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We met in high school. He begged me to give my virginity and take his. One time he cried, saying that he was “the only guy his age who hadn’t gotten any.” To prove his devotion to me, he got a tattoo over his left pec (aka his heart) that said “First Love,” which I found immensely lame, but pretended to adore. Eventually I gave in and we had awkward, sweaty sex on my Hello Kitty comforter in my room while my parents were at work. The relationship ended with him cheating on me with my best friend at the time. Looking back, I realize that he was constantly showing signs of future domestic violence and manipulation — you know, like calling me a “cunt” during an argument and then apologizing profusely afterwards and promising to change. Glad I bolted before things got worse.
We met on a cruise when I was 18 and he was 23. Stephen was a massive basketball player, average in looks, and lonely as hell. He had a thick penis, which I didn’t quite get the chance to ride because he was too unsure about having sex with me. He said I gave him the best head in history, and while he gave a valiant effort at fingering me, it didn’t work. We broke things off because of distance.
Only a month after the Sam thing, I met Alex. I thought he was so mature and worldly, when in reality, he was deadbeat film student loser who was in denial about his lack of discipline. Alex was literally the dumbest creature I’d ever met. He once asked me what a hashtag was. On the flipside, the sex was phenomenal. We fucked every day. He was a pro at making me squirt everywhere and we were always up for sexual experiments. Outside of sex, we pretended to be the model couple. I ignored the red flags of a future failure for a year and a half before calling quits. I had to break into his apartment to retrieve my stuff the day we broke up. It was one of the most liberating moments of my life. After the split, he contacted me many times and begged me to try again. I never looked back.
A year later, I met Jason. We kissed for fun once and he was immediately hooked. He begged me for a relationship and after a month of harassment and pleading, I tentatively agreed. The relationship itself was terrible and lackluster. We were fantastic friends, but not so great as a couple. I never felt the spark. Jason confessed his undying love for me within weeks of being together. I responded with a “thank you.” I stayed in the relationship for the rest of the summer because the perks were nice and the sex was decent. His libido was amazing and I loved that we had sex every time we saw each other in every location we could think of — his bed, my bed, his closet, the car, the shower, the garage, etc. I was thankful to transfer universities because it meant that I “had” to break up with him. He cried. I sighed with relief. Oh, and I promised myself that I’d never give in to any man just because I felt bad ever again. Ever.
Oh Andre. My weekend fling from Russia was five years older than me and a professional dancer. We met while he was touring in the states and I was lucky enough to run into him while out clubbing. He told me that he was judging a dance competition, to which I called total bullshit. (Guys will say anything to get with women at clubs. You know the deal.) I later found out that he wasn’t lying at all when I showed up at the competition out of curiosity and saw him sitting at the judge’s table in all his glory.
For that entire weekend, I was secondhand royalty. Unlike most American men, Andre was not shy about showing his affections for me and kissed me full-on in front of everyone during a break at the 5-hour competition because I brought him a vegetarian dinner. He refused to let go of me after the competition ended, even when people asked for photos. I was his girl. It felt good to be wanted. I felt dangerous and edgy for pursuing a relationship with such an exposed deadline. In a way, it made it even better. I stayed up with him until 4 a.m. nearly every night we were together, talking, kissing, and fucking. He was surprising gentle for such a husky guy.
Phone sex was our drug. We’d call each other once or twice a week after I picked him out of everyone who responded to my Craigslist ad. He had this amazing Southern drawl and a huge capacity of knowledge. Antony knew something about everything. We’d talk about all sorts of topics and the conversation always ended with him snarling commands in that sexy cowboy voice and me whimpering into the receiver after cumming harder than I ever had in my life. Antony had a way with words and an intuition about my needs. He helped me explore my suppressed submissive side and used it to get me off. We never met in person, but I’ve never cum and orgasmed harder than I did with him. We’re still friends to this day.