I find that my tolerance has increased dramatically lately. It used to be that I can drink a couple of whiskeys and I get comfortably tipsy, and these days I would need a solid five shots to get buzzed, and even then it wears off quickly. Last night was not exceptional, when I finally had the opportunity to spend some time to get away from D, even though all I ever so desperately wanted to do is to get closer to her.
I went to a neighborhood bar with Aaron and Christopher. Aaron, being the family man that he clearly didn't want to be, decided to be the DD and only had a couple of drinks. Christopher and I started doing shots at 8:30PM and while we tried to play a drinking game over the monster truck show, it was really more or less to drown each of us in our own miseries. He revealed to me a few days ago that lately he had been having problems getting it up, and his wife had been nothing if not scathing, especially considering that he put up the front of a 20 year old frat boy all day long. He related an episode to me where his wife told him, in clear contempt, "looks like I'm not gonna get any again tonight?" "I told her to fuck off, and she just said whatever and we went to bed. Whatever is right." Gulp.
I was in Aaron's car, and my head was spinning. I felt the inevitable desire to retch, and that desire triggered a flood of memory of D, when we first met, when this happened on a regular basis. I remember being disoriented with intoxication, of the alcohol, of her scent, of her meditative, contemplatively sexy stance disseminating in the air. I remember her hand on the inner part of my thigh, slowly wriggling her finger up my shorts. As I recalled the details of that encounter I felt myself becoming uncontrollably aroused, and I turned myself away from Aaron in the front seat toward the window. I remembered the cotton sheets of her cramped little apartment, and her smooth, young, lean navel as I slowly kissed it, ejaculating fiercely into the latex condom. I remembered recovering thirty minutes later, my tongue intertwined with hers, then entering her from behind as she shyly requested a break to take a shower. I cruelly denied her request as I ruthlessly penetrated her over and over again until the waves of pleasure came over the second time, absorbing whatever the leftover essence there was. The second orgasm was always different, as you felt the desperation and effort of your own sphincter, as the remaining pleasure became coalesced, bit by bit, with a not minute amount of scornful, dull ache, sitting quietly in the back quarters of the perineum. But it was inescapable.
Aaron's car stopped. It was my house. It's time to face another sleepless and sexless night.