The only recollection I have as an adult of being truly lonely, was realized when I was dating John Bologna. John was an Olympic level power lifter turned bobsledder. For those not in the know, that means his arms did not hang gracefully at his side because his biceps were as big as, if not bigger than his thighs, and his chest was larger than his waist or hips or anywhere else. These two things being on the same plane made his shape that of an extremely exaggerated inverted pyramid. His breath would quicken any time he moved simply because he carried such an excess of upper body weight.
His naturally curly, somewhat thin hair with its receding hairline gave him the appearance of having a large forehead, and this brought to mind a comparison to neanderthal man, not one my friends or I ever shared with John, though it was so obvious, I cannot imagine he had never heard it. When he walked, his gait was very deliberate, a pace hard to synchronize my own with, but we rarely walked anywhere together so this was hardly a problem. He was also very nasal-voiced. I mean all the time, though thankfully not high pitched, just always sounding like he-with-the-pinched-off-nose.
This all makes him sound rather unattractive, but remember, he was a world class athlete, and for extra cash, he was a bouncer at the local hot spot which made him something of a catch back in the day. Also, if you haven’t figured it out by now, he had a big one, and he knew how to use and also that it was not always necessary to use it. He was multi-talented in the sack. He loved to eat pussy, quite literally for hours at a time, and fortunately for me, he frequently desired mine.
The obvious season for bobsledders is winter, but Lake Placid being a world class training facility town, the bobsledders are pretty much there year round. I met John at Mud Puddles when he started working there as a bouncer. I was part of a group of friends who went there regularly several nights a week, part of the locals crowd. By this point I had been going there for at least two or three years, and like Cheers, everybody knew my name.
I had to work on John for a few weeks, flirting on overdrive. I was in hyper-tease mode around him, and was trying to decide if I wanted to date him or not. He was at times, rather dull. This did little to influence me in either direction at the time. I had a propensity for athletes at the time, and that was the primary consideration. Bobsledders in particular, have such a finely sculpted physique, bulk where you want it for hanging on.
One night after about three weeks of rather suggestive conversation between us, I was telling John how I wanted him to sink back into his couch and get nice and comfortable while I hiked up my mini skirt to reveal my pantyless ass so I could straddle his lap and grind away riding him ‘til neither of us could move. At that, he finally leaned in and kissed me. I mean he really kissed me. That might have been the best kiss I had ever been given up until that point. It is certainly marked as the best kiss ever from a man. Our kissing went on long enough for him to pull me close, close enough for me to feel his hardening cock while he felt my ass to see if I was indeed pantyless. Of course, no false advertising, I was.
I went home with John that night, and as promised, pushed him back onto his couch and proceeded to fuck his brains out til dawn. His fucking, when he was on top, was very mechanical, like he was doing very purposeful push-ups. It was an uninspired technique, but his cock was so big, it was his way of maintaining enough control so as to not hurt me. Also, it kept his bulk from smothering me. I can’t fathom being able to breathe had his chest collapsed on top of me. This push-up technique led us to a pattern of me riding him or him eating my loveliness with little variation. Do what you do and like best and do it with vigor, that was an unspoken model for our relationship.
At dawn, John got up to take a shower and I dozed off for a few moments. Soon enough, John’s fresh, clean self was kneeling on the floor beside the couch raising my legs over his shoulders pulling my pussy to his mouth. I lay like that for at least an hour while John indulged in my wetness. It was during this time that I realized that John lived in my ex-boyfriend’s apartment, not just my ex, but my son’s father. This struck me as odd, and it was an inopportune time to laugh, but I was suddenly overcome with a fit of giggles. This only inspired John to double his efforts and soon enough he was drinking in the fruits of his labors and I was again not able to move.
John made me breakfast after this and we sat and discussed what we would be doing the rest of our days. He had a heavy training day and then work, and I had work and then dinner plans with my friends. John told me he would like to see me again and I agreed, so we made plans to hook up again the next day or so. It was equally definite and vague.
We went on like this for quite some time. I would go out with my friends, and quite often, I would go home with John. He was becoming something regular, but there was no talk of it being a relationship. We did nothing together beyond sex, and clearly our relationship was more of a convenient booty call. There was no sense of us being a couple. It was certainly a casual relationship, John had introduced me to the world of casual sex and he never mentioned disappointment, nor did he exhibit any signs of jealousy if I decided to see or go home with someone else.
I remember seeing him last on July 2nd, 1986. It was a Wednesday night and we left the club and walked around the corner to my apartment. He told me he did not want anything for himself that night, but he wanted to eat my pussy, inducing multiple orgasms to insure for me a good night’s sleep, and that he would then quietly let himself out. I was fine with this.
When I woke up Thursday morning, there was a note on the counter from John. He wanted me to come by on my way to work for a few minutes and said he had something to discuss with me. I allowed an extra hour and stopped by his place on my way to work. When John invited me in, I pushed him back onto the couch and climbed onto him straddling his lap and kissed him hard. He gently lifted me off and said really, all he wanted was to talk.
This did not really alert me to anything out of the ordinary because we often got together just for tea and biscuits, though not as often as just to fuck. John had a serious I-don’t-know-how-to-get-this-conversation-started look on his face. I told him flat out that if the sex was over, the sex was over, not really a big deal as he was easily enough replaced. He might even provide me a reference. I was joking to lighten the mood a little. No, that was not quite what was on his mind.
“Just say it,” I told him.
“Well,” he began with something of a stammer, “I still want to keep seeing you, but my girlfriend will be in town for the holiday weekend. She will be hanging around the club. She will be staying with me and would hear if you left any messages.” He was obviously referring to messages I had left him when I really wanted to fuck him and he was training or otherwise not at home. They were somewhat explicit, much like an erotica audio file.
You have a girlfriend. This was more of a statement than a question. I was letting it sink in. The obvious implication was that she was somehow more or better than me. I just did not like that.
“Why in seven months have you never mentioned her?”
His explanation was along the lines of not wanting to complicate things. It seemed to him we had a tacit agreement that ours was a casual relationship with no strings and that it seemed to be going well enough without complicating it with too much information.
I just got up to leave and when he asked if I would be keeping this confidence, my only response was that I just did not know. My general instinct was that my problem was not with her, and there was no cause to involve her as she did not live nearby, but I just did not know.
I went on to work, and made it clear that I was not feeling well. The office manager, Jan, was a friend of mine and she called around and found a replacement for me so I just worked about an hour. I walked home and replayed the conversation with John again and again. I suppose I was in shock to some degree, but I really did feel sick to my stomach. It wasn’t jealousy, that much was clear.
When I got home, I made sure the answering machine was on and I pulled closed the drapes. The darkness was instantly a comfort and I fell to the bed and began sobbing. Soon enough I was crying full out trying to rid my self of the awful way I felt. The only thing I could think might help would be to wash away the tears with a cold shower. I was curled up on the shower floor, water running icy cold, in the dark, when someone turned off the water. It was Jan, my friend from work, having used her emergency key because I did not answer the door when she was pounding away. She wanted to be sure I was okay, that I did not need to go to the doctor.
She found me my robe and put on some water for tea and then we sat and I related the whole story to her. I still did not really know what I was feeling, and after a moment, Jan labeled it for me. “Discarded,” she said simply in a soft voice. “And lonely.”
In an instant, that was it. I began to feel a little better almost immediately. Then I began to really consider loneliness. I felt lonely for a while after that. Casual sex became something rather empty and less sought after. Though I did not at all consider myself lesbian or bi, I had been in love with Jan for some time and this episode with John led eventually to things heating up with her, but that is a story for another day.
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