So it had been a few days since our kiss outside the club. Lorenzo and I were knee-deep in a budding relationship. The thing about Lorenzo, he was good at the word-sparring, which is another check for him on the list of things I liked. We bantered. We teased. We had our sweet moments. He knew how to play. It was a good thing we planned to meet at a local art festival because I was ready for the fun to get a bit more physical.
That evening, we met on the outskirts of the festival. The first thing I noticed was how our connection so easily carried over from our night at the club. The sparks were there.
No doubt the communication we had kept up over text helped. We kissed again. And that became the theme of our evening. Walking, hand-in-hand, up and down the rows of vendors and presentations. We didn’t really pay attention to any of it. The moments were more about finding the excuses to touch and explore each other’s lips. At one point, we lay in the grass away from the crowds and had one of the best make-out sessions I can recall. Everything felt so fresh and exciting and new. What a great reminder of why I love my open marriage.
We eventually made our way back to my car. He had me pressed against the door. Our bodies connected. I felt his control begin to slip. His hand was under my shirt. His cock was hard, grinding against me. I met it with the want I felt as well. My hips rocked forward, meeting his, coaxing more. And then I remembered…
“So,” I said in between kisses and hitched breaths. “I have a hotel, tonight.”
No hesitation.
“I’ll see you there,” he smiled.
And with that, I gave him the address and room number and headed out to get ready for my new stallion.
I felt thrilled. My blood raced. My stomach dropped as I imagined our coming night together. Maybe something like my first night with Armando, only less hectic and more sensual? My mind played out a million different scenarios…all but the one that actually happened.
Lorenzo, Lorenzo, Lorenzo…
Oh what a beautiful build of excitement at the prospects of what you might bring to this Vixen’s table. Too bad all the fantasy could not live up to your reality.
Lorenzo was not good in bed.
Let me paint the picture.
There we are in bed. Yay for amazing kisses. The sensuality was perfection. I was ready for more. The clothes start coming off. I get him naked before me and notice Lorenzo is longer than Armando but lacking the girth. No problem. As long as he knows where and how it works, we will be fine.
A deep push.
He’s inside of me.
YES. FINALLY.
I arch my hips up, ready to have my fantasy fulfilled.
My heart pounds.
One thrust. Two…Three…
AAAAAAAAND…
Done.
Wait, what!? I know that’s what you’re thinking, right now, dear reader.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen. All that wonderful, beautiful lead-up to ‘one, two, three, done’.
He pulls out. I lay there a little confused. Maybe this was some sort of foreplay? He heads into the bathroom.
I’m a generous vixen. I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt, here. I watch as he pulls off the condom and I wait for the next one.
Nothing.
He gets dressed.
THE MOTHERFUCKER GETS DRESSED.
I slip on my button-down. It’s awkward as hell at this point. Maybe he feels it? Maybe not? I cannot read this man, anymore. But I do know he’s feeling out of his depth.
Thoughts of Jemaine from Flight of The Conchords are running through my head:
Lorenzo just sort of decides it’s time to go. We kiss at the door. He takes a step back to take one last long look. I’m still in nothing but the half-buttoned shirt.
“You’re so hot,” he murmurs.
And then he leaves.
Needless to say, I was confused. I sat on the bed, baffled by the blown expectations. There went a man who had all the right moves, except the ones that counted.
Thankfully, I still had Armando.