Okay, so, last night I made a dumb decision. I decided to meet The Guy I Couldn’t Get Rid Of for a drink, taking the Bestie along with me, in a bar that I used to work in that would be filled with people I knew. You’d think that would be protection enough against any bad decisions, but no, my vagina had other ideas.
I think it might have been the copious bottles of Budweiser that did it. I can’t remember how many I had, but I know that I had many, many bottles of beer. Too many, especially on an empty stomach. What originally started out as a few friends meeting up for a chat and some beers turned into something much bigger — and something quite different. I ended up inviting him back to my place, having a smoke, having an argument, and then having some really good sex.
At this point, I’m basically stringing this guy along. Why can’t I just leave things alone? Why do I keep making these terrible decisions? We broke up.
After the bar and back at my house (before any of the sex), he asked me to do something on his phone. I did as he asked, flicking through, and a text message popped up on the screen. The sender of that text message was: Katie Tinder. I couldn’t help but ‘accidentally’ take a peek, and it was then that I saw a string of text message threads from multiple girls, all with similar names.
What did I do? I got jealous. Of course I did, because I’m crazy. I don’t want him, but that doesn’t mean that I want anyone else to have him, either. Yes, I know that’s unreasonable. And stupid. And not fair. But that’s not the point. I didn’t need to see that stuff. I didn’t need to know about it. I actually wondered if he’d asked me to do something on his phone deliberately. He was mid-conversation with that girl. He must’ve known that she was going to reply to his latest message when he asked me to grab it and unlock the damn thing.
Well, things went from bad to worse. Jealous, pissed off, and pissed, I started a blazing row, accusing him of just using me for sex … which is quite hypocritical when you consider that I’m doing exactly the thing I’m accusing him of. I knew what us going out for a drink would mean: sex.
And it was during our fight that it happened. The sex. The absolutely insane, angry sex.
He kissed me to shut me up, and then he threw me on the bed so that he could tear down my jeans. He fucked me hard. Really hard. Almost too hard. I struggled at first. He’d offended me, after all, so I said no.
“I don’t like no,” he said, grabbing my wrists, pinning them back on the bed, and dry humping against me. It wasn’t long before I was turned on and drunkenly gave in.
I squirted. He made me squirt. I squirted with such force that it travelled up my body and splashed me in the face a bit, which of course amused him to no end. It even started a catchphrase: “I think I just came on my own face!” It’s a bit late for us to have a couples catchphrase thing now that we’re parting ways, but it was a cute little thing nevertheless.
We had a shower, ate some food, smoked some pot and drank a lot of coffee, and then he fucked me again, but it was with slightly less force this time around. I could’ve kicked myself when I asked him if he wanted to stay the night, but if we’re being totally honest about this, I wanted him to stay the night. I enjoyed his company. The fight was fun because it ended with furious sex, but I enjoyed the coupleness of it all … with him.
At 5 am the next morning, he woke me up to fuck me again. I was pissed off with the early call, but only half pissed off. I hate it when he wakes me up early in the morning, but when he wakes me up with an orgasm and a stiff cock, it’s kinda half-okay that he does it. Plus, I was still enjoying his company. I enjoyed waking up with his arms around me just as much as I enjoyed the coupleness of the evening before.
We went our separate ways, doing our separate things, and halfway through my shift at work, I realised something: he was texting me an awful lot. Too much. Every time I opened my phone there was at least three or four notifications from him. He was making demands to see me after work, trying to make plans for other nights off we had together over the coming days … and then he was getting stroppy with me when I told him no. It’s like I’ve opened those ‘relationship’ doors again — and I did, didn’t I? When I agreed to go out for drinks for him? We both knew we’d end up in bed together … didn’t we?
Damn my stupid vagina. Now I’m going to have to nip this in the bud. Again.