Rant: The Kid and the Long, Long Night

Ed. Note: This is a classic “me” post — starts one place, ends miles away. It’s a bit of a trip, but it’s a fun one. Hang tight.
I should go back to bed. It’s a raining Tuesday morning and I have a few minor goals today. One, I want to write my goals. (Ironic, isn’t that?) Two, I want to brainstorm a few ideas. Three, I want to have a nice breakfast, take a soggy walk up to the video store, come home, and write for a couple hours. The reward? Episodes five and six of the second season of The Wire.
(If you like intelligence, you admire a well-written, complex criminal story, and you like good acting, editing, and directing (and I mentioned the writing) and you’ve not yet seen The Wire, then what, pray tell, are you waiting for? Brilliance. Really.)
So, I sound like I’ve got it together. Plans for a low-key day, chilling. A day without men. Full-stop.
Let’s face it, there’s a certain point where we each get tired of the opposite sex’s bullshit in dating. One of the luxuries of being single is that when it all gets exacerbating, we can pull up the stakes and say, “Nah, man, party of one this week.” Yeah, don’t think I ain’t considering it.
Okay, I try to keep things relatively benign here. You don’t need to know my business. You probably want to know (filthy pervs) but you don’t need to know. Let’s break the rules this morning. A special exception.
So, a week or so ago, I hooked up with this kid. I was going through this two week period where my hormones raged like some political coup d’etat in South America. It was excruciating. I needed relief. I lowered the standards a bit, let’s say. Sorry, but it’s true. Yes, I let one slip by me.
This kid. I really, really, really hate to admit this, but I literally forget his name. I think I blocked it all out. I know I knew it earlier in the evening, but I remember thinking, at about 11, “What the fuck is his name?” and I’ve never since found out. So, I think it starts with a J, but it might be a D, and either way, I just don’t care enough to look the damned name up. I wrote it. Somewhere. But he’s The Kid.
I’m 32, he’s 26, not a big age difference. The thing is, I realized right then that all the men I’ve been seeing have been 34-36 of late. It’s been wonderful. I’d always toyed more with younger guys, since I do have a pretty young disposition when I want to, given my music and culture tastes and love of rebellion and so forth. But these guys I’ve been seeing have all kind of had it a bit more together, and certainly were far better lovers overall, with patience and dedication and openness being factored in, than I’d had in the past.

(You know, I got to say, there’s something much more attractive about divorced men now that I’ve had the privilege. They’ve had sex, regularly, and sorta know what they’re doing. Usually, even a sexless marriage means he gets out and gets free, then gets laid and gets open about it. Not an entirely bad set of circumstances, girls, if you’re looking for someone who has the geographical prowess to find your damned g-spot.)

So, he’s 26. One of these kids into Anime and punk and foreign flicks and art-house indies and classical music on Sundays. You know how it is. “I am artist, hear you roar.”
We hooked up for a coffee and had basically already said we’d watch a foreign flick, cuddle up with blankets and some wine, watch the movie, and play with each other the whole night. Given it was snowing outside, it sounded like brilliance. We ordered Chinese in, laid about, and got pretty damned intimate.
The great thing about the couch-and-movie thing with someone you’re interested in, at the very beginning of an encounter or relationship, is that virgin groping of each others’ bodies. It lasts for a couple hours running time, and then things heat up exponentially. When you’re already in a relationship, you just press pause. I like delay.

So, here’s where you need to know that I’ve gone from being a steamed milk lover to a vanilla lover to a malted milk lover. I ain’t chocolate yet, daddy. You don’t really know much about those aspects of me, but yeah, the only thing I don’t do, really, is pain or humiliation. Maybe one day I might get interested with the right person, and I don’t rule it out at all, but this is not that day. Suffice to say, I’m certainly beyond “you show me yours, I’ll show you mine” and other basics that may well reside in another galaxy. I obviously feel no fear about speaking out about sex, and certainly not while doing it. I’m very helpful. Older guys seem to enjoy this. Most of the time, younger guys did, too. Again, this was not that day.

