The Hottie Parade

hummina, hummina...

Wednesday was one of those rare days when I experienced the Hottie Parade.  It all started with a guy that looked a little something like this Hollister Hottie walked into my office.  He was blonde, blue-eyed, perfectly tanned with strong, broad shoulders, and he was headed my way.  It was all I could do not to let my mouth loll open as lust shot straight through my body.  God, I thought, he looked like he just popped up off a Hollister catalog.  He had this clean, young look to him that made me want to get him horizontal and moaning, as soon as humanly possible.  Then he flashed that brilliant colgate smile at me, and I swear my panties got damp right then and there.  Desperately, I thought, Can I hump you?

Until I saw his date of birth.

Holy shit, he was 19!  And here I was, blatantly eye-fucking him, which – might I add – he welcomed with his wide-eyed, bemused expression.  The kind of look that asked, Do you like what you see? Oh, hell yes. Then I kind of felt like a pedophile, but I simply couldn’t look away.

As our conversation came to an end, he looked over and nonchalantly said, “By the way, I like your sweater.”  My sweater? Oh, right.  I was wearing a sweater bearing three oversized letters spread over my bust.  So, was he saying he liked my “sweater”?  Or was he saying he liked my tits?  I don’t know if it mattered.  I floated around on cloud 9 for the rest of my busy, busy morning.

That night, I went on date #2 with the Kid.  We had made plans to hit up a comedy club.  But here’s the thing.  Before I picked him up, the Kid had been playing around in the wine cellar.  I walked into his house to find that the self-proclaimed lightweight had sucked down half a bottle of red, and was already pretty buzzed.  He admitted that he gets obnoxious when drinking, and really horny.  Perfect.  (sarcasm).

Well, the horny part kicked in as soon as we arrived at the club.  While waiting in line, the Kid starts to get all touchy-feely.  This makes me nervous.  I’m not really a PDA-friendly person.  But here he is, grabbing my ass, pulling me in for extended kisses, resting his arm around my shoulders, giving me random hugs.  The PDA only increased when we’re seated with him nibbling on my arm, kissing my shoulder, and running his hand down my leg and over my knee.  All of this attention makes me kind of uncomfortable, particularly because I had just introduced him to TIF and I’m definitely not into PDA in front of my friends, knowing all too well the third-wheel feeling.

I would gently push his hand away or ask him to stop, but he would only tone it down.  Except, toning it down wasn’t stopping it, so half the time I was getting turned on, and the other half, I was kind of annoyed.  And then, of course, the comedian called us out on it, saying that the Kid was raping me, and later questioning his age due to his appearance!  I am both mortified and amused, laughing as the comedian turns to me and bellows, “OMG, ARE YOU FUCKING THAT GUY?  YOU ARE, AREN’T YOU?” and all I wanted to do was hide behind TIF.  “GOD, THAT’S GOTTA BE THE WEIRDEST PORNO EVER – A NERDY WHITE BOY AND A GIRL WITH THE BIGGEST TITS I’VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE!  HEY, BUT AT LEAST YOU’LL HAVE CUTE KIDS.” 

Then we get back to his place and he asks me in.  Now, maybe I should’ve known better since I had seen him down another stiff drink during the show.  But I went in, and while I was sober, he wasn’t.  That made for an interesting romp that started in the kitchen, with him sliding his hands down my pants to discover that I had gone commando.  I fumbled with his buttons and before things got too heated, I demanded that he get his condoms out of the car.  In his absence, I ran upstairs, got naked and climbed into bed.  I was sitting there, holding a sheet to me when he came up the steps.  We started to heat things up, and all I wanted was a quick, hard fuck.  He had trapped me beneath him, so that I couldn’t do anything but feel the head of his penis pressing against my clit as he began to tease me.  He slid against me, back and forth, rubbing against my clit and getting me so worked up as I lay there unable to fight for mobility, I actually started whimpering, please fuck me, please fuck me repeatedly.  Finally, he let me have it, and I moaned in pleasure.  God, I can’t believe I’d gone a year and a half without sex!

And then… my phone rang.

What the fuck?! I stopped him, forced him to get off me because I worried that it could be my mom.  If I don’t answer when she calls, she assumes I’m getting myself into trouble, so I reached over for the phone, already trying to come up with some kind of excuse.  Except when I lifted the phone, there was one name I wasn’t expecting blinking on the caller ID.

My last ex-boyfriend… the Rebel.

And just like that, the spell is broken.  “Well, that’s a buzzkill,” the Kid says when I tell him who it is.  And I say, “No, fuck it.  I don’t even really talk to him anymore.  Come here.” Then, when we get going again, and I know he’s getting close… but then he’s straining, thrusting into me and growling in my ear.  Come on, come on, cum on! I think.  Suddenly, he stops, and between shallow breaths, he says, “I drank too much, I’m sorry.” And he tries for a few minutes more, gives up, pulls out, tries to get me off with his hands – but that didn’t get me anywhere near a satisfying O.  He then wraps his arms around me, asks me to stay the night.  I tell him I can’t, and after we have this bizarre-but-short conversation about sex with other people (I told him I didn’t care… which, now, maybe wasn’t the right choice of words) and what we were looking for (him: “I have no grand plans” and me: “Something between dating and commitment”), he passed out and I left.

As I drove home, I called my ex back.  The thing is: the Rebel and I have this long history that I really can’t tell you about right now.  Suffice it to say that the relationship was decent, but the sex sizzled.  Still, I had refused to hook up with him now for over a year, and he’s been trying to get me to allow him back into my life ever since.  He called under this incredibly lame pretense (“You invited me to that comedy thing on Facebook, and I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.” What?  Are you serious?  I invited every one of my contacts to that).  The conversation that followed was slightly awkward, and only got weirder when he said, “I think about you all the time.”

Nooo… why are you telling me this?

And then he drops the bomb, “I’ve moved back to the area, and I’d like to get together sometime.”

What. the. fuck.  Uhh, what was I supposed to say to that?

-A.