Part Six – Vegas Trip – finally someone gets naked, and a come show.

“Everything okay?” I asked. “Did I say something wrong or offend her?”
“No, no, she was actually debating whether to go or not and just making sure I’d be okay.”

“Oh, okay that’s good then.”

“No, she’s just being polite, she likes you. She said if she didn’t leave now, she might try to jump your bones.”

“No way,”

“She was kidding, or sort of kidding, maybe. I can’t stay too long, unfortunately.”

“I’m glad you stayed,”

We began kissing.

Perlah smelled good – was wearing a scent I didn’t recognize. Her  chest pressed against me as we kissed.

She told me I was a good kisser – I felt silly- like I always feel when someone says I’m “a good kisser.” It’s like saying, “you’re a really good toucher,” – seems odd. Makes more sense to say “I like how you kiss me,” or “touch me.” I know, I’m splitting hairs, but I think it reduces kissing from being intimate connection between two people to being a mouth skill one can be “good at.” Never mind, I wasn’t nearly this distracted by the comment when she made it.

The kissing was nice: sensual, careful, tender, and quickly led to more: Perlah started feeling me out. I love when this happens – when a girl starts feeling me first – before I touch her breasts or elsewhere. First of all it’s bold and aggressive – which is hot; also, it makes me feel gentlemanly, that I didn’t move first.

I wanted to know why Perlah was there, what was going on in her mind, why she was cheating on her husband? I squeezed – trying not to get hard too fast, but Perlah’s hand was rubbing directly on me, I just let it go. I was hard by the time I had pulled her shirt off.

She looked so different in her “girl-next-door,” street clothes and her plane, shiny,  white bra  – such a contrast to the frilly, twinkly, revealing top Perlah was wearing at the casino. I slipped the bra down slowly and watched her nipples pop into view. I’d spent hours wondering what she was just barely hiding under the top she’d been wearing at the casino. She helped me get her bra the rest of the way off.

We both were naked when Perlah ask if I had protection. I hate condoms.

“No, damn, I didn’t expect to need them, damn it! This is unfortunate,” I said.

Perlah seemed as disappointing. She replied, “I am on birth control, but have to be safe – sorry.”

Before getting dressed, we laid on my  bed for a while – touching and talking.

Perlah was unusually unashamed about what was happening – had a very practical, matter-of-fact perspective. Basically, she’s been married for twelve years, had a couple kids, and decided that she would have sex with someone if they were attractive enough – before she got much older  and still had her tight body. I guess she had sex before getting married – but not much of it.

I was thinking, “okay so now what’s the reason?” But, that was it – and it was reason enough for her. It turned me on – that she just decided she wanted to fuck someone and wasn’t ashamed about it.

I asked her if she had told her husband about the idea. She said she might but wasn’t sure – she’d see how she felt when it happened. Her husband didn’t have any real problem sexually, other than being boring and “nothing special.” I wasn’t satisfied and pressed her for more.

“Are you just needing variety, or taking out resentment towards your husband? Did you want something different? Is he unattractive? Is it sexual, or, emotional? And other questions of a similar nature.

She seemed to want to keep the issue uncomplicated, and was a bit reluctant to open up – until she realized it turned me on to hear her thoughts. She said that she’d been thinking about sex with other men more and more over the last few years and her sex drive had been growing. Purlah figured, “why just fantasize about it?” She had always assumed she’d have sex with someone else – sometime before she died, and felt now would be as good of time as any.

Purlah reassured me that she wasn’t going to just fuck anyone who came along. It had been around eight months since she decided she might do it, and her only attempt besides me was with the guy who was a bad kisser. Well that, and a “small one” as Perlah later added.

“Wow, so you were really close that time too – I mean you went far enough to see his dick and all.”

“Not true, I didn’t even go in his room. I felt it while kissing him,” Perlah explained.

