28 September 2004

Sesso e la Città Eternà - Welcome to the Passive Aggressive Voices in my Head

Around the end of August I had been so busy with work and the flat that I really hadn't given Shithead much thought. Plus right around that time he was trying to play some "maybe I'll see you tonight,
maybe i won't" game; I told him it was obvious we were both really
really busy and, since I had plans to take a few days off for holidays, I'd call him....

*checked Daily Planner*
*Note 1: Be a Bitch*
*Note 2: See above*

....at some point in September. Cause A) I can't be arsed with head games right now and B) well, it was on my agenda.

Fast forward two weeks later at 11 pm on a Sunday night: BG and I took our friend Almost Perfect Man to our favorite Chinese spot as he spent a large part of the day putting together our armoires. We head to a table upstairs and lo and behold there's Shithead with some chick. I pointedly ignored him; this is my default reaction when it comes to voices arguing in my head.

"He's sleeping with her."
"He's not."
"Is too."
"No way. She's ugly."
"Yes way. She's breathing."
"But we go out to dinner with Curly and other male friends without batting an eyelash."
"Yes, but we aren't named Enemy, Destroyer of Queens, Angel of Broken Hearts, Great Beast that is called Weasel, Prince of Thieving Bastards, Father of Liars, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Mindgames aka Shithead."
(At this point the voices each say "You have a point" and promptly switch stances. Help.)

Anywho, as I predictably ignored him, he predictably sent me a text message at midnight saying "welcome back, lots of kisses". I don't respond. It was late and I had little credit left.

Fine. I was pissed off, too.

Tuesday he sent me a message saying that he thinks I didn't respond to his message because 1) I'm really busy or 2) I don't want to see him any more.

Let's keep in mind here that:

A) When the fit hit the shan 3 years back, it was Signore Shithead who was saying "I need some time to myself to work out these problems" and then proceeded to play extreme yo-yo with my heart. Against a concrete wall.
B) He was out to dinner with some chick
C) It's been less than two days since he sent the message
D) I'm. in. No. Fucking. Mood. For. Head. Games.


I promptly blow a gasket or two and reply thusly:

You, of all the people in the world, you are the last person to start a discussion of this sort with me. the flat's only half done, work is kicking my ass, I still haven't gone anywhere on holidays, I have to renew my permesso di sogiorno and, all things considered, I don't need you and your fucking head trips right now.

His reply?

"Head trips? Explain what you mean or would you rather do it face to face?"

"Whatever you prefer but I'm still working, then I have to get my laundry and eat."

"Well I have to do emails at 11pm then be at piazza whatever at 7am. We'll hear from each other sometime tomorrow with more calm. Kisses."

Uh, no.

"Fuck calm. You send me a fucked up message like that, with all that I have to do lately and you want to hear from each other with more calm? Fine. I'll call you when I have time - after October."

*makes 3 snaps in a z-formation, moves head like a Egyptian*

Unfortunately, my hormones kicked in on Thursday, which meant my back molars were being worn down to nubs thanks to sexual frustration; a frantic scavenger hunt amongst my boxes ensued in the quest to find where I packed the Silver Bullet.

The rest of September has passed in a work dazed blur; this weekend the BG & I head off to Amsterdam for a work (*snigger*) related party (read: we're going to be Off Our Faces.)

This is very good and a much needed break, but there's still a ton of work related shit to be done before then, a conference that we have to organise for the next weekend, and somewhere in there I have the appointment to renew my permesso (she says, while updating her blog). Oh, and as I am the only girl in the flat who is not deathly afraid of a non-liquid screwdriver, I need to put together the armoire for the smaller student's room.

Yesterday Shithead texts me. He says he knows I'm busy but could I do him a huge favour and pass by his place that night?

I warn him that I'm getting sick (Thanks, Curly), I finish at 9pm, but around his part of town and I'd call him then. I figure I do owe him something for the loan of his power drill, which I haven't yet returned.

(Note to any English Students reading this: The power drill has no symbolism whatsoever. None. Zero. Zip. Stop that.)

