ENCOUNTERS OF THE EMBARRASSING KIND

ENCOUNTERS OF THE EMBARRASSING KIND


Puberty: Age eleven. Sweet release: age twenty four. Well, it was not so sweet. First of all, the genesis of the entire thing was a result of ribaldry and cheap liquor. My more experienced friends- condescending and cajoling at the same time – convinced me of the virtues of paid fornication. I, inebriated and utterly horny, decided to cave in (in more ways than one). Boastingly, an eager pimp was called up and the rendezvous arranged at a seedy hotel.

The room was booked for two hours which in retrospect turned out to be a cruel joke. I was the first occupant and waited in the room all by myself with my libido and anxiety bubbling. She sauntered in royally late like a pro. She was dressed like a pro: skinny jeans, halter top on which the logo ran between mountains and valley; her make-up was bright with pink on the cheeks and red on the lips. Her smell or precisely the smell of the expensive perfume she doused on herself engulfed the room. She peremptorily asked my name and I barely mumbled. She on second thought asked for a condom. I said I have a packet. She chuckled and I seethed.

We started our communion by me disrobing her: I clumsily attacked her jeans and almost chaffed her in the process; I took her top on next; then her lingerie. Then I turned to myself. We were naked and I was clueless. She swooped in and drew me towards her, all the while saying sweet nothing. I-drawing on my five years of porn watching- tried to stroke her body and suck her oversize breasts. I tried to give her head and slurped too much. She tried fellatio but I ejaculated quickly. I entered her missionary, my eyes escaping her gaze. My flabby hips rocked nervously and she passively endured. Montage of images and thoughts played in my mind through out: of cops raiding, of contacting STD, of running in to her. After five minutes of laboring, I came. Our sweet laden body lay still. I did not event try hugging her post colitis and she smoked. She waited exactly ten minutes before asking me to cough up which I did eagerly. She left and I instinctively switched on the television, my eyes unable to concentrate, the images a flicker. I unenthusiastically put my clothes and ignored the mirror. The phone rang and on the other hand was the excited voice of my friend who wanted the details. I launched in to the soliloquy of my virility, amply assisted by my imagination. Finally I was a ‘man’, but I didn’t feel like one.