“Sometimes you just jump and hope it’s not a cliff”
– Casey McQuiston, Red, White & Royal Blue –
With enough luck, the universe might introduce you to a man with a beauty that surpasses age and time. He pleasantly surprises you as your conversations flow naturally, as if you have known this person forever. Your first date with him surpasses all of your expectations. He takes excellent care of people he cares about and turns heads around with his beautiful smile. He often catches you staring into his piercing blue eyes as you’re wondering how lucky you are to call a compassionate and intelligent man like him yours. The evening ends with cinematic kisses and passionate lovemaking. With your naked bodies entangled on a luxuriously cozy bed, you began wondering about the life the two of you could have shared. You would have grown old together in a quaint old cottage in the countryside of Spain, sitting on the balcony laughing about the countless wild nights you’ve shared. It’s a love story many people dream of having, a beautiful romance that will be told for generations to come.
Unfortunately, this chapter is NOT going to be one of those love stories.
**Before proceeding, please read chapter LVII for context.**
I left you on a massive cliffhanger where I was on my knees, inches away from my crush’s throbbing bulge hiding underneath his plaid boxer. My wet bussy was left in the cold, itching for his penis to melt my frozen heart. My heart was racing— I had daydreamed about getting a taste of his naked torso ever since we first chatted on Grindr. As I was about to get the ultimate reveal of his coveted member, reality suddenly slapped me in the face as I was confronted by his reluctance to commit. What. The. Fuck.
During that one full minute of awkward silence, my mind went to a million places. On the one hand, I was unsure if I wanted to be in a committed relationship with my crush. Don’t get me wrong… my crush was a terrific guy, and I thoroughly enjoyed our time together. However, I was about to move to a new town. And as much as I believed in true love and sappy shit, I didn’t think I could maintain a relationship with only dirty texts and naked FaceTime sessions. I mean… I could barely keep a guy who’s one mile away interested!
However, this moment was two years in the making. It was everything I could think about when my crush told me I was super cute (my crush’s words, not mine). He was the star of all my sexual fantasies. This guy in front of me marked the beginning of my sexual awakening, and suddenly, he’s right in front of me.
Also, I was horny as fuck.
I witnessed his member casually grow more firm under his boxer as I sat inches away in front of it. This indicated my crush was, at least, physically attracted to me. Yet somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to treat me like a cheap sex doll due to his complicated moral dilemma.
And I couldn’t just sit on the cold floor while I did nothing and waited for my crush to make the first move. I could not miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get dicked down by my first crush. I had to do something.
So, the next two minutes of our tense interaction went like this:
"Oh, that's fine. I'm also not looking for anything serious at the moment," I said in a surprisingly convincing manner that I almost believed my own lie. "Yeah? I also think I need to figure stuff out with my ex first before I jump into a new relationship," my crush said with a semi-boner poking its way out of his boxer. "Ah... got it. I don't see why we should stop having fun while I'm still here, though," I said while channeling my trashiest reality star persona. "I guess we can do that if you're fine with it," he said, deflecting all the blames toward me in case this potential arrangement went south.
The gays are so hopeless when they think with their penises.
It’s bizarre how I cannot vividly remember having sex with my crush for the first time. Sure, there was the usual serotonin-charged euphoria after we both ejaculated at the same time. But something was missing. For almost two years, I had been slowly building up an expectation of how picturesque the sex with my first crush would be. I had imagined how intense the adrenaline rush would have been. I fantasized about the minute we stepped our feet into his bedroom, and we couldn’t wait for one more second to tear each other’s clothes off. A gentle night shared by two men with insatiable lust, pouring the entirety of our hearts and souls through our bare skin.
Instead, what I got was a shitty replica of a Sean Cody porno.
Don’t get me wrong… both our performances were decent, but the sex itself didn’t make me transcend beyond space and time. I guess it’s my fault for overhyping the moment. Because, in reality, my crush probably only thought of me as another hookup buddy with emotional complexities. Maybe part of it was because I wasn’t built for an athletic sex on a twin-sized mattress. Or maybe the lack of potential of the sex turning into something more turned me off. It was two years in the making, and somehow, it felt like an emotionless, mundane sex.
