Bad Sex...Part 2

...and then he immediately goes down on me, which means that I get a few minutes of blissful silence, a break from the constant commentary.  At first, it's not bad because, unlike a lot of men, Mr. Merkin actually knows his way around down there.  However, it rapidly becomes apparent that this guy is a one-trick pony and continually assaults my clitoris as if it isn't the most sensitive part on a woman's body.  After a while, an abrasive tongue against a delicate nerve ending starts to be really uncomfortable, like rough clothing rubbing against a bad sunburn.  But I, ever polite and not wanting to hurt Mr. Merkin's feelings, pretend to continue to enjoy the assault while praying that it will end soon.

Eventually, he does come up for air and leaves my poor clitoris to recover a little...and immediately insists that I start blowing him again so that he can get hard enough to fuck me.  I comply to Mr. Merkin's demand, if only because I know that it will keep his face from out between my legs.  He gets hard again after several minutes of more explicit instruction on how to handle his cock (because, obviously, it's been forever since I've blown him that I need to be reminded for what he likes and doesn't like).  We begin fucking, and Mr. Merkin starts throwing out odd requests, like wanting me to breathe out so that he can inhale my breath and wanting me to press my nose against his closed eyes.  The odd requests threw me off, which prevented me from being able to truly relax and enjoy the sexual experience.  Piece of advice, if you want to engage in anything that might be considered kinky, then clear it with your partner first instead of just assuming that they will think it's the sexiest thing ever.

At this point, I am already having difficulty with getting into the sex because of the weird requests (though saying that they were requests is something of a misnomer because they were more like instructions similar to the blow job instructions).  Then, it got worse.  Just as I was starting to build up to a climax (I am one of those lucky bitches that can get off on vaginal intercourse alone), Mr. Merkin pulls out.  And he does this almost every single time that I get close to an orgasm.  What. The. Hell.  It's almost as if, subconsciously, he doesn't want me to actually find the experience pleasurable.  All of my pleas for him to go faster and harder so that I could actually get off are completely ignored.  When Mr. Merkin finally orgasms, he talks about how great the sex was (smile and nod, people, just smile and nod) and how rare it is that two people are so into the sexual act and each other for it to be that crazy good/powerful (clearly, I deserve an Oscar for my convincing portrayal of someone who isn't completely not turned on at all, or really having any fun).

The rest of the post-coital talk leaves me wanting to look for an emergency exit.  First, Mr. Merkin keeps talking about his rising comedy career in a way that I feel any moment he's going to ask me to buy stock in it.  Total fucking sales pitch that could have been told to any random person walking down the street.  Following his attempts to sell me his career like a time share (was I supposed to whip out a check book or have him come with me to the nearest ATM?), Mr. Merkin went on and on about how I was completely his type (ummm...okay?), how hot it was that I was so skinny (really, dude should be spending at least some time running a pro-ana website), and how hot it was that I was seven years younger than him and enjoyed pointing out how old he was when I was essentially in jailbait territory (someone clearly has suppressed pedophile fantasies).

Much of the rest of our time together continues like this, alternating between bad sex and awkward conversation, with a number of moments where I stated that I should go only to have him refuse to let me leave sprinkled throughout.  It finally becomes light enough where I can see him more clearly, and he goes down on me in a last ditch effort to keep me from leaving.  Well, the fact that it was finally light out really screwed Mr. Merkin over.  I looked down between my legs at his naked body...

...only to see a thick patch of curly body hair on his lower back.  No other noticeable body hair was present anywhere on his back, ass, or thighs from what I could see.  It was so completely random that it looked like someone had super-glued a merkin down there (hence the nickname).  Now, whenever I think of the guy, all I can picture in my mind is that weird patch of body hair.

Anyways, fast forward a few days later.  Mr. Merkin wants to meet up again.  I ask if he'd be willing to meet up for coffee (anything where I wouldn't have to see the body hair patch).  This wouldn't work for him, apparently, because "when we meet in person, we fuck."  Thanks for the total lack of freedom, wannabe sex dictator.  Mr. Merkin also commented that he noticed I didn't orgasm.  If you think your partner NEVER climaxed the ENTIRE TIME you had sex, and that sex involved multiple rounds and you giving oral sex....do you think they loved having sex with you and that it was the most amazing sexual experience that they ever had to the point of where they're dying to repeat the experience as soon as possible?

I have honestly never wanted to get naked with a person for a second time less than with Mr. Merkin.