Not The Experience, But the Numbers

The number of men I’ve been with since the start of my sexual life is in the double digits.  It’s not something  I readily tell people.  It’s not even something I’ll offer up to a current lover.  For some reason, it shames me to admit it.  Ok, maybe it’s not just some reason, maybe there’s a definitive reason.  There is a definitive reason and it is this:  My mainly Italian controlling ex boyfriend.

At the time I was dating him, the number of men I had had sex with was in the high single digits.  However the amount of men I had given blowjobs to, was a tad higher.  And I made mention of this because I thought total honesty was expected and appreciated.  Plus, oral sex is sex, or a form of it.   I was wrong.

I’m a whore. A slut.  Disgusting.  Worthless.  I am all these things.  I was all these things.  

I helped to egg on the image he had of me as a slut and whore.  When he asked me a question about the men I had been with, I told him the honest answer.  I didn’t hold anything back.   I knew his reaction because he told me from the start that I disgusted him and anything I said after that would disgust him.  I tried to fight his perception of me, but he was right.   There was no way I could make him see differently.

I know I should be proud of who I was . . . there’s nothing to be ashamed of having had a multitude of men. Even tho at my younger age, it wasn’t for the experience, it was for the pleasure of it.  I wasn’t very discriminating.  Anybody that wanted to give me pleasure, I was there. 

Nowadays however, I take a look back and realize that the now-me doesn’t want to do that again. Hearing about a friend’s many partners in one month makes me wonder what the hell she is/was thinking.  The now-me just wants to find that one man I can have many, many experiences with.  Someone I can experiment with and not feel judged or labeled.  However if he were to  call me a whore or slut during the act, I won’t mind.

What Goes Around . . .

I met a 19 year old 2 years ago.  On the internet.  It was around 11pm when we first started chatting.  And around midnight I finally gave in to him coming over for some fun.  He was so persistent.  Something I almost like about men.  I kind of like having the decision making taken away from me.  And he did, because I know if I would have said no, which I actually did, he would have kept asking and telling me to let him come over. 

Yes, I do realized I could have just logged off to end the harassing.  But I wanted to be persuaded.  And well, I was sort of in a needy mood.    So he came over.  (After he got lost for a good 20 minutes.)

We had idle chitchat for about 10 minutes, then we moved it to my bedroom.  He stripped me down bare.  He kept his t-shirt on.  He kissed me.  He couldn’t kiss that well.  I should have known from there it wasn’t going to be all that good.  He proceeded to shove 2 fingers inside me and roughly jerk me off.   I repeatedly told him over and over, “Not so hard.”  I even grabbed his wrist to stop him from trying to touch my lungs w/ his fingers.   It was so rough, within 10 minutes I was swollen inside.  I was so uncomfortable.  But at the same time, I was kind of turned on.

Finally he stopped abusing my pussy, and stuck his dick inside me, which was nicely shaped and of a tad bit over average size.  The sex lasted all of 5 minutes.    So not only was I extremely sore, I didn’t get off.    Inconsiderate lover?  Definitely.  After we got dressed, he needed a cigarette.  So did I, just to get him out of my place.  We smoked.  He left.

The following days, he called me.  And called me.  And called me.  And called me.  Etc. Etc.  One day, in a span of 45 minutes he had called  me a total of 12 times.  And it was kind of embarrassing for me since I was at a drug store refilling a prescription.  And my phone kept ringing.   I know, I should have turned it off, but I wanted to see just how many times in a row he’d call me.  Just so I could get a sense of what exactly I was dealing w/.   Or yeah, I could have answered it.  But talking to him, or rather, him talking to me, just wasn’t all that interesting.

He tried and tried and tried to talk to me.  I finally gave in around January 5th because it was his birthday and he was spending it at home, w/ his dad.  I felt bad for him.  So, he turned 20 in my bed.  He wasn’t so rough, and the sex was a smidge better.  Still no orgasm f0r me.  And he talked.  Nonstop for about an hour.  I could not get a word in edgewise.  (This is why him talking to me just isn’t all that interesting.)   Then I kicked him out.  Oh, after he bummed a cig from me. 

Broke bastards who still live w/ their parents should not be smoking if they can’t afford it.  Supporting my habit is hard enough.   Ok, so ya paid attention there right……… lives w/ his parents.   This is going to come into play.  Soon.

I dodge him for awhile after the “birthday present.” I didn’t answer my phone when he called, and I think I even blocked him from messaging me.  And then I got careless and unblocked him and low and behold, he shows up.   He says he wants to see me again.  He says he wants me.  He says all that shit that men think women want to hear so they can get in their pants. . . . and then I told him, “NO!”   All of a sudden I’m fat.  And I should be ashamed of where I live.  And my place probably shakes when I walk in it.  Yadda Yadda Yadda, Blah Blah Blick!  

