By April S. Kelley
It all started with a swipe right, a few messages back and forth and then a phone number exchange. From there, we had lunch and hung out a couple of times. The fourth time, we hung out at my place drinking red wine and showing each other our favorite music videos.
I liked this guy. He had good taste. He was attractive and just as awkward as I was, a forewarning that I completely ignored. After a couple hours, I attacked him with a hot and heavy make out session. I wanted to fuck him, but I was still unsure if I was ready to take that step with him. The make out turned into more music which turned into more conversation.
The making out started abruptly again. We wanted each other and couldn’t control it. After a few minutes, we were fondling each other’s naughty parts beneath our clothes. I couldn’t help myself, so I began sucking his dick. And my god, he had the most girthy dick I have ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot of dick. I could barely open my mouth wide enough to fit it all in. The thought of this gigantic cock penetrating me made ridiculously wet. My brain no longer had any say in what was happening.
He threw me down and ripped off my pants, and I let him. It was all so savage. I wanted him more than I had ever wanted anyone, or so it seemed. When he entered me, it was just as good as I had imagined, for about three minutes.
He was thrusting slowly and forcefully and it was fantastic, until I was on the brink of orgasm when he said, “Are you okay? You look like you’re in pain.”
“What? No, I’m fine. My sex face looks like I’m in pain?” I asked, completely freaked out. I was a bit mortified.
“Kind of, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to hurt you,” he said.
Needless to say the moment was over. He pulled out and laid beside me.
We got dressed, and then he wanted to have what would become the most awkward post-sex conversation I have ever had. I don’t recall everything that was said in that fifteen minute conversation. Note that this conversation lasted five times longer than our sort-of sex.
I do know he asked how it was, “it” being our three minutes of intercourse. He made sure that we would hang out again, that we would give it a shot again sometime. He wanted me to know that he really liked me and that as important as sex is, it isn’t everything. And he assured me that it would get better.
I knew it would get better. I mean, it definitely couldn’t get worse, or at least I hoped not. Sex typically gets better with someone each time you do it, at least for a while. The more comfortable you are, the more you learn about the other person’s body, the better it gets.
Like I said, I really did like this guy. So, I assured him that we would hang out again and all that.
The sex was awkward, but what made this experience even more awkward, was the long drawn out conversation that we had about it post-coitus. And I thought I had experienced awkward white people sex before. This one takes the cake.