The plan had been for The Pedant and I to take a walk together and/or go for coffee, and I’d been thinking I might hit on him at the end of that. But as I waited for him to text that he was in my neighbourhood, I got increasingly paranoid that maybe he had someplace else to be later and if I propositioned him after we hung out for a bit, I’d miss my chance. The thing about The Pedant is that it’s like pulling teeth to get him to tell me when he’s free, so if I decided I was still attracted to him and wanted to do stuff, I did not want to be trying to schedule it for another time. I needed to move in immediately like a goddamned shark.
He did indeed text me when he was getting close to my place – perhaps so I’d get my shoes on and meet him outside and we could proceed from there. But I texted back that he oughta come up and meet my new kitten (which I would have done, regardless; she’s adorable and it’s good for her social development to meet a wide range of humans).
I got the door and was struck by how good The Pedant looked. At the tail end of our relationship he’d begun gaining a bit of weight, and it hadn’t looked bad on him but I assumed the new security guard job would probably make him pack on even more pounds, to a point where he was less appealing to me. I can be attracted to overall big guys sometimes, now, but I dislike it when a dude has a skinny frame and a big gut. Anyway, he was wearing black pants and a fitted black t-shirt and he appeared to have lost weight – his body was looking tight as hell. Also, just greeting him at my door like that nearly made me slip into old habits – I felt myself pulled toward him like a magnet, wanting to touch him, wanting to kiss him hello as I’ve done probably dozens of times before. I resisted, and stood back to let him walk past me into the front foyer. It’s possible he was dead set on the visit being platonic – I didn’t know yet – so I didn’t want to be presumptuous.
So we went up to my apartment and he stood in my front hall with his boots still on ’cause he thought we’d be heading out any second, and we made small talk and I handed him the kitten to hold and squee over in his restrained, manly way. And then he put the kitten back on the floor and there was a lapse in the conversation and I said (carefully standing at a distance so I didn’t come across as pressuring or clumsily trying to be seductive) “So, shall we go out for coffee? Or we could stay here and make out. That’s also on the table.” I said this in my usual straightforward-but-awkward way – not sexily at all. I could barely make eye contact while I formed the words.
A smirk/smile spread slowly across The Pedant’s face. He stood there like that, silently, for what felt like forever but was probably ten seconds at most. I remained standing four feet away from him, frozen like a deer in headlights, wondering “what does this mean? Have I made a fool out of myself? Say something, dammit.”
Finally, he said something like “I didn’t realize you’d had anything like that in mind when we set up this meeting. You never said anything.”
“I didn’t know if I’d still be attracted to you then. You could’ve gained a hundred pounds for all I knew. I wanted to see you before making any decisions.”
The Pedant chuckled at that. “Yeah, I think I’ve actually lost weight since you saw me last.”
“I think so, too. It looks good on you.”
“So…is that something you’d like?” he asked – meaning the staying in and making out.
I probably should’ve said “I offered, didn’t I?” – seriously, why does The Pedant have this need to make me restate this shit fifty times? I don’t get it. But instead I nodded, walked over to him, put my hand on his face, and softly began to kiss him.
He was just as responsive as I’d remembered. I always loved that about him. In moments I had him gasping, whimpering, melting in his skin. Even just brushing my thumb across that one spot on the side of his neck made him vocalize. When I ran my hand down his chest I thought his knees would buckle.
After a while I broke off the kissing long enough to say “Less clothing” but he either didn’t hear me or was so deep in subspace (or whatever it is that happens to him when I start pushing his buttons) that he couldn’t move. He was already in that passive state of being so overwhelmed by sensations that he could barely kiss me back. When I yanked his tucked-in shirt out of his pants, he gave a little gasp of arousal and stepped back/put his arms up so I could pull it over his head. When I undid his belt shortly after, he managed to pull himself out of his stupor long enough to undo his pants for me and pull them and his underwear down to his knees. He gasped deeply when I touched his cock but curiously, he wasn’t hard. He remained flaccid as I continued making out with him. Typically if I’ve got him in a trance of moaning like that, he’s hard, even if he’s come fairly recently or tired or has to pee or whatever. He may not be able to orgasm, but he’s erect. I choose to believe that this was an emotional issue – that he still has feelings for me but didn’t know whether I was kissing him out of feelings or lust or closure or something else, so his dick wasn’t quite cooperating. That I’d caught him off guard and he felt maybe a little unsure. There’s a charming vulnerability to that.
