How not to have a one-night stand: part two
How not to have a one-night stand: part one
Why Fuck-Buddies are NOT friends that you fuck
Why (so many) men are crap at one-night-stands
One Night part two
London - part two?
It wasn’t until I was sitting on his face that I began to cry.
Up until then I thought I was alright, but with the heightened sensitivity of the powerful orgasm induced by his tongue, my brain finally kicked into gear, and I was overcome by all the emotion I had been holding back.
A gap of two years since we had last seen each other, DK and I had a lot to catch up on; our lives were as disparate as the distance between us. Although never partners, we had over the course of a decade, been infrequent lovers, developing a growing knowledge of each other. So when DK called me to say he was in town, I looked forward to catching up with him, and of course, ripping his clothes off and fucking him all night.
When, after much vodka, he gently pressed his mouth against mine kissing me deeply, and it felt wrong somehow, I just put it down to my drunkenness and ignored it, pulling him close so I could feel his hardness against me, and concentrating on the delicious throbbing sensation between my legs.
Pulling off my underwear and kissing me all over, he lowered himself down my body, his tongue lightly dabbing and flicking whilst his fingers gently caressed me. I watched him for a moment, and it slowly began to dawn on me, what it was that I was feeling.
I didn’t want to be with him.
Not because he wasn’t turning me on – he was – but because he was not the person I wanted to be turning me on.
I had liked The Boy for many months, and had accepted that he didn’t want anything serious. Even though I would have preferred more, I was content with how things were and hoped that our friendship would endure, regardless of our having been intimate together.
But now that I was having sex with someone else, it struck me that perhaps I wasn’t coping as well as I previously thought: for the first time in my life, I was having sex with someone, and imagining I was with somebody else. As DK slipped his fingers inside me, I thought of how much The Boy turned me on; as my orgasm hit, I recalled his face smiling at me, and it made me climax even harder.
Then I looked down at DK and felt guilty.
I pushed him off me, and threw him onto his back: at least if I gave him some pleasure too, then all would be well, I thought. And having had sex with him many times over the years, I was familiar with his preferences: I immediately lowered my tongue to his perineum and slid both my hands around his shaft before sucking his cock deeply.
He responded well and ground his hips into my face within moments, but soon it became apparent that something was wrong. Or, more specifically, something was wrong with me: I wasn’t enjoying giving DK a blow-job. I was trying to pleasure him, but it wasn’t DK’s cock that I wanted in my mouth, it was The Boy’s.
I looked up at DK and I knew that it was pointless to continue: it was feeling like a chore, not a pleasure, and I know he was picking up the vibe from me: his cock started getting softer by the minute – not a frequent thing to happen to him at all.
DK pulled me up over him and begged me to do his most favourite thing: sit on his face. Not really my preference, but at that point, two orgasms in, I felt obliged to do something he would enjoy. So I crouched over him and lowered myself onto his waiting and eager tongue.
With each lick he gave me, I felt sadder. With each nibble he offered, I felt guiltier. As his tongue lapped away enthusiastically and I felt the waves of pleasure emanating from my body, I was filled with self-hatred: how could I just use him like that? Was I really such a sex fiend that I could allow myself to be physically pleasured by someone even though I didn’t want to be with them? With these thoughts I felt my horniness dissipate, and I frantically concentrated on the sensations between my legs, knowing that I was nearing climax and I so badly needed the release - if only to let go of the emotional tension building up inside of me.
I closed my eyes and gripped the bed frame, and as my orgasm approached, a thought suddenly entered my head: The Boy didn’t want me, and no matter how much I liked him, nothing would develop between us. With my body shaking, I saw his face in my mind, felt the tears stream down my cheeks, and I gritted my teeth to bear both the intensity of the climax, and the intensity of my emotions shielded by it.
After a few minutes when my spasms subsided, DK cuddled up to me, and placed his hard cock in my hand. I looked at him and at his cock, and knew I couldn’t do it. I pulled my hand away.
“I’m sorry, I’m not really with it tonight”
“This guy… my head is a bit all over the place”
“A recent break up?”
“Not really: we didn’t even go out together. I am just a stupid twat”
“It’s not requited”
“Oh, I’m sorry. That’s tough”
“Stupid, more like”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, these things happen”
“Yeah, well, I was fully aware from day one that he didn’t want to get involved, so I have no excuse for feeling crap”
“It happens to the best of us”
“I guess. Anyway, it took me to do all this” – I gestured at our combined nakedness – “to realise just how much I liked him. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to ruin your evening”
“Don’t worry about it. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t; you know that. It’s no big deal, relax”
“Sorry all the same; I thought I was fine up until now”
“It’s ok. So you on speaking terms?”
“Not really – the last time we spoke was when we slept together, almost a month ago. I guess he’s trying to avoid me”
“Us men can be a bit crap sometimes”
“Well, it’s my own fault, always picking ones who are unattainable. Anyway... onward and upward and all that”
“That’s the spirit. Someone else will come along”
“Yup. Let’s hope”
And with that DK switched out the light and cuddled up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and sliding his thighs underneath mine. He kissed my back and neck gently, and then drifted off to sleep.
I know by holding me, DK was being affectionate and caring and probably thought it was what I wanted, and he was right, I did want to be held - just not by him. Instead him doing it reminded me what I really wanted – who I really wanted – and that The Boy didn’t want that with me.
As soon as DK fell asleep, I moved out of his embrace. I lay there for hours, unable to sleep, the constant hum of traffic and DK’s rhythmic snoring filling the room with white noise, adding to the loudness of thoughts in my own head. I knew it was irrational to think it, but in my highly emotive and drunk state, I began to question what I knew to be true (that The Boy not wanting to get involved was to do with him being in a different place to me – quite literally - and nothing at all to do with me); instead I began to wonder that perhaps if I was prettier, or slimmer, or less emotionally needy, that maybe then he would want to be with me. And I lay there and thought about why I was single, why the men I fell for didn’t fall for me, and why I was having meaningless sex with someone I didn’t care about, when a few weeks prior I had been having sex with someone I did.
I knew I had to get out of there, collect my thoughts, think clearly again; I wanted to be on my own, not curled up with this man. When the dawn broke and the morning sun burned my eyes as the first rays of light streamed into the room, I quietly got out of bed, put on my clothes and made my way to the door.
I turned as I reached it, and looked back. DK was still asleep in bed. Even though my impulse was to immediately leave, I felt he deserved more than that; after all, we’d been fuck-buddies for a long time, and I valued and respected him. So I woke him up and apologised, explaining that I needed to be on my own. Thankfully, he was sympathetic, and kissed me on the forehead before wishing me well and sending me on my way.
I left the flat, walked through the estate, jumped onto the tube amongst the early morning commuters, and as I found a place to sit, felt my make-up find its way past my sunglasses alongside the tears silently rolling down my cheeks. As I wept on that journey home, it struck me just how empty casual sex can feel; how difficult it can be, when you want more, or have feelings for someone else. And it made me realise that sometimes even orgasms induced by another can feel lonely.
But it also struck me, that the next time I saw DK, I would owe him more than just an apology; with the orgasm count currently running at 3-0 in my favour, I figure it’s only polite to attempt to balance out the books at our next meeting.
Though perhaps, like me, he will have tried to forget about this night; hopefully in time, I will be able to wipe the slate clean – in more ways than one.