A Sort of a Relationship
Mr. Pissy Part I
“I want to open you up like a flower,” the fifty-two-year-old dude, whispered in my ear, that I was making out with on a park bench, like a teenager without a house to go fuck in. It was the first date, and I was already in trouble. We had spent several hours in the park, talking, walking in the most beautiful weather, and even witnessed whales breaching in front of a sunset. It felt like a magic first date.
Normal me would have gotten up and kicked some sand at him after a line like that and gone home. But he had already touched me, and in my touch, deprived been a year since anyone looked at me, let alone caressed my cheek state; I literally purred at him.
“Do you want to go back to my house?” He asked without really waiting for me to respond. “ I mean, I hope you don’t judge me for how my house is. Can you give me like fifteen minutes to clean up?”
“Um, sure, I need gas,” I told him. Usually not a fuck on the first date person, I didn’t care. Being touched felt good, and I was going to get more. And it seemed like a bad plan to fuck on a park bench.
His house was small, clean and cluttered. And he had a single IKEA bed in the living room because he had his office set up in the bedroom. It was the kind of uncomfortable, unpractical bed I had in my twenties when I was nomadic for…
