A Near Miss
Honestly, I almost fell for this guy. In his early 40s, wide palms, thick fingers, dark complexion, scruffy, short curly brown hair with natural streaks of red. It was one of those weird connections where holding each other we just fit. Lying together, our bodies just interlocked and it fit perfectly. He was such a good kisser, and his mouth tasted so good. I was in trouble.
He was a good fuck, somehow knowing to do everything exactly as I like it. His hands were vicious, and when he'd spank my ass it'd hurt so much more than any paddle. He didn't need any toys, just those hands. He was rough: pining me down with hands on my arms or a fistful of hair, or cupping the top of my skull and pulling me toward him over and over. Once, from behind, he thrust in while pulling back on my hair and yanked my neck out. I could barely move my head for a couple days afterward.
Even better, our personalities meshed well. We'd had a lot of the same experiences and tragedies, and could really empathize with each other. I even let him meet my fucking mother.
One day he stopped calling. For two weeks. I left three messages, nothing psycho, just "haven't heard from you, hoping you're okay, let me know if something's wrong or if you want to get together." The not knowing was heart-wrenching. It would've been easier if he'd called and said, "I don't wanna fuck you anymore." He eventually called, and I called him back, and he said that he'd emotionally shut down, couldn't deal with intimacy, had been thinking of me every day, blah blah blah. Could he come over and see me? I was horny, so yeah. When he arrived, he looked different to me. He'd lost that rosy glow a person takes on when you have a lot of affection for them. How you see them in a better light because you like them. Instead he looked pallid and desperate. We fucked several times that night and he took me to breakfast the next morning before going home.
He told me that the whole time he wasn't talking to me he was wishing I'd just show up at his house. He said he'd leave his front door unlocked at night, in case I came over so I could just walk right in. How fucking ridiculous is that? The guy isn't talking to me but wants me to somehow know to go to his house, walk in, and do what? Emotionally rescue him? A couple days after our last meeting, I called and told him it was nice being together one last time (He goes, "Don't think of it as the last time." I say, "Uh huh.") and to give me a call when he figures out his shit. Haven't heard from him since (never will).
He was a good fuck, somehow knowing to do everything exactly as I like it. His hands were vicious, and when he'd spank my ass it'd hurt so much more than any paddle. He didn't need any toys, just those hands. He was rough: pining me down with hands on my arms or a fistful of hair, or cupping the top of my skull and pulling me toward him over and over. Once, from behind, he thrust in while pulling back on my hair and yanked my neck out. I could barely move my head for a couple days afterward.
Even better, our personalities meshed well. We'd had a lot of the same experiences and tragedies, and could really empathize with each other. I even let him meet my fucking mother.
One day he stopped calling. For two weeks. I left three messages, nothing psycho, just "haven't heard from you, hoping you're okay, let me know if something's wrong or if you want to get together." The not knowing was heart-wrenching. It would've been easier if he'd called and said, "I don't wanna fuck you anymore." He eventually called, and I called him back, and he said that he'd emotionally shut down, couldn't deal with intimacy, had been thinking of me every day, blah blah blah. Could he come over and see me? I was horny, so yeah. When he arrived, he looked different to me. He'd lost that rosy glow a person takes on when you have a lot of affection for them. How you see them in a better light because you like them. Instead he looked pallid and desperate. We fucked several times that night and he took me to breakfast the next morning before going home.
He told me that the whole time he wasn't talking to me he was wishing I'd just show up at his house. He said he'd leave his front door unlocked at night, in case I came over so I could just walk right in. How fucking ridiculous is that? The guy isn't talking to me but wants me to somehow know to go to his house, walk in, and do what? Emotionally rescue him? A couple days after our last meeting, I called and told him it was nice being together one last time (He goes, "Don't think of it as the last time." I say, "Uh huh.") and to give me a call when he figures out his shit. Haven't heard from him since (never will).
Labels: men, relationships
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