Didn’t I emphasize, not too long ago, my drama-filled life of theatrics? One liaison in particular exemplifies why my present state of mind is best described as derangement. It is titled:
Sex Kitten: Distressed, Deep, Dirty, then Dismembered
I never noticed how rigid I was. I suppose I always thought of myself as being particular or perhaps even finicky. But recently, I have been forced to conclude that I am, in fact, rigid. This behavior I have manifested through being a product of my Asperger’s Syndrome. It has it’s perks mind you; I am pretty intelligent, I am loyal and devoted, I enjoy routine, I can live day by day in solitude, I am hyper-sexual and I am beyond literal; therefore you can expect me to spell it out for you. You never have to read between the lines (which most women expect men to do) “But what goes up must come down” The “flipside” of my disability has emerged in a “butt-fucking” sort of manner. I am discovering that maybe I am not as intuitive to my self recognition as I used to perceive myself to be. My nature requires me to list, schedule and follow on almost every task, to the point where it is almost obsessive.
Let this example be self-explanatory:
Tuesday; I made a half-assed attempted to make amends with X, as I still had not accepted the blame for disassociating mentally and emotionally on Monday. My departure was unjust and abusive (as I am now discovering), yet I am still sitting here, still annoyed. I took a town-car to his office and surprised him with his favorite lunch. He already had a scheduled lunch meeting that wasn’t written on my schedule so I left pissed off. On the drive back, I was decided I was dead set on having an afternoon drink(s) to calm myself. That was soon accomplished. Drunk and sulking, the smoke began to dissipate and I decided I needed an early fuck-a-thon to continue to distract myself.
I stumbled back to my room, grabbed my laptop and pulled up Plenty of Fish (dot) com. After about twenty or so minutes, I had made a few notes on a couple of potential playmates and sent them each a message. Shortly after, I received two responses back, and after reviewing both, I decided to pursue the latter. Aisha (alias) was the real beauty, half Japanese and half Caucasian. She had color-treated blonde hair, she was a tad bit taller than me, possessed large honey brown eyes, and was proportionately figured. The only negative I noted was a rough skin complexion that was evident in her photos, but it was minor. After connecting once again, we agreed to meet at Vespa Bar, later today, around 5pm. I quickly freshened up, threw on some comfortable attire and then headed down to the bar.
I ordered a round of patron silver on the rocks (pinch of salt, squeeze of lime) and just as I began to sip the drink freshly placed on the marker, I sensed someone coming up behind me. A low, raspy voice whispered “Hey there sex kitten, want the best pussy licking in your life?” I choked on my drink and spun around, ready to smash my glass on the fucking perv. Instead, I found I was face to face with Aisha. I looked down and realized, in my alarm, I had spilled a large quantity of patron over her blouse. Startled, she jumped back and brushed off the alcohol, “Damn it…”.
Apologizing, I grabbed a few napkins and tried to wipe her blouse clean, finishing by slowly rubbing off the remaining liquid around her breasts. I made sure to keep eye contact with her as I rubbed over her nipples. Anger now gone, her eyes burned with lust, then her breath speed increased, and she slowly began to lick her lips as if I was a delectable dish of delicacy. That is fucking hot!, I thought to myself. My sex-crazed kitten purred and drooled with her every pant. I wanted her right then and there so I quickly offered her a spare change of clothes–in my room. She obliged; I paid the tab, grabbed her hand and led the way.
When we arrived to the room, I grabbed a few blouses off the couch and sniffed them; clean, clean, not sure, and clean. I handed her two of the clean ones and she smiled, but look worried. I pointed her to the washroom and tried not to scowl as she closed the door. Yeah, yeah! I live in disarray. It makes me comfortable. Deal.
My phone buzzed with an incoming text message and I quickly read it. An acquaintance of mine from LA named Harper was in town for the night. I sighed. It was always the same with him, he would try and hit me up for free club entry and some drink tickets. Fucking cheap bastard! I was about to reply with, “I am about to get laid so FUCK NO!” but Aisha emerged from the bathroom wearing my tan blouse, stopping me. She was still in her glamorous sequenced skirt and her make-up had been re-applied. My Aspergers decided at that moment to take over my brain, and so, instead of complimenting her swag, I frowned and asked, “Did you use my eye-liner?” Stupid Aspergers! Fortunately, Aisha didn’t seem to notice, and asked me if I wanted to continue cocktails at the venue we had just departed from. I paused in thought, thought maybe somewhere new might be in order, and suggested we go to Hyde.
