If I can help it, I’ll not go without sex for a week again, ever. Élan took time off work yesterday afternoon, firstly because he had nothing to do since the people in the
I felt like I really needed to fuck, so after telling the dirt to screw it, took a cab down to his place. For some odd reason, we always sit apart on the couch still (as it was before a couple of weeks ago when we fucked) and we sat apart for half of a really retarded 1980’s movie with Goldie Hawn in it, until he grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me towards him. We started to make out, or rather, he started trying to eat me up. He was kissing me as if there was no time in all the world, and like there was some sort of race to the finish in getting me to orgasm in 30 seconds. I started giggling, silently at first, before it became a little uncontrollable. He got up, kissed me, than looked at me very seriously asking what was the matter.
‘Relax! You’re making out like you’re trying to catch a train. I’m not going to run away in the next few hours, and I do feel like I’m in such a lazy mood today.’
He didn’t relax, and I do not know what to make of it. I really wanted to fuck him, but he ate me out till I came and got me to blow until he did. That was weird because I kept on wanting to slip his dick into me, but he continually begged for me not to stop, and I didn’t have the heart to. I wasn’t interested in having an orgasm though, I just wanted to fuck. You know, to feel a dick inside, because that feels lovely, and like you’re really connecting, and your pleasure is shared. Bummer.
We went for dinner and he had a steak and fries smothered in tomato sauce, I of course severely disapproved. We talked a little about the Tsunamis, and he told me some an odd story about his boss carrying his 96 year old grandmother onto the middle Phuket, and about silly people who went running onto the beach when the water drew away to check out the gasping sea-creatures. I’m not going to even bother commenting much on the Tsunamis, what more is there to say? Nature is unfair; that these people in developing nations with their finances just managing to scrape them through year after year and crisis after crisis should have such a thing befall them. Something like that hits so fast you don’t have time to be angry about it, there’s no one you can blame aside from God, and no one can write lengthy political essays about it, although in a matter of hours, more people died then in that same about during any period at say, the war in Iraq or the crisis in Dafur. Oh and that I'm absolutely convinced the parting or the Red Sea in Exodus was the result of a Tsunami.
He started talking about monogamy, and I asked him how many women he’s slept with. Then something I thought rather odd happened. He told me his number, which is about 3 times as much as the number I’m used to, which is 3 times as much as the number I’ve slept with. It was outrageous and I nearly died. Of course you can try to make something out of these things, like mainly, he’s a high-risk subject for STDs. But then again, there are men who sleep with whores who have slept with more then he has, so whose to try to make anything out of anything. But I am still shocked, and I told him I thought he was a crazy bastard. Who the hell needs to sleep with that many women? And he’s still going through the quarter life crisis (i.e. he's too young to have slept with that many women). I honestly wished he hadn’t told me, because now I just think there’s something wrong with him. Certainly I sleep with a fair amount of people, but I know them. Like, I actually know them. Their odd little habits, their favourite topping on the pizza, the name of their last girlfriend or their current girlfriend, the breed of dog they own. Stuff. But to have slept with that many women? Ah, but if he wants to abuse and use an abusing and using stranger; what can I say? Fair’s fair.
Oddly though, he’s lousy in bed. The first time I attributed it to too much alcohol, and now I’m blaming it on the size of the condoms you get here. Sure they are free size, supposedly, but his dick is abnormally large and for some damn reason you don’t get Trojans here. You probably could, but they don’t have them at Cold Storage anyway (ah certainly, sex is as important as food). But I can say I’m not keen on sleeping with him again. I like him, and he is very cute, but the sex is really mediocre and that’s annoying. Thinking about it now, I know why I’m so obsessed over Martine, he’s about one of the best sex I’ve ever had. The other guy must have been the G-Spot, but it’s a different sort of pleasure. G’s nice to make love to, he’s good in bed, and the sex is always pleasant and truth be told, calming. It never hurts, he’s big but not too big, and he’s really lean and it’s nice to have muscle slamming onto you, each thrust is just… how should I put it, more definite. Martine gives me sex like I want to cry and scream and die and he exhausts me and burns me up, literally.
Élan is *sigh* What can I say, I thought there was potential, but so far the two times I’ve slept with him have been disappointing. He’s perfect in every other way, except maybe for the promiscuity part. I’m not too keen on getting cervical cancer from HPV or something. He’s got nothing –insurance health checks can give a girl a peace of mind- but there are some things you can’t check for, and yes, technically I’ve slept with every women he’s fucked in the past 10 years, but most STDs aren’t a bother really, and your immune system normally takes care of most in a couple of weeks. I’m not talking about the really nasty ones, common nonsense like herpes (which I do not have; and anyway, you can get that shit for a toilet seat). I’d not like to get them in any case, and to continue sleeping with him would just be uncomfortable for me.
He asked me in return how many I’ve slept with (about 9 times less then what he has) and for some reason I inflated the number to the next 10, then immediately thought it was dumb and told the truth. I had a fine time laughing at myself. Imagine, trying to compete with him on who’s scored the most, what a silly thing to do, and if done, what a pointless pastime.
Went out with the girls today. Princess and XJ. Interesting conversation on the number of women Hugh Grant has screwed (I think maybe 300), Paris Hilton’s pussy- XJ thinks it's ugly and why some girls don’t wear panties (my reason: because I’ve lost them. My mother made a sarcastic remark about me leaving them at other people’s houses today after a long bout of complaining that I simply didn’t have sufficient knickers) and a lesson on how to tie the perfect French Braid. I’m a lousy student.
The colour of the day is
xoxox
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