Ever felt like you NEEDED “hard sex,” an urgent lust fuck so good it makes your eyes water?
I was fucking horny, so taking un-preventative hard sex measures to ensure all paths would lead to getting laid before the night was over was in order. Billy quickly accepted my self-invitation to the show and offered a round-trip ride in his minivan. This was going to be fucking fun . . . and WAY easier than I thought.
We finished our beers and said our goodbyes to our neighborhood friends and hopped into his van. Sitting in his passenger seat felt familiar and refreshing. Like I’d been there before. Maybe it was because his car’s interior was reminiscent of mine? From the amount (and content) of the trash inside to the skip-prone CD player blasting punk music.
Our chat during the drive felt natural, too. I liked him more the more he talked. I’m kind of a sapiosexual, and it’s hard for me to get (consistently, at least) wet for someone I can’t hold a conversation with as an intellectual peer.
I felt so comfortable I even told him I was a phone sex operator, which I don’t do always (or even often) do with people right away. He didn’t make a big deal of it, which gave me the impression he shared my feelings about sex work . . . i.e., that it’s a job and deserves to be “regarded” with the kind of respect any other job does, and that doing sex work doesn’t cheapen or detract from the “real” me/my sexuality/etc., or my sexual “authenticy” IRL whatsoever. Yeah. That turned me on, too.
Maybe soon Billy and I will be on the phone while having sex. In the meantime (and if you want to hear about our hard fuck before my next blog), give me a ring. I’m right here, waiting for your call!
