Our beginning

I have never been with a man that refused a blowjob. Even in the early hours of daylight, when the sun is leaking through the oily clouds of the city outside a club, even the drunkest most exhausted men can get off. By me of course. While the fishnets under my knees get torn on alley garbage, motivated by lust, I aim to please. I'm not one to brag (yes I am) but I'm Jesus Christ of the dick. I will raise even the dead whiskey dick. Religious suppression makes girls go cra-zay in the sack, y'all.

That is until Mr R.

Mr R is a 6'4 half-Moroccan guy I knew vaguely from college. He's a bit older than me and we moved in different social circles, so I never took much notice of him before. Over a holiday weekend, Techno-dude--a skinny guy who got kicked out of Mexico (of all places) for having a violent outburst on a busy street while he was on acid and also wears blue-tinted glasses constantly to hide his lazy eye--invited me to hang out with him and Mr R. I knew Techno-dude from aforementioned college and did NOT know his outburst history at the time of our agreed meeting. So me and Mr R and Techno-dude hung out watching the parade, which with my tendencies, of course turned into a trip through the colourful streets of ticker-tape and streamers and confetti to the liquor store.

The men got scotch, the lady a bottle of gin. We sat in the park away from the parade and talked about music and education and got progressively drunker as the evening settled in purple streaks across the sky, the sinking sun glowing gold off the skyscrapers.
I was at the point of drinking where I offered to show my panties (pink lace, y'all, they were really cute) yet sober enough to know the evening was still too light to do such a thing out in public.
Mr R left to say hi to a friend with a promise to return. Now this wouldn't have been a problem, except he left us standing in a dark field on the edge of town and by now, Techno-dude had downed the ENTIRE bottle of scotch. Techno-dude quickly became Mr Grabby-Hands and I wasn't feeling it. But thanks to my mom I'm Asian so his gangly white ass quickly overpowered me, pulling me down into the field.

His fat tongue tasted like a truck-stop restroom, the kind you'd see on the news because they found a dead hooker curled around the toilet. I avoided rape by playing like I too was into him but was "on my period". Undeterred, he pressed on, shoving my shirt up, kissing down my stomach, literally grabbing my pussy in his ENTIRE hand like it was going to run away or something. I pushed his head away, and he retalliated by grabbing my wrists and slapping them against the ground on either sides of my head, so hard I could hear and feel the reverberation through my ears.
"How about I suck you off?" was my timid offer. Something in my voice (or maybe the voices in Techno-dude's head) made him hesitate. He eased off me, then grabbed onto a nearby chain-link fence to keep from staggering. He blubbered some apologies, and I waved it off as nothing because by now I just wanted to get home and wondered where the hell Mr R was. I smoothed my skirt down and tucked my hair behind my ears, and looked over Techno-dude's head for Mr R's silhouette in the streetlamps. Techno-dude must have figured out what I was doing, because he grabbed me again, roughly, and tried to pull me in to a kiss.
So I ran. In red spiky heels. I ran for a couple of blocks until I was in the middle of the city again, throwing glances over my shoulder as I went, but I don't think Techno-dude came after me.

You know when you run so fast and so hard that you taste copper in your burning throat and you can feel your heart-beat pulse through your temples? It was the only thing I could hear. My heartbeat, loud, pounding with my feet on the pavement, and I didn't hear the car.

Behind me was a loud scream of tires and I glanced back in time to see lights flash in my eyes. Oh great. Just what I need.
But the driver took a swift turn to avoid me, narrowly, and shouted out the window his observations of my ethnicity.

Well my heart was really in loops then. The world was greying in waves. Was it from the shock of what could have just happened or was I that drunk? I lowered my head and tried to steady my breathing. I groped out for the streetlamp and sunk down beside it. I could have died. I could have been raped. I had to pee.

"Kimmy--hey..." came a gentle voice. I felt large hot hands on my shoulders. I looked up through my scattered black hair to see a deeply concerned Mr R. Jesus fucking Christ are his eyes beautiful. He smoothed my hair back and crouched down beside me, inquiring as to my well-being. I muttered something about how I broke one of my heels in my flight, and he looked at it, then picked me up into his arms. Not like guys do that are going ot bang you, tossing you over their shoulder like a caveman (had that plently of times. Loves it), but like a dad does; he scooped me up all tenderly.

After he set me down under the trees, in the shadows I thanked him and hugged him, breathing in the hot scent of his neck. Then I moved to thank him with my mouth. I started to undo his zipper, and although he let me for a moment, he stopped me, gently grasping my hands and holding them. "Kim I don't do that until I feel really safe."
"Okay, let's go to the fountain then!" I suggested, always a good little slut. "The cops wont be around there this time of night."
"No Kim," he explained, quietly, "I mean, feel in a safe relationship with someone. It's nothing against you. I'm sorry. This is just me."
I sat back. I look ugly when I frown, but I was frowning then. Who cared, in the dark he couldn't really see me anyway. "Well then, we need to be in a relationship," I said.
"...Do we?"
"Yes."

Doesn't sound very romantic, does it? But this is how we began.