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I should have known as I was turned onto my stomach with his hands gently pushing down the small of my back attempting to give the deepest possible angle to his stubbornly uninterested penis that I had fucked things up. We should have just made out on the couch. I should have kept my clothes on. He wasn’t ready.
And now, in the darkest, earliest part of the morning, as I look at the left-hand side of my couch where he sat post-brunch asking me to model the first dresses I’ve purchased in almost a decade, I miss him terribly. Everything aches. My heart screams. My head is quiet letting the sadness pour out of me, knowing there’s no reasoning with the heart.
The penis is a stupid organ. It pumps itself up. It tells you yes, yes, YES! And then in the heat of the moment, it shrivels with the “what if,” the “what the hell,” the “who knew?”
And a girl tries not to take it personally, but it’s impossible not to feel a sharp smack in the face when it happens. Those things get up for everything, everyone, but when it liseli porno finally sees the light of me — it shriveled like I threatened to douse it with ice water.
Truth be told, I hadn’t paid appropriate homage. I’d coveted his gracious heart, the wonderfully sexy and intellectual parts of his brain and I just assumed, like a girl, the penis would follow the banter, the laughter and the immense affection that passes between us.
When he gave up on his penis, feeling, I guess, obligated to me since I was, after all, lying in front of him naked, writhing around in anticipation and desire, he went into me with his long, immaculately clean fingers straight into the vagina with a purpose and into my rectum just to drive the point home. He was going to deliver — any way he could.
I came in moments, slapped the wall with my right hand and turned to him wanting to feel the weight of him on top of me, feel him buried as far up and into me as possible. I wanted to make love.
But he wasn’t looking meet suck and fuck porno at me. He was looking through me. Things had not gone as he had hoped. He was stuck and lost at the same time. Softly, I asked him to get onto his back. He hesitated.
“You’re not moving?”
I thought maybe he was going to issue some commands, but instead he gave a half smile and followed my request.
I could have stopped then. I could have checked in. I could have done a lot of things. Instead, I kissed his wide, spongy soft tip. I licked down to the base. I nipped gently at his testicles. I gave the message that I came in peace, that I was appreciative, giddy even, to make the penis’ acquaintance, and then I explored. He likes to be kissed along the backside. He likes to be gripped firmly and with purpose. He likes when I run my tongue over his tip and flick it a bit at the folds. And I was deeply appreciative when he came for me into my warm and welcoming mouth.
But most women mobil porno who then stretch out beside their lover find him pleased and sated after oral sex. Mine had tears in the corners of his eyes, and they weren’t tears of joy. They were tears of remorse.
Slap number 2.
He was in way worse shape than I was. Much, much worse, and my whole being suddenly went crisis calm, because going straight to panic wasn’t going to do anyone any good.
“It’s your first time together there are bound to be issues: mechanics, newness, barriers, stress of unreasonable expectations,” the mind reminded.
The shower was quick, but he offered to soap me up. He started with my back and then as he came around to the front my whole body responded again. I wanted to bend over and try again, but the moment had passed for him. What I could tell was that he was a normally generous lover, in all aspects, who was shaken hard by an unexpected emotional disconnect most likely having to do with the fact that he was, much to his surprise, not so much into me.
And now as I wait for the sun to come up after one of the longest nights I have ever known, I’m scared. I’m worried and I have absolutely no consideration for my own bullshit, which tells me that I feel a lot more for him than just damn adulation.
Slap number 3.
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