My first connection from MatchDoctor

[mynewplace]

So, at the prodding of my niece, I signed up to a free match service called MatchDoctor. I don't know, maybe that's too desperate, but I'm bored. And when I'm bored, I do desperate things sometimes. Liz wanted to know how it went, and I couldn't bring myself to get online last night, I was too humiliated. Once I put it together on the screen, I kinda worked through it. So I sent it off in an email to Liz, and decided to post it here as well.

Dear Liz:

 

I don't understand what went wrong. There is nothing in my profile to suggest that I'm the type to give a blow job on the spur of the moment. I haven't been that spontaneous in years. And I really don't believe there was any thing that I said or did that hinted that I would be willing to go down on this guy - in fact, it wasn't even a seed of thought in my mind during the time we were together. Not until he started kissing me, and running those thick strong hands across my chest, teasing me mercilessly, did I think of putting a hand on him except to flirt a bit. Even while kissing him I was not really willing to let my hands wander below his chest, I was too fascinated with the feel of his hair in my fingers, the thickness of the back of his neck; the heat radiating off his back as my hand slid beneath his shirt, that chain around his neck that made me want to use it to pull him closer, and oh my God, I'd forgotten how much I enjoy a hairy chest. . . . Damn. I was on sensory overload, and it still makes me shake to think about it. I wanted so desperately to sink my teeth into his neck below his ear, and he kept slipping away, there was no way he was going to let me do that. The frustration really built from those refusals, coupled with the fact that he kissed me soooooo right. Oh damn, so right.

 

Despite the fact that I humiliated myself beyond belief, I started out having a really good time. We rode around a bit in his car, which had a sunroof, and I listened to U2, listened to his voice, very heady stuff, while watching the stars remain in place and the lightning bugs zip by like shooting stars. Ohio is incredible - there are still places close to the interstate where you can pull over and park your car and everything is completely dark. Headlights are just spots in the distance, black fields surround you, and there's just enough rise in the distance to keep a hillbilly like me satisfied and breathing easy.  The musky smell of some indefinable summertime plant wafted through the car, and the combination of things - the stars overhead, the music, the conversation, my bare feet on the dashboard, and that SMELL - made me feel more drunk than I had after half a bottle of Captain Morgan the other night. I was giddy, just thrilled to be talking alone to a grownup man about me. About him. Even briefly about sex. I'd catch him looking at me once in a while, but he'd just smile a little and turn away. He definitely didn't seem interested enough in me to welcome any move I might have made on him, so I restrained myself. And it was difficult. He was magnetic to my hands, I wanted so just to run my fingers up his arm, or over his shoulder. Or crawl over into his lap. I craved that contact the way I always crave contact, but it was tempered with my enjoyment of the evening overall, so I was fine. Or so I thought.

 

I was watching the headlights during a quiet spell when his finger brushed my hair back and traced the lobe of my ear. Immediately the synapses connected to that spot sent off white-hot flashes throughout my body; down my arm, through my chest, through my groin. My eyes closed of their own volition and I heard a moan escape me despite my best efforts to restrain it. I gently pushed his hand away. I'm telling you, he hadn't seemed the least bit interested up to this point, and I figured at least a little explanation was due. These signals were far to mixed for me to leave be.

 

"What was that for?"

 

"Sorry, I didn't think it would bother you."

 

"It didn't, but you surprised me. I don't handle surprises well, I guess. You just didn't seem too interested up to this point."

"Well I guess it's a good thing I didn't pounce on you then. I have a lot of lion in me."

 

And I laughed. Because no, it WASN'T a good thing. That would have been easier to understand, somehow. He decided that he needed to get home, since he had to get up early the next day, as did I, and we headed back to the parking lot where my car was waiting. The conversation wound around to me telling him that I was in no hurry to leave, and he decided that turning around to go back to where we'd been sitting might be a good idea. So there we were, back again. I couldn't look at him. I was just too confused. I wanted something, I had a fairly good idea what, but was getting such mixed signals that I couldn't deal.

 

He tugged at my chin. ‘Will you please let me kiss you?"

 

I laughed again, and looked at him.

 

"No one has ever asked me that. Ever. Is that how this works nowadays?"

 

He just smiled and shrugged his shoulders, and I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him toward me, wondering if I could remember how to kiss properly. Well, I think I did. Yep, I'm pretty sure I had it right. But his hands were immediately all over me, and that threw me. It made me think too much, which caused the feelings to be less intense. So I cranked it up a notch. He was silently begging me to touch him, and I didn't want to. Not there, not like that. Not cramped up in a car with bucket seats, like a desperate horny teenager. That just wasn't happening for me. But my hands kept wandering lower, down his belly, up his thigh, and eventually I had to, I could stay away no longer. I reached down and grabbed him and felt that first stirring of an urge to do more.  He pulled back my shirt and his mouth was on my nipple and the heat flooded me again, even worse. The moan was louder, and I could feel it tear itself from my gut despite my best efforts to stomp it down. Oh dear God in Heaven that felt incredibly, achingly good.  I've missed that. Nothing on earth can replace the heat of lips on your skin, anywhere and everywhere, but feeling your nipple surrounded by a hot damp mouth is exquisite. I'm going to have to quit again, take a few deep breaths until the ragged feeling goes away.

