The Black Mass

The Black Mass

Ugly.  Murderous.  That's how I feel right now.  Alone, lonely, bored, depressed and not productive.  Something I can wrap my hands around, squeeze the life out of, then dispose with the aid of a meat cleaver and an un-backed-up shower drain.

Nothing has happened to make it like this, except that it's the way that I feel.  So much time.  Soooo much time.  Every day it looks like this:

10-12 hours of sleep
5-8 hours of watching movies or documentaries
in there, somewhere, is breakfast, lunch, and work

Except tonight.  Tonight I've included a copious quantity of alcohol.  I drank some beers with my downstairs neighbor, then I came upstairs once the beer ran out and started drinking brave bulls--a lot of tequila over ice, with some Kahlua to flavor.  Right now I feel like I could sweat pure flame.  Ludacris is on, and I could happily abuse my little pain slave until the morning light.

Oh yes, I have a slave now.  Not a sub, that politically-correct terminology that the SM crowd uses, but a bonifide slave.  This girl is pretty willing for me to do whatever I want to her.  She' s the type of girl that spends a lot of time cutting herself.  She cuts herself then peels off the scabs so she has some sensation in life.  When she comes over to my place, she pretty much puts herself at my mercy and goes home the next day with plenty of bruises to show for it.  Sometimes they're on her ass, but often they're on her neck.

For those completely jaded about their sexual pursuits in life, I would strongly looking up waterbondage.  It's the type of a thing where a girl is tied up and forced to various subjugations involving the use of water.  It could be a strong hose right on the clit until they cum, cum, cum, or it could be a big tank where they're dunked until they cum, cum, cum.  Either way, it looks like a lot of fun, and that's pretty much what my pain slave has in store for her when she comes to visit me next.

Actually, the next time she gets to spend all night worshipping my cock.  She's going to learn how to suck dick until her jaw dislocates, and get a nice ass bruising to boot.

Speakin of ass, that's one thing that she's really going to need to get used to.  I have a variety of buttplugs that she's going to be introduced to.  No proper pain slave is going to escape anal.

Fuck.  Horny as hell.  Alone and drunk.  Last night she called at least 10 times, but I left the phone downstairs, where I can't hear it.  I didn't want to be bothered.  I don't know why.  If she came over, it would be fucking until 6:00 AM.  Not like I wasn't up until then anyways, but I was just not feeling it last night.  Tonight I'm feeling it, except that she isn't calling me.  I sent her an email telling her to come over in a few days, but I wish she'd call.  I need something to beat around, something malleable that isn't me.  Something warm and fleshy and yelpy.

Right now I could put my fist through a fucking wall.

I've tried everything I can to get some decent sleep, but nothing works.  Tonight I'm trying the "drunk thing" again, but it's sure to fail.  A friend of mine hooked me up with a shitload of Somas.  I took two a few nights ago, and it didn't even dent me.  I have about an ounce of injectable morphine, but I hate syringes.  Besides, morphine just messes me up too much.  It sits in my system for weeks afterwards, and the night sweats are intolerable.  It's like I fell asleep next to an open water main, and I'm utterly worthless for so long afterwards.

About me

There are some things about myself that I should tell before continuing on.

I'm thirty-one years old. I'm a white male, six-foot-two inches tall, about one-hundred and seventy-five pounds. I'm a professor at a university in a major metropolitan area. I am also a grad student at this same university. It can be confusing, sometimes, which ethics I should persue, but I usually take the best of both worlds. Some people will be refered to as students, in which case they have been students of mine, and others will be refered to as peers, in which case I have taken a class as a student with them.

I am polyamorous. I do not believe in having monogomous relationships (although I respect the rights of others to do so). I have not told this to my mother, thus the pen name, and the pseudonyms for all of the players in my story. I have dated two girls for over a year each, and I constantly find myself dating others as well. Everyone that I date knows about the situation, everyone knows about everyone else, as much or as little as they wish to know, but I don't live on orgy island. All of the relationships are separate, distinct relationships, where my time in that relationship is spent on that relationship and that relationship alone. Most of the people I date also have other, active relationships.

I am divorced. I had a long (ten-plus years) relationship with a woman, traveled the world with her, and eventually married her. We began to experiment with having an open marriage, but it didn't work out for her, and she moved to Europe and left me for a man I affectionately refer to as "Dutch-Butt" whom, she claims, just couldn't handle her being with another man. She left for Europe with my full and complete support (we'd been in long-distance relationships before), and ended up kind of fucking me over. Yes, I'm a little bitter, but I will say that it was the easiest divorce in the whole of human history because we didn't have anything--no kids, no mortgage, no debt--and so she got the dog and I got the car.