Eventually I said “take off your boots and stay a while” because I suddenly remembered that he was still wearing them and this struck me as ridiculous. I sat on the couch and watched him bend down to remove his footwear and finally take his pants and underwear all the way off. I walked back over to him and we made out some more and I said “Let’s go to the bedroom where we can shut out the cats. If you ask nicely, I might even tie you to my bed.”
“Would you like my lips on you first?”
Wow – he was offering me oral instead of totally being a passive attention whore like usual. A fascinating novelty. “Yes.”
During all of these proceedings, I felt somewhat distant. Partly emotional self-protection, I’m sure, but also probably the stupid anti-depressants killing my buzz. I didn’t feel even the tiniest twitch of physical arousal during the making out…until we got into the bedroom and he kind of threw me down on the bed and got on top of me. It’s not like me to be turned on by aggression, but with The Pedant I kind of am, perhaps because he’s usually such a passive recipient that I’ve often felt more like I was providing a service for him than engaging in activities with him.
We made out some more with him lying on me and he let his still-mostly-flaccid cock fall between my legs and suddenly I flashed back to bareback sex with him so intensely that it just about took my breath away. I ached for him to just slide inside me smoothly while we kissed, as only he has been able to do (but he couldn’t at that moment if he’d wanted to because erectile difficulties). I decided that I wouldn’t bring up the idea of barebacking, because it’s unfair to ask someone to make health-affecting decisions when their judgment is impaired (and being turned on counts as impaired) but that if he initiated I’d probably go for it.
Then The Pedant made his way downward and orally sexed me for a while. It was…I dunno. For most of my life, my clit has been too sensitive to touch directly – it hurt. Now, anxiety issues and/or medication has reduced that sensitivity and also made it more difficult to orgasm. The Pedant’s cunnilingus style is enthusiastic but kind of imprecise; he kept doing these big flat-tongued licks right over the tip of my clitoris. At first I tried to just go with it; it felt intense but it didn’t quite hurt like it used to, and I wondered whether circumstances had conspired to make me a direct-clit-touching person and I just never explored it out of force of habit. I wondered if maybe embracing the intense sensations was the new key to getting off, and my old indirect method of stimulation was no longer enough for me.
But no, the feelings were too intense to be comfortable and I knew pretty quickly that I wouldn’t come. Each direct tongue-swipe made me gasp and jump and try to cringe away, but The Pedant always followed me with his head so there was no escaping the onslaught. One might think he was misinterpreting my reactions as pleasure, but he didn’t narrow down his licking to only focus on the tip and make me gasp every time – he just kept mashing his tongue all over the place with no regard to how I responded. I began putting my hand on his head and saying “That’s a little too much” when he’d clit-swipe me, but he did not appear to register my words at all. Finally I said “let’s take a break” and made him stop entirely.
He was still really gung ho to make me come, though, so he got out the Hitachi. Which he was also imprecise with, so that sometimes he was stimulating areas that felt great and other times he was mashing it upward against the very tip of my clit. I kept flinching and said “it’s best not to touch my clitoris directly – it’s too sensitive” but, again, that didn’t appear to register with him at all. When I asked him to stop Hitachi-ing me, he was like “maybe fingers are what you need” which…what? I’ve told him numerous times that the Hitachi is the only way I can get off anymore, and that thing is like a jackhammer – continuous hard vibration. How in the fuck did he think his hand could get me off if the Hitachi couldn’t? I mean, it’s not impossible for a guy to replicate the very fast, firm stimulation that I need – I bet The Latent Heterosexual could do it, he’s got hands of steel – but that’s a rare, rare talent and I don’t believe The Pedant has it.