I texted Harper where we were going, and he met us at Hyde. The doorman knew me, so we were escorted past the line and were also given several drink tickets. I’m sure it is no surprise that we headed straight to the bar. A few rounds of patron shots (all on my tab of course. Fucking Harper!), and Aisha was well on her way to “loosey goosey”. After finishing our drinks, she reached over, grabbed my wrist, and began dragging me onto the dance floor. Mind you folks, I only dance when I am sha-wasted. From an outsider view, my dance moves are best described as squawking like a chicken with the occasional awkward, half spin with both hands up in the air. Instead of the terror stricken face I was expecting, Aisha seemed quite amusing by my “moves” and after a few songs, she leaned in and kissed me hard. Oh Yea! It’s on like Donkey Kong! Not to be outdone, I pushed her onto a nearby chair, then stepped over and straddled her, leaning forward and continued our lip-locking session. Several irregularly timed flashes of light pierced my closed eyelids, and I heard cheering from nearby onlookers. I ignored them and continued. Several minutes and two doused pairs of panties later, we exchanged mutual“I need to fuck you now” looks. Waving and mock bowing to the disappointed lookers on, we quickly pushed our way through the crowd towards the club exit, leaving Fucking Harper behind.
Outside, the Taxi lane was dreadfully long. Fuck! I am too horny for this waiting shit! I waved down a limo, and ushered Aisha inside. As soon as we were seated, Aisha leaned over and pushed me onto the floor. She positioned herself over me, leaned down, straddling me with her legs, at the same time holding my hands down with hers. Her head came down next, and she started to kiss me passionately, at the same time, she began to grind her snatch against mine. I’m not sure for how long this went on for, but I was aroused beyond belief. As she rhythmically pushed against my sex, her tongue delving deep and greedily into my mouth, I felt the beginning of my climax spark to life in my loins. Of course the next second is when the limo stopped. The oblivious driver announced we had arrived at our destination. and in my thoughts I cursed so profanely that I suspect had I actually spoken aloud, I may well have burst into flame. Story of my fucking life!
We practically ran inside the hotel, and to the elevators. We were prevented from going at it inside the elevator by about 3 million or so other passengers who had so rudely decided to go up to their rooms at the same time. A century or two later, the elevator finally reached my floor, and we ran to my room, got the door open and began ripping off each others clothes before the door finished swinging closed. Still removing each others garments as I led her to the bedroom, we entered frantically. Before she could kiss me again, I growled playfully and pushed her roughly onto the bed. She squealed in response, allowing herself to fall back. The next instant, I pounced on, a lioness claiming it’s prey. I feverishly began kissing her lips, then moved down to her neck. Slowly, I moved down to her breasts, my need hot burning in my chest, and began to greedily suckle her, then to nibble on her nipples. After contenting myself with her tits, I returned to my journey south, and delivered a trail of kisses and licks down to her navel, then down her lower abdomen. I jumped down to her right thigh, and nibbled and sucked the flesh until I couldn’t restrain myself any longer. Nearly mad with lust, I grabbed each of her legs with an arm, pulled them apart, and dove into her vagina.
I licked, slurped, and sucked in glorious ,inebriated ecstasy. My pussy thrumbed with desire, and the euphoria from my substantial alcohol consumption pleasantly dulled my other senses. But not enough as it turns out. NOT NEAR ENOUGH. About a minute or so after I my tongue began its journey into Aisha’s vagina, I slowly became aware of an odd taste. As I focused on the sensation, I sluggishly discerned a foul, rotting fish-like odor saturating my mouth. I wrinkled my nose in disgust, and tried to spit away the bitter taste. As I lifted my head, the pungent smell of rotting fish struck me even more harshly. I tried to stifle my gag reflex, Really, I swear I tried, but it just couldn’t be done. I began to retch right then and there. Aisha’s eyes grew wide in surprise, and then she turned bright red and immediately rolled off the bed. Her entire body a radiating beacon of scarlet embarrassment, Aisha rushed from the bedroom, grabbing whatever clothes she could in mid stride, and fled out the front door to be gone in the blink of an eye; POOF.
Oh my Fucking gawd! That is what I would called getting sensory raped and orally PWNed. I had to brush my teeth three times, gargle with mouth wash four times, and chew a SHIT ton of gum for the next few days just to be able to breath through my mouth. UN- fucking-forgivable! I swore, all that time she spent in the bathroom and she COULDN’T wash– I mean how hard is it to bleach and scrub your snatch? I don’t know for how long the psychological scars will linger, but I’m convinced I will NOT be able to eat a cunt for some time—well…er…maybe a week