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Being a single gal in NYC can get lonely, and as such, some backsliding is bound to occur. You know, that old thing that isn’t necessarily the best thing, but definitely more familiar than the strange things running around the city? Yep, that guy.
This particular encounter is the one that put an end to all my willy-nilly backsliding.
A former “lover” of mine had moved into the area recently, and was pretty much always a sure thing. It had been a little while since I felt the touch of a man, so I figured I would treat myself to some adult play.
Let me just start by saying, do NOT judge a book by its cover. I did, and I could have never guessed that this sweet baby-faced man would be the sexual deviant that he is. In casual interaction he’s a generally mild mannered young man but behind closed doors he’s an animal... and not necessarily the kind you actually want to have sex with.
I mean seriously, the guy actually used the word “ravage” to describe his style in the bedroom. Let’s take a moment to review the Merriam-Webster definition of that word:
RAVAGE: Verb rav·aged rav·ag·ing
Definition of RAVAGE:
Transitive verb: to wreak havoc on : affect destructively
Intransitive verb: to commit destructive actions
Ain’t that some scary ass shit? He essentially told me he wanted to wreak havoc on and commit destructive actions to my privates. That really should have been my first tip to back away slowly.
Yet, here we are, with me inviting the guy over for some nighttime fun. Since I already knew I was in for a rough night, I made sure I took a couple shots of whatever cheap liquor was in the freezer to set the mood and relax into the ridiculousness that was bound to occur.
After some small talk, we got down to the business of this visit. There was a little light foreplay with some nice kisses here and there… so far so good. Though a bit more hostile than I prefer, the first bout of sex was fine. Nothing to write home about, since ravaging has never really been my style, but it was enough for me to call it a night and drift off into some well-deserved sleep.
But Babyface had other plans for my vagina.
I’ll never understand why guys think the appropriate way to approach a sleeping woman is to shove an erect peen into an at-rest vag. If I’m asleep, it’s not likely that my love below is juicy enough to endure that kind of trauma. Being awoken from a peaceful sleep by the feeling of your lady parts tearing because your partner is too lazy/selfish/stupid to get things ready down there is some BULLSHIT.
I tried to settle into it and enjoy myself, but at the end of the day I would have much preferred to still be sleeping.
After aggressively “ravaging” me from behind for what felt like could have been forever, he let me know that he was nearing his peak and asked me to flip over so he can cum on my face.
Excuse you? You want me to do what? So you can do WHAT?
Sir, there is ample back, bottom, chest and stomach area available for you to leave your mark but you want to nut on my face?
But now that I think about it.... Flashback to that last time we had sex: He pulled out, ripped the condom off, and attempted to ejaculate on my face without warning. Hmmm.... obviously I should have seen this coming. I suppose he thought he was making progress by asking before acting. My apologies for not recognizing manners when I see them.
Fast forward back to where we left off in the story: our heroine (me) struggling with the decision of whether or not to punch Babyface in the eye for asking such a bullshit question mid-coitus. I decided against it because I wasn’t interested in the possibility of him returning the favor (YIKES).
Instead, I offered up my tummy as a place for him to finish up. Don’t you know this fool pulled out, squirted all over my stomach, and then rolled over to go to sleep? Just before closing his eyes, I hear him mutter “I bet you’re glad that’s over.” What.The.Hell.Just.Happened?
Everything was moving so fast, I think I was in shock. As I laid there in a pool of sticky gunk, I was sure I could not feel any more defiled and violated. I was wrong.
After he begrudgingly obliged my request to clean up his mess, he decided he would rather walk the 2 miles back to his house at 4 am than spend the night at my place. There’s something extremely sobering about showering off the semen of a man that just left your apartment at 4 am. I had a chance to reevaluate some things about my singledom, as I let the hot water wash away my shame.
The moral of this story is, just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should. I’d rather be a card carrying member of the Lonely Vaginas Club, than have to subject myself to that kind of “ravaging” again.
That kind of revelation is extremely empowering. No longer at the mercy of my perceived loneliness, I’m in a real position to examine what I need out of a sexual relationship, or any relationship for that matter. I need a partner that’s going to be ambitious, yet compassionate; the guy who is always ready to try new things, yet patient with me when I’m feeling a little less adventurous. Maintaining relationships with guys like Babyface definitely won’t yield the type of fulfillment I’m seeking, so it’s time me and my lady parts started making some better decisions.
About a week after that awful encounter, I bumped into Babyface at a bar and he was hugged up with another pretty young thing. My friend pulled me aside to make sure I was OK seeing him interact so intimately with another girl. I assured her I was fine.
Secretly, I was praying for the well-being of that poor girl’s vagina.