“First he was a bad kisser, so I was like, okay let’s check what’s going on with that, so then it was two strikes, this guy’s not going to be the one. I never saw anything, and he didn’t see me, I swear.

It was around 2:30am when Perlah left. I was blue – had been on the brink for twenty or thirty minutes while we talked in bed, and Perlah lightly teased around my body with her fingertips. I was praying she’d finish me off, but she hadn’t been there to service me – without getting what she was there for. (note to self, have some damn condoms next time.)

I had to finish to stop the pain – was too frustrated to sleep. I moved a chair right in front of my floor to ceiling window. I looked out over the city. A million lights resisting the middle of night – endless windows to hotel rooms where other scandalous stories happening. I left the room half lit as it had been while Perlah was there, and I jacked off for anyone nearby and interested enough to see – hoped that someone was watching.

After trying on some different scenarios, my focus ended up on Terry, not Perlah. I thought about her being alone in her place, horny and sexually frustrated, and the ways I could help if I was there.

I thought about Terry leaning over, dripping wet, facing me with her huge tits hanging in my face, while she yanked hard on my cock  and begged me to fuck her.

I didn’t bother to grab a towel nor aim somewhere safe. I was intensely turned on and in a hotel room, so i stroked my shaft, held back and held back, then let it go, shooting out where ever, all over my chest and wherever else it went. My own come was all over me. I stood up and looked out the windows, searching for lookers, then when and showered.

This brings us to Sunday Morning, 3:30am.

To be continued, probably.

 

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This is true – to the letter, so it better be hot: last week in Vegas continued…

One thing that is different now, I do less gambling but bet much more. When I was younger, I’d play more games, gamble much later- start much earlier, and usually play until there wasn’t enough left to gamble with.

Now, I don’t waste time on games I don’t want to play – and don’t gamble just to waste time. And, I don’t join a table because hot women are there. I still don’t enjoy gambling sober, but now I’ll pay for a martini or two, and won’t gamble ahead of a buzz. And when I do, I throw it down. It is a losing bet, an unfair deal… and then there’s luck. Why should we project undo requirements of prudence upon behavior that is so favored against us that we must be getting drunk to engage in.

I say fuck it, if I’m going to do something stupid, volunteer for odds against me, make a it a statement; luck doesn’t need time to think things over, I play roulette mainly, and am not a high roller; still, I’ve got over $100 out there on any given role.

I wasn’t winning the first night, but not losing enough to go to bed. Eventually the Irish coffees or tequila shots, put to rest thoughts about going to bed. I think the rest of the family had gone to sleep – the high rollers and my Aunt may have been up gambling somewhere.

I was playing downtown where the casinos are a bit more casual – the minimum stakes more affordable. At this place, the dealers actually take rotations dancing on tables in the pit when they’re not dealing. 100%, look it up. So, many of the dealers had good bodies, – some were clearly not hired for their counting skills: not a problem, I can count.

I cannot recall how many times I’ve tried to score with dealers – too many times. I can recall how many times I succeeded. Zero. Even a few times when I was sure it was a lock – that we were practically soulmates, zero. Unless there is a conspiracy against me, dealers cannot and do not fuck the gamblers; ever. So, I’ve long since stopped bothering.

The dealers were friendly – one of them was particularly fun. I focused on my numbers, yet couldn’t ignore her huge tits and how they came out of her bikini-like top almost to where her nipples had to be but never farther. They were natural, not “Vegas brand” boobs – (yes, relax, it’s trivial but I’m a guy – and for some, these details are interesting)

I’d never heard the name before, “Perlah.” Perlah was in her early thirties and had a very large chest – unlike May, the only other Filipina I’d ever been with, (read my first book Dare for full details on that)
I was sitting in the one seat at every roulette table that’s on the inside of the table, right next to the dealer. This dealer, Perlah, was being flirtatious with the table. I was drinking and concentrating.

