The Respondent
There is a woman from up north who answered my call. She was looking and I was curious. I placed the ad cavalierly but she was in serious passionate need. I am not gay. I wasn’t even sure if I was curious. I just placed the ad, and she answered it, wanting to know if I were interested in having my first experience with someone from out of town.
My response was underwhelming from her perspective. I didn’t think a first time experience of girl-girl sex could be with someone who comes to town once or twice a year. I wanted my experience then, at or near the time I placed the ad. She met me at her hotel that next week and I broke the going too long chatter, she on the bed, and me on the opposite facing chair, with a kiss. Before then, I was a little nervous but at base slightly detached, no expectations. The kiss was fine. The ensuing embrace and groping was comfortable, familiar, as in any other passion filled moments with a new lover. The sex was wild, hard and sometimes painful, sometimes sweet. She loved me with a vicious force and cruel observation, swallowing every detail of every sinew, tasting, teeth sinking chewing of my veins and muscles. She cannibalized me. Thereafter, I became her obsession. She needed to feed off me, me to passionize her, emblazon her with heat and fuel. She vampired my lust and sleep. We were the catatonic of the day and sex zombies of the night. Each night there was an addition to play, a toy, a restraint, a pose, an added finger or push of the hand to the back. I refused her the ultimate surrender and left each night so as to avoid the intimacy of sleep. The last night I relented. She responded with deeper gratitude and gifts. Despite her germaphobia, she lent me her toothbrush, we bathed in too hot water and returned to the sheets for more sucking, licking, biting, tossing, wrestling, moaning and sleeping. She left, went home.
In the gaze of the other 