This is what I expected from a 20 year old.  This is why I never, ever, ever stooped so low as to “date” a youngbuck.  They’re just not agreeable w/ me.   So, after that, that was that.   I pretty much wrote him off.  I thought,  “Good, this kid is going to go smoke up in his car listening to Lynryd Skynyrd, and work at the construction retail rodeo.  I can breathe easy now.”    Um.   No.

Couple months later, “Can I see you again?  I miss you.  You’re so beautiful.”   Last time I checked I was fat.  As in he said it like it was a bad thing.   Anyways, I pointed this out to him.  And I told him, of course, “I forgive you for what you said, but it is NOT forgotten.   You fucked up, you pay for your fuck up.   Sorry, I’m not going to lower myself to your level, because, truthfully, I can do better than a pot smoking just out of diapers wannabe hippy.”  Oh, and I didn’t even mention that he lives w/ his parents whereas I am, of course, Independent!  (This is where he lives w/ his parents comes into play. {Yes, I have issues w/ people who are of age who live w/ their parents and … don’t have a full time job, or have afull time job but would still rather mooch, it is, in a word, pathetically-sad.})

That wasn’t the only time I’ve heard from him.  And I’m quite sure I will hear from him again.  He just has that personality: WEAK!

Controlled, But Too Much. Part II

 . . . continued . . .

I don’t really know how to write the 2nd part of this.  It feels kind of weird.   He was so damn controlling, and I let him control me because, and I’m reiterating this: I thought I deserved it.    If I didn’t think I deserved all the things he did to me, I wouldn’t have went along w/ it.  And nowadays if someone even remotely suggests telling me what to do, I tend to go off on them.  Or just completely cut them out of my life.  I have no time in my life for someone who wants to change me to fit their mold.   Accept me for who I am.

So not only was he controlling my emotional well being and my financial stability, he was controlling my sexuality.  He made me do some things that I wouldn’t have thought of ever really doing just because I would have been too shy to ask.  And he made me do some things, looking back, it kind of grosses me out. 

But I guess that’s okay since I disgusted and repulsed him w/ my past sexual experiences that he made me tell him about.  Enough so that he took to calling me a slut and a whore, because well —- when I’ve been w/ more men than he’s been w/ women, what else am I suppose to be but a slut and a whore?  (I am being facetious and rhetorical there!)

One of the things I liked sexually that he made me do was lick his asshole.  I was embarrassed by it at first.  I thought it was something that shouldn’t be done.  I thought it was just wrong.  Why would you want to stick your tongue where someone shits?   Ah, this is where taking a shower before comes in handy.  And it’s appreciated.  (Boy is it appreciated!)  The first time I did that to him, I was inanimate.  I just used my tongue.  That’s it.  I didn’t really like it because he was straddling my chest.  And it still felt wrong. 

But he made me do it again.  And this time he was laying down on his belly.  And he told me to do it and have fun doing it.  Well, I got animated this time.  Licking, kissing, using my hands, rubbing my breasts across his ass, up and down his back.  I ran my hands up and down his legs, fondled his balls.  Licked them, too!!   I actually had fun!  And I completely enjoyed it if the wetness of my pussy was any indication.

Altho, what happened after I had my fun, was of no fun to me.  He decided that he wasn’t going to fuck me.  At least not w/ his dick.  He was going to fuck me w/ his big toe, on his right foot.  (It’s amazing what I remember.)  He made me lick and suck on his toe like it was his cock.  And then he made me part my nether lips so he could insert his toe.  I felt humiliated.  I felt embarrassed.  I felt dirty.  All I kept thinking was, “Please take your toe out of me.  This is so wrong.  Please stop!”  But I didn’t say anything to him, because I knew he would just stop giving me anything altogether. 

I took what he wanted to give to me.  And like I think I’ve said before.  It wasn’t all that much.  All he would ever do was kiss me, lick/suck on my nipples, and fuck me.  My ass or my pussy.  He would never go down on me.  He wouldn’t bother to think about licking my asshole!  Or kissing my toes.

But I had to suck his dick at least twice a day.  Oh . . . no, I mean I had to let him skull fuck me.  In essence that’s exactly what it was.  He was in control, he was the one holding my head and moving his hips.   He just told me to stay put and place my hand on his dick where he wanted it to stop so I wouldn’t gag.  (Sorry, no deep throating for me, but I make up for it in enthusiasm.)   The thing is when a dick gets nice and lubed up from spit, a hand will not be a deterrent from keeping part of it out.  So in reality, I didn’t have any control over how much of his dick I sucked.  But gee, I thank him for letting me think that.   

This right there, was what made me lose my love of sucking cock.  Doing it and getting nothing in return.  His pleasure was not enough for me.  So . . . he is the reason other guys have not gotten the opportunity and experience of having my lips around their dick.   And having to give nothing in return.

