Puppet Love

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hadn't gotten a decent blow job in ages. On top of that, I had just gotten out of yet another relationship, which had not ended amicably and had left me, once again, panting on the rim of the wishing well. My mind was awash with unfairness. I felt betrayed because I was. Having my dick sucked by someone willing and eager would have solved many-a-future crimes, but at the time the only tangible thing wrapped around my penis was my overspent left hand. I knew, I definitely knew that the only logical thing to do was to bunny-hop around and inside as many muffs and bungholes as possible, and boy was I in the right place to be doing that, but I guess I was feeling very drab, lonely, depressed and infinitely masochistic to rise up and save my world.

I wanted my quiet time, even if that meant spending all day indoors accompanied only by my smoking gun. I made sure, to keep myself in private seclusion. After all, I knew how to play that game, I had been at it forever during my teenage years. I trusted the bottle, I didn't trust my dong.

Classes were finished and I was about to return to the city. Some quiet afternoon, I was sitting in front of a screen hastily drawing dick pics which were meant to be transformed into a birthday party invitation. I was lost in a sea of bright colours and an ocean of dark thoughts. The door opened and someone came into the room but I was too engrossed into being engrossed to notice.

“Hey”, she said.

I looked up and there she was. I had seen her before, in some class, in some party, in a hallway, down a busy street. I had seen her before but it must have been with a different set of eyes because this time seeing her made me remember and forget at the same time.

She smiled at me and very quickly told me about a party that would be happening that night. I said I knew and I showed her my dick picks. She must have been confused, but I was as well. She gave me her number and said that we could meet there, if I wanted to. It was a good thirty minutes after she had left that I regained my ability to rationalise. It would be a good two years until I had a chance to think again.

I ended up not going to the party. She ended up straight texting me all night. My dick picks ended up in the recycle bin where they were eventually recovered by the proctor. I ended up in disciplinary detail and she ended up in the arms of another guy who was living in a city two hours drive. Many things took a flight that night, and many others took a running jump. I was still right in the middle of everything. I was still holding my dick in my hand but one thing had changed. I had fallen in love.

Time passed uneventfully, as it always does but we kept close contact. A new friendship had begun. We communicated primarily via instant messaging and texting. I kept logs of every conversation. I would sit around for hours and analyse every nook of every cranny of text, every nuance of language, I hang from every emoji as if it was part of a hieroglyphic encryption inside the forgotten tomb of a pharaoh and I was the Indiana Jones unearthing it. I knew I wanted her. I didn't know if she wanted me back, and I was just too scared to ask.

I did ask one of her girl-friends though. She was confused at first, she thought I was talking about her. I reassured her, in calm hushed tones that I wanted absolutely nothing to do with her, but that I did want her friend instead. It wouldn't have been clear for quite some time, that I had lost two friends that day. She was very calm when she told me that the girl I had the hots for was with somebody else. I was very calm on my way back to my flat. I was livid as soon as I stepped my foot inside.

I kept up my charade for some time more, spending what I never really had. I was still way out of a decent blowjob but I had managed to go through many pints and bottles. I could have really used an extra pair of hands cause mine were getting tired from all the... typing. Finally, one glorious day, which might had been a Sunday, I asked her out for a coffee and maybe, in the end, a tooth sticking toffee.

I was sitting next to her, in front of the shop window when I told her. I saw her lips trembling, I saw her eyes darting up and down my face. I should, damn me, have gone in for the kill, for the kiss, but I didn't. Something inside of me wanted the savagery to continue. After a long pause she told me about her boyfriend and she told me about recently thinking of splitting up. I did not know what to make of it. I did not know how much she and I needed that kiss. I did not know that I would be spending the next two years of my life, trailing her, like a dog with arthritis waiting for a sign and a miracle to come down and light-paint my way towards her.

I didn't get a decent blow job during those years. I didn't even get a decent nights sleep. I did get a urinary infection, caused by dehydration. I also got a bitchin’ membership card at my local off-license. I also learned that grabbing the girl you like by the shoulders, in the midst of alcohol induced rage and screaming in her face “I know you want me so why don't you just say it!” was not the most courteous way of displaying affection.

I rarely saw her after that. Eventually, she left her boyfriend for another guy who didn’t have a penchant for drinking, knew how to wait and when to go in for the kill.

And I still, hadn't gotten a decent blow job in ages.

 

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