WTF Was that?

So after the chicken soup incident, I had no expectations of creating anything special with the law-ya.  I mean, after the first two dates, decent email/text/face to face conversations, and very obvious sparks with the first kiss...the being sent home thing was pretty much all I needed to know.

However, the madness of the holidays only stretched out the inevitable, and he had obvious intentions of getting it poppin, one way or another.  We began to text more regularly and exchanged some pics.  Wow.  Thats all I gotta say.

A little more backround... this guys is A-1 specimen.  He can respect my hustle and struggle as a single mom.  He was raised very similar to how I'm raising my boys.  He clocked basketball scholarships that got him up and out...made it through law school...got him a trophy wife...made some babies...and is now young, sexy and single...and now considering going conquering medical school.  Score.

After the pic exchange, I decided wow, I really want that.  His body was cut.  His bald head smooth.  His long shafted penis gleaming in the token iphone mirror pic that graced my cell screen in my dark, warm bed was very pleasing to the eyes.  I enjoyed...immensely.




We had a few canceled/rescheduled plans, and finally decided to take a bite out of the moment, and I agreed for him to come over to my place.  At 10 pm.  He texts me.  At 10 pm.  I appreciate punctuality, when it is what has been agreed upon.

LA:  Hey sexy.  I hope that when I arrive, you answer the door in nothing but a robe.

Nah, can't do that, I just now popped the cork on my bottle, at 10pm, as planned.


ME:  While thats cool, lets have some chill time first, ok?
LA:  Sure!  I'll be there at about 11.

Bastard.  I really despise lateness. 

He arrives, smelling fresh and looking yummy.   He had just finished a good workout at the gym and was ready to work me out.   I lead him to my couch where I am half way watching a crappy movie.  I offer him a drink, and he reluctantly accepts.   Apparently, Mr. LegalAid is not so satisfied with my cheap wine and cheap brandy.  He is after all, a very eligible bachelor who also worked his way through college as a bartender.  Either way, its Saturday night, and I'm getting tipsy.

We spark up some good conversation.  I attempt to spark up my cigarette, and he asks me not to do that, it'll kill him.  Eventually, he expresses his need to use the restroom, and suggests I go outside and enjoy may cigarette.

How bout you go outside and enjoy your piss!

Ok, so now we're flipping channels.  I'm half smashed and rambling on about this and that.  The topic of Tiger Woods and the worlds oldest profession comes up.  He is proud to show me 20 pictures of pussy and a pic of Tiger at the end with a thumbs up.  This piques my curiosity.  Is he a connoisseur of the pussay??  And if that is so, why aren't the pictures I sent him in his slide show?

Its getting late, and we awkwardly made our way to my bedroom.  I flipped on the iHome stereo and pressed play.  Mmm deep wet kisses, and he quickly makes his way to stroke my ass.  We don't waste much time as we rip each others clothes off.  I throw him on the bed rather forcefully, and grab his warm, slightly curved dick with my anxious hands.  I quickly wrap my full lips around his pulsing cock and go down rather forcefully, because at this point, I am drunk.  He jumps up and bends me over.

This is so not as good as I'd hoped it'd be.

He rhythmically takes me from behind.  No spontaneity.  Just back and forth, back and forth.  I begin to throw it back and put my hips into it, and grind with the reggae beat coming through my radio.  He stops to tell me he likes this song.  I bet you do now.   I go on to tell him that I have a random shuffle on my ipod and not to be alarmed if something crazy comes on.  Murphy's Law.  Spongebob Squarepants remix blares from the speakers.  We both laugh.

Next, he is ramming it harder and harder from behind until my pussy begins to swell.  I moan with passion and arch my back with each thrust.  Then the plug to my radio comes out the wall.  Miz Indecisive is drunk and suffers from ADD.  So I wiggle forward in an attempt to fix it.  It happens to be just very necessary for me to have some sort of backround noise.  Corny and annoying, maybe, but whatever.  I really don't give a fuck.

"Let me get this fixed and you can get back to fucking this juicy pussy.  You like that huh?  Yeah you like this pussy."




He laughs.

After experiencing some difficulties and noting his frustration, he hops up to use the bathroom.  I hear the water come on and think huh, is that IT?  

I go and grab my wine glass and impatiently wait for him to come back to bed.  He comes in and sits on the edge, naked, sans condom.  He glances at the clock and says "Wow, its late!"  "No, its an hour fast."  Really, I keep it like that so I can get atleast a moment of urgency everyday.

He then goes on to begin telling me how his kids wake up at such and such a time and crawl into his bed.  Ok, how the fuck did talk about parenting crawl into my bed?  I express my dissatisfaction as he explains the he has to go.  He had a sitter until such and such an hour and has to get home.  What??  Serious dude??
I tell him that this is crazy.  Neither one of us finished, and I'm taking this very personally.

"Don't do that.  Really, its just late and I have to get home.  I didn't expect to be in front of the TV for two hours first.  So...lets plan for next weekend, ok?"

"Sure whatever.  Gee, this is awkward."

He kisses me goodnight at the door, hops in his car and murks off.  Now here I am drunk, naked and dissatisfied.  What should I do next??  Oh this is not gonna work.  I need to call in a specialist, stat!  I will link this with what happened next, as soon as I get to that post...

I text him.  Again, the demons of a cell-addicted sex addict.  I reiterate my dissatisfaction, and I don't think he was too pleased with that.

What  the hell?  Its no secret that I have a belly, if that was a turn off.  Besides, we exchanged naked pics.  Can't be that.  I did the scratch and sniff test.  Nope, my pussy still smells like pink sugar.  The dirty talk?  Maybe its too bold to whip out the freak on a first sexcapade.  Perhaps because I was a bit smashed...

To my surprise, he texts me to say hi a few days later.  My instincts tell me that perhaps he is doing so that he doesn't come off as a complete asshole.  He also explains to me that my constant texting was irritating and distracting.  I answered on text on my cigarette break, asshole!  Or at least, thats what I could remember.

Anyway, another one bites the dust.  The sex wasn't all that anyway...
Good thing I had plan B.