The Ass Man Cometh (a first draft)
After being good friends for about 2 years with the guy that manages the martial arts academy where I occasionally train, I decided to give in and hang out as more than friends.
I had been nervous to get together with him because it's uncommon for me to find close pals as funny and cool as me, and I really didn't want to mess things up and lose him as a friend.
I should never have opened that can of worms and have learned my lesson in the worst possible way.
After about 2 weeks of amazing, sweaty, animalistic sex, great conversation and just the right amount of cuddling, I was pretty sure I had my next long-term boyfriend. I'd been single for 2 years, my sister was a fan and I knew the rest of the family would also adore him. Not that I care that much what my family thinks, but for the old-fashioned Italian girl in me it helps.
Everything was perfect. Or so I thought
We'll call him Rocky. He's a mixed martial artistic and could be considered a lethal weapon. He's got cauliflower ears and badass tattoos. He runs the Iron Man for fun and has a criminal record. A reformed bad boy who has found the Zen way through hard work, martial arts, and healthy living. He does the funniest Borat impression I've ever heard - possibly better than Borat himself and lives with his Irish friend Josh, another fighter.
He also drinks Malibu rum which should have been my warning sign.
The last night I spent with Rocky it was very late when he called. He'd had a hard day and just wanted my company. I couldn't blame him. I packed up my things and hit the road for the 40 minute drive to his apartment across town.
I arrived; we proceeded to have great, sweaty, animalistic sex and then we both passed out...kind of.
It was 3:11 am when I first heard the strange noises coming from the other side of the bed. Angry grunts and moans mixed with heavy breathing and another sound I can only describe as a plunger aggressively going to town on a really plugged shitter. We were lying face to face. The lights were off, but the moon revealed silhouettes in the shadowy room, the room that raped what little innocence I had left.
His head was cocked back, he was on his side with one arm supporting him, and the other wrapped around back, aggressively, violently, pleasuring his own ass. Fast, hard thrusts in and out, pow pow pow pow pow shook the mattress and my terrified soul.
Me, silent and in shock. I didn't really understand what was going on until he abruptly stopped, pulled his fingers out, brought them up to his face, and took a lgood ong sniff of his ass pleasing fingers, or for lack of a better name, his new girlfriends (because I certainly wasn't going to take on that role).
I was frozen. I didn't know what to do. He got up from the bed and went into the ensuite. The light was on and the door wasn't closed completely. I could hear him continue the angry anal masturbation session in the bathroom on the toilet. He pooped a few times and let out sighs of pleasure, pooped again, then remarkably came. He went to the other bathroom to shower. Why? I'm not entirely sure. Maybe he was too shy shower in the same room as me?
Rocky returned a few minutes later, hopped back into bed where I was pretending to sleep, and kissed me on the forehead. I vomited in my mouth a little. A few minutes later he was asleep again, breathing deeply with the occasional angry moan that sounded all too familiar. Chills ran up and down my spine as I tossed and turned, struggling with what to do. A million thoghts ran through my mind.
Was I okay with this? Is he gay? Is it hypocritical of me to judge him if he's bisexual or unsure of his sexual orientation? Did he actually smell his fingers? Why the fuck would he do that next to me? Was he a closet case and would he kill me in a defensive rage with his muay thai if I questioned him?
I eventually decided that this was, in fact, a deal breaker to me. I'd never felt so uncomfortable, angry, hurt, disgusted, and inadequate in my entire life. I didn't want to be a total bitch and leave with his only alarm or any explanation. I got up, got dressed, and packed my things. When I woke him I said I couldn't sleep and had to leave. I got to my parent's at 5 am and stood in their garage smoking cigarettes until the sun came up.
I wrote Rocky a drunk text a few days later and told him I didn't think I could give him what he wanted. That maybe we could be friends again in the future, but it would take a while before that would happen. He called and left a decent message a few days after that saying he valued me as a friend. I don't doubt he did. I'm not sure how I feel about the situation now. I'm able to laugh it off now, but am still angry and confused and insulted. I doubt that even I don't have the balls to confront him about it.
Hopefully one day he'll read this and know why I left, if he hasn't figured it out already.
