Sorry to Keep You Dangling...Again

Oh brother, K, I'm a little ashamed to admit that I may have allowed my good intentions to avoid hangin' with the wrong crowd, to run a little slipshod. By now we are all well aware that I am, without a doubt, reproachfully impulsive. Which kind of explains why, in the aftermath of casting aside a guy or guys who finagled capturing the spotlight for a spell, I am often rendered powerless to resist foolishly cracking open the door to communication a wee little bit, peering around from behind it, my eyes cast sheepishly downward, and cautiously inviting in a questionable guest who's come a-knockin', usually one from my diminishing lineup of bad boys. It could be that I do this purely out of boredom, gotta keep things spicy and all that. But sometimes I sincerely do get suckered in, especially when I receive one of those pitiful pleas from a scorned would-be lover, begging for me to please just talk to them, pleeeeease...or perhaps nothing more than, "Have I done something? Why are you ignoring me?" Ohhhhhh....that one kills me for some reason! I just hate to feel like I'm being such a meanie, and sometimes, on account of that...I do cave..."Ok, we can talk - but just for a second...seriously! I'm really busy!" (Yeah, right)

Sunday night, after I had devoted a moment of silence to reflect on my gross error in judgement regarding Dan, Simon and Copa, I cultivated some warm and fuzzy feelings about the real life guy, Harold - from the equestrian event on Sunday, which motivated me to write a quick e-mail to my friend Claire thanking her for introducing me to Harold, 'cuz even if he and I never laid eyes on each other again, at least meeting him had reminded me that there really are decent guys out there, and please feel free to forward my contact info to Harold, dadadadadada...Next, I puttered around online masochistically searching for the dirtball who would certainly make me his next victim, when in chimed, none other than - Soldier Boy Jack, quintessential danger boy extraordinaire. The last few times he's tried to reach me, I was busy wasting good energy on some well-disguised loser, I'm sure - so at the time, it was a cinch for me to ignore him. But this night, I was mostly dejected and alone again, and he is aaawwwfully damned cute...He greeted me with his trademark, upbeat, "What's up, Chica?" "Chica" being the operative word here, 'cuz it puts a blush on my cheeka-s every time he calls me by my all-time favorite pet name. Still, I stiff-armed him a little with only a muted, "hey" I was just in such a crappy mood, you know? And I definitely had a bug up my butt about some something or other that I had convinced myself he'd done to me the last time we'd crossed paths, maybe he'd logged out of his IM as soon as I logged on, one night, I really can't remember...But this was of no consequence because Jack is the master of drawing me out of a funk. No matter how pissed off I try to act, or even truly may be, he routinely manages to genuinely lift my spirits, every time we chat. I have never left a conversation with Jack feeling down or upset. In fact most times, I wind up feeling calm and optimistic, (despite the topics that are generally discussed) not to mention aroused...he's that good. You might remember that Jack is the one who completely flipped me out by turning me onto this one particular sexual act, which is beyond outre, and the really frightening part is that while peeking at forwarded videos through parted fingers, in order to acquaint myself with said act, I found myself categorically...turned on. My rapidly growing fascination with this particular form of love-making (if that's what you can call it) has everything to do with my quick climax anymore (like only 30 seconds sometimes), when diddling myself. Ever since Jack and I broached the unspecified, aforementioned topic (I'm sorry, I just can't say what it is!), and even during those intervals when we were not speaking and when I thought we might never speak again, he and his wild fantasy, both emblazoned on my mind, have remained the catalysts which spur on my self-pleasure...each and every time...they are all I can think of when I get myself off...

