Jackhammer

(20 April 03)

A lawyer sent a message to me, and for no particular reason, I replied, asking if he wanted to exchange photos, he said he didn’t have a scanner, and that he wanted to speak over the phone.  Usually I reckon this means the guy figures he’s got a more seductive voice than face.  And sure enough, he had a very seductive voice. 

He asked what I was looking for in a relationship.  “A man who’s emotionally stable and mature, a man who can communicate verbally, who doesn’t care much for arguing, and can talk things through when there are differences, with whom I can share cultural activities, a relationship which promotes mutual growth....”  “From your profile and what you’ve said, it sounds like there’s a good chance that we’ll get on.”  “I’m not sure.  You said you wanted a woman who was feminine.  What does that mean for you?”  “There are too many women today who don’t know how to valorise their femininity.”  “I’m not sure I understand”  “For example, you can’t tell if they’re a woman or a man from the way they’re dressed.  You should be able to tell the difference, a woman should enjoy wearing a skirt and heels.”  “Okay, I think we’ve got a problem there.  I wear skirts but just as often I wear cargo pants and look as much like a boy as a woman.”  “Oh, that’s not a problem, as long as you know how to wear skirts.”  I know how to wear them, but I prefer my cargos.  It’s not skirts that are such a problem, heels just kill my feet, and limping down the street isn’t exactly feminine.  (To be fair, I must admit that I like men who know how to wear suits, and have plenty of fine suits to wear.  A man in a well tailored suit is a rare site in the streets of Paris.  I suspect most of them are hiding in La Défence, in upper management offices.)

The lawyer picked me up and we went to a very chic place where we sat chatting on a comfortable couch.  The conversation was quite interesting, he was intelligent, witty and charming, but I didn’t feel attracted to him at all.  He began to kiss my neck and ears in a very sensual way.  I protested half heartedly because it was turning me on.  “We’re going a little fast here; we’re both looking for a serious relationship.”  “This doesn’t mean we can’t have a serious relationship.”  (Oh right!)  He didn’t slow down a bit.  “You don’t kiss like this in public.”  “Nobody’s looking.”  Still I didn’t feel comfortable.

In the car the gentle kisses and caresses became a bit too insistent for me.  I didn’t particularly feel like having sex with him, but invited him up all the same.  I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to say “no,” not just to sex, but in general.  He started kissing me immediately, undressed me, turned my back towards him and took me from behind; we had sex on the couch.  Gone the sensuality of his kisses.  He fucked like a jackhammer in and out as fast and hard as he could, occasionally stopping—to gather his forces?—his cock would go soft, and then he’d start hammering away again, on and on and on.  Please god, make him come! While praying for him to come, I considered just getting up, but that seemed too cruel.  What a relief it was when he finally came.  He got up to dress immediately, which usually irritates the hell out of me, but for once I was relieved.  The last thing I wanted to do was sleep by his side.  On the way out he said he’d call the next day.  And the next day he actually did call, and I had to say that I didn’t feel like taking it any further.

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