Posted by Sophie Westrope on July 17, 2014 · Leave a Comment
“Are you afraid to come or something?!” He asked, looking down at me as I tried with all my might to muster up some kind of feeling in my nether regions after all the tequila we’d consumed.
“Shut up and finish already!” I hissed. And so the boy did as he was told and I was later forced to finish myself off when he fell asleep.
It was the first of several attempts at enjoying sex with somebody I didn’t actually like very much; something I’m not all too familiar with. Generally I’m really into somebody if I’m doing the no pants dance with them but for this particular episode of my life I wasn’t too certain that I even liked this guy or not. All I knew was he gave me the rough and ready kind of lovin’ somebody else hadn’t been able to and that was good enough for me for the timebeing. And so we carried on with the mediocre vanilla sex that he said ‘blew his mind’ and I faked four out of five orgasms that he took a solo on.
Alcohol would stop him from being able to finish and would also numb my lady which made every drunken encounter like a tiring sweaty marathon with no finish line to cross. I’d just have to make one last really loud exaggerated moan and throw him onto his side of the bed so he’d give up trying already. It was exhausting. My brain would be so tired from concentrating so hard on orgasming but my body wouldn’t allow me to sleep in the bed next to this stranger and so I ended many a night of rumpy pumpy wide-eyed and clutching at the little duvet he allowed me.
In hindsight, if the sex is lousy, for god sake don’t go back for sloppy seconds.
