Tantric deja fuck...

WARNING: What you are about to read is of the more descriptive and graphic nature.

If you are offended by my sexual foibles and don't find them funny...move right on!





I met the ex via an online dating site. When one works in a harem of women where the only men are gay or ancient, online dating is the way to go. I've had various types of experiences and I'll always return to it because it works for me. I'll post a few times about what to look out for, what to do, what to run away screaming from...(plenty!!) but maybe because of the weirdness, I've had some very pleasant times!



I digress....

Dumped, horny, exhausted by child, horny, needing to get out and have 'adult conversation', horny, I returned to the world of online dating. I was hesitant, of course. It had been almost 5 years since I had dated or slept with anyone other than the ex and now I was going to be advertising myself as a single mom. Enter red flags, enter those searching for instant families, and enter those who think all it takes is a Tims coffee enticement for me to drop trou and bend over.



First few weeks online were disappointing. It was a return to high school: those I was interested in ignored me, and the George Costanza types flocked. I didn't branch out at first from my tried and true attractions - leading to my first sex...after almost five years of being with the ex....a deja fuck.



Cute, thin, quirky, artistic. I was humming. Online chats flowed, the chemistry was there but something kept tweaking me, a level of familiarity. We agreed to meet and halfway through the coffee date, it dawned on me. We HAD met before. Intimately. I think he realized something was up when I looked both stunned and horrified at the same time.
"We're on a deja date" I blurted out and watched as the comprehension dawned.
"You were the..."
I nodded and shrugged, trying to remember why we had only gone out maybe twice at the most. "Did you still want to continue"I remember asking.
I remember him looking over at me, slowly smiling. "Why not? We're here now"

Fast forward to end of date, and a lot of making out later. We said our long, heated goodbyes in between plenty of gropes and promises to meet for 'longer' next time. This was a a curfew date for me; the ex was on one of his regular visits which meant enough time to subway jaunt, throw back coffee, exchange a few knowing tidbits and subway jaunt back home before the constant text messaging started. I could handle a shorter date this time, since it was obvious that the next date? Mama was going to get some action!

A week of constant messaging later, finally agreed to an evening tv date (please..comments to yourself). I still couldn't put my finger on why it was only a few dates and I couldn't remember much about the actual sex - although the kissing was fabulous so I was hopeful. The messaging was suggestive, playful, enticing so of course, Mama here was hoping for a super star!

Mama NOW knows there is a reason why you can't always remember sex. And it's not always related to alcohol consumption. I arrived at his place and he pulled me in and before my coat was even off, hands were in my hair and we were making out. Finally. Sex! Yay for Mama! So hopeful considering that I still had my coat on and hands were under my skirt.

Then, my coat was slowly unzipped. "Now sit, breathe. Relax. We are going to take our time. We're going to breathe and be still and enjoy each moment"

Once again, another double take. When one hasn't had sex since conception of a wee shit who was at this point six months old, breathing and 'enjoying each moment' is not exactly what one hopes for. Ah well. Maybe this was just his version of foreplay? I could only hope that things would improve...

It was not to be. He was an air toucher, a whisper soft brusher and everything was about being calm and concentrating, letting 'the energy flow thru'. No sex for over a year? I had different opinions of what it meant to let the energy burn and flow. Afterwards, he walked me out to the cab, a bit of a femine sway to his hips and I remembered why we only went out a few times: I felt like I was just fucked by flowers and butterflies.

Oddest thing about mr deja fuck? He was a one fuck and run type. Completely seemed to go against his new age, sensitive nature. Why was I even disappointed that he dropped off the face of the earth again? I puzzled and questioned it for a while, thinking it was maybe just me. Finally, I gave myself a good smack and realized: would I REALLY want to spend weeks or months breathing softly and listening to a soothing voice reciting, 'such pretty pretty genitals'??

God, no.