This night marked the first time in maybe three or four weeks that I had acknowledged an IM sent from Jack and right away he asked with heartrending poise, "Why have you been avoiding me?" We open most of our dialogs with a similar song and dance; He finally succeeds after multiple failed attempts to contact me, at which time I reply to him out of hesitant empathy, but confess nonetheless, to being absolutely terrified of him, which is certainly true. I am loath to move forward in our friendship, come out from behind my trusty, old Mac and meet him for coffee or drinks. We might notice that we are as attracted to one another in person as we are online so we fuck like crazy and after getting comfy with each other over weeks or a month, the obvious next step would be to perform the horrifying sexual acts which comprise his twisted fantasy. I could never do those things, EVER, but I feel like in contemplating them with Jack, as I have, I may appear more open to the possibility than I mean to be. He is always so cool about it when I admit to being scared by him and his fantasy. He tells me he would never demand that we do those things or any other things, for that matter, that the very beauty of a fantasy, can be in maintaining it as such. Why risk spoiling the magic by making it a reality? He assured me that he would never force me to engage in anything with which I am not completely comfortable but that he would be sure to whisper in my ear all about our dirty little secret if we met and liked each other and decided to screw. Do you get why I find him somewhat irresistible? And then I remind him that before all of that, we have to first see if we even make it through coffee and he laughs and says, "I know, you're right" One problem with Jack is that I don't entirely trust his shakey claims that he's not been with a woman since he split from his wife (I told you that I had previously severed ties with him til he got seprated, right?) nor that he is not interested in pursuing anyone...except me. And it's not that I care if he has designs on other girls and is talking with them or even doinking them, he just better be telling me the truth, that's all. Just fucking tell me, cuz if you're lying about it you're toast!

Jack and I have been talking intermittently for nearly four months, now. It's probably one of my oldest running online "friendships". We had never talked on the phone, we had never texted nor played with the webcam. All we'd ever done was IM'd and e-mailed each other, and it's not like we were getting off while we were chatting all of these times, but our frisky conversations did usually get me worked up into such a frenzy that immediately after saying good-bye, his vividly depicted fantasies became my own. I surrendered to the havoc that these intriguing yet disquieting images wreaked on my body and brainwashed my mind into playing the game as well, the outcome of which was altogether explosive, to say the least. This night, the first night we'd written back and forth after so many weeks of silence, we decided to try talking on the phone. You can see how proficient he is at changing my mindset, I was a cold bitch when he first said "Hello" but within probably 15 minutes of IM'ing, he had me so horny that I agreed to have phone sex with him, our first time together (awwww, ain't that romantic?) He did most of the talking and I lapped it up. I liked how he sounded, his actual voice as well as the way that he talked to me, the very words that he chose. He was confident but not cocky and most striking was his adeptness at gradually peppering his credible story with increasingly more fervid detail until I found myself charging into that happiest of happy places (and to think I was so grouchy just a short while before!) This was one of those big "O's", too, 'cuz after I had reached my zenith, I was having a hard time seeing out of one eye and I was noticeably discombobulated for a minute. Ok, but fair is fair, so now I had to take a crack at returning the favor of verbally seeing him to his own finish line. I began to tell him about how I wanted to take a cube of ice from a cup on the night-stand and encircle my mouth with it before blooping it inside. I would then wrap my cold, wet lips around the head of his feverish cock after which I would swirl the dissolving piece of ice, all around the tip with my tongue before gliding up and down as much of the length as I could manage, my hand working the base, and as the ice melted away I would swallow the tepid water and pull harder on his...when, just like that...HEY, whaddya know?! My little story worked, hooray! I know, I know. I should be ashamed of such tawdry behavior, but we were just playin' and I hadn't gotten laid in so long nor even messed around with anyone in like...forever. This was harmless, really...wasn't it?

He e-mailed me the next day from his office. Our conversation took its usual turn towards the unmentionable fetish and I was once again moved to succumb to the fantasy. I nearly died laughing when he reported that he had just made a mess in his boxer shorts, right there at his desk - at work! I was dying to know how he pulled it off without the guy at the next desk, only a couple of feet away, realizing it. Thank goodness he'd planned to go home for lunch!

You know, Frances is absolutely aghast that I would dare contemplate meeting Jack even for a simple coffee. She is unwavering in her opinion that he will ultimately seduce me over to that proverbial darkside. And if I follow through with meeting him for coffee next Friday like we've planned, I have to almost hope that we don't have that connection, you know? It would so solve the problem before it even began...because this admittedly does have all the telltale earmarkings of a problematic sitcheeashun.