Rating: NNNNN
It didn’t take me long to realize that my new sex partner was a nymphomaniac. All she wanted to do is fuck. At first, I was gratified when my new girlfriend turned out to be such an eager beaver (forgive the pun). I hadn’t had any for quite some time.
Some men are born to celibacy others have it thrust upon them. It’d been a long 14 months since my last attempt to put some heat back into my failing second marriage.
We met in person after an Internet intro and two e-mails. I probably could have fucked her that first time. We were going to dinner near her downtown office, but she said that she had to feed a cat for her out-of-town best friend. Would I mind?
The Queen East loft apartment was furnished with a huge canopy bed that gave off an unmistakable aura of sex. I wished this weren’t our first meeting for safety’s sake I’m not given to fucking total strangers.
Nothing happened in her friend’s loft that night. But her next e-mail said she wanted to start an intimate sexual relationship with me immediately. Could she please come to my place and discuss it? I replied, only if I could drive her home afterwards.
It was to be all about sex. That was all she wanted. She said she was happy with her life and didn’t want it altered in any way. She just wanted to fuck a couple of times a week at my place. No dates, no going out, no relationship just no-holds-barred, all-out, total sex, whatever I wanted that wasn’t hurtful.
I told her frankly that it wasn’t my way. I said I knew myself well enough to know that I wouldn’t be able to keep it up (not to be confused with keeping it up).
I hastily added that, although I’m a relationship kind of guy, that didn’t mean I’d be incapable of a little casual action in between relationships. I moved a step closer and said I’d be only too happy for this to be one of those times. We fucked three times that night.
She was a delightful partner, uninhibited, with a very nice, eager little body. We came together to great crashing orgasms every time. I said I’d like to cook for her when she visited, and that I had to drive her home. To sleep with her on a regular basis, I’d need at least to know where she lived.
It was fun while it lasted. A couple of times a week she’d call and come over. We’d fuck immediately, then get up for dinner, after which we’d go back to bed and fuck a second time. Then I’d clean up and she’d have a quick shower.
We’d talk for a bit and soon get back to foreplay and bed for a third go-round. It was pretty good sex standing, sitting, forwards, backwards, going down on each other before, after and during. We never had a fuck that wasn’t just what she had promised: no-holds-barred, all-out, total sex.
True to her word, she resisted all else between us. She only let me cook for her once. She said it took too much time, and henceforth brought take- out. If I’d been able and willing to spend the entire five or six hours of her visit sucking and fucking and coming sans interruption, that would’ve been fine with her.
Eventually I had to end it. Four months of frenetic one-night stands with the same person were beginning to feel rather an empty experience. I needed the person with whom I was my most naked to be part of my life and affairs. That wasn’t the reason I finally acted, though. Like Woody Allen, I was coasting on the idea that empty sex is better than no sex.
The last night she was chewing gum when she arrived. At first, with her gum still in, she tasted like toothpaste, but 45 minutes later, we were in another deep kiss, both about to come when I realized that the taste in her mouth was come, and it couldn’t have been mine. She hadn’t taken my cock in her mouth in all of our foreplay.
Bottom line, the woman I was fucking had sucked off somebody else on the way to my place. That’s when I understood that no sex was probably better than sex with a nymphomaniac. I drove her home and never saw her again.
love&sex@nowtoronto.com
