...one then went for the bed, the other for the couch; one left too soon, the other I couldn't get rid of fast enough; and one was only there at all because the other one wasn't.
The Bachelor and I had a lovely time on Friday night. And more on Saturday. He was sweet and charming and funny and attentive and ... ohmygod so good. I know I've talked about circus sex in the past, but that was just adventure. This was so far beyond, good thing the neighbors were out of town for the holiday weekend. No tricks or bells and whistles or feats of exhibitionism either, just enthusiasm and a talent, and a big payoff for my patience.
Alas, the Bachelor has a built-in expiration, and the alarm usually goes off after about a dozen hours or so. As I'd used up my quota for the week, he wasn't available to enjoy he fruits of my bender on Sunday. Which leads us directly to the door of...
The Biker, also known as "Chew-your-arm-off-and-leave-it-behind-in-Harlem-if-you-have-to-but-get-out-at-all-costs Guy." Why on earth would I hook up with him again? I was drunk, he's a good kisser with a hard body (biker as in cyclist, not Harley), and the Bachelor didn't answer my messages.
That said, there are a few lessons to be learned here.
-- If you have to keep score ("I went down on you in the bar; now it's your turn"), then you've already lost.
-- If you push down on the top of my head even once, it will be the last time you will be in a position to do so. This is not a porn flick, I am not a prostitute, and you need to show some respect and appreciation.
-- As I am non-confrontational to a fault, I probably won't actually kick you out -- unless you've gotten physically violent. But if I don't offer you a shower, a toothbrush (I keep a stash of spares, courtesy of my dentist), or breakfast, consider yourself unwelcome.
Also, "You're so macho" is not a compliment, Don Juan.
Nicfit, if you're reading this, please stop me from ever making that mistake again. Three strikes is enough.