A few of the guys at the table were flirting back, one was being obnoxious – he kept trying to grab the dealer’s hand as she waved “no more bets.” Also, he kept trying to “brommunicate” to me how great her tits were. Then my upper arm ran into her tit while I was reaching across to put chips on the number eight – was an innocent accident on both our parts, but the collision was right on the money.

I apologized, of course; she must have noticed I was the more embarrassed about the mishap so she teased me.

“Hey, no hitting on the dealer,” she said.

“No, sorry, not doing that.  I bet it gets really old – I’m sure you have drunk guys hitting on you non-stop – working here.”

“And girls,” she said.

Hmm, that was a fun answer. “Girls?”

“Sometimes.”

“Anyway, when I’m ready to hit on you, I’ll try to choose a tactic other than ramming my elbow into you. I’m kidding, won’t hit on you, you’ve got enough of that to deal with… not that I… you know what I mean.

“See, the handsome guys don’t, unfortunately.”

Polite – patronizing – or, what was she saying, doing exactly? Perhaps my tequila shots were hearing things? But, it’s in my nature to seek clarity:

“Who, I’m handsome?”

“Duh.. no more bets.” She said.

“Careful, I might have another accidental collision with your boob if you keep talking like that.”

“Promise?”

What the fuck, she’s hitting on me now, right? Crazy. I was careful not to ram her boob again, but we kept talking. I told her about the other Filipina I knew, May. I didn’t tell her what happened at the “Dare” party of course, but I did tell her about May’s strict parents, and how shy May was until she’d get a few drinks in her, then not so-shy.  Perlah said it sounded like her, what I was describing about May.

“What, you go from serious casino dealer to nympho after a few drinks?”

“I don’t know, ‘ you’d have to buy me a few drinks to find that one out I guess.”

No she didn’t… what? She’s fucking with me… or, maybe not?

“Okay, now you’re teasing.. and flirting for tips; but, no doubt I’d like to make that experiment happen.

“How rude, I don’t flirt for tips, I flirt for free,” she said.

I was confused, and horny, and … mainly confused, so I let it go.

Perlah rotated to another table and I played for another hour before she returned. While she was gone, I looked around the room to see where she was – a few times; and, one of the times, she noticed and looked back right at me. The look she gave me left me spinning in thought – fantasizing, interpreting…. I didn’t regain full vigilance until Perlah returned to my table.

This time around, we both knew something was happening – subliminally, hyper-hormonal,  she was dealing her table as I was playing, but we were both somewhere else, alone, negotiating.

Still, I wasn’t going to move on this – dealers don’t play – wasn’t going to fall for it.

She told me she was off after the next rotation. Then waited two more rolls before elaborating. “A few of us might go have a drink at the Golden Nugget after we get done if you want to join us. I’m done here in a few minutes and should be over there in about twenty – not sure how long I’ll be there though, have to get home.

I had several questions – didn’t dare ask any.

“Okay,” I said, and found her at the Golden Nugget half hour later. She stood up and gave me a hug – it is farther than I’d ever gotten with any dealer, or pit boss (don’t judge – I’ve seen a few hot pit bosses). She had changed out of her sexy dealer/dancer outfit, into a pants & t-shirt, civilian looking one.

There was one co-worker there with her, who gave me a big, tit-squishing, hug when Perlah introduced me.

“This is the handsome man causing me distraction all night.”

“This is the gorgeous dealer making me not care that I was losing money all night.”

 

Continued – see next post

 

My Family Vegas Trip As an Old Fuck – Don’t Knock it Until You Read This

Money – Politics – Sex – Death – Tragedy – Gossip – Did I Say Anal? – Infidelity – Something Crazy – Something New – Stupid Hot Stuff – Just stupid stuff – Sex – Naughty sex – Humanity

For those of us who grew up in the US, we’ve probably done Vegas as a young adult; if you have, you know the story: we think we know what we’re doing gambling, and lose our shirt learning we don’t know shit. We could have recognized that those who do know what they’re doing, often lose their shirts. But, with me anyway, I learn by doing. (and by doing I mean losing).