***

My whole outlook on life, or relationships, has changed since him.   I will never again be in that kind of controlling relationship.  I would like a relationship that is 50/50.   If you won’t give it, you won’t receive it! 

The one and only good thing that came out of this is I found that licking a man’s asshole is a huge turn on for me.  And, I guess I can grudgingly give him the controlling aspect of sex.  Altho, the way I see it and want it: It’s got to be non-humiliating for me.  And I have to be able to do to you what you do to me.  

50/50.

Controlled, But Too Much

A few years back I had this X. He was short (5’7″.)  He was mainly Italian.  He was older, but not by much.  His age was not something to joke about.   He lived w/ his mom, dad, and sister.  His hair was thinning.  He had issues w/ his eyebrows.   He lived 2 hours away from me.  Yes . . .  I met him on the internet, in a chatroom.  He was the one who started our conversing. He was the one who picked me.

Our relationship started sometime in the beginning March.  He had me professing love by the middle of the month.  Altho at the time, I only “liked him more than I should have.”  But he wanted to hear those 3 words.  So I told him.  It wasn’t that hard.  It was pretty easily done. And even w/out him saying it back.   And me not totally meaning it, at all.

We were talking on the phone.  Constantly.  I don’t remember a minute we weren’t on the phone if I wasn’t w/ him or at work.  And even then I was using work’s dime to phone him for an hour here and there.  Which, I do feel bad about.  I thought I had a good long distance phone plan.  5 cents a minute.  Not shabby.  (Not what I ended up thinking in the end. Er, middle.)   Sometimes while we were talking he’d have to go to the bathroom or get a drink.  Instead of hanging up, cuz I thought it wouldn’t take more than 5 minutes, he’d set the phone down and do his thing.  This one time.  Oh, this one time, he left me sitting on the phone for 30 minutes waiting for him.  He said he got to talking w/ his sister.  Hmmm, must have forgotten about me.  I did mention, this was on my phone plan.  MY. PHONE. PLAN.  Not his.  If he called me, it was to tell me to call him back.  Because he was jobless at the moment and couldn’t afford to pay for LD.

I got directions to his house. Sorry, his parents’ house.  Which I wasn’t allowed to go to if his family was there.  I did say he lived 2 hours from me, right?  I only was there twice.  Met his mom, once . . . by accident, for a passing minute.   All the other times I was w/ him, it was at a hotel.  For the weekend.  Sometimes long weekends, if he made the request of me.  Or maybe I should demand of me.  And I paid for it.  It had to have a frig in it.  And it had to be an end unit.  I had to pay for it!  Oh . . . and I had to pay for the food. That we got delivered, twice a day.  And I had to buy him a carton of cigarettes.  Each Time!

You are noticing how much money I’m shelling out, right? And you are realizing, it’s not because I wanted to, but because HE. MADE. ME. DO. IT.  

This was his way of making sure I was his.  This was what he needed to make me know I was his.  There was no ignoring it, I was his.  As long as he told me what to do, when to do, and who to do it w/.

Oh, did I mention I had to change my email account.  Not just change it, but cancel it and start another one.  To his specifications.  And I had to change my phone number.  And the only person who was allowed to have it was him.  And he grudgingly let me give it to my family.

Did I mention . . . . I went along w/ all of this?

Yes, I did.  And I did it, because I thought I deserved it.  I went nights months w/out sleep.  I stopped paying my bills.  I started smoking 2 packs a day.  I drove to him.  I listened to what he had to say about his ex . . .

His ex was perfect.  And from Colorado, or somewhere out midwest.  She had the most perfect boobs.  They were big, but there was no sag. They were perky.

I have a friend who has a nice, BIG dick.   Bigger than his.  And I told him that.  Because he asked.  We broke up.   For about 2 hours.  We got back together because I cried and begged.   (My friend still has the bigger dick! So pppfffffttttt!)

I didn’t mention it, but he wouldn’t come visit me.  In the beginning it was because he would never lower himself to be seen where I live.  Then it was because he didn’t have a car, because he had some mad-mom-in-a-minivan hit him.  (He got put on Oxycodone.   He loved them. I didn’t.  Worse woozy feeling ever, but w/ a dull pain behind it.  No thanks.)

This is just the icing.  This is what I didn’t like about him.  This is the controlling part I abhor when I look back on it.   I ran up a $3000+ phone bill on him for 6 months.  I bought him a $250 air conditioner.  Plus some football paraphernalia.  I paid for motel rooms at $60 a night, I bought food at $25-30 a meal. I bought him $25 cartons of cigs.  I paid gas money, tolls, oil changes, etc.  I even got cable TV so we could watch shows together.  All in all, I wish I never got w/ him, he wasn’t worth the monetary value.

. . . to be continued . . .