I decided not to shrivel up into a defeated ball of ex-man after the divorce--although the idea to give up was strangly tempting (and I did watch a lot of "Fight Club" during that period)--but instead strengthened my resolve to make polyamory work. I just didn't see the point of making a monogomous-style commitment to someone else when it plainly wouldn't make me happy. I realized that most of making a polyamorous situation work well was to recognize and accept that your partner(s) would be having sex with other people. That is, other men. Other men would be placing their penises in a place where your mouth goes, and that had to be alright.

Seriously, this is the major obstacle for most males given the subject of polyamory. Women seem to accept it more openly that their man's dick is going to be in another woman's pussy--I think I have a mini-rant about how society encourages lesbianism around here somewhere--but men...oh no. Men can't stand the thought of their pussy being penetrated by some strange cock. Why, if they go down on the woman, that's practically sucking on another man's dick, and no man in his right mind is going to suck on another man's dick.

Grow up. That's the only reaction I have to all that double-standard bullshit. If you're dating a woman whose pussy is constantly filled with strange men's cum, then you potentially need to re-evaluate said relationship.

I should also point out that I am a straight male. I am 100% not gay. I know this because I had sex with another man and couldn't stop laughing about halfway through it. I think it was more than just the acid that I was on--it was my psyche saying, "Okay, that's enough. Now you know." I have no desire for dick, although I don't mind a little prostate stimulation in an appropriate setting. I like pussy, I like tits, and I like the way a woman's body curves. I don't get grossed out by dick--it just doesn't make me hungry the way the glimpse of a woman's ankle does.

I am very honest. The anonymity of this blog makes me even moreso. I expect people to read this blog and judge me for it. That doesn't bother me. It's a natural facet of human reaction to do just that: react. Especially when it's in regards to stimuli that aren't often felt. I feel that I live that life, and that most people aren't used to the idea. Sure, they've been around, and I know I'm not breaking any records, or inventing anything new here. But I live a life that has often been termed a "bad life" with complete peace with regards to myself and my decisions. I don't always make the right decision--in fact, I may make a lot of wrong ones--but I stick to my guns, and have no problems talking about the ins and outs of my world. Sometimes I wonder if we hadn't had more successful and sympathetic heroin addicts talk about how they deal with thier controversial lives instead of the D.A.R.E. program if this country wouldn't be a little more relaxed.

The framing of the event

Student--my nemesis for the past week and a half. I went out of town two weekends ago and said I would call her when I got back. I haven't called her yet.

Student has three big strikes with me, and I usually don't let it go past one. This isn't because I'm an uptight asshole or anything, unable to take criticism, or fleeing at the first sign of something must be worked for. It's because the street runs two ways: you are the person that I want to be with, and I am the person that you want to be with. People that hit my strikes are usually looking for someone that isn't me, and I have no problem with putting them back on their rightful path.

Student made the first strike, which should have been fatal, a few weeks after school let out. It was a drunk call at 2:30 in the morning on a week night. Her and a friend, already drunk, wanted to come over.

"Hold on," I said, then covered the receiver and asked my roommate: "How do you feel about two drunk, horny girls coming over?"

Ded (my roommate) wasn't too thrilled with it at first. Ded, you see, has a girlfriend. One that would be none too pleased to learn how many times he's cheated on her. But Ded cannot help cheating. Ded loves the game, and is full steam ahead behind her back. I don't really fault Ded, he's doing what he loves to do, but I do fault him for choosing to have his girlfriend. If he's playing the field, he shouldn't have someone on the sidelines thinking otherwise. It's going to bite him in the ass one day, and I have no problem being a part of that. I think it's the right thing for him to do. He just needs to realize that.

So when I wave a little easy play under his nose, he's usually pretty receptive. Of course, he made me swear that I wouldn't give him any shit if his girl turned out to be fat or annoying or ugly or something, and I gave him my word that I would never do anything like that. And since this is such a suspect situation already, I should add that it was a word truly given. This girl was sight unseen, and could turn out to be anything.

