Cash… I spent the day with Chase a couple weeks ago. A boozy, no driving Sunday. We started around 2pm at the Golden Road Brewey, after a few hours, we went to my house. Chase had been on Tinder while we were at the brewery, and was messaging with a dude. She’s newly single and the girl is on the prowl. I wasn’t planning on going with her to the next location, but it was only 7pm, so I said fuckit. We took another Uber to the Bigfoot Lodge.
Chase and I had been talking about sex for the past hour, and I was feeling frisky, so moments before her dude showed up, I text Cash. He responded almost instantly. He’s pretty much just waiting for my text these days. I told him where we were, he responded, “On my way!” Done. Easy.
He showed up, quite literally, like ten minutes later. I didn’t even have a proper chance to meet the Tinder guy, which was fine, since he wasn’t there to see me. I got a good feeling about him almost immediately, so that was good. Cash and I were barely human. He bought a round for the table, and we started necking the minute the shots went down. Sorry, Chase. Sorry, Tinder. I’ve never kept up this length of attraction for anyone. Cash holds the record.
We peaced-out to go have sex in the back of his car. He was parked right in front, so obviously that wouldn’t work. We drove around the block to the residential neighborhood and parked. I had him pull forward a little more, because his first landing spot was directly under a streetlight. Showcasing our (his) infidelity. We fucked for about forty-five minutes. Mostly with me on top. Why is it that in the car, when I’m drunk, and with certain men (him and youwho—which is a trip because their similarities are uncanny… for example, I have had more car sex with these two yahoo’s than all the other men combined!), I revert to my old teenage porno days? Lucky for them, I guess.
Our plan was to bone and then go back inside to socialize, but after the forty-five minutes (which was longer than expected), I text Chase some drunken gibberish and he drove me home. Where we continued to drink and screw until five in the morning! How he didn’t get in trouble (or did he?) I’ll never know. I could ask him, but I probably won’t. Not really my business. Somewhere in the middle of this fuck fest, he started on this whole, “You’re the one. You’ve always been the one. I want to marry you, and have our son we always talked about. I make good money, I can take care of you. You can finally quit.” Picture me smiling, naked, stunned and underneath a tall, gorgeous man. The thing is, he was being serious. Or as serious as he could given the circumstances. I’m kissing him and staring into his eyes during this declaration. This is the man that I was with when I last tried to end my life. Quasi-over a huge argument we had had (although in no way do I blame him). And here was, inside me, professing his love in such an endearing way, eleven years down the line. I know it was all the substances and history, but tears were rolling down my cheeks. Happy tears. Overwhelmed tears. “Baby, that’s nuts. Beautiful, incredible, and nuts. We don’t really know each other anymore. We haven’t been a couple in what, six years?”
“I know, but here we are, and I still and will always love you.”
“You know I feel the same. You are family. I will never stop loving you, but..”, I trailed off.
The drinking and fornication continued. We threw a shower in there, because, just like with youwho, we like taking showers together. He asked me to shave his balls. I laughed, “I always forget that you love that. Sure!” I replaced my razor and got on my knees. What man doesn’t want a woman on her knees? And touching his balls? None, that’s who. Gay men excluded. Each time we took a break from the actual sex, we’d bring our whiskey to my backyard, he’d smoke, and we’d talk. The conversation turned into (not sure how, but does it matter?) talk of our past (which makes sense, I guess). Our relationship is so different now. We are so much more open with each other and I’m no longer in love with him, which makes it easier to talk about real shit. I mentioned how he refused to tell me I was beautiful back then because “I heard it all the time”. Get this, he says, “That’s fucked. I said that?”
“I’m so sorry, babe, that’s really horrible.”
After all this time! Now he admits this. Classic. Better late than never and all that.
Around 3am, I started to get super anxious for him and his home life. He had spoken to his girl earlier, but this was much later than either of us expected. He was in the moment, and wasn’t concerned, so around 3:15am, I made the conscious decision to not worry about his life. It was better after I made this decision. No one wants a jumpy sex partner. He didn’t leave for another two hours. During which he was trying really, really hard to make me come. Like for real. Funny, he never cared this much before (insert 70’s Sanka commercial). I didn’t have regular orgasms with him when we were a couple. Too many trust issues and bullshit, but now it’s because I’m always so buzzed from booze. I was back then too, I guess. I wanted to, trust me. He went down on me for a very long time. I actually felt kinda (kinda) bad for him. I was on the verge for-fucking-ever. Alcohol isn’t super conducive to coming. But really, it’s my mind. At some point, I gave up completely, and he jacked off while watching porn on his iPhone. He was genuinely surprised when I said I was cool with it.
“You sure this is OK?”
“Yes, why wouldn’t it be?” His girl must have an issue. Jesus, women can be so fucking stupid sometimes. Sorry, ladies. Being so anti-sex or anti-porn isn’t the smartest way to go. Why women care about men watching videos is beyond me. You want him to go out and get the real thing?
So, he’s jacking off and watching his tiny screen, and he kept asking me to tell him how much I love him. That’s all he wanted. My lips by his ears and my love verbalized. O how the tables turn. He shoots his load, and it’s time to pass the fuck out. We say our goodbyes. He makes me promise not to wait so long to contact him again. Cash leaves the building.