December 1, 2009

ELIZABETH ROSE

“He could only bang regular chicks with a kryptonite condom but that would kill him” – Mallrats

I would like to answer some previous comments as I seem to be gaining a reputation… I’m not completely heartless, but I do enjoy sex and so seek it in places outside of some cultural norms. I think I speak for many sluts, both active and reformed when I insist that many of us are still as mushy and girly as the rest of our gender. After all, “when you spank us, do we not bruise?”

I will use an analogy of sex as a kind of social event, like a drink. Sometimes we choose to go for a quick coffee with someone we don’t know very well, or don’t necessarily plan on seeing again. We just want coffee. Other days we might find ourselves a drinking buddy to enjoy a really good drinking binge with, working our way through a happy hour menu and even exchanging heartfelt remarks at the time on making future plans. But we don’t, because it would have ruined the memory of that great session you had shared. And then sometimes you find someone who you love meeting for a drink, you enjoy it so much it becomes regular, and you even start meeting to do things other than going for a drink. Eventually you only drink with this person, because either you don’t want to drink with anyone else or you are afraid they would be upset if they did. Then there are always going to be some people who just like drinking. They will drink alone if necessary, they will drink with strangers – they are drinking for the love of drink and not to spend time with their fellow drinker.

Recently I have been indulging my “drinking habit” with a young Irish chap who is rugged for her pleasure. I have found drinking with him very enjoyable, to the point where I have hoped to begin drinking with him regularly. However, I have no interest in doing anything else but drinking…

I’m getting lost in my own analogy here.

Finn and I have been shagging like rabbits, we don’t meet for any reason other than to shag. We might grab a quickie in the morning before work, or the evening after work. I might booty call him half-cut and horny on a weekend, but we have never been for a drink (a real one, not back in the analogy) nor have there been any plans to have one soon. It’s mentioned, but seems like a waste of the connection to spend time together clothed. I am following the usual etiquette for a lover, so not loitering to discuss personal matters once the moment has passed, but leaving with my post-orgasmic glow intact.

But my dear readers… I am perplexed. My behaviour is changing. This man is under my skin. I don’t want to say his cock is like an addiction, but just my logic clouds when I am presented with an opportunity to ride it.

This Saturday was much like any other. I had watched rugby, napped off my afternoon drinks, slipped into something low cut and slapped on the war paint. Some girlfriends and I went out in beautiful but painful shoes to dance, drink and be merry. I met a nice, handsome Canadian chap and was likely to take him home when Finn texted asking what I was up to. I felt my knicker elastic loosen and a flush spread over my face. A few texts later and we’d agreed I would meet him at his later. He would call as he was on his way back from the pub. Simple, effective, and I was already aroused by the promises he was making on over texts. (He “sexts” good too.) Not one to miss an opportunity, I exchanged numbers with Martin. He was disappointed, but I pretty much left him on a promise for another time.

The call from Finn arrives. I jump into a cab and let him know I will be there in about 30 minutes. I don’t hear anything back…

The taxi pulls up, I pay and get out.

Finn lives in a secure condo building, so I enter his buzzer code. Nothing.
I call his cell. Nothing again.
I buzz again, I text… Still nothing.

At this point, I’m impatient, but not too fussed. I assume he is in the bathroom performing my requested pre-sex shower and scrub down. (His foreskin is wonderfully clean – in case you were wondering.) I wander off to the nearest Tim Hortons, grab a double double and sit down to wait. 15 minutes pass – still nothing.

I call his cell. Nothing again.

I order a doughnut and settle to wait. My ire rising. Another 10 minutes pass. Now I’m pissed – I do not like to spend time with the great unwashed at the best of times and 3am in a coffee shop is not the best of times. I walk back to his and buzz again. Still no response. I call – nothing. At this point a taxi passes, I flag it down and point it back to mine. During the 30 minutes drive home I sent a plethora of fairly viscious texts. I am not happy.

So I sleep in my empty bed, antsy and unsatisfied. Sunday morning and my phone is ringing unfeasibly early. It’s Finn. He had fallen asleep. He is sorry, how about I come up today and he makes it up to me.

This is where my behaviour is out of character, instead of cutting him off for a week as penance – I agree. I don’t just agree to see him later. I tell him I will be there immediately. Without hesitation, I jump into my pre-sex shower, primp myself and dive into my lingerie drawer.

I wasn’t just going to go; I was going now and wearing nothing but a garter belt and suspenders under my coat and killer heels.

I am not sure what point I was making. I would have advised any girl to have kept him waiting, taught him not to behave like that again.

Men need training, much like house breaking a puppy.

Well, Finn has learnt that keeping Elizabeth waiting will earn him a naked delivery service.

Finn has learnt that anticipation leads him into furniture moving sex in the entrance hall of his condo.

Finn has learnt that standing me up will result in a lengthy marathon of imaginative and fairly athletic fucking with accompanying soundtrack at volumes that caused his neighbours to complain. (Maybe they didn’t need to know how good that felt or hear me violently agreeing with him.)

My usual techniques for the game, my customary stand offish nature – all for naught. To this man’s penis I am powerless. He is my kryptonite. Even with hindsight, I would have done nothing differently (except the backwards arch move. I should have taken my heels off as I seem to have scuffed them).

Share This

---

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
•