Love, Lies, and Lust (Part 1)

The diary of a prisoner of love 

As I put on a sexy silk number I knew my boyfriend would love to see me in, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirrored headboard of the bed. Still resembling myself at the age of sixteen, I couldn’t help but realize the slight changes my 5’3” cocoa colored petite body has made during the past ten years. I love that my breasts and ass have gotten a little bigger, but my once wash board stomach has now become a little bit of a tummy. Realizing women are taking advantage of “Billy Blanks” and plastic surgeons to achieve perfection; I’ve come to grips that my looks are cute and approachable with a swirl of sex appeal rather than gorgeous and unobtainable looking. I began asking myself questions such as: Is my boyfriend worth devoting the rest of my firm and youthful years to? Could my average good looks and limited intelligence get the guy I know I deserve? Suddenly I began fantasizing how my life would be with a passionate and attentive man. 

Out of frustration, tears began streaming down my face at the reoccurrence of love and lust battling in my blood. Listening to my friends along with watching shows like “Sex in the City” and “The Bachelor” gives me the opinion that having a man is some sort of prestigious award amongst women; therefore, makes me feel selfish and unappreciative for having these feelings when I have a companion of nine years that claims he loves me deeply. If there is any confusion, I can honestly say I love him unconditionally without it being a cliché (Unfortunately, this theory has been thoroughly tested). The problems aren’t so much as the occasional unfaithful act or the constant ESPN watching or even the control issues. It’s the lack of heat, compassion, excitement, and spontaneity in our sex life. Unless you count the numerous times he has tricked me into believing that he chose my company over “The Fellows” to watch some sports game only to conclude that hot wings and beer can’t compare to getting your dick sucked as you watch the game.

Every day without fail it’s the same routine. Every morning I awake with his dick in my face, and sadly he believes this is as tender as a kiss good morning. The night shift ritual is not as bad, because after a hard days work I take a long hot bubble bath to prepare for my encore performance. Pretending my bathroom is a dressing room; I fix my hair and put on sexy lingerie as if I’m going to be performing in front of an audience. Since he’s not into role playing, I secretly have little skits going on in my head to make it bearable for me. Besides the fact that I never cum and he receives all the sensations and feelings, the dilemma is that he has the symptoms of a “long term guy”. He knows my potential which means there is no room for teasing. For example, when you first meet a guy you can sensually lick and kiss on the dick and balls and he would be a state of bliss. After a couple of “Hoover Maneuvers” a guy expects the “Microwaveable” dick suck almost every time (meaning: half the time but the same quality). 

Startled by the hug from behind, I reflexively jumped before coming to realization of it being my boyfriend, “Oh you scared me,” as I gulped at the thought of playing the tedious role of “The Selfless Girlfriend”. “UMMM…you look good enough to eat,” he said as he predictably guided me to the bed. With a look of obligation, he pulled my silk shorts down and began to pay for services rendered. I appreciated him giving me the respect of returning the favor, but unlike a man I can’t get off by the act alone. I want him to yearn for the taste and feel of my potent plump pussy against his tongue like he used to. After a counterfeit orgasm, we got in our usual position. He’d be on his back and me on the side giving him oral pleasure with such precision. It’s the same ritual every night: Hardcore uninterrupted oral which usually last up to fifth teen minutes or until he is on the verge of orgasm. Like usual, he began to play with my ass hole in hope of getting a special treat. If I don’t squint and squirm that is the go ahead to proceed to giving anal penetration. Unfortunately for him, I began moving my ass about so that his finger would move from that region; thus, he guided me on top of him. He quickly began squeezing my tits, tightly gripping his teeth around my thick nipples. I found it interesting how he ordered me to fuck him faster oblivious to the discomfort and displeased look upon my face. Getting ready to cum he ordered, “Suck my dick, baby girl”. Numb to the activity taking place, I fluently pleased him like a good whore with no emotions or feelings until the wad of cum made me choke.