I call him to warn him that I'm in the area and promptly find out the big favour involves the fact that he's been in yet another motorcycle accident, courtesy of yet another crazy Roman driver. Two weeks ago. His shoulder was dislocated and he's all trussed up. And both his bike and The Latest Maybe Ex-Girlfriend Who Surprised Him On His Last Trip Home didn't even get a scratch.


He goes on to tell me that his sister, The Latest Maybe Ex-Girlfriend Who Surprised Him On His Last Trip Home, and Some Other Chick That He Presumes I Know By Name have been taking care of him but they were all busy tonight. But Luca Semprefatto and his girlfriend are there, and Marco Bevecomeunaspugna is arriving later. Would I stop by too or was I too tired and under the weather?

Well, against all better judgement I went. My bizzare reasoning?

1) I love Luca Semprefatto. Luv 'im. Despite being one of Shithead's best friends, he had my back throughout the entire Nuclear Relationship Armageddon. His chica is really cool also. Due to various family tragedies, he had moved back home for a bit in another area of the Boot, then back to Rome. I haven't seen him in over a year.
1a) Luca Semprefatto's presence also meant the presence of some serious quantities of hash. There's the added bonus that I could pick his and the Missus' brains about Amsterdam.
2) Did I mention I luuuv Luca Semprefatto?
3) Did I mention the hash?
4) It's the week before my period. I'd shag a cripple senseless right now. Oh wait...
5) And once I'm done shagging the cripple, kicking the shit out of him will be really easy.

So he answered the door with his arm completely strapped to his side, a two week growth of beard, looking rather miserable. And then we all had fun getting stoned and playing poker (playing for real money is not something I recommend when one is completely fagged out from various stresses, can't remember the exact rules, and has been toking up. I would have been in the poor house.)

Half past midnight we wind it up (much to the disappointment of Marco Bevecomeunaspugna) and head to sleep. Shithead has been smoochy all night, but I really don't want to inflict any more pain on him.

What can I say? I will kick puppies and cats without a second thought but I just can't bring myself to senselessly inflict pain on a dumb animal.

As we're lying there, he does the up close and personal staring thing for a bit (which I really hate when people do that. It makes me blush. Surely there has to be some trick to Not. Fucking. Blushing. Anyone? Please?)

Then he brings out the big guns. And the fishing rod.

"Ask me a question."

Fuck me Jesus, do we have to go through this right now? Let's try playing dumb.

"What kind of question? I really don't have anything to ask you right now."

"Any question. I am an open book for you."

Fuck. Didn't work.

"I don't want to ask you anything."
"Yes you do."
"No I don't."
"Do. Your breathing is ragged."

Not only do I have blushing as a dead giveaway, now I have raggedy breathing too. Fucking brilliant.

Of course, while this whole Do/Don't detante is going on my brain is scrolling questions like a Basic program stuck in a For While loop. Examples:

"Who the fuck was the chick with you at the Chinese place?"
"When did The Latest Maybe Ex-Girlfriend Who Surprised Him On His Last Trip Home get back to town and why?"
"Who the fuck is Some Other Chick That He Presumes I Know By Name?"
"Do you know how many forms of pain I wish on The Latest Maybe Ex-Girlfriend Who Surprised Him On His Last Trip Home?"
"Do you know how many forms of pain I wish on you?"
"Did you ever think your latest misfortunes are caused by karma?"
"Was the kid yours after all?"
"Why do you feel the need to cheat on every girl you ever date?"
"Do you know that I don't believe one word out of your mouth?"
"What the fuck are you playing at?"

In the meantime, as I can out-evade anyone, he switched tactics.

"Ok. Do you think I'm the right guy for you?"

Holy shit, I can't believe he just went there.

"Well, it's not like I have a list of things I require..." ...and anyway it appears that one cannot exactly regulate these little affairs of the heart, bugger n' blast it.

"Well, when we see each other what do you think?"

"..." **BOOP-BOOP-BOOP**Evasion cannons have misfired. Please take evasi...fuck."


"Look, I am taking this one day at a time." That's all you're getting tonight, buddy. Please go to sleep. I am not coherent enough to have this discussion

*vast stretch of silence in which I breathe deeply hoping he'll fall asleep thinking I've already fallen asleep*

*he snores*

Woo-hoo! Evasive sleep faking worked!

