Sex & Sox

My passions: Sex and the Boston Red Sox!


Friday, February 18, 2005

The Disappearing Man

Once upon a time, there was this man who worked at a newly-opened Advance Auto Parts store that I went into with my family because my mom needed... some little car part or something. I don't remember, because I was busy looking at the man.

His name was Kevin, and he wasn't much taller than I was, but looked just adorable in his red dress shirt and clean black baseball cap. His eyes were dark, but at the same time literally sparkling, and he had a hard time taking them off me to talk to my mother (his customer).

I didn't talk to him then, just smiled and glanced up at him through my eyelashes. When we left, my mom and sister both said, "Geez... he was really in to you."

When I got home, I called the operator to get the number for that store -- since it was still celebrating the "Grand Opening" sale, it couldn't be found in the phone book. Then, I called.

"Advance Auto, Kevin speaking."

"Kevin, hi... umm, I'm Tatiana, I was just in there with my mom, I was wearing the black..."

"OH! Yeah, I remember you. Hi... uhh... is something wrong?"

"No, I just wanted to call you."

"I was hoping I'd talk to you again."

I grinned. "Do you want to get together sometime?"

"S-sure! What's your number?" I could hear him scrambling around for pen and paper, and his co-workers teasing him. It was cute.

I gave him my number (I don't remember what it was) and spelled out my name for him. Since I was living alone, it was fine for him to call me anytime, and that night at 11 pm he did.

The next night, he took me out to eat Chinese, and we spent a few hours in the park afterwards, chatting.

We hadn't kissed, but we were sitting close together, and I rubbed my lips against his cheek. "I'm glad you didn't shave," I purred, "I like a little bit of stubble." This is very true -- I adore all things manly, whether it's stubble, chest hair, sweat, or a penis (I fucking LOVE those things!).

He kissed me then, and I admit that I thought of Rhett's line from Gone With the Wind: "You need to be kissed, and often, by someone that knows how to kiss." He knew how to kiss.

We ended up going back to my place because a Red Sox game was on (hey! I know my priorities), though I admit to watching very little of it as my attention was mostly on him. When the game was over, I turned my head from the television and pulled him up towards me, sliding my hand down the front of his pants.

He looked faintly nervous and said, "I don't like to sleep with a girl on our first date."

Okay. For most women, a comment like this melts them. It froze my heart. "You don't? Why? What if I want you to?"

Men must not be used to forward women, because he'd already confessed to being amazed (and pleased) by the initiative I put into calling him, and now he was staring at me like I was made of sugar and he was afraid I'd dissolve away if he touched me again... but wouldn't it be nice to get in a few licks?

We ended up fucking like animals, and he spent the night. He was a fantastic lay. In the morning, I got up and made him coffee, and we ate toast together before he went home.

For a few weeks, we had a routine. He'd come over after work, we'd fuck, he'd usually sleep over and then in the morning, I'd make him coffee while I got ready for work (I had a 9-5 office job that my mother drove me to) and he'd leave before my mom got there.

He started asking about commitment. I was honest: "Kevin, I'm not sticking to one man. Sure, I enjoy being with you, lots, but I'm not getting tied down. You're free to do the same, I don't expect you to be exclusive to me."

He didn't like that I wouldn't commit to him, but I didn't see a problem with it. If he wanted ass, I was available, and I'd even make him coffee in the morning. If we were working the same shift (which happened very rarely), I'd call him before I left for lunch to see if he wanted anything; if he did, I'd pick him up some food and drop it off at his work. It was casual, and I really enjoyed it.

Then, one day, he stopped calling, and stopped showing up at my house. I was too proud to call him; I was not going to chase after the man. I'd still see his truck at work, or driving around town, but that was it: the relationship was over.

I still laugh to think of it now, and wonder what the hell went wrong. I mean, certainly, I would rather have my man now than anyone I've ever even fantasized of being with (this means you, Colin Farrell), but it still amazes me that the guy had a woman fucking him and making him coffee... and he disappeared!
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