Hurt & Anger at the Hotel del Ardid

So off we go to where the bar hits the dance floor, the border where I'll make my play. "I'm off to the dance floor, want to join?" Asks Kate.

"Can't very well dance in these can I?" I said pointing to my sandals.

"See ya later," she said, heading off.

I watch until the last of them leaves and says "pssst." She turns around and approaches me.

"What?" She asks me.

"Come here for a second," she does so. "What do you think about Kate?" I ask.

"Oh uh... She's nice, I like her," she says, not wanting to give the game away.

"I don't know, just something about her seems a little... off if you know what I mean." A load of Ray Kroc on my part.

"Yeah, I don't know she can be a little into herself if you ask me."

"Yeah, I think I get what you mean there."

"You know I love her, but yeah."

"Yeah," I say, letting the self-parody of the situation pass by over her head. "Well can't say that my feelings for her run that deep, I mean she's fine and all, but you know." Enough said.

"Yeah."

So I let the moment pass a bit before I go and move my hand to her right cheek, move it to closer to my face. With no sign of struggle, I go for the move. I maneuver myself to her without a hint of resistance. And then it happens, lips to lips, tongue caressing tongue and we've claimed our stake on one another. No hope of Kate getting in the way of this now.

I do my best to aim for the kind of kiss that carries a girl away, to a far off land of ineffable quality. With the only known feeling being ones of soft passion and enduring amenity. This isn't really a technique that can be learned, more like an emotion you focus on and pray that it somehow translates across physical barriers. A marvelous midpoint for an act that began with betrayal and will continue on sullied ground. I don't even know her name, yet I know what her lips feel like.

I think I was heading for "I just don't see you that way" territory with Kate. She would've rather kept me as a testament to the kind of man she can attract rather than any type of sexual partner. Yep, this was an act of self-preservation on my part, I have to stay somewhere tonight, might as well be by this girl's hand.

This is what summer had commanded is it not? The carefree attitude that summer brings with itself is still carefree even when feelings are involved. Summer cares not for whatever Kate may feel over having been usurped as the object of my affections, which I'm about to find out. Kate's making her way back to find me making out with one of her besties.

I turn us around so that this new girl's back is partially facing the dance floor and thus Kate. I make it so I can partially see Kate out of the corner of my eye while I'm making out with one of her besties. Don't want the winner's guilt that comes from besting the competition to keep this girl from fulfilling her impulses.

I can't see much of Kate but I knew I had irrevocably ravaged their friendship. I had made known the dark competitive insecurities that abound in any friendship, particularly one as intimate as this. All that's transpired has simply been a matter of the neurosis of an unexamined friendship getting the better of them. What had remained unspoken was unspoken because it was ugly. Two parties competing under the covers for a feeling of superiority over the other.

And I had made myself an asset in their unconscious struggle, a prize to be fought for. One this girl could lord over Kate, even if it's only in her head and she never tells another soul. Though I had been supposedly flirting with Kate I had chosen this new girl over her. The new girl could now use me to show dominance. The antagonism both of them tried to keep a clamp on will now overtake any feelings of empathy, identification and mutual benefit that their friendship had once been based on.

From now on they would just attempt to honor the concept of friendship. The ability to point to the concept of friendship that supposedly exists between them, one that society expects of them and say "here, I've experienced that, I belong." They would exist to each other as nothing more than symbols, probably even talk behind each other's backs more so than usual. The potential for connection, the ability to transcend the self, would no longer be met in their relationship.

Well, I had to find a room to stay in anyhow. I was just bringing to the surface what was already there. No use in feeling down about myself. "Thanks for the spontaneity," I say smiling, essentially telling her that doing what I want will grant her freedom.

"You're welcome, she says.

"There's just something about you," I utter. That's one way to make a girl feel special. Ironic considering that's as preplanned a generic statement as one can make.

"I would like to get to know you better, does that sound good to you?" I say, giving her a purposefully binate question in which she has an illusion of choice.

"Yes," she says.

