The Pedant is like a big, slumbering bear: he falls asleep deeply and instantly and just…fills up my whole bed with his stocky furriness and deep, loud breathing. He’s crashed here twice now and I think it’s safe to say that I sleep like crap when he’s over. I like the fact that he cuddles with me – it’s sweet the way he’ll bear-hug me and then immediately fall unconscious – but I’m not so sure we’re compatible at cuddling. He’s so thickly built that if I rest my head on his chest or arm, my neck is cranked up at an uncomfortable angle. Also, he compulsively clicks his teeth together in his sleep (not *grinds* them; clicks them together like he’s chewing invisible food) and if he’s snuggled up to me I can feel his jaw moving against my head/shoulder/wherever.
Mind you, at one point he turned over and we slept back-to-back for an hour or two before he rolled back toward me and grabbed me in another bear hug – and even during that interlude I couldn’t really sleep. Maybe it’s just too soon after Minx for me to be having sleepovers with someone new. At least I never got confused in the night and thought The Pedant was Minx – that would have been a really bad sign, not to mention deeply sad and disconcerting once I woke up.
We had gone to bed at 4am or so. I tossed and turned and finally gave up on sleep at around 11am – but I stayed in bed with The Pedant’s arms around me, anyway, because it was nice to feel wanted and because getting up together seemed like the (romantic? Polite?) thing to do.
But an hour or two went by and he still showed no signs of stirring so finally I got bored and took the laptop out into the living room.
When The Pedant finally stumbled out of the bedroom (still naked except for my leather wrist restraints, and sporting some goofily appealing morning wood), it was 2 or 3pm and I was still on the couch, propped up on one elbow surfing the ‘net. He walked over, slipped behind me on the couch so we were spooning*, and started lightly stroking my back/arms/ribcage/hips. Light caresses like that are my Kryptonite. Pretty soon I turned my head from the still-open laptop and rested it on my arms so I could focus on the sensations.
After a while he got up, stood in front of me (still erect!) and softly asked “will you take me back to bed?” (annnnd my clitoris exploded into flames, taking out my entire apartment building. Okay, it didn’t. But I really, really like when a boy expresses his desire for me by asking for stuff in a shy voice). So of course I immediately smiled, nodded, stood up, and led him back to the bedroom using his cock as a handle. Whereupon he donned a condom and began to fuck me, missionary style, with great gusto (and can I just say, having sex with an averagely-endowed dude is everything I thought it would be and more.** No soreness! No trepidation! I can have sex several times a day, or at times when I’m not specifically craving it, and it’s not a big deal!!!).
The single-minded way The Pedant threw me down and pounded me made me think “Okay, maybe he initiated this sex because he’s finally ready to orgasm.” But no, despite all his sounds and despite my best efforts at dirty talk and nipple stimulation and thrusting back at him and wrapping my legs around his waist, he once again abruptly stopped fucking me and just cuddled me instead, flopping on his back and pulling me against him so my head was on his chest. After a while I said “touch yourself. I want to see how you do it.” I didn’t expect him to actually do this (considering the last time I asked him to jerk himself off he refused) but he did. And the way he handled his penis was entirely different from what I’ve been doing to it (why can’t you use your words, Pedant? Why?!?!?).
Here’s an interesting thing: I’d been thinking he wasn’t coming during sex because he was accustomed to death-grip masturbation, but actually he handled his cock very lightly with his thumb and fingers – not even wrapping his fist around it. I wish to fuck he’d tell me what’s going on with that! I hate the no-talking thing but it’s hard to bust out of it when he so clearly sees silence and guessing as the default state of sexytimes. I mean, if I just came out and said “hey, so if you’re really wanting to come I’ll totally help you as best I can, but if you’re having an off day we can stop, you know” (which I’ve been tempted to say to him at least half a dozen times now) I think he’d find my bluntness gauche and the sentiment I expressed deeply humiliating (how dare I imply he can’t orgasm!) and probably wouldn’t give me a straight answer.
After a while of jerking off, The Pedant said “I really want your hands on me” so I took over (resisting the temptation to pointedly put both hands on his leg or shoulder to force him to be specific and say “penis”). After a while of me jerking him off, The Pedant pulled his usual painfully obvious sleight-of-hand to distract me from the fact that he wasn’t going to come: he abruptly repositioned me on the bed and started trying to get me off instead. No finger penetration or vibrator this time; just his fingers massaging my clitoris.
