I came across Persian Guy on Match.com months ago, shortly after I broke up with Olympian (just before Halloween) because of the theory that the best way to get over someone is to get under somebody else. Or some shit like that. And I'm determined to fuck that adage true.
The day after Persian Guy was supposed to come over to my house to cook me an authentic Persian dinner for our first date (but he cancelled due to a stomach bug), I realized that I was in no position to date anyone and called it quits across the board of my many dating contenders. A few thought it was a manipulative bitch of a move on my part, but it wasn't. I was broken, and the only person who could fix me was me. So I bailed on the dating scene.
Since then, Persian Guy had been nothing but class, patience, and understanding: the classic Nice Guy. Even though my sexual assessment dubbed him "inexperienced," he was at the top of my To-Do list thanks to his endearing eagerness to please (i.e. eat me out for hours without expecting or even wanting anything in return, as against my nature as that may be) and my personal preference for 1) foreigners and 2) the tall, dark, and handsome type.
Yada yada yada, we finally had our first date on Saturday. I was not expecting a lot, pretty much just a sexual play-thing to keep me subdued a few more weeks until I could find a better match to keep me occupied during my dating down-time that is the year 2013.
Since this blog post is overdue, and I've been drinking so I'm likely to pass out at any moment, I will gloss over the PG-rated portion of the date with the following summary: Persian Guy was awesome, much to my delight and surprise. He was hilarious, witty, flirtatious, dorky, and undeniably fuckable. And not just because he had taken me to Fogo de Chao aka a Brazilian steakhouse aka an all-you-can-eat top-rate meat buffet upon seeing that my original steakhouse choice had a 45 minute wait and OH BY THE WAY he is rich. News to me. The older and broker I get, the more I likey me the tastefully quiet-but-rich guys, especially if they will be attending med school next year with the intention of curing cancer like Persian Guy. Also I'm 4-5 weeks into the Paleo diet so my only food requirement these days is "lots of meat, twice as many vegetables."
The dinner portion of our evening was fantastic. Never a pause in conversation or a glance at the watch for an excuse to get the fuck out of there, go home, and watch Netflix in the comfort of my bed with two farting dogs. After two hours of eating many fine cuts of red meat, I invited Persian Guy back to my place to "watch a movie."
Yeah. I think we watched a big fat three minutes of some 80s movie before shenanigans ensued.
We hadn't kissed yet. I kept waiting for it to happen throughout the evening--perhaps when we were at his car, or in the car (where he had smoooooooth jazz playing the whole time), or after he'd given me a piggy-back ride from the restaurant to the car because my heel broke and it was rainy and I wanted an excuse for his hands to be wrapped underneath my thighs (for future reference: a bad and possibly ER-inducing idea if you've used two different kinds of lotion on your legs before your date), but... NADA.
So we went back to my place. I put on a movie I knew we wouldn't watch on the DVD player, we sat on the couch, and at last we were kissing even though I have no idea who initiated it but who gives a crap because HOT TAMALES WE WERE MAKING OUT AND IT WAS HOT AT FUCK.
I really must give Persian Guy credit, for all throughout the evening up until the kiss he had been a complete gentleman, in spite of my many efforts to discourage him from such behavior. I'd worn one of my favorite form-fitting miniskirts (knowing that he was an ass man), a form-fitting camisole top, a form-fitting sweater, and high, high heels. Poor bastard didn't stand a chance.
His gentlemanly disposition broke the second I mounted him on my couch.
At first I was gentle but eager, learning and adjusting to Persian Guy's style since I had expected him to be on the more traditional/conservative side. For all I knew, a girl climbing onto his lap might be reason enough for him to expect my father to show up at the door with two goats and a pig for my dowry in the morning.
I don't know what it is, but there is a compatibility to anything and everything sexual, something about being in sync, on the same wavelength as each other. Persian Guy and I had that all fucking night long, as if our bodies were made for each other. Chef is the last partner I've said that about--it's a large part of the reason I couldn't keep myself away from him even when he was being an undeserving jackhole, which was far too often for me to have an excuse otherwise. Same with The Russian, the previous fantastic fuck (with no logical reason, that is) on my sex roster.
