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Friday Night, Vol. 2: Rare Breeds

Last night I went to a wonderful party thrown by my friend Viviane. I love going to Viv's parties, because there are two things I know for certain will be in abundance: Men and good wine. Last night was no exception.

I had sex ... technically (I think I better confirm with Clinton). Anyway, the point is I did orgasm last night at approximately 11:34 p.m, sitting on the edge of Viv's pool, my crotch thrust in the face of a man whose name I didn't bother to learn. And thanks to his game of Let's-See-How-Fast-I-Can-Make-You-Come, I knew that it took him less than five minutes to complete the job.

That was that. No numbers exchanged; no small talk; no promise of getting together next week for lunch. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Just a girl and her orgasm. This encounter is so strange, and now that I reflect on it without the delicious pinot noir imbuing my brain, I realize that we didn't kiss or even rub parts. I don't even remember how I ended up being orally pleasured by the pool, my feet resting in cool water. I just know that a man -- even his face is blurry -- timed me for an O.

Slut? Not so much. Nuts? Subjective.

Strange as the encounter was, this is the second time this has happened to me -- receiving oral sex from a stranger. The first time I was not so willing; but the guy was so forceful about it, that it was his dominant demeanor that made me hike up my skirt, throw my legs over two banisters and pop off an O in three minutes. When I finished, I remember him asking me, "You're very sexual, aren't you?"

Duh?

These type of men are truly rare breeds. They don't care if they get off; they just want you to come at their hands (or tongues). Their pleasure is worthless to them. It's all about you. 

I'm tired as hell, and trying not to think of Him. I'm trying not to think of what His mouth was doing last night.

It's not working.
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