Student and GG came over, already stinking drunk. I was surprised that they'd made their long voyage from the outlying town. And the whole night went so downhill. Apparanatly, Student and GG hadn't seen each other in a while, and so spent the whole time catching up on their insular gossip that had nothing to do with us or the drinks that we were feeding them. This might not have been so bad, but the two were loud--really, really loud--loud in that way that only twenty-one year old Polish girls can be. Worse yet, they were having some kind of out-bitching contest, where they would talk shit about someone and see which one of them could be the biggest bitch. It was fascinating for a little while, Ded and I shared some good laughs at what they were saying, but as the alcohol consumption continued, and the morning came closer and closer to sunrise, my head was accepting less and less harping.

Harping aside, one fatal flaw Student made was that she told GG that Ded didn't have a girlfriend before they came over, so GG had some expectation of hooking up with Ded. But when they were both there, Student busted Ded out on his girlfriend, which pissed GG off to no end. I tried to cauterize the wound ("Ded, but she's not really your girlfriend, is she?" rolled eyes), but it was all over for Ded and GG. Fortunately, they went off somewhere, and left Student and I to our own devices.

Of course, the condom was mentioned, and I said I was sorry, and yeah we'd use a condom. Condoms suck, but venerial diseases suck more (didn't I know!). So we went at it. For awhile. A long while.

Look, I'm not going to brag, but I can fuck for a long time. First of all, I'm thirty-one. At nineteen I could fuck three times in a night, but at thirty-one, I can fuck all night long. Second, add any amount of alcohol, and it usually thins my blood just enough to keep me from coming. Plus, when I'm having sex with someone new, I am usually a little nervous. So, we fucked for a long time, in many different positions.

"Damn, you last a long time," she said, in a voice that was somewhat complaining. "Have you had sex recently?"

I was on top, looking into her face, and I just stopped. I hadn't had "the talk" with her yet about how I don't date just one person, I date around, and if that's not okay with you then you need to date someone else, but if you want to date me and be okay with it, that's what I'm looking for. I hadn't had that talk yet, one that I usually consider mandatory at the beginning of any relationship, and I'll tell you why: pure selfishness. I wanted to fuck a student! It's just that simple. I wanted to do it, and I cheated on my own rules to get it done.

Now it was fucking me back, and I realized it while mounted on top of her bored self.

"Do you want the honest answer?" I asked, still in mid-stroke.

Her eyes got all wide and surprised, as though her flippancy had uncovered something that she really didn't want to know about. "Yes!" she said.

So I told her. I told her how Issy and I had a bunch of sex over the weekend. Student practically flipped out. I tried to get her back in the mood but, oh no, that was all over with. Argument. Debate. Discussion. All of those concepts of vocabulary were used over and over again, and instead of having a nice post-coital cuddle, we were still arguing over this as the sun came up.

"God!" she said, "I can't believe I had sex with you without a condom! I'm such a stupid, horny girl!" She was disgusted, and I can't say I blamed her.

So, that's that, right? We kind of got to some sort of neutral ground, and I had a few hours of bad sleep. Being drunk and blue-balled isn't a good physical sensation, especially when it's coupled with the emotional guilt of having not played very nice with someone. We slept, we awoke, she and her annoying friend GG left, and that was that.

Two weeks later, another drunk call. I was up in my room, where I couldn't hear the phone, and Ded came up to tell me that, "those annoying drunk girls are on the phone again." He'd answered the phone call by refusing to speak English (he doesn't speak any other language) for five minutes, trying to annoy GG. It worked. He laughed sadisticly about it. I got on the phone and immediately GG asked if they could come over.

"Hold on," I told her, and covered the receiver with my hand. "Ded," I asked him, "..."

"There is no fucking way those bitches are coming over!" Ded said to me, with no doubt in his voice. Well, that was that.

"Sorry, but I gotta work tomorrow," I told GG.

"Aw, why you gotta do that to me?" she snapped back.

"Don't be like that," I said to her, giving her an opportunity to gracefully exit this conversation and potentially hand me over to Student. I was very curious to know what was on her mind after the last time.

"Well I'm gonna be like that!" she practically yelled at me.

"Fine, be like that," I said, undiplomatically. "Bye." Click.

That was strike two: having her drunk bitch friend call up and give me and Ded shit in the middle of the night, without so much as talking to me. Oh no, I don't take that kind of shit very well, so I knew for certain that it was over then. No one has the grace to call back after something like that. Ded and I both agreed that it was very rightfully over between Student and I, and good riddance.