The upside, when we’re young in Vegas, we go to clubs, look good, are energized all night long, and most likely hookup. That’s Vegas for a young adult, and it doesn’t suck.

So, I’m way past twenty, and just returned from Vegas, to report this week’s version of an older person’s “Vegas.”

I’ve been in Vegas since Saturday, left yesterday and returned home atoday. I was in Vegas to meet up with my parents, a few sisters, a few cousins, an Aunt, and few high rollers from the UK – gambling friends of the aunt’s. Not exactly a bachelor party is sort of what I’m saying. Not to say my family can’t be fun.

I’ll save discussion of family dynamics for my “health, fitness and prayer for the modern family” blog; on here, we’ll get right to the more human aspects.

Having spent enough time in Vegas in my late teens and twenties, I can compare and contrast on a few things; then,, I suppose, I’ll just tell you the stuff that happened; perhaps not as crazy as some times when I was 22, but this account might give you pause if you were thinking Vegas doesn’t get crazy for those of us over thirty.

I’m still trying to figure out if my readers appreciate reading the raw stories about my life – like this – or prefer the more philosophical, or better articulated at least, postings. For those in the latter, you might appreciate my next post after these – and may find this discussion too crass or degenerate for your taste. But, for any interested, this is the raw honest scoop/dirt on my middle-aged, family vacation to Vegas.


My family Vegas Trip As an Old Fucker

anyone interested in hearing this? Anyway, let me know while I write it.

 

 

 

Dr G certified psychologist dissection/interview: Savior, Phallus complex, Marriage, non Marriage

Dr G:: interview

Okay, this is a risky interview for both parties. In order to get Dr G to agree to this interview, I actually had to agree to terms in writing – first time.

  • She was guaranteed full final approval of all content and redaction – redaction have been noted.
  • There must be no subsequent disclosure without full consent.
  • Dr G reserved the right to pull the interview at anytime before or after publication.

These terms were completely understandable and fair. The Dr. has a well known practice,  and is taking risk on behalf of contributing to my blog. It might be my undoing, but I immensely appreciate the Dr for her professional, unique and consequential contribution the SSD blog.

SS: Thank you for taking time to do this. Would you please introduce yourself and what you do?


Dr G: Thank you, I can say this is a first for me. I am a wife and mother to three children, two in high school and one just completing her first year of college. I am a board certified couple & family psychologist. in private practice. [redaction]

SS: Did you read anything on my blog before this interview.

Dr G::: All of it.

SS: Uh oh. And your thoughts – why are you doing this interview despite reading “all of it?”

Dr G: Well, it’s an entertainment blog, right? I find it entertaining. I’m not sure if many of those who read the blog meet you first, but that was an interesting factor – this nice unobtrusive gentleman with these sexual admonitions. You make it clear that you speak from a layman’s perspective and, unlike I’ve seen by some others online, you’re discussing and not advising. That said, measured against the cases I’ve treated, I find your anecdotes or “on the ground in the field” research highly plausible. The stories you speak of are either true, or you’re an experienced psychologist or an exceptionally perceptive artist, whichever the case, I’d say there’s value in what you’re saying.

SS: So you don’t find the sexual parts “true to form?”

Dr G.: Therapy usually doesn’t get as sexually explicit, or specific. It’s probably part of what makes your tails interesting, they include the hidden and forbidden parts of the story.

SS: So, you don’t discuss explicit or specific sexual matters with your patients?

Dr G.: Sometimes, but more often the parts that hurt or are problematic are addressed, as opposed to those aspects most provocative and stimulating shall we say. [redaction here]

SS: I gave you the option to do this interview over text if you wanted and you chose to do this in person, why? I’m glad you did BTW, just curious?

Dr G: Primarily to get my little contract signed and felt I would have more control over the publishing, or non-publishing process. Secondarily, I figured we might as well keep it real and here I get to see your collection of musical instruments and your art.