His ministrations were nice, but not quite what I needed. To be honest I think the main problem is that he was on my left side and I’m more accustomed to receiving hand jobs from a person on my right – my body is ridiculously specific and set in its ways sometimes. But The Pedant doesn’t seem to comprehend the concept of a woman needing certain things in order to orgasm, so I felt too embarrassed to ask him to get on my other side; I felt like he’d be snarky about it, or just refuse and tell me it should work fine the way it was. I threw myself into the hand job as best I could for a while just to see if it got better, but nope…my body wasn’t cooperating. I don’t think it was entirely because The Pedant was on the “wrong” side, either; I’m pretty sure the thought of him being dismissive if I asked him to change sides actually killed my buzz. And I was underslept and hungry and stuff, too.
At any rate, I ended up gently stopping his hand by laying mine overtop, and saying “let’s take a break.” At which point The Pedant asked if he’d made me come. Which blows my mind because seriously – seriously – MY ORGASMS ARE. NOT. SUBTLE. I’ve had partners ask “was that an orgasm?” the first time I ever had one in their presence (which I can understand, since people can orgasm in drastically different ways…it’s just barely possible that my orgasm shrieks, though loud and distinctive, sound like some other woman’s “almost there, don’t stop” noises), and once or twice I’ve had someone ask uncertainly “Did you come a few times there, or…” at a time when I kept getting close to the edge but couldn’t quite get over (also kind of understandable, since to an outside observer there would appear to be peaks in my sounds and body language as the edge of orgasm alternately approached and receded). But this? Is ridiculous. The Pedant has seen me orgasm about ten times now, and every single time my body would get steadily more and more tense during the lead-up, followed by my breathing suddenly getting really fast and shallow and my hands gripping his shoulder/the blankets/etc. and me probably saying “yes yes yes keep going” or words to that effect, followed by my body suddenly going slack like a puppet with its strings cut (except for my hips rhythmically bucking) as I let out a bunch of long loud howls***. This particular interlude of The Pedant massaging my junk until I realized it wouldn’t work? Was me lying there relatively relaxed and making the occasional distracted little “mmmm” sound.
It’s hard to tease apart his possible Asperger’s from other issues. I’ve heard that people with Asperger’s can’t instinctively read body language and have to kind of learn it manually – but wouldn’t he have learned from previous partners (or possibly porn) that an orgasm usually looks like a peak of some kind (a peak in body tension and/or breathing and/or vocalization)? Or is this not even an autism thing but rather an insecurity thing or a wishful-thinking thing? Is he gonna ask me “did you come” every time he lays a hand on my genitals, ever, because he just really really hopes I did? Is he going to ask “did you come” every time I have come because he’s so insecure that he can’t relax and trust my very obvious signals? I just don’t know.
Anyway, we decided it was time to finally eat something – but then he started rubbing my shoulders and we got waylaid for a short while, talking and massaging. I can’t remember how the topic of talking about other trysts came up, but it did somehow; I remember The Pedant saying that a lot of women seem offended when he tells them stories about him and his exes, but he doesn’t understand this because it doesn’t bother him when the shoe is on the other foot. I said that mostly I don’t mind that sort of thing, but I’ve had partners who’ve told anecdotes about their current or past fucks while we were doing bedroom stuff and that, to me, is both rude and kind of sad; if someone’s currently engaging in sexual stuff with me, I would hope that they were focused on me and not living in the past, you know? It’s like if you were eating an amazing chicken dinner and spent the entire time you were eating going on and on about a steak you once had: kinda seems like you’re not appreciating what you’ve got. I freely admit that I said this to The Pedant as a veiled warning because he’s verged on doing this stuff himself. He heartily (and obliviously) agreed with me that it’s ridiculous to talk about old sexual exploits when you’re in the middle of a new one. It’s obvious he had no recollection of having (for instance) gone on and on about his rock-climber exes’ fit bodies while giving me a hand job, but whatever, at least maybe my spiel would prevent him from doing similar things in the future.
