Shockinawe, Part Deuce

Quick call-out: Shiny needs a roommate for TequilaCon. This is Shiny the guy, just to clarify, because I now know two Shinys. If you’re going to TequilaCon and would like a roommate, please jet over to his blog and let him know. I know it’s really late in the game, but you never know. Thanks.

This is a post meant for the Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign 2008, to generate donations for The Rape Abuse and Incest National Network (RAINN). You can visit the GBBMC page for all the information you need about RAINN and the campaign. More links available at the end of the post. Please donate!

Part One can be found here.

I spent the next hours with a multitude of confusing feelings. It felt surreal, getting kissed by Betty. I was excited. I was baffled. I was kind of freaked out. We were friends, right? When the hell had it become more than that? Had I done something?

I was far too inexperienced to think about it logically. Looking back now, with 23 years of experience under my belt, I know that women love a man who listens to them. Hell, people in general like to feel that they’re truly being listened to. I just didn’t see that as such a big deal when I was 17, going on 18.

I still didn’t see myself as all that attractive, either. I’d recently broken my glasses and couldn’t afford a new pair, so that was a big switch. And yes, I could see fine…it’s really my left eye that’s the weak one. Add to that the new hair style and I looked like a completely different person. On the inside, though, I still pretty much felt ugly and unkissable…even after getting dumped by my girlfriend not long before.

That night, Betty and I talked on the phone. I can’t remember our conversation. I’m sure it involved the kiss and what it meant, how baffled I was, and what all of this meant for us. Plus, she was three months pregnant with someone else’s baby. I mean, how the hell was I supposed to be romantic under those conditions?

That shit didn’t matter to me, truth be told. I’ve always thought more with my heart than my head. And I liked Betty…a lot. We were talking on the phone every night, many times more than once a day.

And I quickly came to fall head over heels for her. Everything else melted away. I introduced her to my dad at one point, not long before he left New Mexico to go back to New York. My plan was still to head back north at the end of the college semester, but I refused to think that far in advance.

Betty sometimes would drive me home after I finished my shift at the radio station. We’d sit in my dirt driveway, out in the middle of Boles Acres (a dump of a trailer park), making out and heavily petting. My dick would get so hard I thought it’d burst through my closed zipper. And I spent many a night nursing my poor swollen azure balls.

A couple of times, she undid my zipper and handle my guggenheimer and I’d think, “This it it! This is it!” Once she even put me in her mouth and I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. But no, she’d stop right after that and I’d zip back up, saying it was okay but not really being okay with it. Every time I’d wander back into my trailer, delicately walking because even the fabric of my pants was amazingly painful. Yeah, I’d masturbate like my life depended on it – what else was new? – and used up half a roll of toilet paper wiping up.

A few times we ended up at her place, where she lived with her mother and younger brother. Same thing would happen. Eventually, after maybe a month of this cockteasing, I started getting resentful. I mean, what the hell was it going to take? I loved her, I really did…we said it all the time. Wasn’t I good enough?

Back then I really equated sex with love. Yeah, part of my screwed up programming. I know now that many abuse victims feel that way. But I wasn’t even acknowledging that status in my brain. I’d locked all that away deep in the dark recesses of my brain.

So Betty not having sex with me was not only sexually frustrating, but also a means of rejection that hit me pretty hard.

Now I look back and think that was kind of immature and assholish. After all, Betty had been raped by her own boyfriend not all that far back. I really did try hard to be understanding, and I think I was to a large degree. But I certainly had limits to that patience and I was hitting them like a concrete wall.

Finally, one night when Betty’s mom was away at work, she led me by the hand and took me to her bedroom. Finally, she wasn’t teasing me. She meant business. I was going to get laid! Better yet, with someone I loved.

She peeled off my shirt, and I hers. Off came our pants. Then the underwear. And I was standing there completely naked with a woman, who was also amazingly completely naked. We embraced and kissed some more and she took my hand once again and brought me onto her bed.

Her mouth engulfed my dick and I groaned with pleasure. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Not very long after my 18th birthday, it was actually happening! I didn’t want to cum yet, I wanted to save that for the actual sex. So I gently pushed her off of me and then did something I’d been wanting to do for a long time. All of my experience with porn magazines was coming to fruition and I decided I was going to go down on her.

I moved down and kissed and fondled her breasts. I flicked my tongue over her nipples and did the things I thought I was supposed to do. And when I got down to her pussy I inhaled that musky scent and tentatively raked my tongue up and down her slit. She groaned, so I guess I was doing something right. That turned me on even more.

Encouraged by her signals, I buried my face in her, and hungrily lapped away. After maybe 30 seconds of this, however, she said, “What are you doing?” and she pushed me away. Hell, I didn’t know what I was doing. I was just trying to reciprocate, do what I’d seen all these men and women in magazines doing.

“Come up here,” she urged me.

I didn’t want to stop, but she said it again, so up I went. And in I went. And. It. Felt. Fucking. Amazing.

Part Three tomorrow.

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