Ever been likened to a mythical Greek creature whilst trying to get some? There’s a first time for everything I suppose.
After snapping and chatting to Mark for days, all day, I decided it was time to head home. Could we have a similar experience again but with better sex this time? Only one way to find out. At this point I think it’s clear that I am starting to consider this guy as a potential partner. So knowing that I would have a mostly-free house over the weekend I casually let him know that I’ll be home and alone on Saturday night.
Friday he comes over, gets straight into my bed without undressing and we watch TV for an hour. He doesn’t try anything – just holds my hand and then leaves saying he is absolutely shattered.
Saturday I have spent the whole day repainting parts of the house and I’m going a little stir-crazy. I am chatting to him letting him know I’m just at home…by myself… not doing much…but he is out with his football friends. Fine. Again at about 11.30 he asks if now is a good time for him to come round, to which I reply yes it is but I am shattered so can’t promise anything. It’s true; at this point I am very tired but I still want to see him. Except that when he arrives he has had a lot to drink, and is acting a little strangely.
He strips down, gets into my bed with me and starts telling me about his day. But then starts coming out with so many comments that can only be described as odd. One example is “You know when you play golf and you get this crust on your face?” Sorry what? I don’t think I’ve ever developed a golf crust. He also wants to know about my sexual experiences in water and doesn’t believe me when I’ve told him I’ve never done it in a pool. Yes, he is calling me an Aquafucker. Rolling over laughing he spies his car key on the floor and reaches for it. He is finding this key absolutely hilarious pretending it is all sorts, like when you’re a kid and you use your imagination to turn things into more exciting objects. Except he settles with a knife, and keeps poking my arm with it laughing to himself.
Sorry am I going to get any action anytime soon?
He then moves the key to my neck and pretends to cut my throat with it. I think it’s important for me to stress here that not once did I feel like I was in danger at all. Please remember this. So I tell him if he pokes me with that thing (the key-unfortunately) one more time I will put it someplace the sun can’t shine. This cracks him up and somehow we get in a wrestling match with me trying to get the key. Finally he kisses me, and at this point I’m starting to wonder: what is more important to me here getting some or maintaining my dignity by not sleeping with this wierdo in my bed. Getting some. What? I’m a woman, I have needs too. So we decide to go for it and begin foreplay. At which point he looks at me, strokes my hair which is now purple and tells me I look beautiful. Beautiful like a Greek mythical creature. Medusa. He tells me I am Medusa. No wait. He tells me I am a Medusa C**t. Ever been called a Medusa C**t before? I’m going to bet that you haven’t and if so I’ll be it wasn’t during sex.
So what does one do when they are labelled in such a way? Dare him to say it again to my face. He does. Dare him to say it again with the threat of me slapping him in the face. He does. So I do. We get our rocks off (I know, don’t say anything) and he leaves in the morning completely unaware that he has said any of this to me.
It later occurred to me that he was probably on something a bit stronger than alcohol. It also became clear to me that we would not be having an encore.
Bye Mark, thanks for playing. I think?