I made us some food and we watched Season 1, Disc 1 of Drawn Together while we ate. The Pedant had never seen the show before, and seemed to enjoy it a lot. And once we’d finished eating he cuddled up and caressed me while we continued watching and it was just total bliss. Food + DVDs + pettings = awesome, and kind of make me feel loved, in a Pavlovian way, since this particular combination of things was a ritual for me and Minx and me and my ex-husband.
After the DVD was finished, The Pedant reminded me that he’d offered to re-shave the shaved parts of my head (which are growing back in at an alarming rate). So we went into the bathroom and he did my hair for me and this, too, made me feel loved (I’m not saying that The Pedant loves me, mind you; only that I felt loved due to certain associations inside my head, and that feeling loved was nice). Then he was like “we should get you into the shower to rinse off those shavings…I could use a shower, too.” And so I got the shower going and he came in with me and then said “Oh, wait, I forgot something” and left for a minute. I was utterly baffled – what the hell could he have forgotten? His clothes were off, his glasses were off…what’s the problem? …Turns out he’d noticed I don’t have any implements for applying soap, so he’d brought an extra shower poof thing from home for me to keep. D’awwwwww. Which he then lathered up and washed me with. D’awwwwwwwwwww.
And then he turned me around so my back was toward him (by this point I have to say the whole “manually positioning me” thing was getting a little old, but okay), and put one or two fingers inside my vagina (after rinsing off the soap, in case you were worried). At first I thought this was just idle play, but he started kind of aggressively prodding my g-spot and then reached around with his other hand to rub my clit, so it became clear that he was expecting me to get off. I caught the wrist of his penetrating hand and told him that the shower is not a great place for that because it washes away all the slipperiness (which is true – what he was doing was pretty awkward and uncomfortable). He withdrew the fingers but kept working on me with the other hand. I was like “no, no…let’s not do this right now. I managed to get off standing up once or twice when I was a teenager but I don’t think it’s something my body knows how to do anymore.” And The Pedant – his fingers still between my legs – said “Hey, you never know!” and proceeded to tell me about a time (recently?) when he’d had shower sex with some girl, both of them expecting it to just be a fun interlude and nothing more, and both of them ended up climaxing.
There are so many terrible things about him saying that to me at that particular moment:
– He was still trying to stimulate me…while putting images in my head of some other naked chick. As I am heterosexual, this caused some icky cognitive dissonance.
– I had said no to being stimulated and he was kind of continuing anyway.
– I had said that I don’t orgasm in that position and he was ignoring what I’d said.
– He was implying that my orgasms aren’t good enough or I’m doing them wrong or something, because the conditions I require don’t meet his particular standards.
– He was implying – not for the first time – that all women’s bodies work the exact same way, and therefore if this other chick could orgasm standing up then I should be able to, too.
– It really, really sucked to be giving The Pedant hours upon hours of sex and hand jobs without him coming and then have him tell me a story about orgasming with some chick effortlessly when he hadn’t even been expecting to. Way to rub salt in the wound, dude.
(It wasn’t until way later – after The Pedant had gone home – that I thought “Wait…how does he even know this girl really orgasmed?” – he certainly seems to have no idea of when I have, judging from all the times he’s asked me. You wouldn’t even have to fake any noises with him; you could just tell him “Oh, yeah, I totally came” and he’d believe it whether you’d made any sounds or not! And a lot of women do fake it to boost a guy’s ego…)
I wish to hell I’d cut him off mid-anecdote and left the shower – and the room – entirely. Sadly, I did not; I think I felt a little squicky about the idea of making myself vulnerable and being all confrontational while naked. I did pointedly tell The Pedant “Yes, sometimes unexpected things can happen, but don’t go looking for them. I’m not a Rubik’s Cube for you to solve.” The Pedant jokingly said “Yes, I know. I figured it out when I noticed you don’t have any sharp corners.” I stayed in the shower just long enough to make it seem like I wasn’t leaving because of The Pedant’s asshattery (even though I totally was) and then left, using the excuse that my fingers had begun to prune.
In the bedroom, towelling off and listening to The Pedant continuing to shower, the impact of his words hit me fully. I felt furious and tearful and suddenly really wanted him to go home. Yes, he might have an autism spectrum disorder, but Jesus H. Christ, he’s thirty-one years old; if he hasn’t learned by now that it’s horrible to compare your partner to previous partners, it’s not an autism thing, it’s a stupidity thing. Especially because I’ve told him numerous times to listen to what I tell him about my body and stop overriding it with his “women don’t work like that, they work like this” bullshit. Not to mention telling him mere hours earlier that I don’t want to hear about his other sexual encounters while he’s having an encounter with me. It became clear that I had to tell The Pedant directly that he’d pissed me off; there was absolutely no way I could sweep it under the rug and act normal.
