Sunday, August 22, 2010

UTI's and Language lesson during sex

It took a few weeks of working at him before I got into Mr R's pants :) It was rather a backwards situation, I felt like a young boy trying to coax the skirt off a virgin. Whenever we spoke, I couldn't help myself from seeing (and encouraging)innuendo in everything. My drive was going nuts for him!

On an evening when Mr R's roommate was keeping parents at their flat, we took his roommate's car for a drive. Then it began to storm. We were making out like a couple of teenagers at that time, but as I reached for him, Mr R stopped me, because he wanted our first time with each other to be a bit more special than in his roommates smelly car. A little rain would not dissuade my horniness. I convinced him (easy to do). We lowered the driver's seat and I straddled him. Under the beats of torrential rain, echoing through the interior of the car and drowning out the music, we finally fucking did it. No more teasing, no more flirting or graping at each other through our clothes, fuck this waiting shit--in the immortally wise words of Amanda Blank "I'd like you better if you get inside me". The green and purple lightening lit my skin, highlighting my sharp jaw, my breasts, the dip of my waist.
My knees were bruised and I had rug-burns(car burns?) on my legs for a while from the stick shift rubbing my calf, (and it probably wasn't very attractive from his viewpoint, as with the low ceiling I had to keep my head crocked to one side and broken-looking like that girl in the Grudge) but it was worth it. We had steamed it up pretty stereotypically, so while we were busy, the window beside me was open a crack, rain sizzling off my hot skin.

The second time was at his apartment. Roommate was out for the night getting trashed and would probably stumble back at 4 am. At like 5 pm, I arrived at his doorstep with a giant bottle of Beefeater that had been marked down at the corner market (I'm a savvy slut, hey). We chopped some tomatoes and made light omelets, and in a lull in the painfully polite conversation, I was like, "You wanna start drinking?" and he gave me an enthusiastic,
"Sure!"
The only problem with this sexual encounter was, so I know men love dipping it in, like the very first time their cock enters the vagina. Well he reeeeally likes it, so he pulled out alot to slam it back it, also meaning that he hit my ass a million times with it. BAD. Not good ladies--If yr man hits anywhere near your asshole with his dong, have him take off the condom and slap a new one on, or if he's bare, have his wash that shit. INSIST on it. The sex was mediocre, but a couple days afterward, it began to fucking burn when I fucking pee. Burn. Pee. Burning. PAIN. The Internet tells me i have a UTI, blablabal, I'm on different herbal stuff for it (we're Asian, we know our herbs) and if it gets worse I'll go in. But this really put a damper on our "Romantic Saturday."

So I'm not supposed to necessarily have sex with a UTI, as it can make it worse, so I'm riding him in my apartment as I figure that's the only way to be safe that he's not going to pop out and smack against my anus (did pop out, but only smacked my labia). I have a playlist going, dubstep and remixes, and then on comes Swezak's State of Grace--usually not a good fuck-times song, but there is was regardless.
Mr R knows maybe ten languages fluently. His Moroccan father was ... let's say he was very strict and insistent on education.
so the song is reaching it's end, where the spoken German comes on. With his hands on my naked hips holding me down on his pelvis, he stops to comment:
"Ah, see? That's wrong. It's entschieEEden not entschIIIIeden." He tells this to me while he's still inside me.
Despite this ridiculousness, I feign interest. After all, in his eyes, I'm not only after his junk, I'm also an intellectual. "Oh. Really?" I pant the words out, bouncing up and down on his nearly black-coloured penis.
He raises his eyebrows and nods eagerly.

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