Thursday, August 8, 2013

Tip of the Mountain, pt. 2 (caution, NSFW, you have been warned)

When I first met her, her screen name was Juliet4u.  I may as well have been Montague.  I was no Romeo.  But we definitely were from opposite sides of the tracks.  I'm pretty sure my parents would have hated hers.  And if anything, hers would not have much use for mine.

I did tell my father that I have a non-Jewish girlfriend.  I knew he'd be congenial  Actually, he'd be happy it was a girl.  What surprised me was that my mother was okay with it as well.  I'm not sure how okay she was.  But she told me she knew about the "shiksa" I was dating.  And she didn't disapprove.

At least they never met her in person.  Then they would have disapproved.  Not because of her religion; but because she was a bit--to put it mildly--low class.  She was the type that I would take to nice restaurants, she wanted Burger King or  McDonalds.  I wanted to see a nice art flick, she'd rather see "Win a Date with Tad Hamilton."  I was listening to Grateful Dead, Led Zeppelin, Phish, and Bob Dylan; she wanted Something Corporate, Gwen Stefani, Fall Out Boy, and all these Emo bands I can't possibly remember the names of.  I think it's safe to say that whatever we had in common when I was 17 had ended; at this point, it was only a physical relationship.

And this is why it hurt when she told me I hadn't changed in the slightest bit since I was 18.

She had no idea what kind of shit I went through in those 6 short years.
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It was the day before St. Paddy's.  The day before I was supposed to have my fateful meetup that didn't happen.

I was living in a run-down apartment in Washington Heights.  I shared it with 2 Yeshiva University students.  They didn't like each other.  But they were my friends.  We had our good times.  Under better circumstances, that apartment could have worked out.

On that night, something dragged me down to the crossroads.

I'm not sure what black magic was working that night.

But when you were on the amount of weed and alcohol that I was, even she seemed attractive.

She was missing a few teeth, wore too much makeup, and wore fake jewelry.  She was wearing too much of some sort of perfume I can't identify.  But whatever it was, it had some sort of pheromone or other.  Because it made her seem sexier than she really was.

Next thing I knew, I was buying her a drink.  We were sitting in a booth in the bar.  I was trying to chat her up.  She was chattier than I was.  But there was very little up there.  Kind of a busy signal where her EEG patterns should be.  She was a bit high also.  And before I knew it, small talk was over and she was giving me a handjob underneath the table.  She also flashed me her tits twice.  Anything she could do to absolutely entice me.

In the end, she succeeded.

They say your first time should be special.  It should be with someone you like.  It should be with someone you trust.  It should not be some random loudmouthed condescending MILF.

She made us stop by the bodega so I could by her some cheep bodega cheese and some rubbers.  She would not seal the deal without it.  She kept repeating over and over that she was serious about not wanting to catch some STD.  I mean luckily, I didn't catch any from her.  But no matter how many times I agreed to use protection, she still kept carrying on about it.  And even after I had bought them, she was nagging on and on about it.  I didn't like it.  But I was that desperate to finally get it on with a woman.

The only good thing that came out of that night was that I could no longer say I was a cherry.  The other good thing that came out of that night was that she gave a nice blowjob.  I mean she was good.  But I could not return the favor for her.  And she was very cruel and condescending about how terrible I was at pleasing her.

Lesson learned:  don't try muff spelunking when drunk and high when it's your first time and you honestly have no idea what you're doing.  Once you develop some sort of routine or rhythm, perhaps.  Perhaps if I had watched a bit of porn before those days, I would at least have had some inkling of what to do.  But I was boldly going where many men have gone before while wearing blinders and bourbon goggles.  Not a good idea.
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We sat in my backyard.  I had the house to myself.  Well, mostly.  My parents were not going to be home until the next day,.  She asked if she could drive over.  I said yes.

Ever have one of those nights you should have been more prepared for what was obviously to come?  That night was one of those nights.

Why else did she invite herself over?

With very little fanfare, she asked me if I wanted to kiss her.  She knew from that time we hung out in the city that I wanted to.  And she was perturbed by the fact that I didn't make my move.  So she told me straight then and there to kiss her.

How could I say no?  I moved in.  But I moved in too fast.

And here comes the lack of experience,  The girls I had kissed before that surely did not enjoy the way I kissed them.  I was too aggressive, they said.  But she actually pulled back and told me very bluntly that she doesn't like being kissed like that.  Less tongue and more lips, she said.  And she demonstrated slowly what she likes.  So after a few minutes, we had a rhythm going.  Sure, it wasn't exactly what she wanted.  She still rubs in my face to this day what a horrible kisser I was back then.  But at least we had fallen into a comfort zone.

And so, we continued to make out.  Not the first time I made out with a girl.  But definitely the longest sustained one I had at the time.  It made me forget just about everything else that was going on at the time.

Eventually, we moved from my backyard to the basement, where we had a fold-out couch.  We were lying there, continuing what we started.  I'm not sure how we got from point A to point B.  All I know is we got there.

Next thing I knew, she was reaching under my shirt and tickling me.  I am very tickling.  And she had nails.  So it was hurting me.  I told her that.  She purred at me "what you gonna do about that?"
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Some 4 or so months later, we were sitting together in the basement of the Port Authority waiting for her bus home.  It was 2 in the morning.

And I still couldn't fathom why she was being so distant.

"Figure it out."

If I could figure it out, I wouldn't have been asking her.

"Are you really that clueless?  Ask any girl here.  Any girl here knows the answer."

News flash, I'm not a girl.

We ended up having a pretty animated argument.  The female bystanders were looking at me with half-apprehension and half-pity.  They knew what she was talking about.  They could tell that obviously, I couldn't know.

It was the usual.  I ruined the moment.  I had my chances, I blew it.  I was too indecisive.  She was looking for a man she could hold on to.  Had we met as teenagers, she would have given me all the meaningless sex I wanted.  She's given plenty of that.  Her days of having meaningless sex were over.  Mine were only beginning.  It's really too bad we never hooked up back then, she pointed out.

She also threw in that another reason we're so incompatible is that I'm a Libra.  Now I'm the type who thinks astrology is bullshit to begin with.  So naturally I didn't buy it.  "Uh no, it has nothing to do with our astrological signs being incompatible..."  Funny thing is she's not the first girl to bring that up.  I've had girls call it off once they found out I was a Libra just because our signs didn't match.  Though I'm sure it was more than just the astrological bullshit.

She caught me at a time when I was beginning to break out of the religious confines and I was looking for unbridled hedonistic pleasure.  Her days of hedonism were over and she was looking to settle down.

Either way, good thing we didn't work out.  We would have made each other miserable.

Sadly, she still claims I'm the nicest that any man has ever been to her.  And I'm the only guy she's ever dated that her mother did not completely hate.  Hell, her mother even hated her now ex-husband!  Her mother wished she'd married me.

Why is it that the girl's mother always likes me more than the girl does?  Oh well, at least I know that if and when I ever get married, I don't have to worry about pissing off my in-laws too much.

To Be Concluded...........

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