Now, before I go into the story of how I gave up so easily what I had worked so hard to get, let me add a small disclaimer:
No one can MAKE you drink, do drugs, or have sex in a non-violent situation. Now obviously, we all have sex when we don’t want to in a relationship and we all are kinda expected to get a little tipsy when we’re the maid of honor/best man at a bachelorette/bachelor party. But we were all born with self will. We CHOOSE to fuck up; no one else can be blamed for the mistakes we make as knowing adults. There are many people that say sometimes we can’t HELP ourselves, but we all know that’s bullshit. When I would go out and get fucked up and stay up until 6 a.m. knowing I had to be at work at ten and then be sick for the rest of the day, who did I have to blame? My friends who were buying shots? The bartender for over serving me? The hot guy with no shirt on? Nope. I could only be mad at myself for not having enough self control. Trust me; I would love to blame anyone else but myself. Shit, there’s no one I know that likes taking responsibility for their irresponsibility, but again, as knowing adults we have to own up to our mistakes. Having said that, I’ll move on.
I’m not going to go into too much detail about how we met, what we talked about, or what his cock looked like. I AM going to let you know that the Internet played a part in our meeting. No, not a dating website. I’m done with that shit… for now, at least. I had always thought that he was slightly sexy in a dirty bad boy way and I would like to think he thought the same of me. You know the type… they have tattoos, drink a lot, listen to a wide variety of music that you’ve never heard before, but without all that, you wouldn’t look twice, right? Well, that mostly sums up the guy I’m talking about. I’m not going to downplay it though, he was good looking. He also seemed bi-polar, which, if we all know the types of guys I’m attracted to, it’s the psychotic ones. There’s something so incredible about the crazies and it’s a huge bonus if they’re attractive even in the least little bit. They just seem like they would throw you around the room, tie your ankles and wrists to the bed posts, and abuse you in such a way that you’ll think you’re living out some sort of trashy romance novel fantasy. I once read somewhere that there are two types of men: cunt-shy and not cunt-shy. The ones that are not afraid are the connoisseur of the female form; they know which place to touch you to make you scream the right way. They bite you on the back of your neck while thrusting into you from behind and you end up intertwined like silly string, sweaty and panting when it’s all said and done with. This is the kind of sex that I was willing to give up my celibacy for.
That’s not what happened.
First off, I should not have gone up to see him at his place of business. He’s a fucking bartender. Hello?? Trying to not drink and going to a bar do not equal sobriety. It was a dumb decision, but again, I have no one to blame but myself. I willingly went there under no pressure at all. I hung out there for a while before going back to his place (another smart decision trying to stay celibate). I had observed him while he was working and the more I looked at him, the more I could feel my want to stay sex free disappearing. He kept dishing out the compliments and we seemed to be making enough of a connection for me to let him bend me over whatever piece of furniture that was nearby. When we finally left and got back to his place, I was more than ready to feel his tattooed hands dominating my flesh in some sort of sweaty atmosphere until I climaxed all over the bed sheets… and possibly his face. His apartment was actually fucking interesting, to be honest. There were multiple pieces of artwork on the walls, some his, some bought at galleries, but all amazing just the same. His room was a fucking wreck, complete with ashes on the carpet, but I’m no one to judge. As long as we’re being honest, mine looked about the same since I had recently moved cities. We had some getting to know you conversation, but it was mostly him telling me about his life, which I was mostly fine with but the more he talked, the less I cared. We found we had a lot in common and the more I got to know the intimate part of him, the more the tension inside me built up. After a while, all I could think about was pushing my face into his until it hurt. So that’s what I did. We were standing outside watching the lightening storm and I just grabbed him and started kissing his near perfect full lips.
Now when I say I had been celibate for two months, that included kissing. I hadn’t kissed anyone in two fucking months. Now with my mouth on his, I wanted to immediately take it to the next level and rip his shirt off, pull down his pants and force his cock down my throat. I wanted to waste not one second doing anything else. But again, that’s not what happened. It was like a stop and start with him. He wanted to smoke a little bit, hang out a little bit, kiss, watch Netflix, talk, kiss, repeat. I’m not one for pumping the brakes though. I knew that if I got naked first, he’d know what was up. So that’s what I did.
When we were lying on his bed watching TV, I just took my clothes off and it began. He went down on me first and even though I was hesitant, oh my GOD! I had fucked around with guys who didn’t really know what they were doing in the cunnilingus department, so I just assumed that I didn’t really require it. I’m here to tell you that that way of thinking for me will forever be dead because of this man. He stayed down there until I came and then slapped on a condom and thrust himself inside. I was so turned on that he didn’t even have to enter me to make me cum that it made the sex that much better. That’s only happened to me a few times in my life, and it hadn’t happened in a while, so I was so grateful for that moment as I knew they had come about so few and far between for me.
The next morning, I woke up to feel him gently kissing my back. It felt so nice and inviting to be lovingly touched by a man, a feeling that I had once taken for granted in past relationships. I left by taxi going over last night’s events the same way you go over a movie you saw in the theater that you knew you wanted to see again as soon as it hits the shelves. I wasn’t fully on a pink cloud though. Remembering some of the instances the previous night had brought about some moments I could have lived without. It was hard to stay sober not only at the bar, but at his place. There were liquor bottles everywhere and the apartment had remnants of weed on anything that was immobile. It was clear that he partied and it was even clearer that I did not. That part of my life was fading away and it seemed like for him, it wasn’t going anywhere.
I can’t blame him for the lapse in celibacy, he was simply the catalyst. I knew nothing would probably ever come of our get together, so I decided I would use him. I would use him the same way I had been used, a quick fix to a temporary issue. I didn’t really want to be celibate AND sober, but I didn’t want to fuck anyone one night stand style. Possibly someone I could stand being around for more than three hours that fucked me like a prostitute when the day was done. I was looking for a friends with benefits situation with this guy.
And yet again, that’s not what happened.