So after my all night disappearance, I am pretty sure that my (soon to be ex) Husband was not pleased to find me with The Arab. Actually, I know he was pissed because he came right out and said so.
After a silent cab ride home.
Category: The Arab
Occasionally an opportunity goes by that you just can’t pass up. I had one of those nights about three months after I got married. I got to throw three of his problems in his face in one night.
To show him how it felt.
I didn’t expect him to answer his phone when I called. We hadn’t talked in three or four months. I didn’t bother to leave a message when it went to his voice mail.
But I was surprised to get a text from him a few minutes later. We texted for hours and I met him at his place at midnight. We talked, fucked on the couch and then went to bed together.
But we didn’t go to sleep.
I was thinking about this the other day when I was with Dreads. It’s that relationship thing that happens. That thing that switches off in the guys head when he realizes you’ll be back again and again.
And you become a piece of furniture-convenient to have around when he wants to use you, but otherwise…ignored.
I have a problem with being drunk and owning a phone. Maybe I should just get a phone that doesn’t allow me to text people. That would solve my little drunk texting problem.
The texts can go two ways depending on my mood-sexual or downright mean.
I feel like doing something crazily vindictive. Not really for any reason in particular.
Only because The Arab still breathes.
If I am happy with Dreads then why do I care that he still exists?
So I refused my first threesome offer. And my second offer.
This time I was completely in love with one of the parties that would have been involved, so its not too hard for me to understand why I would refuse this offer.
“What’s wrong?” I don’t think The Arab expected me to stop him as he had had his hands down my pants on any number of occasions before this one. I don’t even know how many times we danced together out at a club, with his hand under my skirt or down the front of my jeans, one finger inside me as we moved together. It was like having sex with our clothes on.
“I didn’t shave.” I was embarrassed. I didn’t want somebody, and especially not this somebody, to see me like that. It was something that I was used to, that I hadn’t really thought about beforehand.
I knew The Arab for about two years before we had sex. It was two years of talking, laughing, joking, screwing around, hugs, love, making out, dancing, him touching me “inappropriately” while dancing, drinking, getting stoned and occasional serious conversation when we needed someone to talk to about our problems.
The problem with knowing and loving someone for years before having sex with them is that I already had far too many emotions invested in him. I had too much of my sanity to lose.
I love going out to the club, dancing and drinking with The Arab. The intensity builds all night as we get drunker and friskier within public view. Him slapping my ass, me backing up a step as we wait for drinks at the bar, grinding my ass against his hard cock. My lips grazing his neck, his hands finding their way under my skirt, slipping into the place he knows his cock will be later.
When we get ready to leave we know what fun awaits us in the car for the ride home.