*he snores*


*I remember I can't poke him over onto his side*


Stop reading here if you don't want Graphic TMI (Too Much Information)

So with his tossing and turning, snoring, the fact that BG called me at 3am as she forgot her keys and somehow lost Curly, weird dreams half-remembered dreams about poker cards and sex, and the fact that I managed to roll out of bed during one of these dreams, I didn't get much sleep last night.

I awoke, not unpleasantly, to the sensation of someone rather insistantly sucking on my nipple. Someone. Right. I crank one eye open and fuzzily admire the contortions and perserverance of a horny injured half-Italian with his arm strapped to the side and front of his body.

There's no way I'm shagging him. I'll end up hurting something.
Good thing I'm not much of a nipple girl when it comes to erogenous zones.
Damnit all to hell, he's entirely too good at this.
And he is sort of tied up...
Just think of all the nasty sloooow teasing you could do...

I'm afraid at this point I ripped off his underwear and mine and rolled him onto his back. Any intentions of slow, prolonged, make-em-beg-for-it foreplay metaphorically followed the underwear shortly.

You know that first slide into penetration, the one that makes you go


I came. A lot.

Female ejaculation is not a myth ladies and gents, and though it is the bane of bed linens and mattresses everywhere, I gave not a rat's bubonic ass. My legs involuntarily squeezed his sides as le petit mort hit.

Let's review some things shall we?

A) I am an ex-ballet dancer. I have thigh muscles from hell.
B) His arm is strapped to his side.


While trying to keep my torso from smooshing his forearm, I immediately forced my thighs away from his sides, which slid me back down his cock. Which is not easy to do mid orgasm and certainly did not aid in slowing things down to a more leisurely pace. Quite the opposite.

We started going hell for leather and twice more I had to force my thighs away from his sides. Neither could I hold on to his shoulders or his sides for leverage like I normally do. All the while I'm trying to move things towards slower and smoother so I don't hurt his arm or shoulder.

He responds with harder and faster.

Fucking hell, he's the one half tied up! And on the bottom! And I'm the one getting frustrated! Gah!

"Turn on the light. I want to see you."

Now maybe I can slow things down...

As if.

At various points I:

- tried to shove a pillow under his head so he wouldn't stress his shoulder
- tried to slow things down. again.
- had to unsqueeze my thighs again

Exasperated, I lent over and bit his lip.

"I don't want to hurt you."

Why I thought biting his lip while saying this was a way to slow thing down, I couldn't tell you. As a diversionary tactic it failed miserably. His only response was to pull the grind n' slam horizontal mambo until we were both screaming through gritted teeth.

Damn that boy and his hips. Neither of us could breathe normally for a while, but it was obvious he was in some pain.

"Are you ok?"

"Ho goduto con dolore ed era una nuova sensazione. Interessante. Bello anche. Pero c'è solo dolore ora"*

I am so tying him up again.

*Godere means enjoy in Italian, but in slang also means to come. Keeping that in mind:

I came with pain and it was a new sensation. Interesting. Also good. But now there's only pain.

1 comment:

  1. Anonymous22:50

    This would be the TMI category.

    Ok, so my two previous (and only previous) girlfriends wire both very orgasmic. The first was very vocal, and writhed around on the bed a lot. The second was very wet, and fountany.

    This was a very big turn on for me, the sense of power of making a woman come a lot.

    However, we get to my current girlfriend, who to my knowledge has never come during intercourse (with me anyway), but who does come during oral.

    This is not providing the big turn on to me as the "orgasm machine". This also leads to some unfortunate chains of logic :

    1) Previous girlfriends were faking it a lot. Ugh. (I dont think this could be the case in #2, because it was a physical response, and I don't know that you could fake it, but #1 could have been I spose)

    2) My skills have vanished somewhere in my 1.5 year dryspell before current girlfriend.

    3) I dont yet know current girlfriends body (even though we have been together a year)

    4) She can't come from intercourse

    5) We are not as sexually compatable as #1 and #2, which would suck since we are so compatable every where else.

    Any advice?