TMI: An Officer, not a Gentleman

The eagle tattooed on his muscular back flexed as NavyBoy lit his thin, black cigarette, staring out over the water, watching the July sunset reflected in the still expanse. Inside the lake house, I watched him through the screen, warm water dripping down my legs as I washed away the last traces of my virginity. A Naval petty officer, NavyBoy was short—a requirement for his job on a submarine—and muscular like a boxer, with closely cropped black hair and bewitching brown eyes.

I stooped to grab my negligee, discarded on the floor, so I could join him on the porch. Though my house was the only one on this side of the lake, I didn’t want any sunset fisherman to catch more than he expected.

“Hey, baby,” NavyBoy drawled behind me. I stood up, thinking that he had snuck inside, and was surprised to see him still outside, a cell phone pressed against his ear. “Nothing much…Just at the Rec Hall with a bunch of the boys watching the NASCAR race…can I call you back later, baby?...love you too.”

“Who was that?” I was back in bed when he came back inside, the thick smell of his clove cigarettes lingering with him.

“On the phone? My sister.”

“Bullshit. I know you’re from the South, but I highly doubt you would call your sister ‘baby.’ Do you have a girlfriend, is that it?”

“Nope,” he smirked like he had just said the punch line to a joke he hadn’t asked.

“Your wife?” He didn’t wear a wedding ring, but those Navy boys were tricky—they usually left their wedding rings and fidelity back on base.

“Don’t got one of those yet.”

“Then who the fuck was she?!” I asked angrily. He sighed as if to answer, and it suddenly became clear “What do you mean, you’re getting married?”

I sat up on the faded sheets, pulling the coverlet to my chest. The stiff blue polyester scratched against nipples still swollen from earlier.

Standing above me, torso bare in the waning candlelight, NavyBoy shrugged once, casually, his dog tags clinking together gently.

“You never asked.” There was no trace of guilt in the deep Lousianan drawl that had seduced me here. He may as well have been accusing me of not asking his middle name.

“I certainly did ask you the first night I met you.”

“You only asked if I was married or had a girlfriend. I’ve got neither—she’s my fiancée.” He shrugged again. I struggled to my feet, trying to keep the blanket firmly wrapped around my body as I searched for my lingerie and clothes. My bra was still missing—NavyBoy bemusedly retrieved it where it lay flung over a lampshade.

“Dawlin’ I done told you I was only passin’ through here. I thought you and me wer just passin’ a good time,” He lounged on the bed, wrapping a strong arm about my waist to pull me back, jeans halfway up my legs, onto the bed with him.

“I thought we were more than that,” I sniffed, defeated. I couldn’t even blame him; I hadn’t asked if he had a fiancee. “I wouldn’t have just given you my virginity if I had known that.”

“Dawlin’, I’m getting stationed in Jacksonville in a month. You know it ain’t gonna work out between you and me. So why don’t we just have a lil’ fun in the meantime,” He kissed me again, trapping my protests against my tongue.

For more Indecent Exposures, check out the other entries at TMI Thursday.

TMI Thursday: Misplacing the V-Card

I was 19. Chase & I had been dating about 2 months. He was older (23) and experienced. I had just gotten my first kiss on Valentine's Day when I was 18, and my first boyfriend, Patrick, and I didn't do much more than makeout and dry hump over clothes.

Dates with Chase were like a practical application of sex education. We quickly went through lessons 1, 2, 3, and then Chase was ready to slide into home (yes, I know that's a mixed metaphor--but go with me here).

I stalled for quite sometime, mostly because I was positively terrified. At the time, I thought Chase was freakishly huge. After our experience last September, I'm not sure if I was just reallllly shy or something else. Camile insists that penises can grow--do they shrink too with age?

Finally, one night we're getting into it and I get into the usual routine of fondling and oral sex. It was about all I was comfortable with. Not to mention, he still lived with his mother. His bedroom was next to the bathroom-- and I'm not exactly a quiet person. She liked me, though I'm not sure she would if she knew how often I sneaked into the house after everyone else had gone to sleep.

Chase is more insistent tonight.


"I want to make love to you," he purrs in my ear, the dim lighting reflecting into tiger stripes across his cinnamon colored back.

"I don't know if I'm ready for that, Chase," I insist. He runs his tongue down my neck and across my shoulder, turning my deep breaths into ragged gasps. It isn't long before I'm begging for release, and he is only going to give it to me in one way. I can't take it anymore.


"Fuck me," I command. A condom materializes out of thin air and he slides it on, ready to slide into me. I tense, cause now I'm anxious as hell as he slides in. It hurts. I ask him to stop. He kisses me, trying to get me to relax, but I can't. I'm not ready, and I know it, as much as I want to please him.

"It'll just be like pulling off a band aid. It'll be okay," he purrs again. "You love me don't you?"

"I can't do this!" I roll away from him and start crying. He sighs angrily, pulls the condom off, and lays down as far away from me as he can on the single bed. I know he's upset.

After a few minutes later, I curl into him.

"I'm sorry...." I plead in my best "I'm-cute-please-don't be-mad-at-me" voice. He says nothing, and turns on the TV. I stare at the movie--Resident Evil--for a few minutes. I'm being punished--I understand that through my naiveté. I do the only thing I know how to do—I grovel.

Burrowing my head under the covers, I lick down to him, taking him in my mouth, wincing momentarily at residual latex taste. He stops me.

“I don’t want you to give me head. I want to fuck you.”