The shower turned off. I put on my robe and went into the bathroom to wash my glasses, which I’d just realized were filthy. The Pedant said something small-talkish and I gave a minimal reply and then said “By the way, talking about your sexual exploits with another woman just then? Total buzzkill. Especially in the context of ‘she can do this so why can’t you?'”
The Pedant was like “Ah. I’m sorry. I really wasn’t trying to compare you or anything. I was just using her as an example of how orgasms can sneak up on a person sometimes.”
And I was filled with rage. First off, does he really think I’ve never had a “surprise orgasm” before? I’ve been sexually active for twenty-two years (with a fairly high number of partners) and having orgasms for thirty-one. Damn near any weird flukey thing that’s likely to happen to me sexually has already happened – that’s just statistics and probabilities right there. Secondly, the thing about surprise orgasms is that they are a goddamn surprise: you’re doing something fun that you don’t expect to lead anywhere but then it does. The Pedant jerking me off in the shower was not fun. If I’d let him continue, I would not have been thinking “this is awesome but probably won’t go anywhere.” I would have been thinking “The angle of his hand is suboptimal in this position. This actually kind of hurts. The fact that I’m standing means that I can’t tense my body up the way I need to in order to ‘bring on’ an orgasm. I’m afraid I’ll slip and fall. How long will the hot water hold out? My hands are pruning up. If I lean back against him will he be able to support me or will I knock him over and his head will split open on the faucet and he’ll bleed out right here in my bathtub?” Thirdly, if it’s suddenly appropriate to offer up our past experiences as a kind of motivational example for a current partner, awesome – I have lots. Starting with “So hey, I’ve had sex with like thirty guys who came in under ten minutes. So, you never know! It can totally happen!” because that will obviously make The Pedant snap out of whatever is going on with him and start orgasming in the ways that I’m accustomed to, right?
All these thoughts piled into my head so fast that none of them would come out – not unlike The Three Stooges trying to go through a doorway at the same time and getting stuck. I don’t remember what I actually did say, but knowing me it was probably either a neutral “uh-huh” or a sarcastic “oookay, then.” I left the room then – I was still angry but there didn’t seem to be any point in talking about it anymore.
The Pedant was still drying himself off and combing his hair and stuff, and called out from the bathroom to remind me that he wanted to fix my one shitty old hand-me-down laptop. It had been ages since I’d even used it, so it took me a while to find it. I asked whether it matters that I have a password on it and he said probably not – he’d likely be wiping its brain entirely and putting in a new operating system – but he’d like me to fire the machine up so he could have a look at it. I was propped up in bed waiting for the stupid thing to come on when he came in. He’d put on his boxers (which I realize now may have been a reaction to my anger – he didn’t want to feel vulnerable while naked, either). He spooned up to the side of me, ostensibly so he could easily see the screen of the computer in my lap. I think his actual motivation was to suck up to me through physical closeness, though. I had not been expecting this, and hadn’t made room for him; his ass was ever-so-slightly hanging off the edge of the bed. I guess he thought it would be pushing his luck to climb over me to the more spacious side.
The laptop in question is totally fucked, btw – the operating system is Vista, which I’ve heard is crap, and also possibly my mom downloaded a bunch of stupid shit onto it, so it’s ridiculously slow and cumbersome. Like, you know that window that pops up to say that a particular application isn’t responding? On this machine, that window freezes up sometimes. The top of it will literally say “[program] is non-responsive [not responding]”. So it took forever for this thing to even power up. While we waited, The Pedant began to gently caress my face and neck and (eventually) the V of chest that my bathrobe exposed. No kissing and nothing overtly sexual, just gentle and pleasurable touches in neutral places. The Pedant may have Asperger’s and/or be oblivious to a lot of social cues and emotional issues, but this had “apologetic sucking-up” written all over it. So in this matter, at least, he does react like other dudes. I’m not sure how he picked that behaviour up and not, say, the behaviour of shutting the hell up about other women, but whatever. His attentions felt good, and I’ll admit to enjoying his palpable air of remorse. I acknowledged his touch with a little “mmm”-sound but otherwise pretty much ignored his presence; I was too pissed off to want to make eye contact or anything like that.
