So yeah…The Pedant came over the other night so we could talk over our tragic breakup and get closure or whatever. I did notice, though, that during our phone conversation beforehand he was kinda going out of his way to mention how attractive he thinks I am and how much he enjoyed our bedroom shenanigans back in the day. It seemed he might be paving the way for sex, if I wanted it. Hard to tell with him, though.
He came over and at first we just sat on my couch and made small talk. Made me wonder if he actually intended on hashing out the breakup stuff at all. But when I finally broached the subject, we did get into it. He was very sweet. He said that for whatever reason he just doesn’t need a lot of “relationship reinforcement” in-between visits; he’s content not to hear from a partner at all between visits except to make plans to get together. He apologized if he gave me the impression that he was coming over for sex but then ignoring me the rest of the time. He reassured me that he always did care about me and it was never just a sex thing – we just have different communication needs. He apologized for a bunch of stuff, actually, and not with any “buts” or excuses tacked on, either.
I really, really wanted to ask why he was never able to tell me he loved me when apparently he did have those feelings and I’d said it to him first (so no emotional risk to say it back!). But I chickened out and couldn’t bring it up. I think I was afraid of the answer. Even if it was a good answer, actually; if – best case scenario – he’d taken that opportunity to actually say the words to my face, I probably would’ve burst into tears because I don’t love him anymore and it would be a whole bittersweet, too little/too late thing. I didn’t want to be that vulnerable in front of him.
The conversation veered back to small talk. The Pedant said he still intended on giving me his electric razor once he got a new one, and I was like “That would be great because your razor is awesome. I mean feel this – I just shaved my head this morning!” and I ducked my head so he could run his fingers up the back of it, which he did. “So stubbly compared to how your razor left it, right?” The Pedant agreed. Annnnnd he didn’t take his fingers off my head, and I didn’t move away from him. Me encouraging him to feel my head was not even a come-on, I was genuinely ranting about my shitty electric razor and had him feel my head without even thinking about it, but once he was touching me……..
The Pedant was sitting on the couch in typical fashion. I had gotten up on my knees facing the back of the couch and bowed my head to his shoulder for him to feel my head-stubble. Now I let myself subside onto his chest as he continued lightly caressing the back of my head. His heart was hammering so fast and hard. I was tempted to raise myself up and kiss him but then thought, no, let’s see how long he pays dedicated attention to me. He’s given me so little of that in the past.
His fingers gradually moved from my head down to the back of my neck and then to my shoulders and upper back (which were bare because I was wearing a strappy summer dress). I was moaning softly and getting goosebumps from his touch; when he passed over a particularly good spot my hands would tighten on his body (one of my hands was on the side of his ribcage, the other on the upper arm of the hand not touching me) and whenever I squeezed him like that, he moaned, too. Which was fascinating because it was just a squeeze of non-erogenous places; nothing all that sensual. His heart was still hummingbird-fast – one more reason not to lift my head from his chest – and I wondered whether it was because he was aroused, or felt that he was risking something by initiating these caresses with me, or both.
Finally, I did lift myself up and kiss him. Then straddled him and kissed him some more. He continued touching me for a change instead of going all ragdoll limp the moment my lips met his. I knew he was probably dying for me to touch his nipples but I deliberately drew that moment out – less to give him some buildup and more out of a residual bitterness over how much effort I’ve always put into giving him what he wanted in bed when he didn’t do the same for me. Let him suffer a bit. Let him wonder whether I’ll bother making the effort.
At one point I even moved my thumbs close to his nipples but not quite on them, which made him keen and thrash in anticipation. “Must be so frustrating to be touched almost-but-not-quite where you want it, huh?” I asked. I almost sarcastically added “What’s that like?” but decided not to. I was enjoying melting the boy with my touch, as I always do. I didn’t want to snap him out of his reverie with my bitterness.
