I have a rule, never bring them back to my place. They will fill the gaps of serenity that I have provided myself in my home with memories that will become like flash movies. I don’t want to feel, but mostly I don’t want those memories.
However, it still takes a while to get used to someone not being there anymore. From parents, friends and even lovers. Texting them, calling them, or making plans to see them, it’s all hard to withdrawal from. After a few weeks, the emptiness that Wednesday left was slowly starting to be filled up. The numbness I had allowed myself to carry around was settling back into its home as I made plans with some random guy on Tinder.
His profile picture looked like an image from the remake of Grease, but who was I to care. Everyone has their preference on looks. I prefer dark and mysterious pieces to my wardrobe. I strung him out on a line for a few days, barely responding to his text, I didn’t know exactly what I wanted. Sex was just sex at this point, despite a part of me wanting it to become love; I knew at this rate that ship had sailed and sunk with the Titanic. I didn’t know what I wanted; if it was him, the orgasm, or just the idea of being desired.
So the night of our planned hookup I blindly made my way to our meeting spot. A quick fuck and I would never have to see him again. I already had it in my mind, but yet he had different plans. The small talk didn’t match his package, but the topics were much smoother. As I unzipped him, he stood at attention. ‘Was he anticipating this all day?’ I wondered.
With a glance before diving head first into my task, I wondered if I was making a mistake. It wasn’t smooth or even veined like my dildo. In the dark hue of the dusk sky, I found myself looking down the shaft of a man who’s package looked as if it had been floating in water at full mass for the last hour or more. Is it even possible to be pruned down there? I took in a deep breath and tilted my head down with a prayer. I didn’t want to ride him, but I wanted something, I just wasn’t completely sure what as I sucked and moaned like any little tramp would do for a guy.
He matched my moans with his own and thrust his hips up making my job easier. With a fist full hair, I wondered how long he would take and if my jaw would last that long to the beating of his nuts. I gulped for air as his moans grew louder and just as I came up for a long deep breath, my wants were satisfied as he let loose. I refused to swallow that night. I refused to have sex. I refused to let him leave an impression on me like his shaft. He satisfied me in ways I didn’t know where possible from a stranger, one that made me feel like my old self. I was desired, even if it was for a simple blowjob.
Parting ways, he tried to show me he could be more, do more, and give more. I wanted none of it, after all, that was the plan. I pulled into a parking lot after we separated and for the first time in years, I cried. Like a blubbering idiot, I let out all of the pain and sorrow that had left me so empty and numb. This night I found control; a control I had lost years before. As I stared out into the empty parking lot I knew what I needed to do. I knew I needed to come clean, I needed to break all the silence, but mostly I needed it to be Wednesday.
Just like Mr. Prune’s junk, I too was soaking wet, but for me, it wasn’t a happy ending, it was just the beginning.