GIRL 62
HALF-BLOW GIRL
She had to be the most aggressive internet dating girl I'd ever seen. She had one
of those sales personalities, as in, "I have to close this deal right NOW."
I asked her out, and immediately the negotiation went to the location
for the date. She insisted on a restaurant right by her. But she was 60
miles down the road, and she was not precisely my type (at the time, I
sought blondes, she was a brunette). So she whined, bitched, moaned,
cried, threw temper tantrums and bullied me.
Don't get me wrong. I've lost plenty of negotiations in my time. But my win-loss record is sufficient that I get called back to negotiate once again.
So Half-Blow Girl finally gives in and agrees to an early evening date. I meet her at the corner pub, City Streets, and she's dressed funny. She's in a pantsuit. Now some women, Girl 6 included, can fuckin' pull off a pantsuit. But Girl 6 was long and lean and blonde and gorgeous, and her athletic tummy was revealed by the suit. Half-Blow Girl's suit just made her look fat. Now, don't get me wrong, she sent me a photo of herself wearing nothing but garter belt, thigh-high stockings and stiletto pumps, and there was nothing wrong with that body. But if you encase the feminine form in a pantsuit like this, it just makes her look lesbo.
Just a word about clothing. I fully understand that the woman needs to meet clients and go to work. But there's no need to look like a tank doing it. And for God's sake, you could sell better with a short skirt than with a bull dyke get-up.
But anyway, we got along okay. I did notice that her story of her divorce was the typical female accusation of, "he cheated on me!" Yet when I pulled the string on it, as I always do, what I found was a key incident. Half-Blow Girl and her husband were both very sexual. Either from her request or from his, they decided to bring another maninto their bedroom for two-guy-on-one-girl sex. Ah, that's the best there is. Except for three guys on one girl. After all, a woman has three orifices. Why not three cocks at once? It's in at least half my porn. (The rest is mothers raping sons and some awesome gigantic orgies, but that's another story.)
So I didn't flinch, but apparently the girl's husband did. At the last minute, as he watched his wife and love of his life kiss some strange man with a passion she'd rarely shown him, he got jealous and asked her to stop. She looked at him and told him to go fuck himself. Upset, he withdrew upstairs while Half-Blow Girl took full advantage of the male visitor, and according to her description, she fucked his brains out while her husband, upstairs, cried himself to sleep.
I make no value judgments of the story above. Except for this - for a woman who did that to bitterly state, "he CHEATED on me!" is disingenuous at best.
but left to my own devices, I would have kissed her at the door of the restaurant and let her go, but she actually asked to come over to the Snake Ranch.
I said okay. Once inside, she wanted me to sign out a copy of EMERGENCY DEEP to her. Fine. Then she wanted to suck my cock.
Jeez, women can be so demanding.
I sat down, unzipped my pants, and put my cock in her face. Now, bear in mind, there was no Viagra dose involved. I didn't expect to be in combat. Yet here I was, with a woman I wasn't crazed about, putting a raging hardon on her face.
What's up with that?
Yet females I liked, who were just a little on the bitchy side, were met with limp dicks?
Not even I could figure it out.
So I lay back, shut my eyes, and felt her mouth going sensuously up and down on my cock.
And then it happened.
She said, "sorry, time's up, I gotta go."
What???
"I'm really sorry, I have to run. I need to go pick up my daughter."
Are you insane? Myraging hardon is stuffed into your mouth, and you tell me time is up? Why did you fucking start sucking my cock in the first place?
I refused to get up and walk her to the door. This was a relationship crime, and relationship criminals deserve much worse than to escort themselves out.
"Aren't you going to walk me to my car?" she asked.
No, I said. I'm going to finish what you started. You walk yourself to your car. I shut my eyes and ignored her, my masturbation becoming faster as I started getting turned on at the idea of a strange and pissed off woman watching me touch myself.
I heard the front door slam before I came, and somehow, after she left, it wasn't as fun. I got up, pulled up my pants, and went back to work.
Weeks later, she called. Then months later. She seemed to want a rematch. To finish what she started. I lined up like this - I wasn't giving rematches to girls who had sucked down every drop of the cum. Why would I give special treatment to a bitter female who left halfway through a blowjob?
The last phone call I got from her was when I was walking Bat Girl to the Ramjet to go back to her place. I let it go to voicemail while I took Bat Girl home, walked her in, and for the next seven hours fucked the hell out of the woman, and in return, got the hell fucked out of me.
The next morning, as I drove the car back home, I checked my voice mail. It was Half-Blow Girl. I called her back.
"I notice you keep calling me," she said coyly.
Half-Blow Girl, I'm just returning your call, I said.
She didn't remember calling me. She was either drunk or lying. Or both. It doesn't really matter.
But one thing is for sure. That a woman like that can act like she was "done wrong" by a guy, and the whole world believes her, is just fucking wrong.
Note to all females reading this: It is morally wrong to up and leave in the middle of a blowjob. I don't care if you're the Secretary of State, once you start, you are honor bound to finish.
Postscript: Later, Half Blow Girl found love. At least I thought she had. It didn't stop her from calling me late at night, a few times when I was with Bat Girl on the kind of date in which we held hands and stared into each other's eyes. But then Half Blow Girl suffered something that no one I've ever known has -- her boyfriend was murdered one night in the City of Brotherly Love. Shot in the head in a road rage incident while he was on the wayhome from work.
Something like that makes one pause to try to understand if there is any meaning to all of life. It seems blasphemous to suggest that Karma is at work in both the lives of HB Girl and her boyfriend, particularly since he left children behind. How does one trust a Universe that would do that?
I know the answer to that one, believe it or not. But I won't spoil the story for you.
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