Oh I am so mad, I wanna spit. Mad at myself, mostly. Been giving Professor a break when it comes to our sex life, going so far as to excuse his less-than-passionate advances as lack of experience or confidence or timing concerns… but no.

Last night, I told him as gently and as positively as I could that, while I really enjoyed having sex with him, I needed a bit more warm-up.  And he got pissed!

He said, “Sorry, this is how I make love,” and I assumed he must’ve misunderstood me. I wasn’t saying I had a problem with our fucking, just that I’d enjoy some fucking around first.

Oh, he heard me alright. “What do you want, Cosmo moves? I don’t do that shit,” he told me.

But I needed it, I explained. Without some touching — not a lot, just even a little — penetration could be unpleasant, even painful.  He suggested I should be getting all the foreplay I needed in the hour or so we watched TV on the couch before bed, during which time he usually put his legs on me and I would rub them. For him. And yet somehow, that’s supposed to make me hot..??

But what if I could use more? Like, maybe, for a change… he could touch me, instead of me always touching him. Maybe he could touch my breasts or stroke my arms or sensuously tease my butt and thighs…?

Nope. I am still in shock over this part of our conversation:

ME:  … or you could stroke my arms or my butt, or…

HIM:  Oh, not when we’re cuddling.

ME: What?

HIM: There’s cuddling <hand gesture over here> and then there’s sex <hand gesture over here>.

ME: Can’t cuddling be a part of sex?

HIM:  No! Cuddling is one thing and sex is another. They’re separate.

ME: But sometimes cuddling and sex kinda go together, right?

HIM:  No.

ME:  What? No? Of course sex and cuddling go together.

HIM: No they don’t.

ME:  I think I know what sex is. Yes they do.

Annnnnnnd, ladies and gentlemen: we have a stalemate. Seems we have agreed to disagree.

About sex.

Oh no… this doesn’t bode well for us, does it? I mean, I see two possible ways for this to play out:

1. I grow more and more resentful as Professor continues to shove his dick into me like I’m his own personal jerk-off receptacle. To avoid him, I start pushing my bedtime back so that he’s asleep by the time I turn in. Eventually, we stop having sex altogether. Breakup ensues.

or

2. I grow more and more depressed at the thought that I’m not attractive enough to be touched. Boy, I must be hideous. To prove my own worth, I start hanging out with other guys, eliciting their advances. Eventually, I find a nice, normal guy who can appreciate my body as well as my company. Breakup ensues.

At least I won’t feel bad, calling the Animator or checking in with Lamont this weekend. Neither one qualifies in the “nice normal guy” arena but they’ll at least help me feel not quite so ugly and undeserving. For now.

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