You can’t actually say I have a writing habit, because I don’t. I don’t write as much, if at all, anymore and I certainly don’t enjoy it as much as I used to. I do enjoy writing about my random sex partners and/or life partners, but I do it so rarely that I only write down the good ones. The ones that don’t disappoint, the ones that give in, the ones that are hot.
I do have unhot dates, a lot of them. To be honest, I feel like New York made me this sex-crazed, dysfunctional human being. I don’t mind not having the sex, but that’s what I’m looking for. I’m never pushy, never awkward, never act like I need it right this second and that pretty much does the trick. I don’t need to be and I don’t want to go out and say that I’m so awesome that people just throw themselves at me, but people want to have sex – just as much as I do, except they want to feel in control and safe. I don’t.
Now let me paint you a picture that (I hope) you won’t forget. “Hot stuff” waiter guy fucked me the other night and it was so phenomenal I wanted to write about it – and I’m so fucking lazy and, let’s face it, so fucking tired (most days) that it has to be beyond what I’ve imagined possible. It has to blow my mind, not just me.
So this Waiter Guy is not just any waiter, he works at The Master’s Den, which I don’t frequent that much anymore, but I did go that night because I wanted to just lose control. I love being choked – a very dangerous thing that almost nobody wants to do with me (or should I say to me?). This should give you an idea about how crazy The Master’s Den is: I actually find people wanting to do this to me, skilled ones too, not the casual breath play fellas. That night, I really wanted that. I wanted the good old-fashioned one as well – somebody on top of me. He was willing (exactly as I like them), but very skeptical. Why do I like this? Am I not scared that somebody will kill me? I’m telling him that 1) I want to lose control and 2) I want him to not hold back.
So we go into this back room with this filthy bed and he asks what’s my safe word, I say:
“Let’s not have one tonight since we don’t want the level of craziness to go down. Plus I won’t be able talk, I hope.”
He laughs for the first time, the kind of laugh that makes your body anticipate. He says:
“You need me now and I’ll provide, but we’ll need a round two, you know, for me.”
He tells me to lie down on this California king bed that has probably never been cleaned since this place has opened and I do because I’m clearly addicted to this and I want to get my fix. He then proceeds to undress and as I watch him clumsily take off his own clothes I ask him:
“Have you ever fucked a customer?”
“Nope, I mean besides oral I steer clean of, you know, holes of any kind. I have actually never had proper sex, in my life.”
At this point I get on my elbows and I ask:
“And do you want to start now?”
“Nope, I’m saving myself for somebody who actually knows shit about me.”
“Then how are we gonna fuck?”
“Oh, you’re getting fucked, but in the mouth while you’re getting choked, that’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? I’ve seen you before, you only come here for that. You almost never have sex, maybe sometimes that comes with the choking, but you pass out before having an orgasm – so I’m gonna get you what you truly need.”
So instead of getting on the bed, he just tells me to lie on the edge of the bed with my head just hanging off and I actually go with this. He comes closer to me, fills my mouth with his penis and starts choking me. I have… never… in my entire life… And that song, I can hear that song – Fuck you all the time, just in the background. I’m lost. I’m so lost, beyond help. I don’t pass out though, that just shows he’s good at what he’s doing, but I can’t stand up. He gets dressed while talking to me, but I can’t hear him, my ears have not stopped ringing yet and I just don’t feel like listening, I don’t think he feels like having a conversation either – he just wants to fill the silence that he perceives as being awkward.
“Do you want me to take care of you?” he asks, and I appreciate it, but I say in a very horse voice “Nah, you already did…”. I think I hear a sigh, but I don’t care.
“By the way, my name is Simon.”
“Nice to meet you, Simon.”