We kissed. And kissed and kissed and kissed. In his accent, Persian Guy kept stopping to pant, "I did not expect this!" and then he'd continue sucking on my tongue. Eventually he grew bolder and started to wander: his mouth to my neck and bare shoulders, his hands up my bare thighs to my ass. I welcomed it all, grinding into him slowly, surely, hungrily, my hands wrapped around the back of his neck.
"It is not fair to me, my hands can feel your ass but I cannot see it!" he gasped, clutching me tighter.
"It's not fair, you say?" I said teasingly, pulling my top off. "Does this help at all?" Persian Guy stared at my tits, contained by a black lace bra with pink accents. He buried his face in between them, his hands clawing at the clasp. Within seconds my bra disappeared. He gasped audibly when he saw my nipples are pierced, then covered my left breast with his mouth.
My head fell back and I groaned. Not because that's what girls are supposed to do at this point in the story, but because Persian Guy's mouth on my body felt fucking awesome. His fingers dug into my ass my thighs my back and it took all of my will power not to let loose his hard cock and bury my pussy on it until both of us were screaming.
At last, I stood up, grinned at Persian Guy, turned around, and unzipped my miniskirt. I thought he was going to fucking CRY. Instantly his hands went to the top of my panties and pulled them down a little, just enough to reveal my little peekaboo tattoo and the top of my ass crack. He kissed me everywhere all over and then some. "Your panties, they are so sexy. I like these colors," he told me. "They look gorgeous on you."
I placed my hands over his and grinned at him. "I think it's time to go upstairs," I said to Persian Guy.
He said nothing. His eyes said everything. I was damn near ready to melt already.
At the base of the stairway, I turned the light on. Unbeknownst to Persian Guy, before our date I had placed the dimmer switch at exactly the right setting to accent my bootyliciousness without illuminating my cellulite. YES, SERIOUSLY. THIS IS HOW GIRLS WORK. I parted the curtains, grinned at Persian Guy, and started my slow, seductive ascent to the bedroom. With each step, my hips and ass rotated for maximum affect, my calves flexed, my hamstrings tightened--I was a walking goddess.
Some women's bodies were made for plunging necklines or push-up bikinis or six-inch heels. Mine was made for walking up stairs wearing nothing but itty-bitty panties.
Once I turned into the bedroom with Persian Guy speechless at my heel, I knew the night was only going to get better. I turned and fell onto the bed with a grin. He followed immediately, kissing my bare shoulders and breasts with the hunger of no man I'd seen in years.
"It's not fair that I'm nearly naked and you still have all your clothes on," I said teasingly, reaching for his shirt.
"Why see me naked? I concentrate on your pleasure tonight," he answered, pulling at my panties. Ohhhh, how I love foreign guys because they actually talk like this. I managed to get his shirt off before giving in entirely. Persian Guy was a master at distraction, I'm happy to report.
"I want to taste you," he said as his body rose above mine on the bed, his smile wide with a grin. Oh sweet holy FUCK is there anything a girl loves to hear more than that. NO THERE ISN'T.
I gave in happily. With my legs spread wide open for Persian Guy, he quickly proved himself to be no novice. I damn near fucking cried.
What made Persian Guy so unforgettable as a lover? Sweet merciful christ, so many things:
His genuine eagerness, willingness, and determination to eat me out for as long as he wanted. He didn't give a fuck if he got off. It took me three attempts to blow Persian Guy before he conceded to a proper letting me give him head. AND I GIVE DAMN GOOD HEAD. But he didn't care. All he wanted was to be between my legs. For ages. My knees still go weak just from typing that.
