Story of an obsession #4/7
The dreadful pleasure

• 24 July 2008 at 03:07
• Love, sex, etc.

After a few days without seeing him, I wrote him a message to tell him to come over. He didn't seem to understand how much I wanted to see him so I told him I missed him. It may seem usual, but it certainly wasn't for me, it meant something to me. And he answered that "more seriously", he missed me too. And, some time later, that he would come over. I was ecstatic!

When we settled on the new bedsheets I had bought for the occasion (red, soft, bright like satin except that it's not satin!), he talked about the text message in which I had insulted him and reminded me that we were not a couple. And then he made me understand that it would never be serious between us. It was honest from him, to come and see me to tell me this, I appreciated. (The sentence I have just written is just my rational side expressing itself. In reality, I was gutted he told me that and inside, I felt like I had just been euthanized.) I decided to be honest with him too and I made him understand, in my trashy style, that I had not stopped thinking of him lately. He had a rather negative reaction, like a rejection, like he didn't want to have to deal with this, something like that. We decided to have dinner.

It was a strange prelude to make love. He had just told me it would never be serious, I was upset. But I would definitely enjoy his presence. We got into the action. I perfectly remember this moment when he was lying on his back, in his little boxers, on my bed, his eyes shut. This passive attitude should have made me understand that he wasn't really motivated. But it didn't matter, I had motivation for both of us!

Ah, it was so good... We were getting closer to the climax when he said my name. He was kissing me all over and he was saying my name. I was suddenly very happy because I thought that if he was saying my name right in the action, it was that my name meant something to him. But at the same time, I realised that, no, my name didn't mean anything to him, and it was the very reason why he would allow himself to say it. For a few seconds, a thousand sensations and a thousand thoughts battled each other, right in my pituitary gland. It resulted in an explosion of hormons and feelings: the song of the sirens, a great pleasure but a very strong disappointment as well. It was so good and so frustrating at the same time, the saddest ejaculation of my whole life. I didn't even think it was possible. The light was low enough not to let him see my face at that very moment.

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  The dreadful pleasure