One of us took off The Pedant’s shirt – I think it was him but I can’t remember. And after some more making out I slowly brought my lips an inch from one of his nipples – so close that my breath stirred his chest-fur and made him squirm – and I made him beg for my lips and tongue before I would actually touch him there. Lordy, how I love a man with really obvious buttons to push. 😀
It would have been easy to fall into one of my epic Pedant-sexing trances and do shit to him for days. I didn’t let myself this time, though. Partly because we almost always end up at a point where he can’t seem to get off and I get physically exhausted trying, and partly because historically he hasn’t given nearly as good as he got and I didn’t want to end up feeling frustrated and taken advantage of.
So I enjoyed teasing The Pedant for a bit and watching his reactions, and then I went ahead and took his pants and underwear off with intention of bareback-riding him (he certainly welcomed it last time even though I’d had some new partners since we saw each other last, and I figured he’d be fine with it this time, too. I was willing to assume whatever risk there was to me, as well). By this time he was doing that weird passive thing of letting his mouth fall wide open so that I had to choose which lip to kiss, but -miracle of miracles – he was still caressing my back and neck while I did stuff to him. Once he was completely naked I took off my boxers and prepared to mount (he was not as hard as I would have expected by that point, but serviceable enough – I’m certain now that it’s because he was feeling emotionally uncertain), but before I could he stripped my dress off over my head, seeming to crave more skin-to-skin contact with me. That was nice; I’d fully expected that once he saw that I was heading toward intercourse he’d just focus on that and not care if I was dressed or not. I struggled out of my bra so as to put my body fully in contact with his and then I put him inside me.
Pretty soon after I started thrusting he said, “You’re gonna make me come.” Not in a dirty-talk tone; just sorta neutral. In retrospect I think he was giving me a heads-up in case I didn’t want him ejaculating inside me. I didn’t really pick up on this at the time; I just thought “well duh” and kept going. I’d already made peace with the risks of him coming inside me. I wanted to feel it.
His orgasm was not the most intense-looking I’ve seen him have, but still hot and fun. Afterward he immediately wrapped his arms around me, pinning me in place (not that I was in any huge hurry to dismount, anyway) and we just sat like that, with me straddling him and my face buried in his shoulder, for a long time.
At length, I pried myself off him – my legs sore as hell – and flopped onto the couch next to him. I was turned on from the sex, of course, but didn’t want to masturbate in front of him (since last time he apparently had opinions as to whether I was doing it right) and knew better than to ask him to take care of things. The Pedant didn’t offer, either, and I don’t know why. Fear of rejection? Dammit, if only he would learn to get me off properly he would very likely be my best sex ever. I don’t even need him to lavish attention on me for like five hours at a time like I do for him. I just want him to be able to efficiently and effectively clear the sexual tension that arises in me from those hours of doing for him. That’s all. It’s such a low bar. You’d think it would be easy.
After a while I said “Do you think you’ll ever get to a point where you listen to an individual partner’s instructions in bed instead of just doing some routine that worked well on someone else in the past?”
“One would hope so,” he said.
“Yes, one would,” I replied pointedly.
“In fairness, last time was a one-off. I was better before, when we were seeing each other regularly and I had more practice.” (ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME WITH THIS?!?)
“Sorry, no,” I said.
“For those eight months it felt like I was having to constantly argue with you about how my body works.” It felt good to finally tell him this in person.
The Pedant’s look of chagrin was rather satisfying, although also annoying because I’d told him all of this via email late last year. And that email was blistering – I didn’t sugar-coat anything. How is it that he still cannot comprehend that he was always terrible in bed with me?
Well, maybe this time the information would stick.
A few minutes later I was idly playing with The Pedant’s dick and – as always – he was like “You’re not gonna get anything out of that right now.”
“Why do you always think I’m touching you because I want sex and not because ‘yay, penis’?” I grumbled, which made him chuckle. And yet, he was getting hard again (unusual, for him!) so I segued from idly playing with his cock to slowly and rhythmically stroking it and pretty soon he started making soft little moans and rocking his hips. So I figured what the hell, let’s have more sex, and got on top of him again. Round Two took longer, but his orgasm hit him a lot harder. He got all shuddery and stuff. I like when that happens.