"Want to see if you can get another room where we can get to know each other better?" I ask. Somethings have to remain unspoken. Don't want her realizing that voicing feelings and intentions actually makes things less awkward instead of more.

"Can't you?" she asks.

"Come on, don't be like that," I say, making it purposefully vague what the that in my statement actually is so she doesn't actually realize that I'm the one being a dick here.

"Ok," she acquiesces.

This is the fate of the poor souls who think living true to oneself means putting one's emotions in the driver's seat and hitting the snooze button on rationality. Not realizing that they're steering into a skid that will leave their metaphorical car overturned and them exiting the wreckage without a lesson learned. Only the want for another vehicle to continue their downward slide.

And so we leave together, separated from her group, declaring her self-sufficiency from the friends she depends on to protect her from the emotional indifference of the world. I order us an Uber, got to show her I'm not a complete deadbeat. At the very least it's not breaking my rule of not giving that hotel any money.

Finally, the car arrives and the backseat is where we go. Purposeful awkward silence for a moment, I want her to feel like we can come back from awkward in a moment or two. I put my hand on hers and start rubbing my thumb against her, want to show her that there is some semblance of romance behind my carnality. Just not one that I'm expecting her to follow through on.

Then I go back to the kiss, the perfect balance between intimacy and hedonism. What would be seen under any perfectly rational view as a needless exposure to bacteria becomes under the influence of our hormones and sense receptors an act of pleasure. We have a lot of sense on these soft rims of ours, might as well use those to our advantage. Very glad to be selling the feeling of intimacy without any of the commitment that comes along with it. It's a very easy thing to sell indeed.

So lip to lip away we go, bringing with it the relaxation that comes with purposefully ignoring the poor bloke in front who most likely just wants to do his job in peace and not be reminded of the sensual comforts that others besides him are enjoying. Got to keep laying on the smooches, got to keep her from thinking. Can't think of myself as anything more than a distraction.

So I keep up the variety of kisses, soft, hard, long, short, penetrative, surface only, to keep her entertained until the drive back is over. Anything to keep her from her thoughts. If she's thinking clearly then most likely she's thinking cautiously, which is not a good pairing for intimacy. Finally, the drive is over, good work mouth, you did me well. Now onward to the hotel.

I take a step back at check-in as she uses daddy's credit card to pay for our intimate getaway. Thanks, daddy. She got a room for two of us or at least a room that can fit two if you piece them together in the right way. So onward and away to a place to sleep for me and a place to experience for her.

After an uneventful walk through the veins of the hotel, we get to the entry of the room. I give an encouraging smile as she looks to me for any direction before the door. Reassured, she opens it and now an enclosed space is where we find ourselves. Privacy, a place where intimacy can spring freely. And I know what I want to do with that intimacy.

The calm before the storm, the silence before the symphony, we find ourselves staring at each other, maybe trying to grasp what the other one thinks. Well, I'm done with trying, let me get onto assuming. Kissing redux, I build upon our earlier bout of Frenching to see if I can't just use that as a base to round the rest of my checklist.

So a soft push onto the bed, one that relies more on her willingness to be toppled than any force on my part. I then lay myself on top of her, having her feel the not overly but fittingly powerful force of gravity pushing me down on her. With the cherry on top being my lips ever so lightly continuing to kiss her.

And now is where exposure must happen. No use in continuing on in a fully clothed getup. So slowly but forcefully, finding the proper balance of courteousness and confidence, I pull down her leggings. She's got some type of fancy underwear, the girl was at least prepared for this type of thing to come to pass.

So with her pants off I go, time to target her shirt. Got to make sure she gets denude before I do, it's the only way to make sure she knows I'm not completely trying to please her. Expectations are linked to trying to please someone, and we all know how people react to expectations. But I can't just strip her nude and then me. I still got to remind her of the mutualism that's in the air.

Got to fit the thread between not caring about her in a way that brings to mind expectations and not exploiting her. If I don't all will be lost and I must fuck soon or else the true meaning of summer will slip through my grasp. So I intently unbutton each fastening on her apparel, trying to imbue each unbuttoning with a sense of nearing anticipation. It's going to be good, trust me.