I answer by giving him a condom.

Again, he tries to slide into me. I try to relax, but as he stretches me, I involuntarily tighten up. The impatient look on his face turns my stomach. This was not the patient, loving experience I wanted to have. And so many questions run through my mind: Could I get pregnant? Am I ready to give up the Virgin label? Will he call me tomorrow? Could I go to Hell for this?

He’s the one to turn away, sitting on the edge of the bed. I watch as he takes care of himself. I try to help, but he shoves me away, so hard I tumble over onto the floor. I kneel watching his cum rain down onto the carpet, where it pools in angry drops beside the two unused condoms.

I still stay there that night, laying next to him in the tiny bed. He’s hanging off on the edge of the bed, but when I try to pull him closer to me, he pushes my arms away.

It’s no surprise that Chase broke up with me a week later. Its 9 more months until I lose my virginity, to a Naval petty officer stationed at the sub base. 15 minutes later, I found out he was engaged.

For more Indecent Exposures, check out the other entries at TMI Thursday.

TMI Thursday: How I Earned the Respect of Men at a Strip Club

Inspired by Chelsea's inaugural TMI Thursday post at Chelsea Talks Smack, I am dedicating this week's TMI Thursday post to strippers.

 

It's not secret that I'm a rather open-minded person. Naked women bother me not in the slightest. Hell, Mafia Princess and I visited the local strip club whenever we were dead broke last summer because there were drunken men who would buy us drinks. It was almost too easy.

When Apache was home on his Christmas break, he had planned to go with "the boys" he works with to the local strip club. No big deal. I planned on hanging with some friends. Well, at the last minute he decided for me to go, and I went. 

I was totally terrified. Here, I was going with Apache to a) a strip club to meet b) men that I had known previously as Jay's girlfriend and c) Jay told me that everyone he worked with hated me, and d) there was a possibility DogFace would show up.  Lovely.

I get there, and it turns out only one of them, Player, remembers me. And since this particular guy has nicknamed Jay, "cheat", things are okay.

So, I sit down and quickly realize I am a girl out on boys night. I get introduced and then get ignored while men have their man time. Fine with me, I busy myself with catching up on my blogs on my cell (strip club ettiquette be damned).

The cocktail waitress comes over to ask us what we want to drink. She's a cute blond with glasses and her hair up in a librarian bun.  She gets the boys drinks then looks at me:

"What can I get for you, Miss {insert my last name here}?" 

The boys notice this exchange. I take a closer look at the girl. She is one of my former students-- apparently all grown up and working hard for the money. We catch up for a bit, then she goes to fetch our drinks.

Apache looks at me.

"Let me get this straight. You know a stripper?"

"Yea, she was one of my students."

"You taught a stripper?" I nod.

"Dude, your girl's killin' me." Player moans. The other guys voice their approval at this connection. 

It continues through the night when I get a lap dance bought for me. I was NOT drunk enough to even begin to remotely enjoy that. It was kinda awkward actually, especially since Apache was watching and I had NO clue how to act. I've never had a lap dance before. Advice?

 

Adding to the bizarreness of the night, a few strippers befriend me. Seriously, I was the ONLY girl in the bar other than the strippers, and the girls all came over to hang out when they weren't on the floor. The boys collectively decide that taking a woman to the strip club is definitely good for business.

As for me, I decided that tagging along for boys night isn't such a good idea. I'd much rather do the strip club thing one on one with the boyfriend since it can be a sexy date. Going with you boyfriend and his buddies, not so much.

So, I try to drink away the awkwardness-- after three relatively weak diet coke and Bacardis, i decide that I need something stronger. Cue a Grateful Dead, which I figured would be made weak like the Bacardis. I drink the drink, and still don't feel a thing. An hour later, Apache and I decide to leave. We had come in separate cars, and I was going to drive to his house. I get on the highway and realize a few miles later that I am NOT okay to drive. Not at ALL okay. Luckily, Dawson lives only a few minutes down the road. I call Apache to let him know the change of plans, and dump my car off at Dawson's, before proceeding to pass out in Apache's car.

Next time he wants me to join him on boys night, I might just end up staying home. 

TMI Thursday: Falling

I hope you all have or will be lucky enough to know what it feels like to be with someone with whom your emotional connection equals or exceeds physical desire. I hope you've all felt what it feels like to make love, other than "fucking," which is essentially tandem masturbation, as Tom likes to say.

Needless to say, I had an amazing night with Doc. He combines Jay's sexual prowess with Trevor's caring. Sex aside, what struck me most was how he acted the whole night long. A very private person, Doc's PDA is restricted to hand holding, kissing on the cheek, or a rub on the back. In the privacy of my apartment, I realized how affectionate he is. I'm sure many readers will attest how truly amazing it feels to be kissed on the cheek, forehead, or shoulder. It's amazing to be held close all night long, no matter how much you move.

Needless to say, I am falling.

My time with Doc was not just spent in the bedroom. We lounged in front of my fireplace drinking wine. Okay, I sipped a glass of Truro Cranberry Wine while Doc sipped a decaf white chocolate mocha latte from Starbucks. Doc is a purist--vegetarian, doesn't drink or smoke, and avoids caffeine (he's allergic). We talked about our pasts. I was relaying the story my mother told me about how she told my father she loved him on the second date. Very softly, he responded, "what's wrong with that?" A long silence followed. Not sure what that was all about.

All in all, a night with Doc is something I could get used to.