SS: So you read “all of it,” you say, you didn’t read my first publication Dare did you?

Dr G. I said all of it, yes I purchased and read “Dare”

SS: Wow. But, thank you very much for doing so – I would have of course sent you a copy for free – you’ve got a life time membership to the Sinner Saint Diary series now. So, I’m afraid to ask, but based on everything you’ve read – can you give me a non-binding, off the record, off the cuff psychological summary or profile of me?

Dr G. : If I had a month to do so. Kidding. Let’s be clear this is premature, non-professional and as you say “non-binding.” There’s the most obvious, apparent commitment issues. I’ve met you and there’s no perceivable reason other than your psychology why you haven’t married or had more long term relationships. You seem to have a strong desire to rescue, a “savior complex” of sorts. I get the sense that you feel you’ve harmed, or let someone be harmed, and you have a compulsion to undo or make up for it. I suspect your guilt is out of proportion and you’ve judged yourself too severely. Then there’s the “elephant in the room,” a pronounced phallus-related complex. Perhaps you have failed or feel insecure about accomplishing your “saving” people with your mind? Or, have a perception of inadequacy about your intellectual desirability? Or, perhaps you feel inadequate physically, so you compensate through your stories? Could be many reasons, but the fact that your genitalia play such a role, seems a pointer baring a degree of psychological significance.

SS: What an answer, thank you for not giving some safe, “I’d need more info,” answer. I feel dissected and revealed – but I asked for it. So, this penis complex I have, that’s tough love, but fair enough, I’d like to get to the bottom of that. Clinically speaking, would it help narrow down the possible root of the complex if you’d seen my “phallus?”

Dr G: It may have eliminated one or two possibilities, but we could probably  understand the fixation with some discussion.

(It’s’ embarrassing enough to be hearing about this “phallus complex” I supposedly have, not going to give the inadequacy theory any oxygen. Here in the interview I walked over to the kitchen to grab the wine bottle for refills – and briefly flashed my dick to Dr G on the way.)

Dr G.: Okay, new data, what time might be saved if I’d had a photo of certain patients nude. Kidding. Do you not tend to feature your phallus prominently as compared to other aspects in many of your stories, and if so, why do you suppose that is? Aside from the obvious reason.

SS: Simple reasons. One, as told in my stories, my phallus gets mentioned and participates. Two, it turns me on to experience and also write about my phallus getting attention or turning anyone on. Three, I know anatomy is shallow to acknowledge and supposed to be inconsequential, but some situations – some stories – involve the phallus – a few even revolve around it.

Dr G: Perhaps we can describe it as more of a “fetish,” than a “complex?”

SS: You’re the Dr, you tell me.

Dr G:i want to re-read everything in light of new discoveries.

SS: So, couple and family psychology, does that include sex therapy?

Dr G: Yes. I wrote a thesis related to that. [redacted]

SS: Do I need therapy?

Dr G: That depends, do you feel you need it? You seem to be happy and high functioning, but that’s your decision not mine.

SS: Who goes to sex therapy and for what purpose?

Dr G: Often sex therapy is a component of a larger scope of therapy. Or, sex related issues are a symptom, cause or component of a larger scope of treatment. And then there’s cases involving sexual abuse, addiction and dysfunction. Some of your stories are pertinent in that they describe the straightforward facts, without the baggage, of the reality some experience. It’s’ human nature for people to be selective with their truth, and your stories tell the parts that I infer. Not that some who I counsel aren’t open an explicit.

SS: Okay, I know you can’t divulge specific cases, but in general, what are some more common sex related issues that you’ve seen or treated?

