The Morning After

“I Cried All Night Till I Had Nothing More. What Use Am I As A Heap On The Floor…” She and Him

The day after the breakup I was, understandably a mess. I was hung-over, covered in glitter from my Halloween costume and angrily cruising for sex online when I answered a craigslist post for a group get together. When I sent my pictures to the private address, the organizer sent me back pictures of the attendees. As luck always seems to have it, there he was buried amongst the torso and cock shots that the other fuckers and fuckees had deemed appropriate to send out for the purpose of recruiting more attendees. J was in a picture he had taken of himself at the gym only a week or two before, leaning on a workout bench, wearing a black t-shirt and smirking in the sexy way that only he can.

I should have agreed to go to the gathering. I should have had the organizer send the other attendees a picture of my torso (or maybe something J was less familiar with like my cock or ass.) I should have shown up ready for a good time just to see the look on his face when he walked in the room and was finally forced to see me in a sexual situation. Maybe he would stick around and see how other guys loved how I looked naked. Maybe he would stay long enough to see me satisfy someone else. Maybe he would be forced to hear someone enjoy what I was doing to their body and he would finally have to believe that perhaps, just perhaps I was as or more deserving of his attentions in the bedroom than any of the nameless tricks he found online.  And had he chosen to leave then I should have made sure to stay and have the time of my life.

I, of course, did none of those things. Instead I declined the invitation, continued poking around craigslist and found a couple. They were tall, they were muscular, they were super hung and they desperately wanted to use me like a couple of Dobermans use a rubber chew toy. I needed to be touched. I needed to be looked at with excitement and lust. I needed to know that I was not ugly, that my dick was big enough and my ass perky enough.

I needed to feel good enough. I needed to feel like I deserved to be wanted. So I decided to go over to their house.

I was determined to have as much fun as he was having. I was going to have earth shattering, bouncing off the walls, porn star sex just to show him that I was great in bed and he was missing out. A ludicrous thought due to the fact that he would be doing the same thing in an entirely separate location but it was my motivation nonetheless.

I showered off the remaining Halloween glitter, grabbed a cab and let myself into the couples Far North side Townhome that they had left unlocked for me. The curtains were drawn and I could barely make out their naked bodies waiting for me in the living room. I stripped down to my jock strap as instructed, took a deep inhale of the poppers I had brought with me, dropped to my knees and waited for one of them to begin fucking my face.

Neither of them wasted anytime. My knees had barely touched the floor when the first one slammed his cock all the way down my throat in one swift motion only to pull out and let the other guy do the same. I gagged a little. Then I gagged a lot. I could taste the Rumpleminz that I was drinking like water the night before when I belched. They didn’t relent their assault on my mouth. I was having trouble breathing but I chalked it up to the rough nature of the sexual scene I had chosen to be a part of. They continued. I teared up some more. Soon, my throat relaxed and I stopped gagging. However, I didn’t stop tearing up. On the contrary, I began tearing up more and more and more and I found it harder and harder to breathe. Then finally I noticed a tear running down the tip of my nose and onto the pubic hair of a man whose face I couldn’t see and whose name I would never know.

I began to shake violently and I pushed him out of my mouth. They stood there in the dimly lit living room, naked, sweating, hard as a rock and with a look of shock and confusion painted all over what little I could see of their faces. I can’t say I blame them.

There I was collapsed onto my knees, stripped down to a jock strap, hung-over as all holy hell, high as a kite on poppers with the taste of a strangers flesh still fresh in my mouth and I was audibly sobbing.

I said nothing as I quickly dressed. I ran out of their home still barefoot and with only one arm through the sleeve of my t-shirt.

After the cabbie dropped me off at home I feverously looked for one of the American Eagle hoodies that my ex had yet to claim from my house. I put it on and deeply breathed the scent of him in.  I continued sobbing as I poured myself a Jack Daniels on the rocks that I certainly didn’t need at that time of day.

I lay there petting my cat and letting the whiskey warm my insides as my tears subsided.

I finally began to drift off to sleep when an unpleasant thought passed through the back of my mind followed quickly by another:

“This is going to be so much harder than I ever imagined.”

Followed by:

“I wonder how J enjoyed his afternoon…”