I broke up with my girlfriend. My bitch. My boo.
She was all mine and I let her go. We moved too fast and it destroyed the relationship. It’s my fault too for allowing it to happen.
Within a week she had me befriending her entire family on Facebook, breaking my balls for not wanting to spend time with them, and tripping too hard over me interacting with other women. That kind of drama isn’t supposed to happen so soon. That’s down-the-road-apiece shit.
And I hated her family. There. I said it. I hated her family because I felt so pressured to love them or I would lose my relationship. They were forced onto me. It wasn’t natural. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just different. I wouldn’t have my mother meet a girlfriend of mine for at least two months because I wouldn’t want her to meet someone I’m just getting to know. What if it fails two weeks later? I don’t want to introduce all these different girls to my mother. It looks bad. I simply tell her I met someone new and if it gets serious I’d like her to meet this person. Right? Maybe dudes are just different.
Plus I can’t stand it when someone doesn’t look me in the eyes when they speak to me. I found it offensive that her father would never look at me when he spoke—only to her as if I wasn’t in the room. Why is that? It bothered me so much that I didn’t want to be around him. I’m a smartass motherfucker and I can’t even count how many times I wanted to snap my fingers in his face and be like, “Yo, I’m here, too.”
Maybe he just hated the fact this tattooed dude is fucking his daughter? I can understand that. So be it. Adults can be children, too. I’ll give him a pass.
Sex was the other issue. To know me is to know I’m very much a pervert. I know of nothing sweeter than a woman’s vagina and this vagina was the best vagina I’ve ever seen. Like the best. She wins that award and it’s simply because of how unbelievably unmolested it was. Like a newborn puppy. It took acts of God for me to last more than 10 minutes. One funny thing worth mentioning is how vocal it made me. I was constantly repeating the word “fuck” more times than a group of black dudes screaming the word nigger. Or nigga. The point is I could never shut the fuck up. I had to tell the ceiling how good this pussy is every three seconds. My dick was like a kid in a candy store, but the kid is on meth and the candy is more meth and there’s drugs all around him and a Lamborghini parked outside. Plus he gets to murder someone. This is what it was like to have sex with this woman.
But traditional sex isn’t always enough. I enjoy committing filthy acts that God can’t even watch. Nothing too crazy. Butt stuff. Wild blowjobs. Why are dudes so attracted to girls’ assholes? We’re all fags. I’ve been spoiled in my sexual past and not ready to give the “so long and forever” to certain things. This is making me sound like an asshole, but women need to understand that a man must be sexually satisfied in order to exist in a relationship. Or he will cheat. It’s that simple.
The idea that a man has to wait until the end of the night to have sex is so absurd to me that I can’t even begin to understand it. A man will never make sacrifices in his life for a woman who can’t please him. Never. And I hope a woman would feel the same. But good Lord, was the traditional sex good! I could probably write a full-length novel about how great this pussy is. Bless her.
Maybe we could start over and go slower. I don’t know. I’m old and set in my ways. I need ample time alone to chase writing dreams and I need my shit blown like twice a day. Once is rad, but two is living! I need to be able to go to the bar by myself in order to sit by myself, catch a buzz by myself, and create new ideas of scripts that will never be made, but I love writing them anyway. I need this shit. In the past three days I’ve gotten more shit done than the past two months. I didn’t have enough time to myself. We went too fast. That’s why the relationship failed.