So with her shirt lying unbuttoned but still on her body, I decide to throw her a bone. I take off my own shirt, showing off my own chest in the process. It's not going to place in any shirt off competition but still one can get why I would want to show it off. Took a lot of sit-ups and push-ups to get into this shape.

But now it's time for everything to go off for her while I'm still keeping my pants on, as that's what the hierarchy dictates. She has her bone, she should chew on it for a bit while I claim her body for my gaze. So quickly I go to her shirt and make sure it's off her body as soon as I can.

Down to her underwear now, the real Rubicon is before us. The real test of going all the way begins now. Can she withstand the pressure of showing me body parts that life has repeatedly shamed her for having? Is there anything that I can do to influence her that it's ok? Think quickly now, I don't want to have the pause overtake all the goodwill I've built up so far.

Kissing, a return to the comforts that we've already established as a baseline. Never mind that I'm hoping to go above and beyond the simple act of swapping spit. I just need to do this while I think. Soon though before she realizes that this is a stall, not a tender embrace in celebration of the pleasures we can give one another through simple mouth to mouth contact.

There, I got it. I pull away from her to free my mouth. "I'm really glad you're here," is what I use it to say. Simple, it's usually the best. Occam's seduction line. She smiles and that's my cue. Going to use nonverbal communication from here on out, give her the impression that we've transcended the verbal.

I reach around her back while giving her a questioning look. Don't know if I really need to signal for this much permission or if it's really getting in the way of the mood I'm trying to create. I just want to make sure she feels taken away, to a place beyond her mental capacity or criticality. Nowhere that can be judged by words or driven down by description. Somewhere where she can think about the sexual freedom that this moment represents and the elation that comes with knowing she got to experience it.

So she nods a little, don't know if it's conscious or unconscious, but body language seems to indicate that she's ok if she gets a little bare. So bra, unhook you go. I'm getting an eyeful of her breasts in case you're wondering if you want to give me a little hand clap. Breasts whose impact may have dwindled after all the pictures of ones I've seen on the internet but are welcome nonetheless.

So now she's lying down with only a thin sheath of cloth covering her nether regions. I guess this is good to go on the fucking then. A thumbs up if I ever did see one. Time to grant release to the sexual component of my being. Thank god for sex, I got nothing bad to say about it. It's something I can compartmentalize thankfully. It can exist outside of the general cynicism that affects my psyche. Hip hip hooray.

So hands on her underpants and the undressing comes to completion. Can't get more naked than that, I reckon. A real live nude girl. More pleasing to me emotionally than aesthetically, because who can live up to the unrealistic beauty standards that have been imparted to me. Imperfections galore with this specimen.

Yet, her lying there, fully nude in front of me can't help but tickle the old sentiments. A girl showing her comfort in front of me. After all the times I've been rejected, belittled, shamed, insulted by the so-called fairer sex, here is one of its members willing to lay it all out for me. A reminder that a girl can find such comfort like this with me... that the past does not dictate the future; that it's possible to rise above my ordeals.

But that's just a fantasy on my part. Careful, can't get high on my own supply. Her nudity is a self-serving act on her part. More about giving herself access and incentivizing me than her showing intimacy. She doesn't completely care about pleasing me, this is more about her doing whatever she thinks should be expected of her and being intoxicated with my aura.

Not ideal, but at least I get sex and a room to stay for the night. Can't complain too much when that's on the table. So let's get on with the show. I take my pants off along with my underwear and lie next to her, both of us fully naked. I take a moment of a breather so that both of us may get adjusted and then go back to the baseline of kissing. A moment of grounding before things get really wild.

So with a starting position on her lips, I take my kisses down her body, making pit stops at her neck, shoulders, breasts and navel. All the way down until I get to the final destination. Just blocked by her two legs, an obstacle that's easily parted. So in between her legs, my hand goes, acting as a lever to pry myself an opening. Not much force is needed to pry them open as she moves them apart with me, more games more fun.

