Catherine (#29)

At 5:30, she texts me saying that she no longer feels like coming over and that she’s “not looking for hook ups.” I am flabbergasted. I had a tournament I could’ve gone to today and I abstained because I was confident she wouldn’t cancel. 


I respond “I wasn’t even trying to hook up damn.” (Lie) and “I’ve been looking forward to this all day :(“ (True) No response for an hour. I go lie in my bed defeated, ready to give up on women and swiping apps. 


At about 6:30, she responds “Oh I didn’t know haha, do you still want me to come.” I reluctantly agree. I have no other viable plans. “Yes.” I respond. She plans to come at 8. 


To my surprise, she comes at 8. It’s awkward for the first hour like it always is, she is disarmed when I take off my sweater like they always are, and we end up hooking up like we always do. 


We watch HunterXHunter for about two hours as I gradually move from brushing up against her to hanging my head in her lap to smelling her hair to kissing her lips. To her I’m sure it was just “natural.” “It just happened.” Like I wasn’t consciously aware of every step of the escalation the whole time. 


It was more a psychological victory than a real one. A real one would’ve been finding the girl of my dreams and cumming inside her fantastically with no condom. The ugly, brutish reality of it was that it took probably two hours for her to finish off my sweaty, half-hard dick after I failed to stay hard in three condoms. And it wasn’t because she was ugly. It was because I can’t do condoms. My dick has become less sensitive with age but the lust remains. It’s terrible. At this point I’m more interested in the cuddling. I liked when her fingers were in my hair.

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