D and I met in medical school. He is very attractive: average height, medium brown skin, rugby fit body, long brown dreadlocks, and a cocky personality that I couldn’t help but find appealing.

In medical school, I was honest with D in a way that I often could not be with other classmates. I hid parts of myself at times from them for both creature comfort and a wish to not be judged for my previous and continued subculture life. But with D, somehow he could tell something was up, something about me was different. He once told me it was in the way I carried myself, in the random things I knew about sexuality and sex, and the initial edited stories I told him. It wasn’t long before I allowed myself to be truly myself around D.

Our chill times together were occasionally transactional but in an oddly funny way. I’d come to hang at his place, he’d randomly ask me for this or that, and I’d charge him. He’d laugh but then pay me for whatever random thing it was he wanted or needed: folding his clothes, helping him get face masks, or walking him through the process of signing up for a big test.

Other times, when we hung out with mutual friends, it was just kind of fun and relaxed, nothing big.

But when my honesty extended to my sex life, or rather lack therefore while in medical school, I let it be known I found him attractive. He played it off often, saying he refused to fuck anyone in our class for fear of drama. No matter my insistence that all I wanted was dick, he politely declined. 

Well, until we were about one month away from graduating, had all but finished our requirements, and had way too much free time on our hands.

I came over to his place. He had just gotten out of the shower, clean and refreshed. He laid on his bed and invited me to give him head. I setup my blue tooth speaker, stripped down to just my underwear, and enjoyed myself for about an hour.

His dick was beautiful. A fun time was had by us both.

I reminisce on this moment now because of the randomness that is life.

This past Sunday, I flew back from my vacation in New Orleans. As soon as I leaned my head back in my Uber, ready to sleep for the roughly hour long drive home, I got a call from D. He had previously offered to come visit me a few times, including this day, but we’ve never been able to make it happen including this past Sunday. Resident life such as it is.

So instead he asked me about my life. I asked him about his. We caught up.

But then he veered the conversation towards my sex life, or once again lack thereof. Lately, I’ve had sex only, at best, once a month. Life has been kicking me in the teeth, so my lack of good dick is on par for my current circumstances. But then D told me he still remembers our one session at his place fondly, says my blow job was one of the best of his life and he, in retrospect, was kicking himself for not taking me up on my offer sooner. My ears perked up. I was no longer tired. Why was D mentioning this?

Way too often, I forget I make an impression on people. This situation with D is just example number 45 or so of me putting less stock in myself than others.

That being said, D offered to be added to my roster. My next vacation is around my birthday, so the rough plan is for me to drive up to him on that Tuesday, spend the night, and then drive down to a concert on Wednesday. 

Yes folks, you read that right: I have scheduled (almost) birthday sex three months in advance. 

My life is so random sometimes.

We will need to have a conversation about expectations. I want his dick in more than just my mouth this time. But anticipation of seeing him again, of fucking him again in whatever way we collectively agree, has brought a small smile to my face for the past few days.

I do love having something to look forward to, especially knowing that it’s good dick.

Categorised as: Uncategorized

Comments are disabled on this post