October 23, 2009

SAM SHARPE

We’d done this many times before. In a previous life we’d been in a relationship, but soon realized that we worked better as friends. The thing was: the sex was magnificent. And as any man will tell you, a woman who can throw down in the bedroom is a woman you hang onto and don’t let go.  I mean she could do things with her lips and tongue that might be illegal and were potentially immoral. She should have been teaching workshops.

So, long after we stopped dating we continued to have sex – even after we both had entered into new relationships. We would meet up for coffee or maybe check out a matinee. We even went to a museum once. The conversation would be easy, light but never frivolous. We both knew how the day would end.

Anyway, on this one occasion, I had her laying across the sofa and removed her pants and undergarments in the frenzied manner in which we’d become accustomed. She used her legs to pull me closer (God she had the most amazing legs), and then in one fluid motion she unbuckled my belt and unzipped my fly. Before I knew it, my pants were off, the condom was on and I was inside her. That’s when it all went pear shaped.

As our bodies moved in unison and we both started to lose our breath, I noticed something strange. I detected an aroma. Not that sticky-sweet, sweaty aroma that fills the air when having sex. I’m talking junk heap. I’m talking open trench in a third world country. I’m talking a stench so thick I thought I was going to choke. It was clear to me that this funk was emanating from her crotch. But what amazed me most was that she didn’t seem to notice.

Now, I’m a trooper, a soldier even. I’ve had sex while suffering from the flu. I’ve slept with “the fat ugly girl” so that my friend could score with her hot friend. I’ve had menstrual blood stain my pants, boxers and sheets – and never complained! But I couldn’t countenance this. This smell was repugnant and I had to put an end to the debacle.

But how? How could I extricate myself from the situation in a gentlemanly fashion.  Though I knew I would never date this woman again, I did like and respect her. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings or embarrass her, but my God I needed to get away from her stinky crotch. There was only one solution. There was only one way out. I lied.

Not only did I lie. But I lied by feigning a kind of morality and conscience that I clearly didn’t possess. In mid thrust, in the middle of the diddle, I told her I needed to stop.  My excuse? I told the unsuspecting dame (My God, how could she not smell that funk) that I couldn’t go on like this anymore. It was too much. I felt guilty for being the other man. I told her I could no longer continue to disrespect her boyfriend and disrespect her relationship anymore.

So we stopped. We got dressed. She thanked me for my honesty and my concern for her and her relationship. I walked her outside. We talked for a while and then she left.  I went back inside and could still smell the funk. I opened windows, turned on fans and nothing seemed to work. I took a shower and even then it seemed that the funk was following me around like a stray cat. I was sure I could still smell the funk on me and it was depressing.

Although we kept in contact, it took another four or five months before we hooked up again – just the thought of the funk kept me from going back there right away. Although we had sex another several times without aromatic incident, slowly but surely the frequency of our hookups petered out until they stopped all together and we eventually lost touch.

Now, after all this time, I’m beginning to think that there was no smell.  Maybe the funk was god or my conscience letting me know that this situation literally stunk.  That going around sleeping with another man’s partner was no way for a gentleman to live.  Or maybe, her crotch was just foul.  Either way, the sex stopped.  In the end, I think I learned an important lesson.  What’s the moral of this story you ask?  Men will often do and say anything to get into or out of some p****, no matter how foul the situation.

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