Dr G: Infidelity. Sexual dysfunction. Sexual incompatibility or problematic fetishes. Sexual compulsion. Hypersexuality, although I don’t see all hypersexuality as pathological. I’ve seen those who have a clearly deleterious pathology to their sexual compulsions, and those that are like you seem to be, hypersexual, high-libido without derangement or personal distress or impairment in social, occupational or other areas of functioning associated with the frequency and intensity of these sexual fantasies, urges, and behavior. Perhaps, being aware of your “hypersexuality” (if you have such), you deliberately avoided commitment as opposed to committing to someone knowing you would inevitably be unfaithful? If so, I commend you for that, but have you considered any non-traditional options? A partner open to poly-amorous agreement perhaps? I mention this only because I get the sense you are sacrificing much for your nature, for the sake of your integrity. I’ll stop there, you’ll have to be a paying customer to get more.

SS: Well that’s good. You don’t find my “hypersexuality” to be pathological and crazy? That’s a relief. No, I get what you’re saying. I don’t think I’m that hypersexual actually, I’m a normal, healthy guy who likes women and sex, yes. Okay, a little hypersexual yes, but not as much anymore. When I was a teen and in my early to mid 20s it was a different story. There was no pill to calm such a libido. Thank god for my parents and the education they gave me – I’d be dead or in big trouble long before now if they’d not informed me as they had. I’m lucky to be alive and healthy as it were. But, as my stories have or will detail, things were crazy. Would you like to see my “phallus ” erect so you can rule out erectile dysfunction as the reason I have my phallus complex?

Dr G: No, I will completely take your word on that. You’ve proven enough, let’s leave that one for my, and reader, imagination.

SS: So, did Dare or any of my stories turn you on? Did you like them? Or, was it purely a clinical read?

Dr G: I said I found them entertaining. You’re a smart man, I think you can read the subtext in that.

SS: True, the subtext I read was that it turned you on, you masturbated over it, and contributed to the reason you chose to do this interview in person.

Dr G: I won’t confirm or deny that statement.

SS: OMG, you read my blog or my book Dare and actually masturbated during or right after reading?

Dr G: Again, I won’t confirm or deny.

SS: Wow, despite my phallus and savior complex, I encouraged you to get off? Awesome, good to know even Doctors get off.

Dr G: [redacted]

SS: I really hope you don’t cut that out of the interview.

Dr G: 100% I will cut that out of this interview.

SS: damn.

Dr G: Sorry, you agreed to rules. I’d let that stay if not for the obvious identifier.

SS: I know. So, how is your sex life with husband, is it perfect because you’re an expert?

Dr G: of course not, no relationship, marriage or sex life is perfect.

SS: In what ways is it not perfect?

Dr G: We are normal and imperfect as all couples are. We’re in our forties, the Cialis isn’t always effective, he’s overweight and I’ve worked harder to maintain my appearance. However, when I was pregnant and our kids were young, his sexual needs were not met like he’d have liked and yet he stuck in there with me. Marriage is a contract not a perfect solution. We agreed not to quit or leave each other, better or worse.

SS: Well, you’re a woman who stuck by her word, I admire that.

Dr G: Yes I have.

SS: Can we kiss though?

Dr G: Sure.

([redacted description])


I hope everyone enjoyed this one of Kind interview. I cannot thank Dr G enough for participating. Thank You.

Please comment and let me know if you enjoy such content or suggest how I might make this blog more meaningful.

Thank you.

A Weekend in the Life Part 6: But First a fight

Wait – the story started here with…

Part one: One weekend in my life as a college sophomore.

and then it continued on to …

Part Two: Weekend in the life: wet lips, hard parts, loud coming, blond bush,

and …

Part Three: Anal and More Anal

and …

Part Four: Weekend in the life: Sheryl comes and goes, stage is set

and …

Part Five: Weekend in the life: There is Calm Before the Debauchery.

and then here to …

Part Six

In my cleverness, I figured the occasion an opportunity to sneak some questionable behavior for cheap. I was already feeling sick with guilt from the Sheryl escapade, whatever I might do to feel guilty about for at least the next twenty four hours, would be added to the price I was going to be paying anyway. (wow, perhaps I was brilliant.)