A week or so passes, and Student calls me. It was around noon one day, and I was still in bed. She asked if I wanted to go to lunch with her. She sounded happy and hopeful that I would say yes. I drilled her a little bit about GG, and she said that she and GG weren't hanging out that much anyways, that they were on different paths in life, and that she knew nothing about the side of the conversation that was on the other end of GG that drunk night. This piqued my interest a little bit, and she also told me that she'd finished the Dave Sedaris book that I'd loaned her, which I had completely written off as lost. I agreed to lunch, wondering if there wasn't a bit more maturity there than I thought.

We had a nice lunch, friendly and talkative. We went back to my place afterwards and watched some of my recently downloaded "Aqua Teen Hunger Force" episodes. We snuggled a little bit, but didn't kiss or anything. Over the course of the day, I laid it all out for her. I don't date exclusively. I don't want a girlfriend. I'm not looking for a girlfriend. I never will be. I'm not boyfriend material. If that's what you want, look elsewhere. The girl had two strikes on her, but I decided that maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

Look, she enjoyed some things that I consider good things to enjoy, especially for a twenty-two year old. She likes David Sedaris. She likes Modest Mouse. In fact, we have a lot of similar musical tastes, mostly in the realm of downbeat progressive. She was an ex-hippy, so even though she didn't currently worship the petuli throne, she had a history of being in a semi-worldly culture instead of just growing up on the outskirts of a metropolitan city. There seemed to be potential here.

I had to work that evening, so I had her drop me off. I gave her a quick kiss before I left, to which she responded positively, and she said, "Thank's for taking me back and giving me another chance. I didn't think you were going to."

I didn't either, I thought, but her last statement told me something I hadn't realized: I was firmly in control of this relationship, and she looked to me for guidance in it. That sounds weird to say, and I will definitely be analyzing myself tonight for ego-driven, cult-leader tendencies, but it was true. She was totally new to this type of relationship, and how it can be a healthy thing, and kind of placed herself in my hands.

We made plans to meet the next night, and when we did, we just had a pleasant evening together. Nothing that involved drinking a lot, or controversial conversation, or anything that would disrupt the evening. We went back to my house and snuggled up in front of some more "ATHF." I could tell she wanted me to make a big move on her, but I wasn't ready for that, so we just cuddled and went to sleep.

The next morning, we woke up fucking. You just can't sleep next to warm, throbbing, lusting genitals all night without having it invade your dreams. I woke up, and she woke up, and I was hard, and she was wet, and 1-2-3 sleep clothes were off, condom was on, grabbing, kissing, grunting, shifting, and bam, it was over.

"Hey, you're in trouble!" she said, right after I came.

"Why is that?" I asked, knowing what she would say, and I would ultimately react to it.

"You were too fast."

Too fast? Too fast!? I was spent, so I wasn't going to muster up a lot of negative energy, but I said, "Well, last time you said it was too long, so which is it?"

"I was drunk then."

Here's the thing: ladies, when you're having sex with someone--man or woman--you've got to show them what you need to get what you need. Men are used to taking the big, dominant role, and it's much easier for your average man to get off than your average woman. A woman that isn't in touch with her pleasure centers shouldn't expect much from a man. If you can't do it yourself, how are you going to show a man how to do it. Now, most women that I know can do it by themselves, at least a little bit, but often fail at being able to show a man how to do it to them. They expect the man to be able to, I don't know, magically find their "O" spot and send them into exstasy. Ladies, this is the same story where the incredibly rich man in the military suit and nice hair comes riding up to you in a horse and leads you off to that life where you can sit around and host fabulous tea parties. You have to show your man what to do.

This is something that I am incredibly sensitive to. When I'm making love to a woman, I want everyone to be happy. It's not some one-way street here, but a pleasurable dance. I want the woman to feel happy, which in turn will make me feel happy, and if the woman wants the same thing, then that's the transcendant experience that I'm looking for. If a woman just wants to sit around and be a pin-cushion, well, that's what all the ropes are for, otherwise it just makes me incredibly bored in bed.

Student, even though we had a sweaty, horny awakening, was just being a pin-cushion. Furthermore, she was giving me shit for that fact. She was not bold, only horny, and, in the end, bitchy about it. That's the third strike.

