I looked in the mirror at untamed hair and swollen lips. Waking up after great sex was like waking up to a brand new glorious life. I always woke up so revitalized and alive. No matter what happened the night before it was the start of a new day on the right side of the bed when someone fucked you good. Unfortunately, I�m not feeling that. I hadn�t been fucked good. I have had many good times sexually. They were all, when it boiled down to it, the same. Men must have been able to look at me and tell I liked it rough, hard and kinky. I emitted a vibe that said I was not a flower and did not need to be coddled.
Cliff, my new friend, wasn�t crafty in the bedroom and couldn�t pick up the vibe obviously. He was like all the men in business suits. He was refined and the epitome of class but deep down inside him was a man who was more abnormal than normal. Sure, he was the complete gentleman on the way to his place. We talked about my career and he seemed to perk up when I told him I was a model. He insisted on stopping the cab, running into a small store and finding a magazine with my picture on the cover. He admired the picture and seemed to admire me even more, as if he was comparing the cover girl to the real thing that was sitting in front of him. Men always assumed I was a model. My legs, my body, my face. What else could I be? When they found out, I was a model it was as if they hit their personal lottery.
He decorated his apartment in the typical style of a person trying to escape a conventional past. He wanted to prove that he had class that he was on top. The tacky black leather furniture and the pretentious glass and junk everywhere. If there is anything tackier than black and glass, I�ve never seen it before. Hell, a plaid couch had more personality and elegance than the cheap pimp d�cor.
He put on the jazz and poured me a glass of wine. I�m sure the only time that jazz music got any play was when a woman was in his apartment. If I had asked him who was playing he would have shit a brick just before he lied. He was more into something immature like Blink-182 or Good Charlotte and considered Coldplay an attempt at looking mature. He was nothing more than a guy still yearning for his fraternity lifestyle.
As I sat on the couch, making sure not to move as it would probably tear the skin off my thighs, I thought about how he told me how he saw me and immediately knew I had to be a model. He shamelessly complimented me on my hair, my eyes, and my smile, everything except those things that he looked at the most, my ass and tits. I can�t say that I blame him. Hell, I don�t; and would be offended if any man didn�t leer at my sexually. I made a lot of sacrifice to look the way I do. However, once he told me my neck was possibly my greatest asset I could not take it anymore.
I may be a model, I may be gorgeous, I may have taught myself to act and look as if I come from great breeding and yes, I�m difficult to deal with for the majority of people. Nevertheless, when it comes down to it, when I want to have sex, that is what I want to do and it does not require any lame Romeo attempts to get me naked. Once he understood that, the frat boy living inside of him came out and Mr. Romance left the building.
I followed him to the bedroom and I was happy the bed was more presentable than the rest of the apartment. The sheets were silk- if they were satin I would have walked out right then and there- and were a nice camel color. The bed took up almost the entire room and a corner of his wall was full of �I�m great� awards and diplomas. I was surprised they weren�t in a place everyone could see when they entered the apartment.
Like a true man who didn�t know how to fuck he didn�t even make an attempt to undress me. He stood on one side of the bed and watched me strip as he hurriedly ripped his own clothes off. Again, romance and chivalry not needed but this is the first time we�ve been intimate. I expected him to give it all he had. First impressions are lasting ones. I only hoped that he would get better as time went on but he didn�t.
The kissing technique was awful. He couldn�t kiss worth a damn. It was sloppy and his tongue was all over the place. Now, that would lead one to believe that he would be great at oral sex. A wet sloppy tongue to work with but no. He wasn�t good at that either. In fact, I had to tell him to do it. He made no attempts at going below my breasts on his own. �I don�t have sex with people who don�t eat pussy.� That seemed to be a reality check and having sex with a model who was on the cover of a magazine was much more important than his high school vow he made with his buddies that he would never do such a thing.
Here was a pretty nice looking guy, successful and knew where to go but he had no talent in the bedroom department. It was like false advertising. If a guy wasn�t appealing in bed he should like Tommy Lee Jones not Rob Lowe. It was so frustrating. A woman had to look at a guy, look at his feet, his coordination and figure out if he was good in bed. Men had it easy. Every woman has a crotch and they�re all wet. Even if she was like a knot on a log he could still get off.
I had to endure less than average sex with a fumbling sexual idiot. Too much studying and not enough fucking- real women at least, college sluts who didn�t know their nipple from their clit didn�t count- led to one less useful man in the bedroom. Foreplay was watching me get naked. His eyes were as big as saucers taking in every inch of me. I love to have a man turned on by me and I love when their approval is noticeable but I don�t want them looking like the nerd who not only gets his first girl but she happens to be the hot chick in school. It�s a weak display and a major turnoff.
Hurry. Run. Escape. Those were the words barreling through my head as I darted around picking my clothes up off the bedroom floor. The sound of water ended and I probably had sixty seconds before I would be confronted with Mr. Lame again. His way of waking me up out of a sound sleep for early morning sex was jamming his fingers in me- dry as a bone I may add- and thrusting his dick in my face. Pants and shoes on I can�t find my bra within this jumble of clothing and head towards the bathroom door where my shirt appeared to be. He smiled at me, wrapped in a towel from the waist down, as if he really did something just a few hours earlier. He pulled me towards him with a smirk that only made me want to slap him for wasting my time,
�I enjoyed last night. I know you did.� He leaned in and nibbled on my ear as I rolled my eyes. Sometimes confidence isn�t a good thing.
�You were so wet.� He stuck his tongue in my ear and moaned,
�And the way you came.� He was actually arrogant enough to think he had anything to do with that. I guess he didn�t notice my hand down there doing the real work. His hand squeezed my breast and it could have been a nice feeling if he hadn�t tried to twist my nipple off. Is this real? Are guys this awful in bed? I�m so glad I didn�t go to school. I have been very lucky in my sexual exploits Steven and Mark always kept me happy, they know what I like and you can never go wrong with a woman.
�I have to get dressed. Have you seen my bra?� He shrugged and went back to his grooming,
�Nah, it could be anywhere baby. You were excited.� This prick has got to be out of his mind. Were we fucking each other at the same time? Was he fucking someone else and I was dreaming?
�Let�s say we get together for lunch? You can meet me at my office, I�ll even put it on the company�s account.� Sure, meet you at your office to be flaunted to all your co-workers as the model you just banged.
�Sorry, can�t do that.� I searched for my bra and high tailed it out of there once he went back in the bathroom to shave. That�s one face I�ll never have to worry about again.
Chapter 108
Stranger Than Fiction
Stories
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