There it is. Lying on her left side, right knee up to her breast. I pin it there with my arm like I’ve pinned her left leg between mine and my hips do the rest. My favorite position, and I let her have it.

My blood is hot but tempered, every muscle relaxed. My rhythm is steady and not swayed by her piercing screams. I save my pleasure to see her come.

When I slow my pace, I sit up slightly, shifting my weight. I slide my left hand up her sweaty backside to the back of her neck, which I grip. Some more pounding. I make her screams falter as she comes, and she hugs my arm tightly when she does. I give her only a moment before shifting my weight again and letting her have some more.

This all worked swimmingly, and better than I anticipated. Just three months ago, I might have started a similar story, but concluding this part with the words: “That is how it would have happened, if I had only grown a pair.” But this is real and it is happening. I really am grabbing her hair, pulling her head back and sinking every warm inch of me into her, and I really am making her howl. All night long, I saw the best sex written all over her face, and I see the many days ahead where she will be begging me for more. But she will be disappointed, because tonight isn’t about her at all.

“Was it good?” I finally ask, sitting up and watching her drenched, naked body.


“You’re satisfied?”

“That was… probably the best sex I’ve ever had.” She’s still catching her breath and smiling, but I can’t tell if she’s smiling because she wants me or because she finally got what she wanted.

That was the moment I wanted. Total control of her pleasure, and her total recognition. And once I had it, I was done with her.

I rub her clit one more time, just for fun, and she does one of those sensual giggles where the hips move. And that was it. I smack her inner thigh gently, then stand up. I’m not looking at her when I do. Then I leave to get a beer.

I pop the top off a Blue Moon and stand naked in my kitchen. I look down at my penis, the head of which had shrunk while the root remained partially erect. The last time I looked at my penis, I had worries. My years between partners had left me anxious and my ability to perform was called into serious question when I failed to even penetrate.

It was our fourth date, and it ended with our clothes on the floor. My confidence existed up until the moment my penis went flaccid in her hand. She asked if something was wrong, and I said I didn’t know.

You would think this was the first time I’d had sex, though. It wasn’t. Just the first time in years. My performance in social interaction is no indication of my performance in bed. Or so I thought.

Fast-forward to the present situation, and you have what I always knew I had. I have the sense of being able to conquer the world. Even in this moment, I almost have to stare in awe at my own manhood, glistening triumphantly in the dim of my stove light. The heat in my loins mixed with the cool dew on my bottle of brew leaves me with a peace of mind I could die happily with. I’ve earned it, and with no help from her.

Then a cold draft hits my leg, and the moment is gone. I turn to see her, and realize that I had all but forgotten about her. She is still smiling, and she takes a few more steps until her thigh touches my penis and I feel her soft, milky white breasts against me. She grabs my penis while looking me in the eyes, and I feel myself harden. But I begin to resent her as she does this, as I resented her this whole evening. She has never done this before, so I don’t know why she’s starting now.

Her face turns serious, and she rubs my penis with more and more intent. She has no idea that she actually disgusts me. She doesn’t know that this night is mine, which is why I let her continue. She holds me in her hand because I let her. I don’t need her.

I am not moved to take her back into the bedroom, and I am not about to throw her over the counter and take her from behind. These are options, but as I see it, my mission was accomplished, and she interests me no more.

Still, a good handjob is a good handjob, and what’s one more before the girl gets the boot. I let her continue until she gets on her knees and I felt the warmth of her mouth. I close my eyes and imagine several different girls in that moment. The short, freckle-faced girl with hair the color of red wine. The pale-skinned barista with short black hair and thick-rimmed glasses. The young coed with paw prints on the back of her short shorts whose oblivious enough to fall into stereotype but just interesting enough to imagine a night of deep conversation about where she went wrong and what it all means, all before the panties get flung by the fire and I feel every string of hair brush tantalizingly along my chest as she does all the dirty little things to me that she’s learned.

I cup her head with both hands and prepare to come. An image of the barista giving me head flashed before my mind’s eye and, bending over, I came. I told myself she wanted to drink it all up, not knowing if she actually did. She probably did.