I don't have time to train someone how to be a lover. That's one of the basic criteria that has to be met before I will consider you as a partner. What, do you think that it is untoward for me to expect that? Too bad. Did I mention all of the other relationships that I'm involved in? Training someone how to be a lover just takes too much time, especially when I am flush with lovers that need my attention. That's just the way it is. Maybe one day it will change, but not today.

The real problem today

My real problem is that I'm trying to let one of my girls go. Yeah, that's what I call them, my girls. Never call them bitches, because the last thing I want to do is hang out with a bitch. Never call them anything disrespectful because, after all, I do choose to spend my time with them, and why would anyone want to voluntarily spend time with someone that they despise? I'm sure there are reasons, I simply do not engage in any of them.

Student, we'll call her, was fun to hang out with for a while. She is, as you may be able to deduce, one of my former students, and, yes, that is where the initial attraction came from. There is no ethics code at my university that prohibits teachers from dating students, and we'd consummated any amount of semesterly flirtation after the last day of class, when she technically ceased being my student. However, once the whole student-teacher thing ceased to be, well, a lot of the attraction left for me.

Ack. I said the coup de grace first. I don't mean it to sound like, well, now that she's not my student (i.e. now that the temptation and lust of hooking up with a student is gone) that I'm not interested. No, there were other, more severe strikes well before that.

First off this thing got off on a very bad foot. The first time we had sex was without protection. Ack! It was drunken and fast and bam there it was.

And this story only gets worse.

At the time I was afraid that I might have some sort of venereal disease. Hella, a spunky twenty year old in the same writing program as I, had recently had chlamydia. She did the right thing: she called me right off, even though we hadn't had sex for a while, and she ran her ass to the doctor and did all the stuff that you're supposed to do. She took well care of the situation, and I was not disappointed. Hey, it happens, people get chlamydia, no big thing.

So Hella and I had some celebration sex. She's a short girl, maybe five feet, a little wide at the hips, but young and cute. She has tattoos on her forearms, bright red hair, and, oh yeah, she likes to cut herself. Definite "Secretary" material, and, honestly, I think she looks up to me as her James Spader, because she'll do just about anything with me. In fact, I think she just became my slave, but that's way ahead of the story. Anyways, we had some anti-chlamydia celebratory sport fucking (three go-arounds in twelve hours, including a quick one on the coffee table on her way out). After she had left, I noticed three red dots on my dick.

"OH FUCK!" I screamed into the empty apartment that stank like her pussy, my cum, and our sweat, and showered PDQ. Yep. Still there after vigorous scrubbing. Not good! So, even though it was a three o'clock on a Friday, I threw some clothes on and ran my ass to the clinic. The clinic would not see me, unfortunately, because it was a multi-hour process, one that could not occupy the last working hours of a Friday, and I would have to wait the weekend. And, because this was the last week of the semester, waiting the weekend turned into waiting a week. I simply didn't have time to go down and get checked out, and I pushed the thought of having some sort of infectious disease way down deep into my psyche; down into that part that turns into a burning little coal of indigestion at stressful moments.

Even better yet. The original weekend that I had to wait to go to the clinic was the weekend that Issy and I were to celebrate our one year anniversary. One thing you must know about Issy: she is a dominatrix. Okay, okay, not exactly a dominatrix, but into the SM scene, and a very well-established top. I'm not a sub to her (I'm a switch, which is like the bi-sexual of the SM scene), but I still don't want to have to make a phone call that goes something along the lines of, "Well, I'd love to celebrate our one year anniversary with our planned bout of fucking like wild animals all night long, but I can't because I fucked some dirty little piece of candy from school and now I have herpes." I mean, seriously, how do you deliver a call like that?

So I did what anyone would do. I waited until the absolute last minute and got really, really drunk. I mean, I got as drunk as someone can get in an hour. I just carried around the Absolut bottle and, every time I thought about what I was going to do, I drank enough to forget. When I realized that I would have to go out the door to get to her place at the appointed hour, I picked up the phone and dialed her number with a drunken swagger.

"Hi, how ya doin?" I said.

"Fine, how are you?" she said.

"I'm good," I said. "Listen, there's something I have to tell you, and I don't quite know how to say this, so I'm just going to say it to you."

"Okay," she said, in a very quiet way. I definitely had her complete attention. So complete, in fact, that I could feel the hollowness of every electron path that lead from the thought in my head, which would travel out of my mouth, and along the telephone line, to her ear, to create some thoughts in her head, which I dreaded with all of my heart.