Necking, kissing, groping, ooh. Nice. Of course, someone always needs to go to the bathroom, and it was him. Naturally, we decided the bedroom a more fitting place to play the extra innings. Onto the bed we went.
Things escalated to all-over kissing and using fingers in orifices and all those fun things. Now, for me, I have to say the experience was a headtrip. Longtime or thorough readers will have heard tell of a certain sexual encounter I retold that I’ve long since made private — a guy we’ll call M I really fell for and was devastated by in my youth.
I was cutting The Kid extra leeway because I knew the body type, the personality type, and for me, he was very much a throwback to that great guy who introduced me to my sexuality and gave me a glimpse at the lifestyle I now lead. Absolutely, the eyes, everything sort of reminded me of that sexy irreverent man of the past.
But make no mistake, regardless of where the “inspiration” came from, I was absolutely turned on. It didn’t matter how he fumbled or did whatever the hell he did, I was into the moment because I was making it happen for me.
We rested later, and then after an hour or two of sleeping, I rolled over and snaked down his body and gave him a blowjob, thinking of M the entire fucking time. (Hence the post about oral last week.) It was hot, probably last an hour or slightly longer, with a couple cuddle breaks for five, but yeah. The lights out, my mind was elsewhere. That part of the night went over very, very well.
But when he left, I knew I’d never be interested again. If you can’t get someone’s face out of your head when you’re playing with someone else, it just ain’t fair to do it again.
He left, though, because I finally rolled over, turned his face towards mine, and said simply, “You need to leave now” at 7:30am. I mean, fuck. 7:30? I think there should be a law about inquiring in 90-minute intervals from 4:30 on about departures for first-night sleepovers. Jesus. Then I won’t have to come shy of muttering “get the fuck out” when I need my sleep before work in the afternoon.
So, he left. We exchanged kisses. “Another movie next time,” he said/I said. Nod. Smooch. Buh-bye, and thanks for flying Indoor Air.
So, yesterday I encountered the kid. “So, that’s that,” I commented.
“Yeah, well, that was no fun, you were way too aggressive,” the Kid says.
I honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I mean, if they’re rubbing something like a clit and it’s not a clit, it bears mentioning, yes? If they haven’t got a clue where the g-spot is, it’s kind of nice to give them the keys to the future, n’est ce pas? And rolling over for an un-asked, un-told blowjob in the dead of the night, definitely a bad kind of aggression, I know, but I can’t help myself. I’m a monster. I should be locked up. Or tied up, at the very least. Please?
Yes. You heard it here first, readers. I’m too aggressive.
God, shoot me if I ever have to have feather sex again.** I’m implementing an “extraordinary cases only” rule about fucking guys under 30 now. Yes, one bad apple spoiled the barrel, but shit, I’ve only heard rumours about the bad lovers thing before now. I just hate having evidence thrown in my bed. I tell you.
And on top of all that, he was the kind of guy who doesn’t pick up the condom after. Learn this, men: It pisses us off when you do that. Toilet seat up? Not half as bad. Take your fucking condom with you. Please, and thank you. That concludes this public service announcement.
End rant. Thank you for listening. Now, which coffee shall I brew?

11 thoughts on “Rant: The Kid and the Long, Long Night

  1. Don

    There you go showing off your knowledge of the female body (specifically your own) and making the mighty male feel dumb. No wonder the kid found you aggressive. LOL Wish I’d met someone like you about 35 years ago. She would have made me a much better lover and much sooner!

    Have a good one.

    Reply
  2. scribe called steff

    Oh, come on, the kid’s there trying to do the happy-clit thing and he’s off by an inch. Someone’s gotta tell him!