Down I go, off to pretend that what I'm doing is for her benefit when really I'm just warming her up for later. Statistically speaking, there's a good chance that starting around her clit, only going close to it for a few seconds before taking my business elsewhere, will be a good course of action. Doing a little hinting, teasing, feinting, so to speak. Hope that the odds are in my favor.

Let's see, does it work? Not bad. Not sure if I can tell if her moans are real or just encouraging, probably a bit of both.

Anyway time for further technique. I read online sucking works, not sure how to best go about it. Clits are so tiny and can kind of disappear into the woodwork. But fuck it why not? I pucker up my lips, aim the best I can and try to suck enjoyably. I sense some genuineness from her. It's not a grand slam home run or anything but you know pleasure's pleasure. I just hope that she hasn't set the bar so high that a simple pleasure doesn't rub off on her.

Finally, it's my last card in my pocket, it's circle time. Let me see if my tongue exercises from that acting class I took for fun are still effective. Sure enough, they are, at least as far as she's concerned. Maybe her standards aren't up to snuff and she's just had too many guys doggy lapping away at her, but boy can she moan.

Moan away all you want, that's fine by me. Just don't expect me to keep this up for much longer. You're all warmed up, time for me to reach home here. The dark side of my self-sufficiency, not about to give the whole community service thing a shot. It's part of the package girl.

So in a gap in which the moans when the moans aren't coming as heavily, I self-servingly stop my tongue work and use the relative silence as an invitation to advance. I crawl back up, reconvene with another kiss and then stick my hard prick right in front of her opening. She wants it too or at least acquiesces, nonverbal communication doesn't go that far into nuances.

Whatever the case may be she grabs ahold of my member and guides it into her. I follow her lead and the rest is a tale as old as time itself. The most intimate thing two people can do is happening right now. It's just a shame that the fact that I don't actually know her name kind of undermines the whole intimacy aspect.

But never you fret for physical stimuli is on the way to unburden me from whatever existentialism I may suffer from. Ah the sensation of a nice warm pussy around me, a well I keep coming to even though there's little in the way of actual nourishment to provide me with. Still, it's a reminder of the pleasures we can give to one another. Just don't focus on the lingering darkness about how the pleasure came to be.

Though she's very wet, some rapid thrusting at this stage might cause her sensitive endings to wind up on the wrong side of the pain-pleasure divide. So I start slow, at least this gives me a chance to get acclimated to her insides. No complaints as far as I can tell. I'd leave a five-star review if there were a yelp for vaginas.

The descent into pleasure, my favorite type of descent. I feel the neural chemical change from normal to bliss in a matter of moments. It's a windfall is what it is, gives me a new lease on life. Really makes me believe that anything can change in an instant. Going from a cynical slightly dickish guy to that same guy under the influence of sexual gratification. What a world.

Someone really needs to write an analysis on the isolating yet uniting effects of physical pleasure. Lord knows I'm lost as to how such a contradiction works. This all highlights the difference in our sexual function, me thrusting, her receiving. Yet there's harmony too, the illusion that we are working together. Just the two of us doing what we want to do and finding the overlap where our desires meet.

The instinct that I can be myself around this girl arises. It's an instinct I won't take but an instinct that's present at the very least. The illusion of a connection arises between us, an illusion we can make real if we just put enough faith in it. It's a connection that won't last the test of time but one that insinuates itself in the present moment.

Yet there's my own pleasure to think about. A sensation that takes control and selfishly demands me to serve only it. A command that I have a hard time arguing against. It's making a really good argument. But eventually if I continue to listen to it I'll irrevocably betray her or whatever partner and then the relationship's over. And it's so much easier to put your pleasure in front of your partner's. That pleasure's you, what more can I say?

That's the good thing about a one night deal, feelings don't run too deep. A general sense of social decorum is invited, but the need for love hasn't enveloped us whole yet. We do our deed and that's that, strings don't have time to hook themselves on us.