One of my favorite movies is Stranger The Fiction. In it, Harold Crick finds that he is a character in someone’s story, but she has not finished the book yet. All of this authors main characters die in her books. Harold’s role throughout the film is to find out who is writing the book, and how it ends. In a nutshell. One of his tasks is to find out whether or not his story is a tragedy or a comedy. For starters he works for the IRS, so there’s his fatal flaw, right? However he falls in love with a woman he is auditing, so there’s your comedy right?
Stay with me….
I am not going to go over the whole movie, it’s irrelevant- but what happened to me today made me wonder- am I a comedy or a tragedy. My fatal flaw is that I’m just me. I’m not a super classy girl. I’m not refined or fancy. I don’t like wine, and when I DO drink it I get so sloppy drunk it’s like I someone shortened one of my legs and cut out half of my tongue. It’s not pretty. I clean up ok, but I have recently described myself with perfect accuracy as “the girl with a stain on her prom dress.” I think I dripped salsa on my wedding gown. Really. Tragedy.
However, I think I am a pretty cool chick to those that know me. I can keep my head about me in a crisis. I try to make the most out of crappy situations. I can’t tell a joke to save my life, (I always laugh before the punchline) but I have a sharp wit and I’m really funny sometimes.
Today I met The Engineer. After about a month of talking, I met him. The first foreshadow was that my bra strap broke. I tried to fix it, in a ghetto queen kind of way. Classy.
It didn’t hold- you’ve seen my tits. Something as flimsy as that would not hold these girls up! (Comedy) So I went for a pink bra- that was the wrong style (racer back) to wear with my tank top (NOT racer back). So my bra straps were showing around my neck. Of COURSE they were. That is so typical me. (Tragedy)
I arrived on time, driving all the way to fancytown in my minivan. He is a lovely man. Very handsome. Not as tall as I was expecting- but then I guess he never said, so I assumed. He had a very nice accent. Looked very much like his pictures, although I think he seemed bigger in his pictures than he did in real life. He reminded me of an old boss I had, who I mostly despised but secretly wanted to fuck, because maybe then he would stop critiquing me with his red fucking pen. (God forbid that man ever found this blog or he’d edit every fucking mistake with a highlighter and make comments like ‘please be cognizant of how many times you use the word “cock”- there are other terms for it.)
After some pleasant conversation we ended up on the leather couches. There is AC on, but it’s still 98 fucking degrees outside- leather couches? Really. He reaches for my bra- and of course the pink one hooks in the front. Awkwardness. The shirts come off. I can tell he is a gentle lover. One of those international smooth types. Who does a lot of touching and caressing. God lord stop rubbing my stomach, man. (Comedy)
His cock is uncut, which is a first for me. Really it was of no consequence. Nice size and shape. He was manscaped nicely and I remember him mentioning that he really likes his women shaved. Well, I am not shaved, I’m actually regrowing right now. Although I did clean up the sides today. Oh well, I just met you, and I don’t have time to keep that up. (Tragedy)
He was definitely in to what I was doing and kept moving away from my mouth because he was getting too close to cumming. Yeah, dangle that carrot in front of me. The cock sluttery comes out and I just want to make you cum cause I know I can. So he tells me to stop and he lays me down.
His hands go up my skirt. No, they are shorts. How insanely 1989 of me. Jesus, I am so lame. I take them off and he moves down on my pussy. Soft sweeping tongue. Nice start. Really nice start. Delving into my cunt. Thank god he knows the road map. Tongue on my clit, circles and pressure and wow. I can smell the leather couches and he treating me wonderfully to this. I have told him that I am somewhat impatient when it comes to oral. Every guy says they are good at it, but this is rarely the case. It’s also pretty evident in the first minute if you have a clue. I won’t let you stay down there if you aren’t good at it. Not everyone is good at everything and really I prefer penetration. He seems to be doing just fine. juuuuust fiiiiine.
As if reading my mind he pushed two fingers into my pussy and pressed his tongue on my clit a little harder. It was good. Really good. He moved his tongue away and rubbed my clit with his other hand, his touch so smooth that I almost didn’t notice the transition but I was looking down at him. He looked me in the eyes while he played with my pussy- and I closed my eyes to move down into it when he stopped suddenly.
“Are you on your period?”
What? Did he just say…
“WHAT?” I asked him, sitting up. There was some tinged blood on his fingers. Not a red mess of bloody menses, but some pussy juice, and some blood.
I started my period WHILE he was licking and fingering my fucking pussy.
The horror. Embrace it. (TRAGEDY)
He stood up and went to the sink. Had I not been completely naked, I would have ran for the door.
Bleeding. Hi, nice to meet you. (Comedy)
This is early for me. My period is not due for another three days. Usually I start first thing in the morning. Not at 2PM in the afternoon. Perhaps the activity triggered it. Perhaps the UTI I had upon my return home from vacation threw off my cycle. Perhaps it’s just because this kind of ridiculous shit happens to me. He came back from the sink and strangely had not completely lost his erection. I quickly, in an attempt to redeem myself, and so I didn’t have to look directly at him focused on his cock. Took him deep into my mouth, trying to suck away my shame. (Tragedy)
He started to pull away from me, telling me to wait. Oh good lord what for? We are surely not fucking now. I have no major issues with sex during menses, but not with someone I just met. And certainly not next to all this white fucking carpet!! (Comedy) I went back for his cock, his hand was holding it at the base, tightly- he was starting to shake and I knew he was fighting it back. I really do pride myself on this. He pulled back again, telling me “no- wait”, but I reached behind him, grabbed his ass hard and pulled him towards me, forcefully pushing his cock down my throat. He gasped at my brazen sluttery and unloaded into my mouth. I moaned and sucked and swallowed while he caressed my hair with his international gentle fingers. Two good swallows and I drained him, leaving him a bit shaky and sweating.
Oh God- do we have to talk now??? Can’t I just dress and leave, no words spoken? PLEASE???
I excused myself to the restroom- noticing barely any blood. I mean, I think the activity must have just triggered it to start early but the very very beginning is like that- just enough to ruin your panties but not enough that you need more than a panty liner. At least it’s like that for me. Of course- all of this means nothing when a man is down on your cunt and you have just made a REALLY unfortunate first impression.
I came out and he was on the patio having a smoke. I joined him and apologized again. He said it was really fine, however he had expected the afternoon to go differently. (Tragedy)
Oh, like me NOT bleeding on you? (Comedy)
He again said it was fine and not to worry myself about it. He also said that he had this place for the week, but I guess this sort of blows the week. (Tragedy)
Ok, time to leave. Really. Someone give me a reason to leave. Please. Music play. Curtain close. There is no recovery here. His visible disappointment, and perhaps a bruised ego at what he considered an inability to hold back his orgasm for longer was making my embarrassment even worse.
Really, this wouldn’t happen with Jack. We would have a hilarious laugh about it and he’d comment that I can just go on sucking his cock all week.
He went to the restroom and when he came back I had keys in hand. You know, I should go. I promised the kids….. blah blah, please lets just say goodbye now before I RUN out the door.
He came up and kissed me goodbye. A nice warm wet kiss, his hands back in my hair again, cupping my face. He said he’d call me. Told me to drive safe. Walked me to the door. Kissed me again. I left, not looking back towards the door until I got in the car.
I really don’t think he will call me again. I almost hope he doesn’t. It’s just too weird. Too much tragedy.