Saya is a complicated one. Our dates are not no-drama. She often brings in detritus from her previous night or week. When my wife asked me about Saya, about this date, in anticipation of it, I told her that Saya has a somewhat manic availability. Sometimes she’s interested and available. Others not.
On this particular night, I was catching her just a few hours after the end of a party she had hosted at some club. She warned me in anticipation that she might be hungover. That she would be hungover.
She was hungover.
This didn’t stop her, but it did put a bit of a damper on her energy level.
So her energy level was somewhat depressed. And she needed an orgasm to relieve her headache. I withheld the orgasm for a bit. I teased her with the wand, with my tongue, making her wait.
But I’ve skipped forward. Saya arrived, dressed as I’d requested. Not in a particularly hot outfit. (“Dress however the fuck you want. 😉 not sexy. I want you NOT sexy. But. Bring your wand. Charged.”) Although she can’t help but be hot. She was wearing jeans, low-waisted, and a cropped sweater.
“What’s under the sweater?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she told me. Nothing, she told me.
She had cute, stripe-y, thong cotton panties under the jeans, though. Which I saw not too long after splaying her out on the bed for me.
“You’re so sexual!” she said, at one point.
It’s funny. I haven’t felt very sexual lately. But ok….
With the vibrator, it seemed like her orgasm was going to be close at hand. But the way things unfolded, that wasn’t quite right. Uncharacteristically, I found myself hungry to fuck her.
“Oh, we’re doing that?” she said.
“Not if you don’t want,”
“No!” she said, “I just didn’t realize that was on the table.”
In the event, I fucked her, from above, in missionary position. For fifteen or twenty minutes. While she wasn’t quite moribund, she wasn’t all that responsive, either. She had an arm over her eyes, and her head turned to the side. As if to prevent her from seeing me, while I fucked her. Maybe this is what she was doing, I don’t know.
I found myself imagining that it was likely to come to a close with a faked orgasm on her part.
Later, when I came, fucking her a second time, this time on our sides, from behind, we joked a bit about necrophilia, about her lifelessness. In any event, if she did fake an orgasm, she didn’t do it while I was fucking her. She did it after the (first) fucking, while I went down on her. And if she faked it, she sure waited a long time. And endured a lot of performative approach. If I were going to fake an orgasm, I wouldn’t perform that much in advance. I would just fake it and come.
I don’t think she faked it. Not the first orgasm. And not the second. Of course, I could never know. But my hunch is, no.
I still had a cock full of semen, though. And at this point, Saya was ready for a nap.
“How long do we have the room for?” she asked me.
I told her we had another hour or so.
“Can I nap?” she asked.
“You can,” I said. “But be ready to be woken up, and for me to fuck your face.”
She passed out. She snuggled up against me, her head in the crook of my armpit. And I found myself thinking how lucky she is in this regard. That’s just not how I can sleep. I need to not be touching the person I’m sharing a bed with. Whether that’s Tea, or anyone else. Somehow, my parents, God, configured me in such a way that impingement is an omnipresent barrier to sleep.
The music was excellent, we both agreed. I began with “Mil Pasos” by Soha. And sent YouTube Music to play radio based on that. It was a pretty fucking good playlist. I can’t share it with you. In a playable format, easily. But I can share it with you.
Before our final round, Saya asked if I love her. I’m not sure where this came from. I’ve written over and over that I fall a little in love with everyone I have sex with. This is true, for sure. But “love” as a verb? That’s some rare air there for me. I told her that.
She told me some shit about how she only fucks people who love her. Or who pay her. I said something to the effect of, I’m flattered. As I suppose I’m in each category, and neither.