The last Straw – Hopping the Fence

Proceeding to go wash up, we had our usual ten or so minutes of “play by plays” stating how good this or that was. After nine years, can you believe he still feels the need to rank me? Plopping into the bed he boasted, “You should thank me for making you the perfect lover,” before falling into a deep sleep. This is another pet peeve; I hate how quickly he falls asleep after relations. As I lay on the bed, the sound of his usual snoring enraged me. My entire body went completely numb along with my heart still beating stronger than ever. I got up and started doing a couple of stretches thinking this would relax me in some way. Suddenly I felt as if every breath was a challenge. I nervously raced to the bottle of “Absolute” chilling in the freezer and downed as much as I could tolerate. As the alcohol traveled in my blood stream, it encountered my acquaintances love and lust. The combination of another disappointing night and the help of the “spirits” love didn’t have a fighting chance. I knew my boyfriend would be knocked out for at least five hours, so I decided to do something wild and daring. The fact that my boyfriend is controlling when it comes to me going somewhere alone in the daytime, the thought of disobeying him by creeping in the middle of the night gave me an unbelievable adrenaline rush.

With no time to waste, I decided upon a bar. I figured since it was a Tuesday night only a few people would be out. As I rushed to get ready, I felt as if I was preparing for some type of role in a porno movie which made my nipples harden by simply the thought. I had fun deciding what type of character I wanted to play. Not wanting to appear fast or sluttish, I decided upon a young woman who desperately needed a drink because she just walked in on her boyfriend having sex with another girl in their bed. I knew my outfit needed to reflect the story I would tell yet be classy, because it also would aid in the type of men that would approach me. I decided upon my white linen skirt which caressed my tight little ass and showcased my big ebony legs. I topped it with a simple taupe cashmere top, but I didn’t wear a bra so that my small yet perky breasts would make an impression in the soft clingy material. Making the outfit look cute and sexy instead of perfect and polished, I added a pair of Keds white canvas mules which complimented my new sassy bob hairstyle. I knew with my baby face walking into a bar in the middle of the night would already cause heads to turn, but the outfit would have them intrigued because you could find anyone from the ages of 13-65 wearing something similar. As I applied lip gloss to my pouty baby doll lips, I stared in the mirror erasing all feelings of guilt and loyalty from my mind and proceeded out the door. 

I found a bar far enough away from where we stayed so that there was no chance of running into anyone my boyfriend or I knew. I’m embarrassed to admit that I became nervous as I entered the bar. Not because it was a majority of white faces, but because I have never been to a bar. Hey don’t laugh, I met my boyfriend when I was sixteen and I been on “lady like” lockdown ever since then (meaning: he always tells me that going to bars, clubs and things of that nature is not very lady like). When I walked into the bar, I could feel the eyes of the thirty or so people glancing at me. I hurriedly walked as if I was mad about something, so that my nerves wouldn’t show. Upon approaching the white massive middle aged bartender, he curtly requested, “Give me some I.D.” I would have loved to put him in his place for approaching me in such a rude manner, but fortunately for me his loud offensive behavior put the spotlight on me. I knew exactly where my I.D was, but I pretended to search my purse as if I couldn’t find it. I figured this would be a quick way for some guy to come and play my Knight in Shining Armor. 

Within a minute or two, a “Jimmy Walker” looking black man approached me. With sexual connotation he inquired, “Do you need some assistance?” as he glided his hand down my back almost on the verge of being on my ass. Feeling disrespected, I quickly removed my I.D. from my bill folder and with a look that could kill I replied, “I’m straight” as I rolled my eyes towards the bartender and harshly demanded a Corona Light. I know I was out to seek a man’s attention, but he didn’t know that; therefore, he shouldn’t have approached me like that. I guess, like myself, he figured my options were limited since he was one of the two black guys in the place. Just as I had my head in my hands thinking the night was going to be a total bust, I heard a voice with a thick southern accent but with a twist of ethnicity say, “I hope this will put a smile on that pretty little face,” as he placed the beer in front of me. When I looked up, an attractive 6’4” healthy looking white guy in his early to mid 20’s with dark hair and bushy eyebrows was leaning from behind the bar sporting a Colgate smile. Uncalculated I began smiling as I stuttered, “Thank you” while turning my face away from his piercing brown eyes in hopes of not seeming to taken aback by his looks. Most guys give up when I turn away from them, but he got right up in my face and probed, “So, what’s your deal. What brings a cute little thing like you to a bar in the wee hours of the night?” holding out his hand he continued, “By the way, my name’s Mike. What’s yours?” Giving a stellar performance, I introduced myself and began to run the lines of being a scorned lover. As the conversation progressed, I discovered that he was from Alabama visiting his uncle who was the rude bartender and also owner of the bar.