I caught my breath and grabbed my beer to have a drink. When I looked down to see her sitting with one leg bent up and the other beneath her, she was looking pleased with herself.

This will make things difficult, I thought.

“I’d like you to leave now.”

“Why?” she asks, looking a bit shocked.

“You don’t want to know why. Don’t make me be mean, just go.”

She crossed her legs and glared up at me. “So all of that junk about wanting to keep me in your life… what was that about?”

“Judy, I’m warning you. Let’s not do this. Just go.”

“Oh I will. But let me make sure I have this right. You brought me over here to fuck me, just to prove you could. Is that it?”

“That’s part of it.”

“And the other part?”

“To prove that I could please you.”

“So why are you asking me to leave if you want to please me?”

“I don’t actually want to please you, though. I just want to know that I could if I wanted to.”

“Then why didn’t you do that before?”

“That’s a good question. And we could have talked about it, but I recall you saying, ‘A conversation wouldn’t have changed anything.’ You break up with me, don’t give me reasons, then admit later that sex was one of them… it’s very weak.”

“What was I supposed to do? I’m a woman, I have needs too.”

“Yes, but we could have talked. Not once did we ever actually talk about sex. This is the first conversation we’ve ever actually had about sex. For your part, you’re actually not that great in bed yourself. This is the second blow job you’ve ever given me, in three months of dating. Every time is the same: you lay on your back… wait for me to put it in… I count the seconds until I fail again to please you. Who would be turned on by a sex life like that?”

Her performance was never drawn into question, probably ever, but she knew I was right. It had all been my failure in her eyes.

“Ok, you’re right. I shouldn’t have ended it without talking to you about it.” Her eyes suggested that she wanted to plead for more, but could not find the humility. But it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

“I know I’m right. Now please leave.”

I couldn’t bear to drag this out any longer. She was shaking when she stood up. Normally, I would have offered her a blanket or at least held her. But I just wanted the night to end.

She was on her way back to the bedroom to get her clothes when she turned and asked, “if it’s just sex, can we do it again sometime?”

She must have thought I was going to say yes, or perhaps maybe, because she was stunned by my response: “I don’t see that happening.”

“Why not.”

“Judy, I think you are a coward. The Judy I was attracted to in the beginning would not have dropped me like a phone call, and run screaming from the fairly simple and painless responsibility of confronting me with your reasons. Because you didn’t, I have no respect for you whatsoever. If sex is one of those reasons and you can’t even tell me that, then I have no hope for a future in bed with you. I want a woman who can tell me what she wants. I just don’t find you attractive anymore.”

Her lips tremble, and she walks away. I wonder if it was too harsh, but not for long. She pushed me to it. I’m actually surprised that she did, because she’d never spoken up before. She actually stood up for herself more in this conversation than she ever had.

Now I won’t say I’m beginning to feel bad about it all, but I understand. She had done the same to me. Except, I understand her need for an explanation. It is common courtesy, I’d always thought, to explain to someone why you were breaking up with them. It sure will be nice once this night is over. I’ve succeeded in my goal, and even got an extra blow job out of the whole deal. The girl who gave up on me will now lose the best thing she could have had, which will now be enjoyed by the loins of another. And it helps that I don’t want this girl anymore.

I reach the bottom of my bottle of beer but she still hasn’t yet emerged, so I go down the hall to the bedroom.

The bedroom is still dark, lit only by the hall and a lava lamp in the far corner. She is sitting on the bed, holding her panties in one hand. I can’t see her face, but there is a sliver of light outlining the right side of her still naked body. The whole image is eerie to me, like a photo with a composition that is just slightly off. I open my mouth to tell her to leave at once, but no words come out.

It’s likely her defiance that intrigues me. She drops her panties and leans back to rest with her arms supporting her on the bed sheets behind her. My eyes are drawn to the supple right breast, hanging like a crescent moon on a body whose curves formed a beautiful white ribbon of light from her cheekbone down to her ankles. The point where her leg meets with her body fell into black like a blanket draped partially over her crotch from the left, just waiting to be pulled away. She wants me to pull it away.

