Hank was always persistent. He loved to text all weekend and he would want to come over at 3:30 in the morning. I always put Hank on the backburner and this time he was cross. He sent me a particularly nasty text about being jerked around to which I could only reply ‘sorry.’
He bounced back quick enough though and I found him on my doorstep early Sunday night.
I preferred his place because it was cute and had a backyard but he was here now so what the hell.
He stood in front of me and took my clothes off. The thing about Hank is that he’s hairless. Being blonde, he had soft skin and he’s mighty tall so when he stood next to me or pulled me to him I was looking directly at his hairless chest. In every other respect he was quite stunning but this one feature remained remarkable to me. A little creepy maybe.
But. All God’s critters have a place in the choir.
The last time Hank fucked me he let me cum which, never happens with him. We got into our usual groove. A few minutes later he pulled my hair so hard he had yanked my head to the side and I heard my neck crack again Shit that hurt. The last few times he had started slapping my face every time I started getting too passionate, too ‘handsy’ or wanted to kiss. This Sunday he was in overdrive, slamming my head into the mattress and then holding my face down with his full weight. He restrained me with his elbows and held me by the neck.
The thing is: We had discussed this last time. I asked him why he did that and told him he had to feel me out a bit better. He told me he took his ques from me which was baffling. I had tapped him out a few times and he responded well to that. This time he came twice and rolled off, satisfied with his efforts. I was left cold though. I’ve mentioned before but Hank is terribly detached. Now, I could see something different: He was also insensitive.
A darker consideration loomed: I definitely liked losing control and so far enjoyed sex the most when it was a little violent or very passionate. I just didn’t seem to be able to figure out where the line was. This time I knew I had crossed it for myself. Not unpredictability, I had started disassociating from myself when I was with Hank. So why had I gone for another round?
The next day I had a bruise on my cheek and bruises all over my upper arms. I looked like I’d been bashed. It was something The Bartender asked about when we were together.
“When you first came in you had bruises all over your arms how did they get there?”
What was I to say?
I’m not sure how that sounded but I didn’t care. By that stage I already knew I wouldn’t see The Bartender again.
Hank was delegated to the bottom of rotation and although that seems unfair (I think he was doing his best) I had a sour taste in my mouth over the whole thing.