"I fucked some girl yesterday and now I have three dots on my dick well at first it was just one dot and now it has friends and I can't come celebrate our anniversary because I'm contaminated and there's no way in hell I'm going to infect you."

That's the way it came out: all in one tempo that didn't stop until it was finished because if it did stop it wouldn't restart. I felt strangely elated having had the balls to deliver that type of news to someone. It's not everyday that one can follow-through with a speech that could potentially crush the person it's delivered to.

And what did Issy do? She laughed. The girl laughed. It was a kind of relieved laugh, I later learned, because once she heard the "I have to tell you something, don't know how" prelude, she had thought, "Well, here it comes, he's going to break up with me." However, learning that it was just some amount of inconvenience, that she could take. That's the thing about Issy that I know I can always count on: she'll be able to understand and cope with anything that is delivered to her in a straightforward and honest way. She is about the most rational and thoughtful person that I know. Couple that with her open sexual attitude, dreadlocks down to her ass, a black-girl ass on a dancer's body, and now you know why I've been dating her for over a year.

I went to Issy's house anyways that night ("You know," she said to me, "we can hang out without having sex."), and I did her right.

Student, however, I did not do right. I had unprotected sex with her that night, but I didn't come inside of her. That was on her request, because, even though she'd been on the pill, she'd gotten pregnant and had an abortion just a month before.

I mean, should I continue this? Can you believe that any of this is true? We're not talking about a year's worth of time here--this all happened within the span of a month at most. And it is not an atypical month. This degree of reality happens to me all of the time. It has become nearly inescapable, and I'm finding myself down blind paths of the Minotaur's labyrinth, unsure of how to get out. Who has ever been in situations such as these before? I do not suggest that I am shaming the Marquis de Sade here, but this is beyond Libertine.

Student--in addition to being my student: someone that I saw every Wednesday night for fifteen weeks--had an abortion towards the end of the semester. I found out about it because she turned in a piece of homework with a note, "Sorry I've been absent, but something really bad happened to me," with her phone number on it. I called the number, got a cousin or something, and learned that she would, in essence, be okay and return to class shortly. When she got back to class, she had a notable absence of either missing limbs, organs, stitches, bruises, hair, or anything that would identify with her some sort of major surgery. Plus, she had a pretty chipper attitude, with a mild current of, "damn, why did this have to happen to me?" What it was that had happened, she didn't say, but I had a pretty good guess at it.

The second to last class, a bunch of my students went out with me to have a drink. I brought along another teacher, MM, whom I had been hitting on and psychically attempting to convince to cheat on her new boyfriend, who lived in Germany. MM, Student, and another student, JJ, a gay male, went to our local bar and had one of those extremely open and flirtatious conversations that come from so much sexual tension. I mean, think about the different sexual angles involved here:

I was trying to get MM to cheat, and she knew it and was toying around with the idea.
Student was trying to hook up with me, and I suspected it.
JJ was trying to hook up with me, and I dreaded it.
JJ knew Student was trying to hook up with me.
MM knew that Student and JJ were trying to hook up with me.

So there were secrets, advances, probes, retreats, plotting and scheming against all of us, and I could be perceived as the focus and source of a lot of it.

JJ said that he had some pot, I said that I lived nearby, Student said sure she'll smoke some weed, and MM took her leave of us for the evening. Damn. I was a little disappointed, but Student showed some promise. JJ showed way too much promise, but I'm not afraid of being hit on by gay men, and I have no trouble rejecting them in such a way that doesn't leave them all mad or ashamed. Boys, I know I look good.

Back at my place, the energy between Student and I only increased with the pot smoking. JJ figured out that he wasn't going to get any (even though, over drinks, he had been the one to ask, "So, do you ever accept sexual favors to increase your students' grades?"), and soon he bowed out. That left just Student and I, stoned, in my bed, vibing like crazy.

The conversation, unfortunately, was on how she felt after her abortion. She'd told me about it earlier in the evening. I had dated a girl (whom I eventually married), and we had had to have an abortion, so I could be sympathetic towards her. It wasn't a play but genuine empathy, and it superceded any desire of mine to cross one of those forbidden boundaries by sleeping with a student, which I had not at that time yet done. We spent a few hours talking, I kept getting comfortable, giving her the option to make a move, but there was a little too much seriousness so nothing happened. She went home, and all was well.