At long last, I managed to get myself logged into the laptop. The Pedant tried to take a look around, but everything he clicked on caused the computer to freeze up for a minute or two…and in the meantime he kept on stroking me. And I slowly began to melt. I sort of hate that he could get back into my good graces so easily – I feel like I should’ve held my ground and stayed aloof until he could demonstrate that he actually understood why I was upset and wouldn’t do the same stupid thing again – but I didn’t hate him or anything, and I definitely didn’t hate the sensations he was giving me, so why cut off my nose to spite my face?
By the time The Pedant had finished poking around on the laptop, I’d slid my robe off both shoulders and The Pedant’s hands gently explored all the newly exposed skin. It was so lovely and warm and relaxing that I actually dozed off for a minute. Eventually I realized that the laptop was still sitting open on my legs, and I closed it and moved it. While I was sitting up doing that, The Pedant swung one leg around to the other side of me so that I ended up settling back into his body like it was an easy chair. I struggled awkwardly out of the sleeves of the robe and undid the belt, and The Pedant ran his hands all over the front of my body. The whole “feeling me up from behind” thing felt like another showy move cribbed from some cinematic love scene**** – especially when he grasped my chin and cranked my head up and around so he could kiss me. Frankly, the angle was hard on my neck and the moving-me-around shit was really starting to get old but I really didn’t want to start another argument that day so I didn’t say anything. I did turn over, though, so that subsequent kisses would be less of a strain.
After some more kissing/touching/cuddling, The Pedant said that he should probably get going. I knew he’d been planning on leaving sometime soon (that shower we took had a terminal air to it, attempted hand job notwithstanding), and our canoodling in bed had been more sensual than sexual (also, I was still feeling fragile about the bullshit from earlier and would not have wanted him inside me), so I was not especially surprised or disappointed by this statement. I got up from lying on him (ending up sitting on my knees between his splayed legs), but he didn’t start getting dressed or anything. He just kept lying there with his eyes closed. I briskly ran my hand up and down his thigh in what I thought was an “Okay, well, goodbye…” kind of way and he just made a tiny little happy sound.
Personally, I could’ve gone either way at that point: if The Pedant wanted to leave, that was fine, and if he wanted to stay and make out some more I wasn’t opposed to that, either. But he was doing neither of those things. I didn’t understand what was going on and I don’t like feeling like I’m in limbo. I tried to make myself say “so are you going, or what?” but that seemed so rude that I couldn’t do it. Instead I just kept running my hands over his legs, waiting for him to get up and leave like he said he was going to. And he kept lying there with his eyes closed and acknowledging my touch with a little string of pleasure-sounds (and guys say women give mixed signals…jeez). Oh, but here’s an interesting aside: at one point I idly wrapped my hand around The Pedant’s ankle (wondering if my fingers would touch like they did on Minx (they didn’t)) and The Pedant whimpered. And did it again when I encircled his other ankle a moment later. That…is intriguing as fuck. I do not currently have a system for securing a person’s ankles to my footboard but I’m damn sure gonna make one soon. 😀
So I was sitting there idly running my hand over The Pedant’s legs, waiting for what seemed like forever (but was probably just a minute or two) for him to give me some idea of whether he actually was leaving or what, and it occurred to me that maybe he was waiting for a cue from me somehow, like maybe he was still flinchy from me being angry with him earlier and didn’t want to leave unless I made it really clear that I was fine with it. So I took his wrists and hauled him into a sitting position to kiss him goodbye so he’d know that yes, I was fine with him going home now.
Except that when I hauled him up, he moaned…and when he kissed me back, there was no sense of “goodbye” in there at all. When I let him go he subsided back into the pillows…eyes closed, arms splayed, hips ever-so-slightly humping the air, making little sex-whimpers at regular intervals. I was sorely tempted to go “Oh come on, dude! I’m not even touching you!” – it kind of undermines my mad foreplay skills when he makes the same exact noises for no apparent reason! I have no idea whether this little display was some form of subspace or just flat-out manipulation. Which is more likely, do you think: that my physically pulling him upright was so darned commanding and dominant that he instantly turned to putty, or that he decided he wanted one more bout of sexytimes before he left and was acting like prey in order to lure me in?
