I promised to tell y’all all about my adventures with speed dating–and I will–but first I need to talk about the end of Trevor.
I went over to Trevor’s Tuesday night knowing I had to tell him that I was done. I’ve known in my mind that I needed to stop messing with him for a while…but I guess having someone who wanted me seemed better than no one, even if I didn’t really want him.
For once he was there on time, which has been a really big issue…that and his habit of taking a week to return a text message.
He could tell I was upset about something, and I told him I couldn’t see him anymore.
“Because of your ‘Lesbian thing?'” He asked scornfully. “You realize you’ve given me this line three times now.” (I think it was twice, but who’s counting?)
“We’re just playing around, you can keep being with me until you find that one you want.”
“I can’t. I need to be one way or the other. I need to be open to finding that woman, and I don’t want to be hiding that I’m seeing a man. Besides, I am never going lick you or let you stick it to me.”
“I know you have that barrier. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t think about putting it inside you–I’m thinking about it right now. But that’s okay.” His tone changed. “I don’t think you’re a Lesbian–I think you’re bisexual. I know you like what we do. I could have you right now if I wanted to”
“I know you think that, but I really don’t–I don’t like jacking you off. I never did.”
“You didn’t? What about the things I did to you? I know you liked that.”
“I do like kissing you,” I conceded. “And I like the things you’ve done to me…but I don’t want to do anything back. If you were a woman I would.”
“So–you want me to do you and you not to do anything back? That doesn’t seem fair.”
“No! I don’t want that–especially after what my ex did to me.”
“Well,” He took a deep breath. “I like doing things to you, I guess I can deal with that.”
“No–I just need to stop.”
“Okay.” He said. “I can respect that. You think too much, you need to relax. Look,” He took a deep breath, looking deep into my eyes. “I respect you. I know what you go through. I was also raised by a white, single mom. My mom was studying to be a doctor when she met my dad…and she had a hard time of it raising us kids by herself.”
“I know,” I said. “I’ve always felt like you respected me.”
He gave me a hug. It was a big soothing bear hug. I felt the tension run out of me. Then before I knew it we were kissing. I do love kissing him. With his big soft lips it doesn’t feel like kissing a man, or kissing a woman, it just feels good…kinda reminds me of eating pussy, actually.
After we kissed for a moment he lunged forward, pushing me onto the bed.
“Wait–stop.” I said unconvincingly as he pinned me to the bed. Not for the first time it crossed my mind that with his 6’6″ frame and 400 lbs he could have his way with me if I wanted it or not…but I never thought he would want to if I said stop. My mind went blank as he continued to press his mouth against mine, his body heavy on me, keeping me immobile as he felt on my titts. Finally I was able to pull away just enough to say–
“I mean it. Stop.” In a firm voice. And he did. Reluctantly he got off of me. (I don’t think he realized how overbearing he had just been. At least I hope he just got carried away.)
“So you Lesbians have your dildo’s–your straps, right?” He asked me, as I moved away from him, adjusting my bra.
“Well I’ve never tried one.” He looked perplexed at my answer.
“But…it’s the same thing, right? The same motions–with a woman.”
“I don’t know–I never tried one.”
“Oh right, you’re the foreplay queen.”
“I think Lesbians have a different view of sex.” I replied wearily and cryptically. I didn’t feel like explaining or justifying lesbian sex to him. If you’ve never been a woman with a woman, I guess you’ll never understand…how it’s so much more intense…how the slightest touch can turn one on ten times more…
All I know is giving up men is easy if it means a chance of being with one. Actually, it’s just plain easy.
He says he’s writing a song about me–me, and all the women who’ve done him wrong.
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