I mainly wanted anything that could distract me from the self loathing. When I drank, in addition to the hangover, I always had the “guilts” the next day. Even when I didn’t do anything very wrong (not likely). At that moment after Sheryl Left, I had the usual guilts for my overindulgence the night before, I had the Sheryl stunt  compounding upon things.

As a matter of surviving my state of mind, I had to engage in something profoundly distracting. The first distraction to come was a big one – but not the sort I was hoping for. My two asshole roommates returned. My actual roommate still hadn’t returned from his girlfriend’s. He was cool and became a good friend; The two that shared the other room were nothing like us – and weren’t fond of us. They were Juniors – had a year on us, and were more down to  business, my roommate and I were more interested to learn about ourselves – or, about women and indulgences The dick roommates are a whole other story – not a very sexy one like this would be.

Just for context, picture the most anally retentive person you know; now, image they were ridiculously arrogant and smug. I was a bit cocky too, but in a very different way. While i may have had confidence in myself, the roommates arrogance involved looking down on everyone.

They couldn’t have paired us all better – my roommate and I were wild and rule breaking free spirits who got along with most everybody – usually too busy judging ourselves to pass judgement upon our school mates.

The other two roommates didn’t hang out with anyone in the complex – except for my neighbor friend Natalia and her roommate. About once a week for a month or two – they’d been having the girls over for a formal, sit down meal. My roommate and I were never invited – we’d often be waiting for Natalia to be done with the torture and come play with us.

The most arrogant and rigid of the two confronted me as I was getting a drink from the fridge. Both of them did – but it was just “Branton” the arrogant douche who did the talking. It wasn’t much of a discussion. I was going to apologize about the morning, but he saved me the trouble – he wanted to bitch and threaten me. He said something about no more having people over after (whatever time) and before (whatever time). I didn’t take note – wasn’t any chance in hell I’d have some douche roommate dictate my behavior or lay down some curfew. I would have listened to his concerns and probably even made some concessions; was never my intention to be inconsiderate.

Branton was worked up. After he laid down his rules for me, as soon as he paused for a breath, I calmly responded, how about you go fuck yourself, I live here, I’d do what I please. I thought it was a reasonable response to such threatening demands. Turns out it triggered him a bit. He charged right at me and plowed me into the refrigerator. Before I”d even decided my next move, his cuck buddy roommate was pulling him off and getting between us.

It was sort of funny actually. Branton pointed his finger and yelled about how he was going to kill me and throw me through a wall. Amazing how strong his small buddy was – keeping this larger, enraged guy from getting to me. I was grateful for it – the issue hardly ranked as something worth fighting for. There’s very few things I will fight for – being offended isn’t one of them. I’d only fought three times since grade school. As hot headed as Branton was, I think it would have ended bad for him as it had for the others I’d’ fought  – he must have thought so too or he’d have gotten around his small friend.

A full on fight was diverted for the time being, but now that the issue was in play, further confrontation was inevitable. I wasn’t going to live another night with the asshole – some maniac who attacks me. He wasn’t worth fighting – it was an easy decision to leave. I left the apartment with my keys – knowing I had to stay away for the rest of the weekend, or fight Branton.

I went straight to the university housing office, told them my roommate attacked me, and needed to be rehoused. They hopped right on it – apparently getting attacked by enraged roommates was high on the list of acceptable reasons to request housing reassignment. They told me to check back in a few hours and they’d find me some options.

Yes, you are right – not very sexy this talk about angry roommates and fighting; it’s a big part of everything that happened that weekend – perhaps not great to read about and not much fun to write about, but the contrast and context is will will hopefully make the next part of this story sing.

We shouldn’t give up on this story just yet, because here’s where the story of the weekend really begins. The darker moments of the weekend were behind me, and it didn’t take an hour before the story changes dramatically.

I did say at the end of the last part, that the next post would be very crazy and hot. The hot part I promised starts with the next part of the story, my word on it.