She turns to look at me, and I look at her. She was a woman not accustomed to creating sex appeal. She was sexy as hell, to be sure. But she’s not a charmer. Nevertheless, she looks like something out of a dream – something just for me.

Only, I could resist.

I should resist.

This is the woman that made you feel low and never gave you the time of day. This is the same woman that wanted you gone like you were a pest to be dealt with. She was happy the day she never had to deal with your pathetic self again. She didn’t even have the temerity or courage to face you when she did it. Don’t forget this.

So cut out now while you’re ahead. You’ve won the tango, and she can be long gone as sure as the day will break in six hours.

She was still silent. And more important, so was I. I move to the bed because I think I have a plan to tell her to leave. It’s the part of my mind that’s at war with itself. Resentment resurfaces, even as I look for an excuse to pursue a gentler approach to getting her to leave the apartment.

Just get her to leave.

When I get to the bed, I sit down. I don’t say a word.

I sit on the corner next to her, and her eyes are still fixed on mine. We don’t speak, but we have the most intense conversation we’ve ever had. She reaches a stale mate and waits for me to tell her to leave once more. She has no defense to offer me, just eyes that plead. And I have my honor.

Then she looks down at my body and then up again. She smiles, and I realize that I am hard.

She is winning.

I shift to look straight ahead, blocking her from my field of view. I close my eyes to shake her from my thoughts, but she appears behind my eyelids, looking just as hot as she would if I opened them again. I think about math and mountains and gasoline, and anything else that would bring this moment back under my control.

Just as it was starting to work, I feel her hand touch my knee. She slides it up my thigh and up to my chest, then quickly down to my penis. I open my eyes to protest just in time to see her press her lips to mine.

She rubs my penis gently but swiftly, and she pulls her lips from mine to look at me. I see only desire in them, but much more powerful than before. Her confidence is not shaken, and she has never wanted me more. But she waits for me to give in. Still rubbing my penis affectionately, she holds her glance and her lips slowly curl into a grin.

She says everything without saying a word. You know you want to keep going. You don’t want to admit it, but you want me badly. I can give you what you want, and you know it. I want to give you what you want, and you know that, too. So what do you say you swallow your pride and we get on with the good stuff?

I grab her behind her neck and pull her lips to mine once more. She kisses me passionately and pushes me onto my back. I slide up the bed and she instantly climbs onto me. She brushes her hair back on one side and lets it fall on the other, then she kisses me again, rubbing her tits against me. She grabs my penis beneath her and slides it in with ease.

This is the first time she’s ever initiated sex. She’s never even been on top, yet her movements were so smooth and natural. I almost begin to wonder if she’d just been holding back.

She rides me quickly, and she gives me all she has. Slow and steady at first, she tightens her muscles around my cock with every thrust and runs her hands up and down my chest. She screams and gropes my face and neck. She arches back and lets me fondle her breasts.

Then, I feel it coming. A bit too soon, I think immediately. Her eyes meet mine again as if she already knows. I am torn between my ego which wants to persist and my impulse which desperately wants to let the floodgates open.

She’s looking right at me when I come, and then she changes. She stops moving, and as I feel myself pouring into her, her face grows cold and serious.

It is a face I think I’ve seen before, and I think it is a look of disappointment. But she is not looking away. She holds me inside her while she looks at me, and it becomes clear what her expression is actually telling me: You did not just come because you wanted to, you came because I let you.

She sits there for a couple moments, not touching me or pulling me out. She looks like a completely new species. I don’t know whether to apologize or ask for more. I want to touch her. I want to have her more than ever.

But I honestly don’t know if she would let me. She’s enjoying her moment on top, like she is holding me prisoner somehow. She sits comfortably with me still inside her and waits for a reaction to her victory.

Finally, I give in. “Would you stay the night?”

She smiles and leans in to kiss me. The movement tickles a nerve and I feel the seed of another erection. Then she pulls me out and gets off the bed. She puts her clothes back on while I fail to think of something to say.

Before I know it, she is gone.

The bewildering turn of events lands me right back where I was at the start of the evening. I go to the fridge to grab another beer, but find that I had just drank the last one.

September 2018
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