Post Love

I left my wife three years ago.
I write about the women that fill up the void.

Post Love Thirty Three

It had only been a few weeks since I tried to kiss Jill on my couch. There must have been something about her denial that I caught in the act, some kind of glitch in her eye or a tone of voice that I picked up on. I knew I wasn’t done with her. Ever since that night she kept talking to me, messaging me late at night. One particular night we’d been messaging back and forth about some party, and she asked me if I was going to come. “You tell me”, I replied. She wasn’t stupid. She knew I was flirting with her. She played along. “What do you mean?”. The surprise came when we actually started to talk about hooking up. Her being a girl, unsure, me being a guy, reasoning. I forget most of what was said, but there was that one line, the one with a key word, that sealed the deal. I told her that I thought we were cool with each other, that we could trust each other. Trust. That’s the one that won her over. She sent me a smiley face.

What was there to trust? It was sex. I had no idea what it meant, no idea what trust meant in relation to sex. I just felt like it was a good thing to say to a horny girl. Did she trust me to keep it a secret? Did she trust me not to use her? Did she trust me to do a good job? I didn’t understand exactly how the  key word had unlocked her sex drive, and I didn’t care. I just wanted to fuck her tits. We started talking specifics. She said she was too shy, especially if she was sober. I told her we should get drunk together. She thought it was a great idea, like it was some kind of rocket science to get drunk and slutty together. 

A few days later, we both happened to be at the same bar. It was easy. I drank with my friends until closing and told them I was going to meet a girl. I didn’t say who. I don’t like my friends knowing what girls I’m fucking. None of their business. I’ve always been secretive. The more people know about my sex life, the more they can screw it up. People talk, people gossip, and the more girls I’ve officially fucked, the less good ones I can get. 

I left the bar and waited for Jill down the street. She called me drunk to ask where I was. I heard a voice in the background. My friend Phil. “I’m going to meet your friend”, she said. “Where are you going?” he asked her. Fucking idiot. My mind started streaming stories. Phil couldn’t know. Jill was b-list, she was a set of huge tits. She was a heavier, jew nosed girl that I wanted to add to the list. I decided to wait for them and go with it. Ask questions, improvise on the answers. But it was a false alarm. She showed up by herself. I didn’t ask. We walked to her place and smoked weed. 

Even though we both knew why I was there, it still took us some time to make things happen. Awkward hanging around on the bed, listening to music, laying next to eachother, laying closer, looking over, drunk and high, leaning in, kissing someone I had no desire to kiss. Lips touched lips like an entry-level job, the means to an end, a meager position in line for the gold. I pretended I was into it long enough to start playing with her tits, groping her through her black shirt until she sat on top of me. I pulled out her tits. I had been worried about them. They could have been saggers, they could have had weird nipples, but the good lord had spared her, spared me, spared the situation and blessed us to go ahead. She started to rock back and forth on my hard-on, teasing, kissing me. “Are you bored yet?” she asked. I laughed, pulled out my dick and started stroking it slowly. But I hadn’t understood what she meant. “I don’t want to go any further than this”. Jesus, that again? What is it about me? Perhaps women feel like they can say this to me because they know I’ll understand. I’m too nice. Unfortunately for Jill, that night I was drunk. 

Completely serious, completely honest, as straight forward as I’ve ever been, I said it. “…I need to cum”. She was laying on her back now, with her tits still out. I understood her silence as an understanding, an agreement. I sat on top of her and started to jerk off. “I’m not gonna let you jerk off on my face”. “No” I said, “I wanna jerk off on these” and slapped her tits. She seemed surprised, relieved, and let me do it only because she thought I was going for the face. It was an old school street bargain, a pawn shop hustle. Aimed high, got what I wanted. I told her to push her tits together and slid my dick in. I don’t think anyone had fucked her tits before. I had to show her how. 

And there I was again, sitting on top of a chubby girl, plowing away at her rack deep in the summer night. That’s exactly how this whole thing started, two years ago. Nothing had changed. I was still single, I was still miserable, but I’d fucked a few more women since. That’s what I wanted, right? I kept shoving my dick between her tits, back and forth, looking down to see Jill biting her lip, eyes closed, head pushed back into the pillow. She must have been touching herself. Eventually the tip of my dick had experienced enough rubbing against soft skin to send some kind of message to my sperm bank, told it to send over some soldiers. They seemed bothered, annoyed. Must have been playing a good game of cards down there. I felt a quick, dull sensation in my groin, a last minute warning, a watered down version of what used to be my orgasm, and out they came. There was no build up, like last time. Like with Lynn. I stared down at a miserable little wad of cum laying on her chest, by her neck. That was it. I had finally fucked Jill’s tits, and there was nothing much to say about it. Just another notch on the belt, another girl on the list, another orgasm closer to death.

  1. postlove posted this