That was the most awkward oral sex I've ever engaged in. Basically he should henceforth be known as Mr. Softee. I'm sure I don't need to explain from whence such a moniker cometh. First of all, he just wanted head, which is completely and totally fine...if this was communicated at the onset. I mean, come on! What's the point of lying about what you want? This is meant to be mutually beneficial. So his lying was the first problem. Then there was the pure utter weirdness of the situation. Picture this: you get off the train and your "date" is waiting for you when you step outside the station. He so does not look like his picture. You try not to appear crestfallen, even though you're sore as hell. Back at his place, he tells you he's hungry, walks into his kitchen and emerges with a plate of food, which he then proceeds to relish the hell out of while you're sitting, slowly sinking into his too soft couch, and wondering what the hell...To add insult to injury, he flips the tv on and squeals with pleasure because the game is on and it's his favorite team. Whoopee. At that point, I started to have an internal conversation. I estimated my horny-ness and sexual frustration quotient, calculated the value of the time I'd waste(d) traveling to and from this place, and I weighed that against the probability of getting any (good) sex in this situation. Right when I'm figuring out the answer to my complex statistical problem, he clears his throat. I look up. He's standing at the entrance to his bedroom, stark naked from the waist down, dick at half-mast. Hello. And just like that I'm horny...
So I want to share with you more of what went on in that bedroom, but it's so really uninspiring that I don't have the energy to explain or describe. I'll just leave you with one word on the subject: awkward. Awkward. And, no, we didn't have sex. There was some fumbling attempt at it, but it was like there was some invisible force dead-set on us not fucking. To that invisible force I say, thank you.
Now that I think about it, what was so profound about the whole situation was just how sad this guy was. His life (which he recounted to me after we gave up trying to fuck) seemed to have been invaded by this sadness he couldn't make heads nor tail of. He'd spent many years unsuccessfully chasing love from one country to another, from Florida, USA to Santo Domingo, DR. After struggling together as a couple for a long time, him and his girl finally called it quits a few months ago. He had to move out and start life anew elsewhere. This new journey was rough for him and even though he didn't say the words, I could just sense his loneliness. I felt sad leaving his apartment, and felt that way the rest of the day and through the night. It got me thinking about the reasons people fuck. Underneath it all, is it really about loneliness? Is this what propels us to constantly date and fuck? Food for thought...
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