A Handful Of Firsts And A Whole Lot Of Regret

I attended a friend’s birthday party at a sports bar near the University. He rented out the entire top floor so that we all could watch the Kentucky v Wake Forest game minus the obnoxious screaming of the local student body. It was a fucking blast – 30 or so people drunk, but in good spirits, watching an awesome game and celebrating our buddies birthday. About half way through the game the birthday boy introduces me to his fiancés best friend – she was pretty…but not quite my type. It was the hair – short hair is a huge turn-off for me. I’m not talking about hanging below the ears short. I mean it was REALLY short. But, she held good conversation so we spent the rest of the game together bullshiting about this and that at first and then escalating quickly into flirtatious dialogue. When the game ended, every one began to cheer like crazy. In the midst of the celebratory roar of our group, Kimberly – I’ll call her – grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me to the bathroom. It was one of those bathrooms that only allow one person at a time. She locked the door behind us and began searching in the cabinet under the sink for something. “This is weird” I thought to myself. “Yes!” she yelled. She pulled from behind the toilet paper stock a sandwich sized Ziploc bag half-filled with coke. Apparently it was the communal cocaine baggy that everyone had been sharing over the course of the evening. Not only was that the first time I had seen more than just a line of coke, but I also never tried it before – something about its reputation was just very off-putting, but at the same time, alluring. I guess my apprehension with its use is due to the way it is portrayed in the media. It’s always accompanied by the visual of some strung out, manic person that can’t fight the compulsion to clean their entire apartment at 3 o’clock in the morning. But witnessing its casual use by people I know dulled that apprehension over time and I became less afraid of it. Kimberly shoveled some out of the bag with her debit card and began crushing it and forming lines on the counter. “Four lines – two for you and two for me” she said. I rarely freeze, but did. I regained control over my brain and explained that I never did it before and not quite sure if I wanted to try it. She smirked, turned around and killed every line. She pinched the top of her nose and closed her eyes – “Fuck!” she yelled. She asked again if I wanted to try it and I politely refused. “Come on, everybody’s doing it” she said sarcastically with a comical head bobble. She grabbed her car keys, dipped them into the bag and pulled out a bump of coke. She tilted her head to the side and put it on her neck – “how about now?” she asked. (Fuck how did she know I was a neck guy…well, choking them, but still a neck guy). I thought to myself “Fuck it.” I leaned in and did the bump. I felt her hand caress the back of my head  – oh shit, it was on. *BOOM BOOM BOOM*; someone was knocking on the door. Panic set in, not a result of the coke, but the psychological effect it has in instituting every drugs most annoying side effect – Paranoia. This was it; an entire lifetime spent avoiding drugs and the one time I try it the cops are going to barge in and arrest me. Kimberly told the encroacher to hold on. “It’s me” we heard from the other side. She opened the door and let in my friends’ fiancé – her best friend.  Kimberly locked the door, grabbed another bump with her keys and laid it on the top of one of her tits. Fuck it. I did it again. She bent down as I was coming back up and caught my lip with her teeth. We began to kiss. Meanwhile, her friend is sat on the toilet peeing and organizing a few lines of her own atop a planner she pulled out of her purse. There was something so sleezily beautiful about the sound of a woman with her pants down snorting coke while you are making out with another chick. It was definitely one of those moments you realize in retrospect that you only ever seen in movies or tv. I thought to myself, all in all, this is a good night. But, it wasn’t over. Kimberly began rubbing my dick through my jeans. She unzipped me and pulled my dick out and started giving me an ole-fashioned. Now, this was cool, but I’m not a big fan of the handy unless accompanied by the mouth – they are a lovely double act. Handy’s are just too dry to enjoy and turn painfully annoying very quickly. I waited and waited and waited for her to start sucking my dick, but nothing. “Suck my cock” I asserted. “No” she replied. (Sigh) I looked back at her friend and she is just staring at us. Not staring like biting the bottom lip and playing with herself kind of stare. It was more like a depressed what-the-fuck-am-I-doing-with-my-life kind of gaze. I skillfully refocused my attention to Kimberly. “I want you to suck my cock” I said. “I know” she replied. UGH! What the fuck, man? I was ready to just politely put a button on the situation and exit the bathroom when her friend got a hold of my pocket and pulled me toward her. Without hesitation and with ease she began blowing me. “No, no. Stop this, stop this right now” I thought to myself. Still making out with one and getting my dick sucked by the other, my body and mind waged war against one another in an epic battle of morals. But, I didn’t stop. The head was astonishing. Not because of the two-woman thing – my girlfriend, at the time, and I were swingers and that kind of event was as regular as one could expect from that lifestyle. No, it was because she was and still is one of only two women to ever make me cum from head alone (a feat worthy of praise). She finished me off, we all did a couple more lines and exited the bathroom discreetly like nothing ever happened.