After being good friends for about 2 years with the guy that manages the martial arts academy where I occasionally train, I decided to give in and hang out as more than friends.
I had been nervous to get together with him because it's uncommon for me to find close pals as funny and cool as me, and I really didn't want to mess things up and lose him as a friend.
I should never have opened that can of worms and have learned my lesson in the worst possible way.
After about 2 weeks of amazing, sweaty, animalistic sex, great conversation and just the right amount of cuddling, I was pretty sure I had my next long-term boyfriend. I'd been single for 2 years, my sister was a fan and I knew the rest of the family would also adore him. Not that I care that much what my family thinks, but for the old-fashioned Italian girl in me it helps.
Everything was perfect. Or so I thought
We'll call him Rocky. He's a mixed martial artistic and could be considered a lethal weapon. He's got cauliflower ears and badass tattoos. He runs the Iron Man for fun and has a criminal record. A reformed bad boy who has found the Zen way through hard work, martial arts, and healthy living. He does the funniest Borat impression I've ever heard - possibly better than Borat himself and lives with his Irish friend Josh, another fighter.
He also drinks Malibu rum which should have been my warning sign.
The last night I spent with Rocky it was very late when he called. He'd had a hard day and just wanted my company. I couldn't blame him. I packed up my things and hit the road for the 40 minute drive to his apartment across town.
I arrived; we proceeded to have great, sweaty, animalistic sex and then we both passed out...kind of.
It was 3:11 am when I first heard the strange noises coming from the other side of the bed. Angry grunts and moans mixed with heavy breathing and another sound I can only describe as a plunger aggressively going to town on a really plugged shitter. We were lying face to face. The lights were off, but the moon revealed silhouettes in the shadowy room, the room that raped what little innocence I had left.
His head was cocked back, he was on his side with one arm supporting him, and the other wrapped around back, aggressively, violently, pleasuring his own ass. Fast, hard thrusts in and out, pow pow pow pow pow shook the mattress and my terrified soul.
Me, silent and in shock. I didn't really understand what was going on until he abruptly stopped, pulled his fingers out, brought them up to his face, and took a lgood ong sniff of his ass pleasing fingers, or for lack of a better name, his new girlfriends (because I certainly wasn't going to take on that role).
I was frozen. I didn't know what to do. He got up from the bed and went into the ensuite. The light was on and the door wasn't closed completely. I could hear him continue the angry anal masturbation session in the bathroom on the toilet. He pooped a few times and let out sighs of pleasure, pooped again, then remarkably came. He went to the other bathroom to shower. Why? I'm not entirely sure. Maybe he was too shy shower in the same room as me?
Rocky returned a few minutes later, hopped back into bed where I was pretending to sleep, and kissed me on the forehead. I vomited in my mouth a little. A few minutes later he was asleep again, breathing deeply with the occasional angry moan that sounded all too familiar. Chills ran up and down my spine as I tossed and turned, struggling with what to do. A million thoghts ran through my mind.
Was I okay with this? Is he gay? Is it hypocritical of me to judge him if he's bisexual or unsure of his sexual orientation? Did he actually smell his fingers? Why the fuck would he do that next to me? Was he a closet case and would he kill me in a defensive rage with his muay thai if I questioned him?
I eventually decided that this was, in fact, a deal breaker to me. I'd never felt so uncomfortable, angry, hurt, disgusted, and inadequate in my entire life. I didn't want to be a total bitch and leave with his only alarm or any explanation. I got up, got dressed, and packed my things. When I woke him I said I couldn't sleep and had to leave. I got to my parent's at 5 am and stood in their garage smoking cigarettes until the sun came up.
I wrote Rocky a drunk text a few days later and told him I didn't think I could give him what he wanted. That maybe we could be friends again in the future, but it would take a while before that would happen. He called and left a decent message a few days after that saying he valued me as a friend. I don't doubt he did. I'm not sure how I feel about the situation now. I'm able to laugh it off now, but am still angry and confused and insulted. I doubt that even I don't have the balls to confront him about it.
Hopefully one day he'll read this and know why I left, if he hasn't figured it out already.
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There's plenty more where that came from!