Night of the Living P’s Part 2: An Anti-Climactic Ending

Miss part 1 of the Night of the Living P’s? Fortunately, I kept it around for ya!

“I’m driving to D.C. I need to see you. Where should I meet you?”

I gave Hot C my address. Why pretend it was anything other than what it was – a straight up booty call? One I was needing a panty change for at the thought.

“Meet me at my door.”

I won’t bore you with the details of our hello hug or the comically extended tour of my row house. Let’s skip to 12 minutes later in my bedroom when we kissed.

The kiss happened – it wasn’t electric and didn’t send currents of warmth to my nether regions, but it wasn’t awful either. It was a kiss. Tongues and lips and hands on hips. You know the dance. And then we were fucking.

That’s exactly how it went. Just like that. In a time span of approximately 4 minutes.

The mechanics of the sex were appropriate and in order – there was thrusting and even some moaning. He’s big – too big truth be told – and he lasted for an excruciatingly long time.

The mechanics of the sex were fine, but the chemistry was all fucked up. I was hotter at the thought of our sex than any part of the real thing.

I didn’t think it was possible to have banter as on fire as Hot C’s and mine is and sex as dull (crickets. chirp chirp.) as ours was. It destroys my understanding of the world and how it works, but it happened.

I wasn’t turned on enough to make the quickie feel of the sex feel sexy, and he lasted too long to make it work at all. That was the fundamental imbalance: if you forego forpeplay for passion and immediacy, there needs to actually be passion and a sense of immediacy. Otherwise it just feels selfish – “No foreplay and I have to wait 30 minutes for you to cum? No, sir.”

Halfway through I got indignant – “I’m clearly not getting off, so why should you expect you should?” Dangerous thought in the middle of a should-be dirtysexy romp.

So I stopped, pulled away. It sounds awful but “not fair” arguments aside, I had also hit a physical limit. Remember him being too big? Too. Big. It got uncomfortable. We tried to cuddle.

That was worse than the forced chemistry.

Finally, when the horror of our cuddling incompatability was too much, he went down on me. Let’s be clear: I am certain this wasn’t an altruistic act to ensure my pleasure; it was a strategic tactic to turn me on enough to have more sex so he could finish.

Totally worked. Tongue works every time.

The second…bout… was better but still lacking. When he finished, I gave him a solid three minutes before getting him gone. A yawn and an, “Oh look at the time!” did the trick like magic.

I was excited for a fuck buddy, but with Hot C I’ll stick to sexting and banter. Selfish sex does not get you more sex.