 It was an awesome though regretful experience. Awesome in that I experienced a few firsts that night – first time (surprisingly) kissing and participating in a sex act with a non-hispanic woman and the first night I did coke. And, regretful for obvious reasons. I haven’t spoken to my friend in years – I moved out of the area and just lost touch. I assume he doesn’t know anything as I frequently stopped in on his facebook page and usually saw pictures of them still together. Everyone that is in a relationship suffers from desire to be with another person when they are lent the opportunity. Though, it takes a special kind of asshole to act on it – (sigh) my poor friend. Though, ignorance is bliss. If I were in his situation I don’t think I would want to know if I was cheated on. I especially don’t think I would want to know if I was gifted a small amount of my friends semen deposited by a kiss from my fiancé – just saying.


I Am Your Property Now

It has been a little over a month since I have even spoken the other participant in my most recent attempt at a relationship. I say attempt because it never seems to make it out of the trial period. This of course is by no means the other persons fault – I am completely to blame. For some reason, that physiological response that’s triggered by the onset of an intimate moment just disappears from me after a while. Over time, I could still be completely attracted both mentally and physically to someone, but when it comes time to fuck, my body assumes the role of a fat, unenthused King sat in his throne gazing off in the distance, unimpressed by the performer in front of him – “This bores me…Be gone with her!” says my dick.

Now, if I were your normal face to face, novelty ass-slap sexual partner, it would be no big deal. I’m not even that attractive but wit and intelligence alone can seduce the right woman into a casual fling. The problem rests with my sexual desires/wants/needs.

When you subscribe to the sexual category I belong to, it is virtually impossible to engage women without making it very clear, very early into the relationship, with what you are “in to.” It takes time, patience and a little luck to stumble upon these gems.

So, consider my surprise when I got a text message from the best friend of the aforementioned participant. She copied my number out of her friends phone (when she wasn’t looking, she says). She hesitated to reach out to me at first, but a month later I received this message:

“Hey this is REDACTED, REDACTED best friend.”

My first thought was “Holy Fuck. Now she is trying to use her friend to talk some sense into me (I broke it off, obviously).” Still, I responded anyway and said “Hi.” She went on to tell me that my former partner would explain, in great detail, our sexual encounters to her; even showing her the cuts and bruises on her ass from the belt. She went on to explain that she wants nothing more than the same kind of encounter – no relationship. I was hesitant. And, I was also in disbelief really. I mean, (I’m not about to boast, this is just a crucial element of the story) one of the few things I am confident with in my life is fucking. I spent 4 years married to a bisexual nympho with whom I shared female partners with. She taught me everything a man should know about pleasing a woman. But, this is the first time, in my life, that my performance has earned me a referral via a word of mouth reference. It certainly was an ego boost. Not that I need one, but when you have to try so hard and sometimes wait so long to come across women like this you have to jump on it, literally and figuratively.