He couldn't--wouldn't--stop complimenting me. In English, his native tongue, in Italian, French, Spanish, even Latin (albeit poorly) once he saw my tattoo--he told me you're so beautiful, your ass is amazing, you're so gorgeous, I can't keep my hands off you, your pussy tastes so delicious, I want to bury my face in your ass. Sure, none of his exes had let him enjoy ass-play of any kind, whereas I consider that, just, well, normal, so when Persian Guy buried his tongue in my ass and I moaned, of course he lost his mind. Next his fingers explored and all I did was sigh happily and obviously he will never forget me not even on his deathbed, but so WHAT. That's not the point. He loved my ass, I loved him loving my ass. There's nothing but happiness there.
My favorite moment of the entire night was when Persian Guy openly worshipped my body. It was after Persian Guy had gotten me off with his mouth several times, but before we had really gotten to the good stuff: he laid naked on the bed between my legs as I perched above his body. I was hot and sweaty and happy from cumming repeatedly. Since it's Texas, it doesn't matter that it's technically winter, I had the air conditioning running and the ceiling fan blowing at full-speed. To fend off the beads of sweat building, I pulled my curls together and lifted them to the top of my head to let the gusts of air cool down my neck. With my eyes closed and my cheeks flushed, I felt Persian Guy's hands move up my thighs to my hips.
"You are so beautiful. I could look at you like this all day, like a statue in a museum. But you're better than a statue because you're here with me." His hands rubbed up and down my skin, his eyes up and down my entire body with nothing but complete desire. I blinked at him.
OH MY FUCKING GOD. THERE ARE ACTUALLY GUYS WHO TALK LIKE THIS.
I couldn't believe my ears. When it comes to beauty, I'm still stuck in the fifteen year-old bespectacled nerd-girl version of myself, so normally I'm deaf to compliments like this, on the rare occasion I actually hear them. As if he knew I doubted him, Persian Guy's hands wandered over and clenched my body as if he were afraid it would disappear within his clasp.
Persian Guy... he looked at me in a manner that has raised the bar for all lovers for the rest of my life. His eyes were full of nothing short of awe. Never before have I felt like such a goddess. It was afuckingmazing. It was glorious, as if my body were made of clouds from the heavens and my gasps of pleasure came from Venus herself. His hands. Wow. His hands, they were everywhere and all over and inside and outside and caressing and grasping and... just.. wow. He looked at me with nothing but adoration--awe--desire--in his eyes.
THAT SHIT DOES NOT HAPPEN IN REAL LIFE. Or so I thought.
That's right. It got even better. He pulled me onto his face, and he ate me out so hard that I came and came and came, with only my hands grasping onto the headboard to keep me from collapsing.
And then--and then, he fucked me. Like a dying man who's got five minutes left to live and he intends to make every thrust count. I opened my legs for it all.
By that point, Persian Guy had eaten me out so much and fingered me so much that I was fucking HAPPY. And that, ladies and gentleman, is the perfect place to be for squirting. After two or three minutes, I started squirting every time his pelvis pounded into mine. Being a shameless braggart, I had already told him I'm a squirter (not that it's easy to keep such a secret when you have to break out a squirt-pad a few minutes into hooking up), so it shouldn't have been a surprise to Persian Guy, but it was anyway. When I get going, I tend to squirt with each thrust, and over a minute or two that is a LOT of squirting. Gushing, really. He exclaimed "it's so warm!" every time I did as he felt me spraying up against his torso. Sometimes when it ricocheted, I felt droplets entering my mouth. I gulped them down and kept on fucking with nothing but pleasure.
By the end of the evening, I was happy to say I had discovered Persian Guy had a mild fetish for pain.
Every time I dug my nails into his neck while we made out, he shuddered. I liked having such an affect on him. When I bit his earlobe, I thought he was on the verge of dying.
Eventually, Persian Guy left. After he had made me feel like a goddess on earth. He came twice during sex even though he eventually admitted that he'd cum four times that morning in anticipation of our date. There was nearly a third time when we were saying good-bye at the door, but I'd run out of condoms and I was enjoying being a bitch and bending over for him with nothing but booty shorts on. That's the first time I can say I literally thought a guy was going to cry from not being able to have sex.
It's good to be Vix.