Tension And Pressure

(Dear Reader,  Please note that the following post contains explicit language and may be offensive to some readers and/or inappropriate for children.)

It has been a while since I felt this way about a girl. Those feelings of caring for her attention, if she held my hand or not, greeted me with a kiss—all those things mattered to me. She had me hooked, and I did not care to admit that.

After three months of communication, dates, makeout sessions and intimacy, we finally had the opportunity to have sex. We were at a friend’s party. We drank tequila, smoked weed, and shared cigarettes in-between. At two in the morning, she and I leave, and she agrees to come back to my place. Stumbling into the bedroom, we flop onto the bed and burrow ourselves in the covers.

I caress her soft skin; her coffee-colored eyes gleamed with the reflection of the moonlight. We kissed and kissed, my hands exploring her curves, the nudity. I was in awe, and she’s perfect. Many attempts to remove her pants and she would slap my hand off, saying “no, no, no,” which I ignored and she would slap my hand again and giggle. We began to create sexual pressure that augmented to the tension we’ve had for each other. I liked this girl, really liked her, so much so that I cared about how good I had to be in bed, because I wanted, needed, to impress her.

Finally, I achieve removing her pants. Underneath a silk thong which grips onto her plump and velvety derriere, I peel off the thong, my lips and hands touching every inch of her body. She’d moan, and I would sigh in excitement to have her in bed with me. I slip my fingers in between her legs, she’s warm, and I continue to caress. She whispers in my ear, “how badly do you want to fuck me?” Very much.

There was nothing more that I wanted to do but to make her moan in pleasure, see her squirm in ecstasy, while she took everything I had to give. The time had come, she begged me to be inside of her, courageously I accept the invitation, but there was something that was not happening, something unexpected and horrendous—I could not get erect.

The flow of blood to erection was not cooperating. “Fuck me, baby. I want you inside me. Please, fuck me,” she would plea. I listened, but my body was not reacting. I became frustrated with anger. Here I was in bed with the women that I had become infatuated with and liked very much—the lack of penetration was beginning to tear inside me. I did not know what to do. I tried everything I could think of. She gave me head, I jerked off, she rubbed on top of me, nothing for the love of God was helping me to get hard. “You want to fuck me? So fuck me. Don’t think about it so much, just do it,” she would encourage me. I would get excited again. Anxiously I asked her to prepare herself, excitedly she turns around and rounds in front of me inviting me once again. I get behind her, encouragingly I spank her, and she moans in relief, as I go to her my erection dies once again. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” I think to myself. Disappointed, she turns behind and asks, “Everything ok? Am I doing anything wrong?” I turn in disappointment, and embarrassingly I admit that I cannot get hard. “This never happens, this has never happened to me,” I confess with shame.

“It’s ok, don’t worry about, there’s a first time for everything,” I roll my eyes in annoyance because this is bullshit. I was confused, why is my dick not getting hard? Why of all times is this happening now? I could not believe that this was happening to me.

After a couple of hours of attempting she finally falls asleep in exhaustion and I in failure. The deed was not done. I could not have sex with the woman that I most wanted to have sex with. Questions aroused, certainty was blurred, who’s fault was it—mine. I had no sleep. She snored the night away in disappointment as she laid on my chest comfortably. I wanted to fuck her as much as she wanted to fuck me and the fact that I could not give her that pleasure led me to my failure.

The morning after I drive her back to her place, I apologize for not performing and reassure her that my lack of performance had nothing to do with her. Was that true? It is not her fault that I got nervous before performing, her body is perfect, and I find her both intellectually and physically attractive…what went wrong?

Honestly, I do not know. What I do know is that it sucked. It sucked not to be able to achieve an erection and fuck a woman that not only wanted me to fuck her but wanted it as much as I did. The reciprocalness enlarged the presence of pressure. I failed, and it hit me hard. What do I do from here? I feel defeated, failing as a man who could not please a woman for the night.

We arrive at her apartment, and as she gets out I ask her, “will you text me later?” She responds, “maybe.” She walks up to her stairs; before she could or would turn back, I turned right, lowered my moon roof and drove home. Driving home, I daydreamed of my bed, the lack of sleep that I have accumulated. Between her snoring and her gazillion morning alarms, I slept nothing. I get home, and I creep into the covers. Bummed, I wrap my hand around my dick and think of all the things I wanted to do to her. How I wanted to bend her over, pull her hair, bury her head into the pillow. The blood surged through my veins directly to the girth below my waist. It had happened, it finally worked, celebrating I rubbed until the pressure was released and the tension was dismantled. I relieved myself on an old shirt and threw it on the floor. I turned on my side and fell asleep.

By Derrek G

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