    I’m *nice* about it at least. I kinda growl playfully or whisper it or something. It’s not some authoritarian approach. 😛

    But yeah, the kid’ll realize one day that being woken up for a blowjob is hardly the worst thing that can befall a man. Geez.

    Reply
  3. Mad Coyote

    He’s 26 and he hasn’t figured out how to make love to a woman yet?

    Must be a student of D.D. …

    Reply
  4. SemperSexualis

    You know, that’s a huge part of the reason I’ve given up on younger men, too. That painful inexperience and cockiness. On the other hand, far too many older men suffer from the same affliction. However, I loved your story despite the pathetic response he gave you….

    Reply
  5. scribe called steff

    MC — Don’t you just love private jokes?

    Yes, he must be. But not even. Wasn’t assertive enough.

    O — I had a great time writing that. Really got me out of the pissy mood I awoke in. That’s what I love about not working in the morning — I can get up and write out whatever stupid crap occured to me during the night.

    I may venture under 30 again, but yes, it will depend greatly on he who’s being done. Ahem.

    Glad you enjoyed that. 🙂 That’s the one kind of pain of mine I like others to enjoy — my rants.

    Reply
  6. The Emissary of the Twin Arts

    This post just breaks my heart.

    Steff (and all you older ladies out there), please don’t give up on the younger guys. There’s a lot of pressure on males to always be perfect and know exactly how to satisfy a woman. What most of these guys don’t realize is that if you do happen to be ignorant, **She Is Going To Know**. It will become immediately apparant that you don’t have a clue what’s going on, and generally one of two things will happen:

    1) She laughs at you and boots you out on your ass.

    2) She starts trying to help you learn some of this stuff.

    If this happens to you, don’t get all pissy and embarrassed. If you have at least one brain cell still functioning, you *Knew* it was going to happen. If she laughs at you, pssh, whatever. You don’t need that. If she’s willing to teach you, then start taking notes, damnit! Be grateful for aggressive women! Usually, you ask a woman what she likes and all you get is “Oh, uhm, uhm, uhm, I dunno…” Which usually translates into “I’m not comfortable talking about this with you, so I’ll settle for crappy sex because I’m afraid of embarrassing myself.”

    I love older women. I love the way they look, the way they act, the way they move, the way they learn to express anything they want through just their eyes and/or lips. They understand the value of communication.

    Here’s something that illustrates my point exactly: go to any dating website and compare the profiles for women older than thirty and younger than thirty. You know what you’ll see? The older women will typically be more articulate, actually pay attention to spelling and grammar, and will give more details on themselves and what they’re looking for. The younger women typically end up with “i wnt man dont play gamezz lol lol lol” and it **drives me to violence** to see that.

    I wish I had an older, experienced woman when I was just learning about all of this stuff. It would have shaved years off my learning curve and given me plenty of great memories to look back on.

    Reply
  7. scribe called steff

    You are so damned BANG ON with that comment. I guess it’s tragic, but hey. It is what it is, and I wasn’t the one making it tragic. I’ve simply responded in kind.

    SO true. Learn! Let your lovers tell you where to touch them! Let them be involved! Be glad you’ve found someone who knows their own body!

    EVERY BODY IS DIFFERENT. There is no one-size-fits-all just-add-beer orgasm trick, and you’re smoking CRACK if you think otherwise, people!

    If you’re young, you’re stupid. Accept this. It’s true. I was stupid. Now I’m not. In time, I’ll be even less so. Now it’s your turn. You will learn, Grasshopper, and you will grow, but first, you will listen and you will absorb information. This is what one calls a rite of passage.

    Part of why I don’t want a younger lover right now is that I’m tired of being a teacher in any way. I would love a man who could show me a few tricks — and believe me, there are tricks I do need to be shown. (Yer on a need-to-know, peeps, and there ain’t no need.)

    I want the built-in openness and articulation that comes from age and maturity.

