9.5

So, I could go on and on about all the stuff Ormsby and I did that Sunday.  I could tell you about how we had dinner and how I reintroduced him to Chocolate Oreo Cheesecake.  I could write about how I drank him under the table with Cake vodka shots then kicked his ass at ping pong (but he kicked mine at pool – though I was royally shitfaced by then and I did not care).

But instead of dragging it all out, I’m going to answer the all-important question…  Did we do it?

Yep.  We did it.

I don’t know which of us came up with the idea of making him 9.5.  I mean, I’d made it clear that I wasn’t sleeping with anyone new until I had gotten exclusive and I’d done well at keeping that promise.  It might have been the alcohol.  It might have been the fact that we’d had a really good time all day and that I’d laughed more that afternoon than I had in nearly a year.  It might have even been the trip to the sex store we’d taken after we’d gotten tired of pool.  But I decided to make him 9.5, which meant we needed supplies.

And not just any supplies.  Because remember:  I’m allergic to latex.  I am not on the pill.  No ordinary condom would do.  It had to be the non-latex kind.  Now, thankfully, I’m well versed in non-latex condoms, but also well-versed enough to know that they can be hard to find.  And funnily enough, the only non-latex condoms sold at that particular sex store were the lambskin kind.  Now, beyond the fact that lambskin smells funny and doesn’t protect against STDs, I refuse to sacrifice a lamb just because I need to get laid, so those are off the table.

So, yet again, I’m on a condom hunt… with a guy I’ve never slept with before.  Thankfully he was not too drunk to drive, because it took a while.  Several stores.  I don’t know why no one sells as large a supply of non-latex condoms as they do latex… I mean… just because I have a latex allergy doesn’t mean that I don’t need to get laid too.  But combine the fact that we had to hit up several locations to get these things, plus the fact that it was already very late so a lot of the usual options weren’t exactly options right that second, and by the time we finally got to a store that had them, we were both pretty frustrated – sexually and otherwise.  The store carried two sizes… and I didn’t know what size to tell him to get… the regulars, the large… so we got both.  Because these are not as stretchy as latex from the beginning and I didn’t want to get into the heat of the moment only to find out the damn things didn’t work.  Especially not now that we’d just spent the last two hours driving all over town looking for the damned things.

We went back to my hotel room, frantically hit the bed, didn’t turn on the lights, went to town.  He was fascinated by my underwear… I’d worn the uber soft yellow set that day (though the color was irrelevant, since he could not see them), but those came off quickly.  As did his clothing.

And before I could even think about it, he reached over, tore open one of the boxes (we couldn’t tell which), put one on, rolled me over, and just… well… went in there.

Best. Surprise. Ever.

I mean seriously.   After years of substandard sex, after years of men telling me that they were enough to hit my g-spot, after years of being disappointed but needing to preserve their egos, all I could think, before he started putting me on the ceiling, was. “Oh yeah… THIS is what this is supposed to feel like!”

I can’t tell you how many times I came.  I have multiples, they just roll right into each other.  I can’t tell you how many positions we tried, I can’t even tell you how many times we did it that night, because by the time we were finished, I didn’t even know my own name anymore.  But when we HAD finished, and when I made my way to the bathroom to take the usual UTI-preventative measures (a piss and a shower), he switched on a light and started laughing.

I turned, puzzled.  He was holding the Magnum-equivalent Skyn-brand condoms in his hand, the top haphazardly still holding on, the used wrapper in his other hand.  “I grabbed the big ones… and they fit!” he said in an overjoyed tone.  I laughed.  Mostly because he was so excited.  But also because part of me couldn’t believe that he needed a condom to tell him that….

Because I didn’t think my insides were ever going to be the same.

But what a price to pay.

 

Lord Ormsby Speaks:

 

Within the first hour of meeting, she tells me that she has a condition with some acronym I’ve never heard of that basically means she’s always horny and requires frequent stimulation. I may not be great at taking hints but of course I took that as a green light and figured I’d be getting laid that night.

But a few hours later when I made a move (hand down the back of her pants) she swiftly rejected my advance. So I was hands off the next several days, including the whole time she was in a string bikini at the amusement park.

She had said that she wanted to restrict  sex to the confines of being in a relationship and talked about a toy collector who was deployed overseas who she was waiting on, so I respected that – and him – and kept our contact platonic.

Now on her last night here she had up and changed her mind. I had no idea why unless she was turned on by the fact I let her win at ping pong.

Driving all over the damn town late at night trying to find an open store that carries this one super rare brand of special condoms meant that if she had hoped for sex with me or anyone else on this trip, she would have packed them. So I felt special (until I got demoted to a .5 of a man on her been there, done that list).

For me, she was an old co-worker/friend passing through town probably never to be seen again outside of Facebook and to her I was half a man to kill time with while she waiting for whatshisnickname to get home.

Turns out we were both very wrong…

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