That was a complete and utter failure, and I still cringe thinking about the night and the hasty retreat I beat the instant he left the room. But Jake, I can tell, Jake will be different. He's so sweet, and definitely has a hard body. I'm going for it. I take a deep breath and head back out to the booth.
Stopping at his side, I place one hand on his shoulder and one on his thigh. Leaning in I ask, "Wanna get out of here?"
His answering grin is all the response I get. Fifteen minutes later, we are in my tiny apartment tearing at each other's clothing.
I pull off Jake's henley to find an intricate web of tattoos on his chest, abs and upper arms. I pause a minute to inspect the work. I have a couple little tats myself, and while I'm not sure I'm fond of quite this much ink, the work is beautiful and seems to demand attention. Pulling back slightly, his hands gripping my hips don't allow me much leeway, I trace two fingers from his collar bone down his pec, circling his nipple, before proceeding in a very direct line to the waistband of his jeans. The path I traced crossed an elegant black dragon with his wings spread and a skeleton gripped in his claws. I mirror the movements with my other hand, this time gliding over an army of armored soldiers, battle ready and in the midst of vanquishing another dragon. Once I have both hands on his pants, I quickly forget his tattoos and concentrate on the task before me.
Unfastening the button and pulling down the zipper, his black boxer briefs come into view, along with a pleasantly substantial bulge. I rub my hand up and down his length, feeling him grow stiffer and experiencing a surge of desire all my own.
He's impatient to get things going and quickly divests himself of his jeans, shoes and socks. Hooking his thumbs under my tank top, he swiftly pulls it over my head and wastes no time going for the hook of my bra. The moment my breasts are free, his mouth finds a nipple and he begins to suck softly. It's a pleasant feeling, but I want more, and I apply pressure to the back of his head to encourage him to deepen his sucking. This works and he pulls harder, tugging at my nipple and causing me to arch my hips into his as a rush of heat and desire causes my core to throb. Damn this feels good.
He moves his mouth to my other nipple and begins undoing my jeans. I help him undress me and we move clumsily to the bed. I fall back, and as he moves to take off his briefs, I crawl over to the nightstand to get a condom.
Turning back to Jake, we spend a moment enjoying the sight of each other. There's nothing quite as hot as a guy with an impressive erection, all nice and hard just for you. I can't resist and my hand floats down to touch myself. I bite my lip and let out a low moan. Jake pumps himself a few times, but he's impatient and he quickly straddles me, taking the condom from me and fitting it onto himself.
Now normally I need a bit more preparation to reach orgasm. I prefer a guy to get me off with his mouth before he goes to town, so I can be sure I'll come. However, at this point, I'm so drunk and horny that I spread my legs and welcome him with open arms.
He slides in quickly, diving balls deep on the first stroke. He pauses for a moment when he's all the way in, and we both adjust and enjoy the sensation. It feels so good to have a man inside me that I let out a little hum of satisfaction. Encouraged, Jake sets an ambitious rhythm, moving quickly. His thrusts are a little too shallow for much friction, so I try and angle my hips to get some pressure for my clit. Jake grunts at the change, but doesn't slow down. He's resting on his forearms, which have my arms pinned to my sides, restricting my movement. The one thing I can reach is his ass, which I attack with gusto. I grab and squeeze, feeling his hard glutes strain as he continues his energetic pace. Pulling him a little deeper, causing his hips to rub up mine on his inward stroke, I've finally found a measure of stimulation and I begin to feel like an orgasm might be possible.
No sooner do I think this, than Jake freezes before thrusting spasmodically and shouting, "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
Finished, he collapses on me and gently kisses my neck. I take a deep breath, trying to remain calm, and tell myself he'll realize I haven't come and remedy the situation. We stay like this for a minute before he grabs the condom on his rapidly softening cock and pulls out. He rolls over and off the bed, looking to me for an indication of where the bathroom is. I point to the right corner of my place and he disappears. Really, he needed me to tell him where the bathroom is? It is the only door besides the one we entered from!
Already getting a little cranky from sexual frustration, I stay where I am, and he returns a few seconds later. Approaching the end of the bed looking sleepy and sated, he's rather adorable. That is until he bends down and starts putting his clothes back on.
"Babe, that was amazing," he says, slipping on his jeans. "I'm sorry I can't stay the night, but I've got an early morning tomorrow." He leans down and gives me a kiss before sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling on his socks and shoes.
What the fuck? I hate being in this situation. What do you do? Do you demand he get his ass back in bed and finish what he started? Do you get pissed and insult his manhood? Internally, I do both of those things. Unfortunately, in person, I'm quite a bit wimpier than in my head, so I only give the stink eye to the back of his head.
"Let's do this again sometime," he says as he leans over and gives me another kiss. Then he's out the door. Without asking for my number, I might add.
Torn between crying and screaming, I yell, "Fuck you!" at the door and then grab my trusty battery operated boyfriend and take care of myself. B.O.B. to the rescue.
******
The next morning dawns bright, and annoying. I'm hung over and pissed that I didn't get laid properly the night before. This brave new world I am supposed to be forging for myself is looking too similar to my old life for comfort.
A slow trip to the Coffee Bean, and half a cafe mocha later, I am beginning to feel a little better. It's Sunday, so I don't do my normal routine of job hunting before hitting the gym. Instead, especially because of the hangover and last night's escapades, I go straight to Netflix and indulge in a John Hughes film fest.
Monday morning I'm done feeling sorry for myself. I focus on the good: I'm proud of myself for going out on Saturday night. Even though it didn't end how I would have liked, it was a step forward. Hey, Rome wasn't built in a day. I'm ready to double down on my efforts for a new, better life.
I've been thinking a great deal about what I should do for work. I've spent my entire career at a university, so I'm not really well-equipped to do much else. There are a ton of colleges in L.A., but if I couldn't find fulfillment in academia in D.C., I don't think my chances of finding it in L.A. will be any better.
What else? I came out here to create the life I always wanted and that means a career where I am changing the world. I could teach inner city youth conflict resolution skills; I did that as an internship during my graduate studies. I'd often thought about creating a coalition between local restaurants and homeless shelters, to decrease waste on the part of the restaurant and increase variety for the shelters. More than once I thought about establishing a consignment store staffed by volunteers, where foster kids could come and shop for donated clothes. The possibilities are actually endless.
While I'm optimistic, I'm not naive; none of these are just going to appear. More likely than not, I'll need to create these opportunities for myself and that will take time. I'm going to need to find something to tide me over. TJ Maxx didn't pan out, so I'm back at the drawing board. I could turn to office work, I have plenty of skill for that, but I really want to do something fun and new. This is my time to do things differently, to pursue my dreams. What else have I always wanted to do?
I've always wanted to dance professionally, but I don't have the talent or dedication for that, so that's out. I love to write, that may be a possibility, but I'm not sure how I'd make money at it. I've long fantasized about bartending, but in a city with thousands of out-of-work actors, most of whom have flocked to the restaurant business for their bread and butter, I am unlikely to land such a coveted position.
So many possibilities, yet none seem feasible. Starting a whole new life may be a bit more challenging than I had imagined.
Chapter 2: When Irish Eyes Are Smiling