THE SIDE CHICK'S SIDE OF THE STORY (PART 1)


SIDE CHICK
It was the first night and I didn’t hesitate to break all the top commandments, one of which being: Do not fuck on the first night.

Well…. I regret to inform everyone that I had not only thrown my ass in a passionate circle, but I also bobbed for penis like children bobbed for apples in the olden days as a spring tradition.

I fucked him like it was our anniversary like we had dated for ten years and were married for seven. Yes, it’s true, I auctioned my vagina off like it was on Stock exchange, I gave him the premium pu**y package in exchange for his down payment of a simple dinner and 4 installment payments of wine.

Jokes aside, the next morning I reached for him with no shame, proudly firing my ding-a-ling breath every which-a-way as I whispered good morning. He welcomed my initiative, pulling me in close.

He had been such a gentleman and the night had flown so smoothly I felt obligated to thank him for not being an asshole. I proceeded to top him off with ‘morning glory’, not to be mistaken, I was simultaneously celebrating the end of a drought.

Sometimes it can be difficult to screen the right man that you want to knock boots with. I had dated pimps (literally), pretentious businessmen, scraggly thugs, guys in “committed” relationships, and men who just couldn’t get right (you know the type that got every excuse on why their life isn’t in order – always the victim), and when I thought I finally found a good contender to have a nice sensual evening with, he seemingly blew me off. A couple texts here and there, flaky date attempts, and then boom-we just stopped communicating.

It was hard out here.

After our powerful pu**y-pe*is-poppations, we cuddled, kissed, and bid each other farewell.

Now here is the moment when women typically wonder if he’s going to call, if it was a one-night stand, and was it all pretend?

I wasn’t too worried, I knew he had to be crazy to not call me back, because I’m cool as shit and I’m not a dead fish in the bedroom, even if he called me back for sexual purposes only, I knew regardless the intent, I was getting a callback.

And that I did.

We continued in this way for a few weeks; laughing, dating and fucking feverishly.

And then, suddenly, I felt a tingle in my heart. A twinge if you will.

A sister was catching feelings. I wanted to own him, I wanted to be the main chick.

I was catching them HARD – to the face, the body, and the soul.

Or rather I was trying to catch them gracefully, order them, control them, but instead, I was missing every attempt, and getting knocked in my damn head.

So, I decided to broach the basic bitch topic of “where are we going?” but I’d like to think I did it in a nonbasic way. I didn’t want him to feel pressure, but I needed clarity.

I sat him down, told him I loved his energy, but that maybe we should slow it down… and then I laid on a light dramatic layer of fake shit, adding a deep “thoughtful” pause, gulping, and some more shit to egg him on, never completing my sentences, I hinted at him filling in the blanks.

Well plot twist, he is a liar.

He told me he would always have my back. He told me that he loved me. He told me that I was special. He told me I was the best he ever had. He told me he would always have my back He told me he loved me He told me that I was special He told me I was the best he ever had. He told me this, he told that...

Promising that honesty would always reign supreme even at each other’s emotional expense. We built proverbial contracts and licked each other into commitment.

How fucking cute.

…but he continued by saying that marrying a second woman doesn’t fit where he is at in life.

I guessed that it was obvious that he wasn’t going to leave his wife for me!

I didn’t know whether to dance… to scream… or what…

And as much as I didn’t want to hear that, I totally agreed.

We nodded.

Each nod was a loosening of ties, the lapels on our love were struggling to hold the load, but as the moments passed it in inevitably began to sag. He tried to kiss the mournful minute away, but the kisses tasted like a cover-up rather than the tempered passion it had once flaunted with flavor.

I pushed him away.

I needed a minute to think and I could tell he didn’t want that. He didn’t want me to set my thoughts on throwing us out. Walking out the door. Forever closing my legs to his advances. Turning cold on Kissy face texts.

Yet, I knew I wouldn’t think in those directions, I just needed boundaries. I needed to know where I was willing to go and for how long. It was clear that both our hearts were at risk and potential damages should be assessed. As smart as I was, it didn’t matter, this was not the place where a brain could function, this was a place of warmth, desire, and relentless yet loving sort of rage. No mind could ration out these things that couldn’t speak for themselves, you couldn’t see it or touch it, what we have is like Jesus, you almost just had to believe and know that it was there without tangibles. No logic could discount it. No one could disprove it, this was not the place for intellect.

Thus, we tightened the lapels of love and continued to smooth each other out, gifting one another orgasms that would prove unforgettable.

As time has moved forward we continue to carry on as committed lovers do, only nurturing each other’s needs, providing satisfaction and honesty, all without the title.

THE SIDE CHICK'S SIDE OF THE STORY (PART 2)
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