) drives me to orgasm faster and better.
After he came, he got up and pulled me to the edge of the bed and spread me out, pulling my arms high above my head so that my elbows touched my ears, and straightening my legs.
‘You really do have an incredible body. You’re perfect, you really are. Such an amazing, amazing body. I love your shoulders, they’re just broad enough. Your arms are great to seize you with and pin you down, and that tummy of yours. It’s so sexy, you should love it…’
‘I wish I did. Maybe now I’ll stop fighting against it eh.’
‘I think it’s very nice to look at and very nice to touch. You’ve a perfect body. Those legs, your legs are amazing. You’re breasts aren’t all the big, they’re quite small in fact, but they’re firm, perky, and that’s what matter. They are wonderful.’
He said a lot more things about my legs, and I told him they were all completely appreciated. You know the relationship I have with those appendages that help with the only sort of therapy I put myself through this days. I’m talking about contemplative cross-country running.
The next morning, he couldn’t keep his hands off me, and was almost sad I had to leave so soon. I’ve just way too much work before my bloody flight to Sarawakian suburbia hell for Christmas.
***
Dear Santa,
I want my own harem with many pretty girls and boys in them. Send them to me in a garden with a fountain that pours out wine, and make sure there are many pillows. I’ll share them with you, promise.
Sincerely Yours.
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