She told me that she didn’t want her friend to find out (sigh, that made me feel like an asshole just agreeing). She began to explain what she was looking to do, something that no other partner would entertain – simulated rape, anally. Now, I have done the whole RRP (rape-role-play) before, nothing new. But, I have never encountered a woman that wanted to kick it up a notch with anal. From my experience, anal is something that you need to graduate in levels for the other partner to enjoy. The tempo picks up eventually, but only after some TLC. Still, I was down – new experience for me, so fuck it. We arranged the time and location; 10pm, my place. This is how the event played out (ill try and keep it rated R):

She arrived in the parking lot a little after 10pm and sent me a text: “Im here.” I exited my apartment and crept up from behind her car to her door. I quickly opened it; she jumped (I can tell I genuinely scared her). I grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked her out of the car. I slammed her up against the rear car door, slapped her across the face and then put my hand over her mouth. She began to tear up. I told her to shut the fuck up, not to make a fucking sound. I turned her around and wrapped my arm around her neck, placing her in a choke-hold. My other hand groped her body. “You want this, don’t you? You fucking slut.” She began to cry. I dragged her backwards, still in the choke-hold, into my apartment and slammed the door shut. I pressed her up against the wall in my foyer. There was a pink and blue silk neck tie on the floor; it was a lovely compliment to her shirt of the same color – I shoved it in her mouth. Her shirt and bra, I literally ripped off. She began to fight me off – I slapped her across the face again. I pushed her to the floor and dragged her into the bedroom by her feet. I removed her pants, and used her thong to bind her hands behind her back. She kept spitting the tie out so I tied it as a gag around her head and between her mouth. Tears were falling from her face, quick panicked breaths escaped her mouth. I grabbed my trusty leather belt, looped it in hand and began to go to work on her ass. I have to say; it was the most damage I have ever done to the ass cheek. Dark red belt mark shaped welts rose from the surface of her skin. It was so raw that you could feel the heat coming off of the skin when hovering your hand over it. I flipped her on her back and hung her head over the side of the bed. “Lets see how loud you can scream with my dick down your throat, you little bitch.” I began fucking her mouth. Her head would quickly whip from side to side, she was trying to take a breath, that is when I would shove it in deeper. I could feel the air shooting out of her nose on my nuts. Her legs began to flail…that’s my queue. I had to pull out before she threw up. Success. I flipped her back onto her stomach, head facing the wall. I covered my dick in Wet Platinum (lube, the best lube) and shoved it into her ass. A sound escaped her mouth I never heard before. It is the sound I would imagine someone would make if they got shot in the stomach. It actually startled me enough for me to stop for a second. But, she returned to her normal wiggling, struggling routine so I proceeded. With every stroke I would hear the muffled sounds of her begging me to stop. She would bang her forehead against the wall, I assume to distract herself from the pain. It was time…I flipped her over, pulled her face to my dick and sprayed a glorious liquid fireworks display all over her mouth, nose, eyes and hair. I gave her one more hardy slap across the face. I removed the gag from her mouth and the thong binding her hands. I took her by the hand into my bathroom. I set her down on the floor of the tub and turned the shower on. She sat there, teary eyed and looking up at me. Her lips were quivering, post-cry stuttered breaths. “Wash the whore off of your body and get the fuck out” I said. It was 11:30ish PM. She dried off, put her tattered shirt on and left.

About 3am, I got a text message from her asking me if she can come over. I told her that I am sleeping and I’m too tired for a round two. She told me that she just wanted to come over for a few mins. Confusion set in. That was another first for me. Then I began to worry. My mind began to make sense of this request. “Holy, shit!” I said aloud. I think she did this so she could say that I raped her and that would be the ultimate revenge in the name of her friend. I was very panicky. Before she came over, I scrambled to my phone so I could make sure I have the text messages proving that it was entirely consensual. She knocked. The peep hole revealed only her, freshened up – new shirt too. I let her in. She put both hands on my face and kissed me. She then dropped to her knees and hugged my waist. “No one has ever fucked me like that, ever. No one. I am your property now.” she said. I am your property now – a phrase her friend used on her sub/dom themed blog when describing our first sexual experience; awkward!

It has been a week since this happened and I had to measure the pros and cons of inviting her over for another session. The cons won. She continues to text me every day and, like the asshole I am, I don’t message her back. I think its better this way. No good can come from casual, routine anal rape. I wish I had that NBC “The More You Know” jingle to play after that.