We were making love......apparently..
There are a lot of awesome things that you could say during sex. "I love you" is not one of them.
This is a story about #47, and why he fell victim to the rule of 2.
I may have mentioned before that #29 and I were in a committed exclusive relationship for almost 7 years. #47 was one of the first men that dated and was genuinely interested in after me and #29 split.
He was charismatic, attentive, and genuinely interested in me as well.
He produced music from local artists so he was my first taste of local art. We would sit, listen, critique, and edit for hours together. He valued my opinion, or at least, he made me think that he did. That was enough for me.
He was openly affectionate, but not overly affectionate. We went everywhere together--every performance, local venue, and restaurant. I like them a little bit bigger than he was, but he was bordering on the perfect summer fling with definite boyfriend potential.
Pause: Of course, I wasn't ready for anything serious. Sometimes I still question my readiness for something serious.
Then I started to notice little things. He would leave town for days at a time (not a problem for me), but he expected me to act a certain way when he came back. We wanted me to be outside waiting for him, run up and hug him like he was back from war, and just generally cause a scene. Now I said that I like being affectionate, but not ridiculous.
The longer that I stuck around, the more I noticed. I appreciate someone who wants to be a man, but I'm not the one to be controlled. I'm like a fucking little kid; I push against the grain. Give me an outrageous command, and I'll do the opposite.
Pause: I have gotten better with this. I know what it means to be a man out here in the world, but be careful how you demand respect, especially from me.
I was EXPECTED to call and visit a certain amount of time each day or week.
So guess what I did in this situation? Yup, you guessed it; I started to bail.
And then he put it on me.
Pause: I am not the dick bragging type of individual. It's not my thing. I don't want to hear about how big it is because I will usually be disappointed. It is never as big as y'all seem to think it is. Likewise, I don't want to hear about how good the stroke is before I get it. Let me make that decision for myself. What was good for the last bitch, might not be good for me. With that said.........
This nigga could've warned me--he was poking my lungs all the way from my vagina! I couldn't breath; I couldn't even talk shit. He beat it up!
Of course I was going back in for seconds.
So there we are, on that squeaky full-sized bed, naked, getting it in. He was on top. He leaned in close, kissed me, and said, "I love you." Totally ignored him. No, seriously, he never broke stroke pattern and I didn't even open my eyes. I acted like he didn't even say it.
A few more pleasurable minutes go by and he said it again. He didn't realize that shit was making the waterfall dry up. And then to make matters even worse, he said it AGAIN! Aaaaaaaaaannd desert. I'm done. I hop up and put my clothes back on. I had never heard him tell me he loved me before that, and never since then. I didn't seem real in the least, passionate moment gone bad. Had to let the good dang dang go.
Advice (and I don't give much of it): Don't let the first time you tell someone you love them be in the bed. In fact, make sure that you are fully clothed and sober when you say it.
Until next time.......
This is a story about #47, and why he fell victim to the rule of 2.
I may have mentioned before that #29 and I were in a committed exclusive relationship for almost 7 years. #47 was one of the first men that dated and was genuinely interested in after me and #29 split.
He was charismatic, attentive, and genuinely interested in me as well.
He produced music from local artists so he was my first taste of local art. We would sit, listen, critique, and edit for hours together. He valued my opinion, or at least, he made me think that he did. That was enough for me.
He was openly affectionate, but not overly affectionate. We went everywhere together--every performance, local venue, and restaurant. I like them a little bit bigger than he was, but he was bordering on the perfect summer fling with definite boyfriend potential.
Pause: Of course, I wasn't ready for anything serious. Sometimes I still question my readiness for something serious.
Then I started to notice little things. He would leave town for days at a time (not a problem for me), but he expected me to act a certain way when he came back. We wanted me to be outside waiting for him, run up and hug him like he was back from war, and just generally cause a scene. Now I said that I like being affectionate, but not ridiculous.
The longer that I stuck around, the more I noticed. I appreciate someone who wants to be a man, but I'm not the one to be controlled. I'm like a fucking little kid; I push against the grain. Give me an outrageous command, and I'll do the opposite.
Pause: I have gotten better with this. I know what it means to be a man out here in the world, but be careful how you demand respect, especially from me.
I was EXPECTED to call and visit a certain amount of time each day or week.
So guess what I did in this situation? Yup, you guessed it; I started to bail.
And then he put it on me.
Pause: I am not the dick bragging type of individual. It's not my thing. I don't want to hear about how big it is because I will usually be disappointed. It is never as big as y'all seem to think it is. Likewise, I don't want to hear about how good the stroke is before I get it. Let me make that decision for myself. What was good for the last bitch, might not be good for me. With that said.........
This nigga could've warned me--he was poking my lungs all the way from my vagina! I couldn't breath; I couldn't even talk shit. He beat it up!
Of course I was going back in for seconds.
So there we are, on that squeaky full-sized bed, naked, getting it in. He was on top. He leaned in close, kissed me, and said, "I love you." Totally ignored him. No, seriously, he never broke stroke pattern and I didn't even open my eyes. I acted like he didn't even say it.
A few more pleasurable minutes go by and he said it again. He didn't realize that shit was making the waterfall dry up. And then to make matters even worse, he said it AGAIN! Aaaaaaaaaannd desert. I'm done. I hop up and put my clothes back on. I had never heard him tell me he loved me before that, and never since then. I didn't seem real in the least, passionate moment gone bad. Had to let the good dang dang go.
Advice (and I don't give much of it): Don't let the first time you tell someone you love them be in the bed. In fact, make sure that you are fully clothed and sober when you say it.
Until next time.......
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