She sent me an email that week telling me how much she enjoyed hanging out, and sorry about letting the conversation get so heavy. Oh. So, she would've slept with me if I'd made a move. It's always nice to get such confirmation about the intangible things in life.

Next class was our last class, the final exam. Everyone showed up, people took the test, then they left. Student left about 2/3's the way through class, I said bye, and thought, damn, that's that. After class I didn't see her, so I went over to MM's classroom, where she was just finishing up, and invited her to a drink. She was all for it (I think because she'd made up her mind not to cheat on her boyfriend, but still enjoying torturing me about it.)

We went to the bar and had many drinks, so many that I thought I had flanked her resolve not to cheat on her new boyfriend. One thing that I've noticed when going out for drinks with women is that sometimes the more they talk about their boyfriend, the more they're seeking your criticism of him. Sometimes a woman judges her man through the eyes of other men, and the dedicated usurper can sometimes pull the rug from right under the other man's feet without him ever knowing what hit him. I must admit to giving a tug or two, but I didn't attack unscrupulously, and we ended the evening with her receiving a phone call from Mr. Germany himself and walking out to her car.

She said she'd give me a ride home; a ride that, no doubt, would only increase her phone sex from Germany after she'd dropped me off from a ride where she would tease me into thinking I might get to kiss her when she dropped me off or, better yet!, come upstairs with me for a night cap. As I was leaving the bar, however, there Student sat, with her friend whom we'll call Sue.

Hey, funny coincidence!

I invited them back to my place to continue drinking, but Student didn't want to be a third wheel. "MM?" I asked incredulously. "She's on the phone with her boyfriend right now. You won't be a third wheel."

"Oh," Student said, "but I don't want to leave. Stay here with us."

So I did. Had more drinks. Munched on some soft pretzel. Sue, an old friend of Student's, told me at one point that Student, "Really wanted to fuck my brains out last week." Yes, Student was sitting right there, and after a token amount of outrage, let that hang in the air. The rest of the evening was auto-pilot back to my bedroom, and I almost slipped Sue my number as well but thought it might be a little tacky.

Back at the room, drunken fumbling, foreplay, sweaty, and then the sex. "Don't come inside of me," said Student, in obvious deference to her recent birth-control pill defeating abortion.

So I came on her tits instead.

Later that week I went to the clinic, got checked out, got the green light, all safe, nothing wrong, but what about the dots? It was a case of jock itch, and I got some cream. Jock itch. I was never so happy to have jock itch in my life.

I'm doomed.

To pick up the story right in the middle:

Got a few emails today. P Ble and Bunky both send me a little message. "Hi, how are you?"

What does that mean, "Hi, how are you?" coming from women that you have (or have had) some mild amount of sexual relations with? P Ble I kind of dated for a little while about a year ago; Bunky gave me a very nice birthday present back in February. Both have some amount of lingering, musky sexual tentsion whenever I see them, or v.v. I don't want to be rude, but I can smell pussy on them whenever they are around.

Two emails. Today. One from each of them. "Hi, how are you?"

To some of my readers, this may seem like a blessing, and indeed there is no displeasure to be found in the comforts of either of these girls. P Ble is my age, salt and pepper hair, lithe body with full hips, and pale, librarian skin. She is anxious and eager in bed and likes to get a little kinky. Bunky is ten years younger than me, a Sophomore in college, a little stocky with some definite tomboy tendencies, but she's done a few things on my checklist before me (e.g. she enjoys fisting other girls). Either one would provide an excellent evening of carnal and somewhat intellectual pleasures.

So what's the problem?

My hackles rise thinking about it. My body reaches Jabba the Hutt levels of fatigue. Because I'm already either semi-, quasi-, or full-fledged dating four other girls. Four other girls that I've been dating for a while (two over a year), or recently (since the end of school), all of which provide various levels of physical combined with intellectual pleasure.

I'm not bragging, and if you think that I am a braggart, then you will hate reading any other articles in this blog. You'll positively hate them. I'm not sure where I'm going with all of this yet, but I'm screaming inside to get this stuff off of my chest, and my roommate is getting sick of it. I even IM'ed an old friend the other day, someone that is happily married and has absolutely no desire to hear about my sexual exploits, and I realized that I had a problem. So, just for the record, this blog is going to be all about honesty in telling the events. If I get strapped in the ass (like I did for Issy's birthday after-after-after-after-party last Saturday), I'll damn well tell about it.

Two girls have emailed me today, and I don't know what to do about it.