Secret Lover

Part 3 of Too Many Dudes.

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She joined me in the kitchen. She looked exotic and sexy as a hothouse flower, quietly outshining her rat-hole apartment.
I looked her up and down slowly, drinking her beauty in.
“What?” She asked defensively.
“You’re beautiful.” Raw magnetic energy pulsed between us. “Can I kiss you?”
Her lips were thick and juicy, meeting mine head on, with no need for a tilted neck. Our lips met with perfect joy: dip for dip, curve for curve!
I pressed her up against the sink, kissing her passionately, my hands roving of their own volition. She shushed me as my kisses got too enthusiastic on her perfect brown cleavage.
I lifted her short skirt and clasped that thick, round ass in my hands–she wasn’t wearing any panties!
She grabbed my hand, steering it firmly towards her pussy–but when my fingers sought her wetness she pushed me away.
“Next date.” She promised. I took my hand away.
“Tell me what you like–and what you don’t like?”
She pushed me down so my face was even with her pussy–and for a moment, I was tempted–but then I remembered all the dudes in her life. Too many dudes.
“Next date,” I promised, standing up. “I’m bringing protection.”
She saw me to the door, and I kissed her hand before heading off into the night.

P-Town Adventures Part 1: Bad Omens

A painting of a sad, thin white girl looking into a broken mirror.

The first sign that everything was not going down as the idealic weekend I envisioned came Thursday Morning: as I was trying to choose a necklace to match my black, gold and blue shirt–not one, but three of them broke as I tried them on!

I finally put on the studiest necklace that I owned–which happened to match my outfit perfectly!

I decided not to let that bad omen shake me: those were cheap necklaces, and I could fix two of them.

The next bad sign was Friday Morning, when the slight vaginal irritation which I had been trying to ignore turned into a raging yeast infection! Shit! Nothing says sexy like vaginal yeast infections!

Actually, I think maybe I got it from the last time my boo and I were together. It’s the second time that happened. I’m trying to figure out how to ask her if we can use gloves.

I’ve never done that before, and I’m not sure how I’d feel about being asked that–especially with the implication that I was dirty/giving my girl yeast infections!

I bought one of those monistat one day things, still trying to figure out whether I could play this off, or if I should tell her.

Squatting over the toilet, I inserted the bead–only to have it jam in the applicator!  $20 for this bead and it failed to launch! Now what was I supposed to do? I wondered, eyeing the misshapen white pearl dubiously–return it? Yeah, I could picture that scene at the drug store! I wrestled the punctured pouch from it’s casing and jammed it up there manually, praying that that would work.

The third bad omen came Friday night as I was packing–remember that bathing suit I went to so much effort to buy? Turns out they left the tamper-proof-dye-dispensing bolt in the fabric!
With my pussy on fire and my 4 sizes too big bathing suit in my luggage–I headed down to P-Town.

Thank you for safe sex!

This is a message to film & tv makers everywhere: unless unprotected (straight) sex is a plot point of your story, please, please, show us viewers a condom! Whenever I see a couple on TV having unprotected sex, or can’t tell if they are using protection, it just ruins the rest of the show. I spend the whole time wondering if she will get pregnant or he will get a disease. I’m talking to you, Weeds! (Thank you Puccinni fo Beginners, for the Trojans on the counter, even if it was after the fact) And porn! I don’t even want to think about the diseases passed around by porn stars!

Sure, condoms aren’t sexy, but neither is chlamydia. As disgusting as the irresponsible behavior of tv and film characters is, the behavior of guys in person can be just as bad. I’ve rarely encountered a guy who spontaneously reaches for one, and often guys–even guys who should know better–even sensitive new age guys– try to talk me into unprotected sex. Ok, so it feels better, I know. But how do you “know that I am clean” if you barely know me? and vice versa?

With all of the safe sex propaganda out there, why do I have to be a safe sex educator in the bedroom? Help Me out here TV and Film, and put a helmet on that soldier–or show the consequences!