And yes, I know I should have batted his hands and face away from me and sat him down for a serious talk about Taking Direction Properly, because it’s just such total bullshit how little he was listening to me. But I didn’t want to spoil what little sexy mood we had left. The sexytimes had started out like this glorious cinematic romantic reunion scene and I didn’t want to deflate that by getting all pissy.
So I let him attempt to give me a hand job and of course he touched me in ways that were uncomfortable/painful and I knew it was pointless to try to tell him how to do it better because he wouldn’t listen. Instead I was like “Hey, you know what I need right now?” and pushed his hand downward to indicate that he should put his fingers inside me.
I think The Pedant’s problem is that he thinks all women work the same way (an issue I predicted before we ever went to bed together, btw), so if someone’s needs don’t meet his preconceptions he simply cannot comprehend it. Most chicks like direct clitoral stimulation, so when I said I didn’t, his brain didn’t process the words; most chicks like nipple stimulation, so when I kept saying “Easy does it!” and flinching away from his enthusiastic suction, he didn’t seem to hear me (oh, yeah…that was happening throughout the evening. Finally I pointedly told him “Nipples are your thing, not mine, remember?” and he stopped sucking on them after that). But chicks like having fingers inside them, so when I wanted him to do that he had no problem with it.
Once The Pedant was safely sidelined giving g-spot stimulation (the one thing he does consistently do in ways that I like) I Hitachi’d myself and managed to come despite the meds and my increasing annoyance and resentment with The Pedant. After which he actually asked me if I’d come.
“You can’t tell?” I asked, incredulously, just barely keeping myself from adding the word “Still?!?”
“You hold the vibrator in a higher spot than other people do and I find it confusing.”
“Yeah, that’s because I don’t like my clit touched directly. My favourite spot is along the shaft.”
Srsly, WTF is wrong with this boy? First off, I’ve fucking told him a hundred times that I don’t like direct stimulation (not just that night but many, many other times). Secondly, he’s seen me get myself off quite a lot so he should be accustomed to how I hold the vibrator. And thirdly, apparently when determining whether I’d come, he chose to ignore the fact that my breath quickened and my body tensed up and then suddenly I bucked and moaned while my kegel muscles contracted around his fingers repeatedly, and then my whole body went slack and I turned the vibrator off, giggling and looking satisfied and trying to catch my breath. None of that factored into his idea of an orgasm because I wasn’t holding the vibrator where he’s accustomed to seeing it. I…do not have enough facepalm for this. I need a bigger hand and a bigger face. Actually, The Pedant has a pretty huge face; maybe I should’ve facepalmed him. Hard and repeatedly.
And this weird shit isn’t new! He always ignored my preferences like this, and seemed to have a blueprint in his head for how my body should work rather than noticing how it does! I must have been really love-blinded to have glossed over this idiocy for so long. It makes me sad that I put up with it and I kinda want to have that little talk about listening whether or not I ever fuck him again, just to burst his smug little bubble and let him know that he’s not actually the goddamned Pussy Whisperer.
Anyway, after I came The Pedant kept telling me he wanted me to come again; he really seemed to feel he had something to prove. I wonder if he remembers the conversation we had on the last day we spent together, over a year ago? Or maybe he doesn’t, and was just trying to make a good impression because this was the first time we’d fucked in so long. He was proactive about getting me off the very first time we ever had sex, too. But I didn’t have another orgasm in me (and this was probably directly his fault: being touched too hard or too directly usually burns me out faster. Even in my current medicated state I can usually come more than once).
So we made out some more instead, and I ended up on top of him as usual, and (remembering how I’d told him to ask nicely) he put his arms up by his head – his signal for “cuff my wrists to the bed” and whispered “please…”
I still haven’t caught up fully on sleep after all these adventures, and I’m so tired my eyes can barely focus. I’ll have to continue this story in a new post. Night night.