I froze, kind of wanting to dive into the carnal buffet The Pedant seemed to be offering but wondering whether he’d somehow get snarky later if I did (“I really did have to get going, you know!”). That’s when The Pedant took my hands and put them on his boobs, just like he did the first time he ever came over. I said “You…don’t seem like someone who’s about to leave…” and then shrugged internally and started fondling his nipples. Every time I brushed my fingers over them, there was a corresponding rasping sound coming from elsewhere. I eventually traced this to his erect cock, which was flexing so hard that the head rubbed audibly against the inside of his boxer briefs. Wow.
In retrospect, I’m wondering whether this final sex scene was an extension of The Pedant’s apology – like he decided he was going to orgasm for me, dammit, and he made it happen through sheer force of will. Because I did end up giving him a hand job, and he did come, and the whole process felt entirely different than it ever had before – like he was throwing himself into it more fully, or something. Usually, giving a dude a hand job feels like a linear progression: it feels better and better and better and then POW. Jerking off The Pedant was never like that (even without the POW). I mean it usually didn’t even seem like he was getting close but not quite over; there were no waves, if you see what I mean. A lot of the time I felt that he wasn’t enjoying it a whole lot and that he probably knew damn well he wouldn’t come, but wouldn’t or couldn’t tell me so (I seriously hate how he doesn’t use his words. It’s okay to tell me you’re not gonna get there, Pedant! I won’t somehow think you’re less of a man!).
This time, it was a linear progression from good to better to POW, although it looked like he had to concentrate fiercely to get there. I wonder how much of his previous issues were because my technique wasn’t working and he wouldn’t fucking tell me? Previously, I was quite vigorous in my ministrations – and the two times I did make him come, he sort of cringed his hips backward, away from me, which struck me as odd but since he didn’t say anything I assumed it was just a quirk of his body. This time I tried to imitate the way he’d touched himself earlier – I went a lot lighter and slower, and when he came his hips repeatedly pushed upward, same as most people’s do. God, his escalating sounds and the way his hips bucked and rolled…so fucking hot. I mean, I love boygasms in general but my favourite kind is when the guy is very vocal and expressive and tends more toward breathy high-pitched sounds rather than grunts. All of that – plus his absolutely beautiful face that’s even more beautiful in ecstasy – makes The Pedant pretty much a textbook case of How To Orgasm in Such a Way That Cowgirl Will Get Off to It Pretty Much Forever.
I don’t love realizing that the other orgasms I’d given him were very likely overstimulation paingasms, though.
After I got him off, The Pedant took another shower, got dressed more slowly than anyone else on the planet ever has while making small talk about everything under the sun, and finally left. At my front door, between kisses goodbye, he said “Do this again soon?” I said yes for simplicity’s sake, but really, I think I could use a little break from him. He’s exhausting. His uncommunicative sex, his need to prove his bedroom prowess (a need so strong that he’ll ignore my stated directions in bed and do something more cinematic and iconically manly instead), the way he takes pains to come off as dominant but gives every sign of actually being a bottom or sub – it’s just a lot to deal with.
I’m seeing The Doll on Wednesday for dinner and a Red Dwarf marathon, and I’m looking forward to it – even more so now because The Doll is wonderfully communicative and good at following instructions. I’m trying not to set the two boys against each other in my head – I’m trying to judge them each on their own merits, because it’s not a competition – but frankly, yes, The Doll will be a palate cleanser. And I can’t wait.
*My “couch” is actually a single bed, so it’s deep enough for two people if you squish pretty close to each other.
**For those of you who are just joining us, I recently got out of a three-year relationship with a guy who was hung like a horse (and before him, I hadn’t had intercourse with anyone for a while). Sex with this boy was kind of a chore…a rewarding chore, most of the time, but a chore nonetheless. And I got accidentally nailed in the cervix a lot. I was pretty sure sex with a normal-sized penis used to be more fun than that, but I couldn’t remember anymore.
***The gay boy who lives across the hall from me probably recognizes my orgasms better than The Pedant does. For real.
****My first thought: Prince and Apollonia Kotero in Purple Rain. But there have probably been others.