22-May-2006
The trouble was, as anyone might guess, butch or femme, Meredith was missing the point, which was that she was probably the most selfish lover in all of lesbian history, and that wasn’t going to change. Her erotic tastes were very bizarre, and possibly bogus. She wanted her earlobes pulled, hard. I was willing to do it, despite it not being that fun for me. She wanted it done for hours on end, and would just lie there with her eyes closed, smiling this weird smile and licking her lips like a dog. Every once in a while she’d sort of curse, but it wasn’t really a curse, it was more like, “Man!” or “Oh, man!” and she’d sometimes say, “Yes!” or “More!” too. And, you know, if this was foreplay, I wanted it to be a shorter foreplay. I also don’t remember that it made her the slightest bit wet, so I started thinking it was just something that felt good more like a massage, and she was only pretending to make it sexual just to keep me interested. But I didn’t stay interested at all. I felt like an overworked farmhand. It seemed a lot like milking a cow that had gone dry. And it never seemed to take us anywhere. Whether this is above and beyond what your standard pillow princess will put you through, I have no idea, but in order to call it sex, there ought to be at least one person who gets to have an orgasm, shouldn’t there?
As far as I know, she never did learn how to pronounce literature.