 

Let's see, where was I? I kind of lost track of what happened, felt like my hands were too small to do much good through jeans, and the next thing I knew, they were undone and he was set free and the strength of my grip around him surprised me. But it didn't seem to faze him, so I had to assume I wasn't squeezing him too hard, but I also had to assume that perhaps the smooth pull of my hand wasn't enough. I wasn't listening close enough to hear any change in breathing, or to detect any reaction from him at all, my mind was just there and there and kind of a little over there as well . . . I wanted him flat on his back, totally naked, and definitely not in the drivers seat of a fuckin' Mazda. But I don't get what I want. Have I ever mentioned that? Because it seems like I should have, at some point or other. Somewhere along the line in the time you've known me . . . .

 

The inexorable, inexplicable pull that I always feel toward an uncloaked weapon of female destruction came over me in waves. I would push the thought aside, try to ignore it but I found myself lower and lower and I'd stop, move back up, kiss him some more, totally try to concentrate on that because I had this feeling that what I wanted was a bad idea. And next thing I knew I was almost there again, and this voice in my head was going show him show him show him show him son of a fuckin' bitch SHUT UP! But it wouldn't shut up. And I was there, and it was such a relief, and I couldn't get enough, oh my God. Everything I'd ever written and quite a bit that I haven't was roiling through my mind and my mouth was acting of its own volition and the power surge from my back through my chest and down between my legs, into my thighs even, was like a drug. I didn't give a shit what he wanted, I knew what I wanted, and that was what he was getting, like it or not. His hand was on my head, but not in my hair the way I like it, and I kept forgetting to breathe. That was bad form, and would cause me problems later on. I knew that, in the back of my mind, and tried to remind myself to breathe dammit but I'd forget again, and it almost seemed that I couldn't.  That was unusual in this situation, but looking back I realize now it was the position I was in. I felt like I had my head stuck under the faucet of a bathtub, and I can NOT breathe like that. Not deeply through my nose the way I need to when my mouth's full.

 

It seemed to go on forever, even after I'd hit my stride and began giving him exclusively what he liked best. I could tell, a man's hips never lie. I finally heard him react to the situation, words that it was obvious he didn't want to say. Or he might have been having trouble talking. I guess that's a possibility. But between gasps came "Oh God" "HOW did you""Where did you learn to suck cock like that?"

 

yeesssssssssssssssssssssss

 

I let go with a "smack" and looked at him from the corner of my eye.

 

"West Virginia."  (Well, duh!)** 

 

I thought for certain I had him. But I didn't. And this is where it pains me to no end. I was out-of-my-mind horny, it was all I could do not to beg him to fuck me, but I'd started this and I fully intended to finish it. And I couldn't. oh my god no i couldn't  It just wouldn't happen, and finally I had to quit. I HAD to. I don't know why, I couldn't breathe and I couldn't let go enough for my own orgasm and I wanted it more than anything in this world but it didn't happen. I FAILED!  I wanted to SCREAM!!!!! I STILL want to scream, even now, just writing it. My fingers clench and my jaw clamps down and I'm so mad I could kick and spit and throw things and SCREAM SOME MORE!!!  I am a FAILURE! The one thing in this world that I know I can do, and I fucking failed. I am officially a prick tease. And those words bring tears to my eyes when nothing else can.

 

Oh, he finished it off himself, how could he not? How could he leave it like that? He begged me to come back as he was at the edge, but I couldn't. No, I couldn't even look at him, all I could do was sit there and run my fingers through the results and gaze out that fucking window, humiliated beyond all belief. I apologized, but he brushed it off, muttering something about going farther than he'd ever been taken before, but he just doesn't understand. Because I never told him. Never once was anything like this mentioned and what the fuck was I thinking to start something like that. I LIKED him! I liked him well enough to see him again, to likely shag the living daylights out of him, and now that's simply not possible. Because he will NOT call, he will NOT contact me again in any way shape or form, and what the fuck was I thinking to allow myself to do that. I KNEW if I did that, he'd likely not return. Even if I had completed it, he wouldn't have called again. So somehow, without being fully aware of how, I've given off a signal that says I'm a quick suck and nothing more, and managed to find somebody who could pick up on that, take advantage of it, and disappear. AGAIN!  I haven't seen a guy like that in years - I haven't seen any guy at all in years and so I know it must be me somehow. And I don't know how exactly. All I know is I have an addiction, and for some stupid convoluted reason it drives men away.

 

**FYI - a bit of explanation for you. The whole evening, West Virginia/Ohio snark had been present in spades. We were having a good time, the banter was great, and it included a lot of "Hope you don't mind if I put my bare foot on your dash board" "I expected as much, since you're from WV" and  "Well, you might be a Yankee, but at least you're a Democrat, so I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt and come meet you anyway."  The Ohio/WV mentality is virtually identical to the Texas/Oklahoma thing ya'll have going on.