Please Sir Ch. 02

Ethan lasted about three months. I ended it with him because I found out that Ethan wasn't his real name. I couldn't wrap my head around it. This man had stuck his tongue inside my ass many times. I feel like that entitled me to at least know his real name.

Emotionally, this set me back more than I'd like to admit. It was so hard to open myself up again, but I was encouraged by my friends. "There's plenty of good men out there. Keep looking," they'd say.

I did. The sex with Ethan was good. I liked being spanked and held down, which is something previous partners hadn't done to me. I liked being degraded and used. I liked giving myself over to someone. I desired that trust, that connection. But even with Ethan, something was missing.

I had developed a crush on someone at work. My rule about sleeping with coworkers was still in full effect, and it was almost a year before I decided against that rule. I wasn't meeting anyone anywhere else. I heard he was going through some really messed up stuff and I was worried about him so I reached out to check in. I ended up finding out that he was transferring to another location and that I would most likely never see him again.

I had thought about him every night for the last seven months and I couldn't let him leave without scratching the itch he had created. One thing lead to another, and we ended up hanging out at my place to enjoy some wine and play some video games.

I did my best to show him I wanted him. I wore a short skirt and a knit sweater with a lace bodice underneath. I flirted, hard. I purposefully kept dropping things so I'd have to bend over in front of him.

At some point, and I don't remember how or when, but we kissed. He hands were under my sweater. I removed it to reveal the bodice underneath. He stood back to take me in. I turned so I was facing away from him when I unzipped my skirt and pushed it to my feet. I stood there bent over for him for just a moment too long before I stood back up and faced him.

He was staring at me, expressionless. I had no idea how to read him. I cleared my throat and said "Well?" while I ran my hands over my sides.

"You're beautiful. No one has ever worn lingerie for me before," he remarked, reaching to cup my breast in his hand. I leaned into him, taking in a breath as I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. He continued running his hands over my body, pulling me into him by my ass and kissing me.

I liked what he was doing, but in seven months, my imagination had run wild and I wanted more than just kisses and caresses. I wanted him on his knees lapping up my endless orgasms. I wanted to cum all over his face.

He was directing me to the bedroom and I was fumbling with his pants. I gave up and grabbed his hand and lead him to where he wanted to go.

He threw me down on the bed and turned the lights off. Then he undressed. I heard the rip of a condom wrapper. I felt him move my thong to the side. He was on top of me and entering me before I could do anything about it. I wasn't nearly ready to accommodate him but I let him do what he wanted, hoping it wouldn't be the only time we fucked tonight.

He came with a grunt in a few minutes and rolled off of me. "That was great," he said, "Thanks."

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," I replied, trying to be pleasant but also trying to let him know that my Australian Lady was still hoping to get some release.

I will take the blame for this one. I could have been more forward. I could have told him that I wasn't satisfied yet. I could have played with myself right then and there. That's not what I wanted though. I didn't want to have to say "my turn!" I wanted him to take it from me. I wanted him to hunger for my orgasmic contractions the way I longed for his.

Unfortunately, none of that happened. I had been in a really tough spot with my own anxieties and I found it very very difficult to articulate what I wanted. I was afraid that I would be shamed or ridiculed. This had happened to me before and I spent a very long time doing boring vanilla sex because of it.

We saw each other twice more. The second time was just as uneventful as the first, probably with me less aroused than before, and the third time we didn't have sex. We just hung out like friends and it was lovely.

I can't say the itch was scratched but it certainly wasn't there anymore.

Months had gone by. No one seemed interesting to me. I didn't know where to start to explore the kinks I was developing. I would watch a lot of pornography and masturbate but that was as much action as I was getting.

I continued matching and un-matching, growing tired and feeling unfulfilled.

I had gone on a few dates where the only thing I left with was some crazy story.

My friends and I began coming up with nicknames for the most ridiculous dates. There was glory-hole guy, who regaled me with a story about his experience with one at the start of our dinner conversation. That wasn't so bad. We matched on Tinder, so we both knew what we were there for. What got me about that story is that he was in a monogamous relationship at the time. Instead of talking to his partner about his sexual needs and desires, he chose to break the trust they had developed. I know it was wrong of me to judge him for something I found difficult to do in the bedroom. However, I felt like cheating wasn't the solution to the problem. I also felt like it would be really hard if both of us couldn't communicate. As dinner and conversation carried on, I found him pretty dull. I didn't feel as attracted to him as I wanted to be, so I decided not to explore him further.

There was soak-your-holes-guy, who mansplained to me how to properly clean my lady bits and then tried to gaslight me when I called him on it. I was so horny when I matched with this guy too, that all he had to do was not talk.

There was wheelchair-guy, who let me drive an hour out of my way before rolling around a vehicle to greet me. It was frustrating to me that someone would lie about such a huge part of their life that I ended the date before it began and deleted my profiles when I got home.

There was the COVID guy, the one who wanted to maintain social distance by having me stick my ass out the car window so he could fuck me and leave me. He didn't want to travel to me, he didn't want me to go to him. it was weird. i think he was married and was hiding it. but i told him i doubt his dick was six feet long and ended it.

Loneliness drove me back, but I wasn't as interested this time. I didn't renew as many profiles as I had before. I spent far less time swiping through profiles and more time getting used to being alone.

Even touching myself was getting boring. I wanted a partner but it felt like too much work. I became even pickier about who I dated. I spent my time swiping right sparingly while I sat on my couch and watched show after show. I was missing the spark. I became hopeless. My loneliness was becoming familiar and comforting. I put my orgasm on a pedestal. I wanted the next person I was with to want it, to take it, to earn it. I'm sure someone would warn me, say "be careful what you wish for." I say no. I say wish for it and see what happens. You might just get exactly what you wanted.