getting over him

i couldn't be bothered to shower or even change out of the t-shirt that i'd worn all day and then to bed. i scraped a wet toothbrush thru my mouth and found the nearest pair of jeans and shoes. i needed to see life after an emotionally hellish week. the first bar i arrived at called "last call" at just 9:30pm and one beer. so, i found myself at another bar, nothing special and nothing exciting.

two tequilla shots later i managed to strike up a conversation with the only long-hair in the place, also, seemed to be the only person under 40. we talked about there being nothing to do. i drank. we introduced ourselves, and as normal for me, i promptly forget his name. he talked about cars. i drank more. we developed nicknames for other patrons (half-ass, meatloaf, and the like). some drunk woman waiting for her boyfriend called me beautiful, flirted a little and gave me flowers. i drank again.

4 tequilla shots and a corona into the night his hands are on my thigh and i don't particularly care. he's nice enough. i don't get a creepy vibe. and let's face it, i need a pick-me-up after getting dumped/rejected. we devise a plan that involves me following him to his house, dropping off his car and then heading back to my place (which is a pit).

his car is dropped off, he's in my car and his hands are roaming. feeling less inhibited than usual, i stop the car, thinking i'd just get a quick kiss and keep going. suddenly my jeans are somewhere under the gas pedal and brake and the boys tongue is hard at work between my thighs. i figure it could be a promising evening and 15 minutes later resume the drive to my house.

for the next 12 hours this lovely young man, is my dedicated sexual servant. he ties me down, makes me beg, works me into a mass of quivering limbs and a couple bruises. he likes to have his hair pulled. he likes rough bites. and he seemingly loves playing the role of my tormentor. and his 24 year old body keeps stride with mine, asking later, "are you always this insatiable?"i laugh and call his attention to the fact that every window in my apartment is fogged.

in a moment of weakness, we run across the street for breakfast food. he offers to pay for me, which i think is just fantastic even though i'm only having juice. he whips out his food-stamp debit card, claims the purchase and we're soon back in my bed.

near the end of the 15th hour of our trist, the boy, a dedicated oralist...dedicated..., finishes with me and we decide on a shower before i have to return him the hour home. there are red teeth marks on his shoulder and chest. i notice the first of what are doubtless my own many bruises. my neck is tender from his rough play, sitting is a challenge from the "punishment" spankings he gifted me, and i'm positive i've lost more hair than necessary. all in all, i'm a happy girl and content to deliver him home.

we part with a simple kiss, i give him my email address which he states he'll write to me at with this info and lets me know that if i want to kidnap him on my other days off this week, well, he's okay with that. i reply a noncommittal, "i might have to do that". and say goodbye.

and as i drive the hour back to my own part of town, i'm both thankful and anxious. see, i'd forgotten his name the moment he spoke it after we just met some 15 hours ago. and while i'm thanking the goddess that i never had occasion to have to call him by name, i'm scared to death of how to figure out what it is. i mean, not an inch of skin went without touch and taste between us, and i don't know what to call him.

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all is safe. he emailed. his name is on the email. i'm in the clear and he'll never know.