More cowgirl-position cuddling for a bit, and then I flung myself off The Pedant before my legs permanently welded themselves open. I ended up lying crosswise on the couch with my knees tented overtop of The Pedant’s thighs.
Miracle of miracles, The Pedant resisted his usual immediate post-coital nap-attack and began to caress my stomach and legs, his touch quickly narrowing down to focus on my genital region. I felt apprehension, but kind of wanted to see where he was going with this. I parted my knees to allow access and he started very gently sort of pinching my clit through the hood, over and over again. I wondered whether he’d studied my you-suck-in-bed email before coming over (in which I say, among other things, that I do not like the tip of my clitoris touched; I prefer it through the hood) or if he was just doing this by coincidence. A minute later he kind of smoothed each of my legs down flat, and I’d also said in the email to stop fucking bending me into pretzels in bed because I can only come with my legs straight and slightly apart, so yeah – he must have anticipated the possibility of sex and studied ahead of time. Fascinating.
That pinchy thing is in fact a thing I do to myself sometimes as a sort of foreplay to masturbation, but it is not an action that brings me to orgasm all on its own. After a while I squeezed my legs together and said “Um, let’s just…stop. But thank you.”
“Do you want me to go wash off your vibrator for you?”
“Ah – I don’t think so.”
“It’s right over there…won’t take long…”
“I…don’t think I can do that with you today. Maybe sometime. But not now.” he’s made me feel so broken and judged in the past, and been so terrible at following directions, that I didn’t want to set myself up for hurt again.
Surprisingly, The Pedant didn’t abandon touching me altogether; he kept on petting my legs and back the way I like. He even stroked the soles of my feet, which has never been a regular part of his repertoire despite me having mentioned several times that the area is an erogenous zone on me. I’d mentioned it earlier that night, actually. I kind of wanted to give him a sarcastic slow-clap for retaining the information this time for like forty whole minutes.
But yeah, The Pedant didn’t give up on all forms of pleasure for me just because I’d made it clear that I wouldn’t be orgasming. Which is nice. I appreciated that he was finally making an effort with me (and gee, all it took was eight months of constant correction and then a massive explosion of temper in which I flat-out told him that he sucked in bed. And then reiterating it two or three times when he tried to dodge or make excuses. Sigh.)
Overall our encounter left me pretty satisfied, and it did seem like I’d finally gotten through to him about listening to me in bed and that he was trying to improve. As I lay there with him petting me I said “I am tentatively open to seeing you again. Like, officially, I mean.”
This is the part that bugs me, in retrospect: he replied something like “I’ll need to focus on this other woman I’m seeing – I think there may be long-term potential there.” (He’d told me about her earlier; apparently she, too, doesn’t care to be in touch at all except to plan the next visit. So she seems like a good match for him.)
Which I assumed meant that he’d be seeing this other person more often than he would be seeing me. And I shrugged and said “I’m having lots of other adventures right now.” Which is true – the first time around, The Pedant was the only person I was really dating; now I have Mine (well, if that keeps lasting) and a handful of other occasionals. The Pedant wouldn’t be my only source of sex/kink/attention, so I can deal a lot better. I always did think he was better as a “side boy” for me than as the “main event.”
But. It’s been really hot here lately so I had the fan on and it slightly drowned out The Pedant’s words. And it occurs to me that what he actually said might have been that he doesn’t want to start up with me again – that essentially this had been a nostalgia fuck but he actually wants to be more-or-less monogamous with New Chick. In which case my reply would have come off as “Pfft, I don’t need you, I’ve got other guys to fuck!” which is entirely too sour-grapey and defensive and not what I would actually have said.
Also, we have tentative plans to see each other again next week – he’s bringing me a used cell phone that I might find handy for my burgeoning sex work career – and if he said he wants to just be with this other chick it’s gonna look kinda bad if I try to fuck him again. I mean I’m not too worried about it, given that he has a long history of ignoring my sexual preferences and needing to be corrected numerous times, but still. Awkward.