Vacant would be a good adjective for my next two men, for my A to Z Challenge. There was a lot absent in the experience with both of them – one an entire memory, the other was just a self centered jerk who I still continued with because I was desperate to stop the hurting. I ended up far more hurt than I could have imagined.
The ginger I was unconscious for.
I have no recollection of what he looked like, neither his body nor face, though the dating app shows pictures of him. I found two condoms in the trash can the next morning.
That doesn’t make him a bad guy – he was probably unaware of my mind state. That night, after so many nights of crying but still not sleeping, my sister gave me an Ambien, where I apparently had what is known as an Ambien blackout. I probably started messaging him first, regardless of what I did next to unconscious, I gave him my address somehow during this blackout.
I don’t remember him leaving either, but thank goodness he did, because that would have freaked me out – to wake up with a strange man in my bed.
There are just a few moments that I remember, it would all amount to a total of five minutes perhaps, but it was was at different parts.
I answered the door in a flannel.
I remember going down on him and nothing else on a physical level – I don’t remember actually wrapping my mouth around him, just leaning down to do it.
He repeatedly asked: “where have you been the three years I’ve been here?” and I remember thinking he repeated that question a lot.
And compliment after compliment from him.
Thank goodness he messaged me the next day, otherwise I would have been clueless who I slept with during the night. He kept the conversations very focused to things like his free time over the weekend and how he wanted to see me during them. He was sweet and kept messaging, telling me his work schedule and asking about what I was doing so that he could see me again. Neither of our schedules worked out – I didn’t see him again* and I really wanted to – just to know who he was that I had slept with. It is odd to me to sleep with someone I don’t know/remember.
>>>>>>>>>>Another Night, another guy<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Pull Out Get Out, seriously if I could name a guy (which I can on my blog) it would be that. The dude was gorgeous (slutfest was mostly about female votes on who was the hottest as a deciding factor for my one night stands), but he didn’t ask a single question about me and then left immediately afterwards… seriously he pulled out of my body, rolled off of the bed, stood up, dressed, and muttered about going to smoke as he shut the door…and didn’t return.
He was also the only man during slutfest that I was set up with, a friend of a friend who immediately came over when he heard I just wanted sex and then talked a lot about himself as an awkward getting-to-know you, but wasn’t curious in the slightest about who I was. I knew nothing about him outside of his work (his only topic).
I was tired that night and almost skipped a night of hit-it-and-quit-its and by the time he left me, really wished I would’ve stuck to that instinct.
It wasn’t all bad: he made the sexiest grunting noises, but zero foreplay outside of what I did to him. It was all about him, just like the conversation.
It also felt like he was splitting me in two; he was far too big especially with my body not thoroughly prepped but still he pressed in, pressed on.
Him on top, me on top, doggy style for some stupid reason even though that made him bigger.
He hurt my cunt to mirror my heart, perhaps that’s why I allowed it.
I felt terrible about being with this man, would rather have been a guy of my choosing – which it didn’t feel like it was, this meeting of a friend already negotiated for sex.
However brief the conversations and connections, at least on the dating apps I saw them first, they engaged with me, messaged at least a bit to get a feel of something.
I was so emotional when I knew he truly left (I had to check because he didn’t say anything); I didn’t quit crying that entire night.
A terrible end to what I thought of as slut fest, the one that spotlight shined the desperation in it.
I was a hole, and no matter how many cocks slid into my hole, it was there incomplete, wounded, gaping, exposed. Disgusting. Unworthy.
*He texts me still, constantly for awhile. Apparently, I was amazing at giving him head and being on top. He wanted to know when I would come back to the state so that we could hook up again, and I gave him that chance when I visited again about a month and half later. I believe that I wrote about that second encounter as well, this man that I had slept with but was meeting for the first time. He was/is nice.