    I’m fine with teaching a lover about me, but the last time a guy didn’t need to be schooled… my god, I was his for the taking, anytime he wanted. And that’s the thing. To want to be taken, that’s what it’s all about. Take me here, now, but dammit, take me.

    And let’s face it, if my writing about this sex journey thing is what’s getting you people off, then you’d rather see me with a smarter, sexier, more schooled lover. You want me surprised, you want me enlightened. Hell, I want to be both those things. I love surprises from a lover, and I don’t get as many through youth as I do through experience.

    Surprises rock. But that’s why God made blindfolds.

    Reply
  8. Mad Coyote

    I am SO with Emissary on this one, actually. My ex-wife was 10 years older than me, and most of my lovers since then have been 5 to 20 years my senior. Each of them has taught me something- most of it absolutely wonderful- but the most important thing I’d have to say I’ve learned is how to TEASE.

    Finding that sweet spot, taking her to the brink, then BACKING OFF…going and kissing something else…do it 2 or 3 times, and they’d get so frustrated (in a very good way) that they’d just about TAKE me!!!

    Of course, I don’t think The Kid would ever grasp this concept- he sounds a little too selfish and self-centered to even want to try it, let alone be told about it.

    You’re better off without him Steff. A vibrator may not be able to take out the trash, but something tells me he wouldn’t either, so I’d say you’re ahead of the game.

    Reply
  9. Albion

    A vibrator won’t take out the trash! I had to laugh -that’s a great comment!

    Yep, you’re right Steff, someone’s gotta tell him and if he’s too sure of his own prowess or his ego is bigger than his…ability…then he’s going to resign himself to a life of sex with inexperienced lovers who will dump him when they find out what he’s like – he’ll never learn the beauty of satisfying sex…

    I’m all for acting my shoe size on occasion, but there’s a time and a place; if we don’t learn something new every day we’re going to vegitate…on which there will shortly be a post on my own blog…’Stopping our nuts becoming raisins’ – well that’s the working title!

    So, God invented blindfolds. Now there’s a smart plan. I have this beautifully soft yachting rope that feels like silk on your skin and would tie down a schooner in a force nine…wait though…

    damn, no plane tickets!

    Stick to guys whose age adds up to double figures…and get a subscription to Duracell – well you gotta have a back-up plan!

    Sweet dreams, Scribe.

    Ciao.

    Reply
  10. scribe called steff

    Shay — Yeah, well, you know, I was willing to give a helping hand, but apparently that was the problem. Heh!

    Mad — Hmm, haven’t experieced the 10-year difference yet. Freaks me out.

    Yeah, see, I’m all about the taking-what-I-want thing. I mean, I see it, I like it, I take it, I own it. This has served me well. This has been fun. My companions seem to like the greedy mindset I sometimes get into. And then I get all happy and sharing again, and everyone lives in bliss.

    Except for The Nameless Kid. It’s just so weird, sex not being enjoyable. I always had that lumped in with speaking tongues, eating blood pudding, and other things I intentionally meant to avoid experiencing. Dammit, foiled again.

    And you know what, living on the fourth floor of a walk-up, I really do need something/one to take out the trash. Head = Trash, no? Something like. I know trading sexual favours is supposed to be more risque, but I’m into bargaining like, Massage = Dishes, that sort of thing. It keeps the relationship “working.”

    Albion — I keep wanting to tyoe “Albino.”

    Well, his ego was bigger than his ability in more than one ways, but let’s not kick the man while he’s down. Besides, some men work very well under, um, diminuitive conditions.

    I need to buy some bondage rope. Hmm. Soon. It’s on the list. The stuff I had, I lost. The terrycloth robe thing doesn’t make good knots. Mmf. Shoelaces hurt.

    I’m supposed to be getting some new sex toys in the mail, just not soon enough. Sigh. So at least the stocks in Duracell will be paying off.

    Sweet dreams yerself. I’m hoping for NyQuil-induced moments of Halcyon bliss. My karma demands it. Damned flu.

    Reply

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