He kisses me again and slides his hand in my panties, plunging a couple of fingers into me and making soft circles around my clit. Oh. My. God. He covers my cries of delight with his mouth, as his hand moves relentlessly on my pussy, and I’m pushing into him, chasing that delicious tickle…his mouth moves down my body trailing hot kisses down my chest and stomach and I start shaking because he starts licking me, and I know what’s coming. My hips move urgently against his hand but he won’t let me come, he slows down and I’m moaning in protest, until his tongue moves slowly down my pudenda to tease my engorged clit and his fingers plunge deeper into me, flicking and beckoning me into wave after wave of a convulsive orgasm. Then he does it again, no hands. Wow.
Unfortunately, that was the whole show. In my hands and mouth he’s limp as a noodle. I’m disappointed and pissed, but I tread carefully, because I care about him. I act all understanding and sweet, but in reality I’m royally pissed. Not that oral sex or “non-penetrative sex” as it’s called isn’t wonderful, but when you’ve been expecting penetration and want it repeatedly and as often as possible, surprise erectile dysfunction is…fucked up.
And now, ladies and gentlemen, I will regale you with the story of how I ended up in an “exclusive relationship” with a man with erectile dysfunction.
How the fuck did this happen? And why am I o.k. with it, content, even?
Everything about the way I relate to this man violates my code. Everything.
First, he’s the kind of man I’ve been avoiding like the plague.
Strike one: He’s older than me.
Strike two: Three kids from previous marriage.
Strike three: He’s quiet.
Strike four: I don’t feel high emotion but a deep, sexy calm.
Strike five: I’m mysteriously compelled to tell him the truth about everything (ooh problematic).
He knows about my odyssey this year (not in detail,) and he knows about my feelings for Terminator (again, in very general terms, as something that I’m trying to overcome). He didn’t walk away or judge me. And he wants to date me…exclusively. I wonder why.
My first reaction is to get the hell out of there and never look back. I mean, sex is kind of my hobby at this point. Why waste time with this dude if he can’t get it up? I like him and everything, but fuck time is very precious in my schedule. It’s like airline miles. If I don’t use them by a certain point, they disappear. If I wasn’t going to be getting fucked by this guy, he had to go, my body was saying.
My immediate plan, even as I was lying naked on his sofa talking with him, was to make a quick furtive call to my ex and hook up with him before the weekend was totally ruined…
J. acted mortified, but I suspect he has had erectile issues for a while, and that he thought that perhaps I would be the magic voo-doo that made his dick hard again. Either that or he was under the delusion that I wouldn’t mind just oral, an assumption that some older and physically challenged men make about women of a certain age. Let me straighten you guys out right now. Your limp dick is still an issue no matter how great your oral talents. Really guys, at least talk to a woman before she’s all hot and heavy in your bed — wanting to get fucked. Getting fucked over instead is not o.k.
Apparently J. missed the Viagra revolution. He may have other issues that prevent him from taking it, but should I be wondering aloud about this in cyberspace??? No, we should be talking about it like two adults. But no. Men find it easier to pretend its not happening, even when their standing behind it.
I had no intention of going without dick simply because his wasn’t working properly. I was actually furious, but I didn’t want to waste time arguing or discussing his denial. He claimed it was performance anxiety, but that’s bullshit. He’s been in denial for some time, I can tell.
I picked up some of the condoms on the coffee table and stuck them in my back pocket as I walked around getting dressed a while later. I wasn’t hiding it or flaunting it, I just did it, and he was looking straight at me when I did. He was kind of shocked, but didn’t say anything. Like he didn’t say anything about his limp dick. I would have loved for him to have said something…
I went to the bathroom, trying to think up a good excuse to leave asap, when my body changed the direction of the narrative. I discovered to my horror that I was getting my period. Fuck. I said that out loud. I heard J. outside the bathroom door. “Are you o.k.?”
“What’s the matter?”
I told him. He laughed. Bastard.
So basically I asked him to drive me home, because I didn’t want to be all crampy and bloody in his house or his presence.
“Don’t go home,” he said. “Let’s go to the drugstore and get you what you need so you can stay. I want you to stay.”
“Really, it’s not pretty,” I said.
“I was married for 15 years,” he reminds me. “I’ve seen everything. You can’t scare me,” he laughed.
So he comes with me to the drugstore to get maxi pads, and actually stands with me in the feminine products aisle in the store while I decide which ones to get. I was beyond impressed with this. When we leave the store he asks me if I want something sweet (!!!). A Snickers bar, oh yeah. We stroll back to his place and after I’m all armored and adjusted, he starts talking about a restaurant for dinner and I interrupt him. I have a craving, I explain. Please. I MUST have White Castle. Please can we go to White Castle for dinner??? He laughs his ass off, saying what a cheap date I am. Only ’cause of hormones, I say.
At White Castle, I’m so overcome with joy, so happy, so comfortable with this man, that I grab my phone and go on Facebook and change my relationship status, and show him, because he’s been pestering me to be exclusive since our second date. There it was, official. “in a relationship.” It seemed like a good idea at the time. Mostly because of hormones and a cheeseburger high. I reeeallly like him, but the sex thing concerns me. But this feeling…why in the world does this have to happen now when all I want to do is fuck around and be free?