Ahh, Seattle Guy.  He’s one of my favorites.

I placed an ad in Craig’s List w4m Strictly Platonic and he answered my ad.  I was looking for male FRIENDS.  I truly did want platonic guy friends.  My husband had left me because I cheated on him, with a guy whom I considered a close friend, Correctional Officer (hereinafter “CO”).  Out of respect for his marriage (I know, too little, to late.) I didn’t contact him even after it no longer mattered for my marriage.  I missed having a good male buddy with whom I could chit-chat about movies, books, music, and so on.

I placed the CL ad with the intent of finding a buddy.  But I wanted the buddy to be nothing like CO so I wouldn’t crush on him and want to fuck him.  The ad I posted listed all the qualities I liked in CO and said I wanted a guy who had none of them.

Which didn’t work out so well because those who were nothing like CO were boring as fuck.  So when I was about to give up I got a response to my ad that claimed the respondent could not be my friend because he DID have all the qualities I supposedly didn’t want.  Which of course piqued my interest.

This guy was all sorts of fucked up just like I like ’em.  But he lived in Seattle, so it was “safe.”  We exchanged emails and then eventually began talking on the phone into the wee hours.  His live-in girlfriend (because I’m really quite good at finding situations that are the antithesis of healthy) worked nights and he was on disability (!) for his severe mental illness (!) so we talked when she was at work.  At the time I thought these things were in some way endearing.

Of course the conversations eventually–or immediately, knowing me–turned to sex.  He told me he was dominant and had embraced his dominant nature, blah, blah, blah.  The conversations changed from being about sex to being sex.  We had really quite good phone sex.  His tone of voice would change and I knew it was time.  He definitely got in my head in a very intense way.

At Christmastime he came down to the Bay Area to visit his family.  We planned for him to come meet me when he was in the area, but nothing was pinned down as to date or time.  We continued to talk on the phone when he was close by until finally I pretty much begged him to come fuck me that very night.

It was too late for him to take the train so he took a cab, which I told him would be pretty expensive.  Because it was so late he said he would not be able to come to my house unless it was ok if he spent the night.  I was so fucking horny I acquiesced and told him my address.

And this is where things started to go wrong.  I live in the Mission, on a numbered street.  San Francisco also has numbered avenues but those are way out west, by the ocean, and nowhere near where I live.  I KNOW I told him _____ STREET because I ALWAYS say “street” when giving out my address.

After a very long time I called him.  Of course he was lost, out in the Avenues (strike one).  I could hear him getting pissy with the cab driver and when he finally arrived he told me he did not tip him (strike two) because it was supposedly the cabbie’s fault he didn’t know how to write down an address correctly.

I was understandably nervous to meet in person this guy with whom I’d had very intense phone sex, so I kept the lights very low and didn’t wear my glasses.  I’m always less nervous if I can’t make eye contact with someone.  We immediately went up to my room.  But not before I notice that this guy is a much larger person than he had indicated on all those phone conversations (strike three, but I don’t play baseball).

I was horny as fuck, which was why we couldn’t wait until the trains were running the next morning, so I wanted to get to fucking.  I am also always more at-ease after getting the nervous energy pounded out of me.  Only he doesn’t want to fuck right away.  He wants to talk (strike four).  Hadn’t we done a shit-ton of talking on the phone all those nights?  Wasn’t it now time to get to it?

Fine, let’s talk.  And we did for a bit, until I probably just went for it.  I was wanting him to fuck me like he promised he could on all those phone conversations.  He had promised he could fuck me hard, spank my ass, pull my hair, and generally “make” me do all the things I wanted.

This I remember quite well:  he was standing by the bed, I had my legs open so he could put his dick in me, but he was having trouble doing so.  He said, “I think I’m too big for you.”  Actually, he wasn’t aiming all that well, and I wasn’t all that wet.  So I said, in a tone that I now understand wasn’t the nicest, “No, that is definitely NOT the problem.”  Because for a guy with a dick that incredibly average in size to think it was too large for ANYTHING was ludicrous (strike five).

Well, guess who couldn’t get it up at all after that?  (Really, from hereon there’s no point in keeping track of the strikes, because they ALL are.)  I tried to get him hard.  I sucked that little thing with all my might.  I suggested we sit next to each other on the bed and pretend we were talking on the phone just like we had all those nights.  I said–though did not mean–that it was ok, that we could masturbate.  It didn’t matter, that dick was not getting hard, and I was not getting a proper fuck.

But remember I had to let him spend the night?  Well, now I had this fat, sweaty, snoring, fully-dressed guy in my bed.  I could not sleep next to that and I could not kick him out so I just laid there.  Thinking that once the natural light flooded my apartment I would have to look at the glory that was this corpulent excuse for a man.

At about 8am my home phone rang.  I live in a loft apartment so there is absolutely no privacy save the bathrooms.  On the phone, calling from IRAQ, was Army Guy.  This was the first time he and I spoke and I felt so lucky that he was taking time to call me.  I couldn’t not talk to him even though I had this fat, sweaty, limp-dicked loser in my apartment.

Despite the cold, I went out on my patio to talk on the phone, thinking it would give me some privacy.  Of course the previous night was on my mind.  So I told Army Guy EVERYTHING about the night before.  I believe the word disaster was repeatedly peppered into the retelling.  I talked on the phone for as long as I would had I not had company, which was rude, but this guy was calling me from fucking Iraq so it would have been more rude to not talk to him.

Eventually I saw the fat ass leave my apartment.  I was still on the phone out on the patio.  What a relief!  I didn’t have to have the awkward conversation because he was too butt hurt that I was on the phone.  Good.  Army Guy and I continued to talk for a long time, only now I was comfortably on my couch, inside and warm.

Finally I got off my land line phone and saw that since Seattle Guy left he had texted my cell phone a number of times.  I called him.  My intent was simply to apologize for being rude about the phone call and to say goodbye.

Unfortunately he took my call as a summons and despite the fact that he was on the train on the other side of the Bay, he came back.  He told me that he could hear EVERYTHING I told Army Guy on the phone even though I was outside.  That embarrassed me, but really, I didn’t say anything that was untrue.

I had to go to a friend’s house to feed her cats so instead of leaving after confronting me with my rude behavior, he came with me.  For a dominant guy, he sure liked to be punished.

I walked my dog to the friend’s house.  The air was crisp and the sky was sunny, so a light jacket was all the outerwear I needed.  He was wearing some sort of windbreaker.  Through which he completely sweated on the walk.  He was panting, and dripping sweat.  He couldn’t carry on a conversation while we were walking because he was short of breath.  It was disgusting.

I walked him to the train station and never talked to him again.

I swear.  True story.