La morte d’un poisson.

I feel so disgusting.

I finally put my money where my mouth is. I fucked a stranger.

I was really bored and put an ad up on CL, advertising an instant messenger chat. I figured I’d get my rocks off and see how it went…. After all you have to crawl before you can walk, right?

I got literally dozens of responses, but only one had a face picture (although I did get some submissions for unfortunate cocks) that was remotely cute….but damn, it was cute!!

I sent out a chat invite with a reciprocal photo, and the chat was on. It took a while to warm up to the sex talk, but once we did it got pretty hot. We spent about an hour, half of which was mutual masturbation… My pussy was engorged and dripping all over my nice clean sheets…my legs shaking as I touched myself, staring at his hot photograph and thinking about having a tongue dancing circles around my clit. Soon enough I typed in, “god I want to get fucked.”

“that can be arranged…”

We settled on me coming to his place; I got ready, sent a requested picture of my breasts (which have shrunk since I’ve lost weight! Boo!), and was on my way in a car service. I arrived at 1:00 am and buzzed in to his apartment. I was so nervous I was shaking. Then he answered the door…and my fluttering heart sank.

He was not the hottie in the picture…well…he was, but he wasn’t. He was shorter than he’d said. His head was too big for his body. He did not carry himself with the cavalier confidence of the guy in the picture. He opened his mouth. His voice was hushed and squeaky. He was all business. He did nothing sexy. He said nothing sexy. He was not sexy. I asked for a glass of water and he stood there watching me while I drank it. Unsexy. I tried to put on my bedroom eyes. Unsexy. I tried to flirt. Still unsexy.

I should have just given up then, but I thought about my goal…I want to be a big girl, like the Brainiac and Ethical and Sabina and Zoey! They’re my heroes! They wouldn’t give up until they’d at least come once, right? In retrospect I know this is not right. I know that my heroines would do nothing that made them uncomfortable. And I was.

I kept thinking about the consultant and how I just wanted to get laid by someone else so I could detach myself from him a little.

I went into the bedroom with him. I sat nervously. He kissed me. It was bad. I said I was nervous. He turned the light off. It helped. We took our clothes off…but it was totally unsexy. I tried so hard…I touched his cock. He made no noise. He said nothing. What the fuck?? How was I supposed to know how I was doing? I got bored and told him to lick me. He did, willingly (but not eagerly…which his lame ass should have been with someone as hot as me in his bed). I tried to come. I almost came. But I didn’t. I couldn’t get comfortable. I had been like a waterfall earlier, but now my cunt was like the Sahara.

I tried going down on him again, which I enjoy so much usually… I figured he could finger me while I did so. He was like a silent dead fish. Unsexy. I tried to get him to tell me what he wanted. Nothing. Dead fish. Unsexy. He put his hand down by my face, so I stopped. He said not to stop, that it was good and he wanted to come in my mouth. Okay… how the hell was I supposed to know that? Is that sign language for “I’m about to come can you please swallow it?” I took it. Reluctantly. He played with my pussy for a while longer. I tried. He started playing with my ass…then had waaaaay too much fun playing with my ass. At first it felt good, but after a while it was kind of annoying. He was ignoring my clit way too much. It was selfish, not giving. Dead (sel)fish.

I tried to work with it! I tried to enjoy myself! No dice.

He backed up and put on a condom. Apparently he thought this was going well. Okay…

I don’t know why I didn’t stop it. I thought about stopping. I guess I felt like it would be over in a little while anyway and that I could just stick it out. But after a while, I started feeling like a dead fish. He was TERRIBLE. Absolutely. Terrible.

Dead fish fucking a dead fish.

I stopped. He wasn’t done. I didn’t care. I just said, “sorry, this isn’t working…I was so wet earlier, really, but I’m just too nervous now. It’s not you. You’re great. I’m just nervous.”

In retrospect (again), I should have told him what a fucking horrible lay he is instead of perpetuating the horribleness. His future fucks would thank me.

I was fine the whole way home. Disappointed, my head hanging, kinda tired, but fine. Then, when I locked the door of my apartment behind me and was safely within the tiny confines of my studio apartment, I started sobbing the Consultant’s name. For some reason I felt like it was all his fault. Like if only he had never been so sweet to me…if only he had never charmed me and been so sexy and awoken this craving inside me I wouldn’t have had to endure that horrible dead fish fucking. I am angry at him for being the best lover I’ve had in a decade. And for taking that away from me.  I felt…defeated.

I don’t want to be this woman. I don’t. I don’t hate myself or anything. I don’t regret it, because it taught me something. But I just can’t do that again. Ever. EVER.

I know it’s not the Consultant’s fault or anything… I know it’s not. I know it’s nobody’s fault.

At least while I was on my way out I said the coolest thing I could possibly say to the guy: “I’m sorry… I’m just not cut out for this kind of thing. I thought I was a rock star, but I’m just some fool with a guitar, you know?”