Weekend in the life: There is Calm Before the Debauchery.

Wait – the story started here with…

Part one: One weekend in my life as a college sophomore.

and then it continued on to …

Part Two: Weekend in the life: wet lips, hard parts, loud coming, blond bush,

and …

Part Three: Anal and More Anal

and …

Part Four: Weekend in the life: Sheryl comes and goes, stage is set

and then here to …

Part 5

I watched her get into the shuttle. I felt like an asshole – so disappointed in myself. I felt guilt. Not for the stuff we did sexually; if anything we used each other for it. What I did was worse; I talked her into flying to another state to cheat on her boyfriend – while   actually I was just drunk and had no interest in seeing her.  She wasn’t stupid – she knew what was going on; She was kind enough to let me off the hook – could have made me pretend all weekend.

I drank another margarita while I thought about how I needed to moderate my drinking. At least she was gone already, so quickly. I was guilty but free. The sex was pretty sexy – so it wasn’t all for nothing. She did call out another guy’s name – thankfully – was the only excuse I could keep in mind to feel less guilty.

I’m a good guy – but my hormones and substance indulgences early in college compelled me to make some less than empathetic decisions. Talking Sheryl into visiting while I was drunk, when I hardly liked to be around her sober, felt like a new kind of bad drunken decision – one I couldn’t detach from – blame it on the alcohol.

I knew why I thought to call Sheryl  –  why I liked her when I was drunk – probably same reasons why anybody would. I knew she was a nice person, but her weakness turned me off. I found her inauthentic for trying so hard; for trying to be a blond bombshell despite having a face that would forever deny her such a distinction.

At the time – I thought I was not attracted to Sheryl because i saw through her – had her figured out; I had no idea that in Sheryl’s weakness and efforts to be something more than she was – I was seeing in replica – the folly in my own behavior – vulnerability of my own story.

Although it would be a while before I’d discover it – I was no better – was pretending things too. I came from not far above average money – had a bit of my own – but was trying to fit in with many around me who were wealthy enough to want to hide it.  Also, I was not far above average smart  – but was trying to pass for brilliant like some others around me genuinely were.

Sheryl and I both had yet to grow into ourselves and drop the pretense. Greater depth, self-awareness and humility continued to evade me for at least another year and my first several acid trips – and until the money ran out.

Being too broke to afford a toy watch, or matchbox car , is  fast way to learn that wealth isn’t a watch or a car.  And, confidence – or talent – even “brilliance” – toxic concepts. Talent and confidence are lazy foreman, stuffing their faces, impatiently waiting for the job to get done.   Hopefully Sheryl learned that her real beauty was far more than a pretty face. One way or the other, as people grow up, most learn that greatness and strengths can’t be faked: we can fool ourselves; it’s unlikely we’ll fool others about who we’re fooling.

Sheryl was already benefiting from her insecurities: she was humble and giving; she kept her body in perfect shape and dressed classy and sexy.  For all my naivete, i did appreciate her kindness – and when push came to shove, she never failed to turn me on and get me horny.

Thinking back – I hate to think what she must have thought about me – and how bad I probably hurt her feelings. I wish I could go back to that moment and kick my own ass.

Okay – damn, I’m sorry . I was supposed to be telling a hot story here. Don’t worry – we’ve only gotten up to 2pm on Saturday; there’s a lot more to tell, trust me – I didn’t chose that particular weekend randomly.

Stay tuned for the next part  – where I’ll resume the telling of the weekend in life as a college sophomore.

What you might have thought to be the main act of this show – the climax – tip of the arch even, was just foothills before an Everest of what happened next; coming in Sheryl’s ass was not even the previews before the movie – more like the lame slide show of treats and refreshments that those who arrive too early must suffer though.

The next part of this story will kill the lights and fire up the projector.

And now you may read on to…

A Weekend in the Life Part 6: But First a fight