For the following weeks, I worked my damn hardest to build a deeper emotional connection with him (fuck, I’m beginning to sound like a ditzy Bachelor contestant). I pretended to give a shit about classic Hollywood movies that I, for the love of all holy spirits, could not understand. When he began rambling about the IMAX MSM 9802 Camera Christopher Nolan chose to shoot Interstellar with, I let out the fakest nervous laughter a human could have let out. I acted unconvincingly nonchalant about loving horror movies, knowing damn well I wouldn’t be able to have a peaceful sleep after that. I began to play basketball to spend more time with him. Yeah… I even butched myself up to win a guy over. That’s how bad I wanted this guy. I desperately wanted my first crush to like me.
But no matter how hard I tried, the chemistry was simply not there.
Let’s flash forward to my farewell party. I invited my closest friends and my first crush to have an evening filled with unforgettable memories countless college-style cocktails. Due to various logistic issues, we ended up playing some drinking games in some random guy’s apartment in West LA (I learned later that this guy happened to be my math TA; how fucking wild is that?!) My first crush was surprisingly determined to get me wasted with some sort of whiskey-based drinks, making countless trips to the kitchen to top up my cup. We played the classic “Never Have I Ever,” a game I knew damn well I always lost (or win? how you view someone’s standing in the game is very subjective). The next thing I knew, the guys at the party were already shirtless. Female boobies were almost out. The sexual tension in the room was off the chart.
At this point, my BAC level was so high I could have ridden my crush’s dick in front of my friends with zero hesitation. Fortunately, my crush was dignified enough to suggest taking our X-rated affair back to my apartment. So I ordered an Uber as fast as humanly possible because mawma had work to do.
His plan to get me fucked up, however, backfired as I immediately passed out the moment my body touched my bed. My crush, being a courteous gentleman that he was, decided to cuddle me and let the warmth of his naked torso guide me to a peaceful sleep. I couldn’t remember much from that evening, but I remembered how nice it was to be nestled into his loving arms. It was probably my favorite memory I shared with him, the closest thing we got to a fairytale romance.
The next morning, however, was not cute.
I woke up with moderate dizziness and a slightly congested nose. I turned my head around to the sight of my crush’s naked, chiseled back, still in disbelief of how messy my last evening in Los Angeles turned out to be. Like… what the fuck? I didn’t even have one last passionate farewell sex?! I did my very best douching technique for the evening, and the water coming out of my ass was the most pristine water a human could squirt out of their ass!
My last day in Los Angeles could not end like this, and I needed to leave with a bang. Like, a literal bang.
I was determined to make up for the lost opportunity.
The moment my crush woke up, I immediately put my game face on and gave him the most sultry, sensual “good morning, babe” that had ever left my lips. The strategy proved to work wonders as I noticed his member began to grow under his boxer. Although I could still smell a hint of whiskey from his and my breath, I began devouring his lips with mine. Things started to heat up, and I could feel his dick becoming rock hard. The next thing I knew, we were both fully naked, my legs were up in the air, and a bottle of lube was on my nightstand. His 7-inch penis was entirely wrapped in a latex condom, and my butthole was ready for penetration.
Suddenly, after only around 3-inch of his member was inside me, he stopped moving. All I could see from his face was a combination of regret and embarrassment. Five seconds later, he said:
“I’m so sorry, I came already.”
Okay… I’m not trying to shame anyone out there with premature ejaculation problem, but *what the fuck?!* Out of all the times we had had sex before, he chose this moment to come early?! Did this problem only occur in the morning? Was his dick unable to function properly before iced coffee and avocado toast? And for my last day in LA, I only got half of a penis? For less than ten seconds?! Like what… was my ass so majestic that it only took him 5 seconds to come? Should I consider changing the nickname for my butthole to “instant load squeezer”?
My first crush was probably filled with shame, and that made our last goodbye awkward as fuck. We hugged each other goodbye before he proceeded to closing my apartment door, marking the final chapter of our anti-climatic romance. Years have passed, and we still keep in touch to this day via flirty Instagram story fire emoji reaction. While my crush had evolved into a bearded, hunky hipster, I am still the same anxious Instagram stalker, wondering if he had found a better guy.
I eventually discovered that all those times, I was chasing perfection. I fell in love with the idea of this guy— the very first guy who reciprocated my physical attraction. In my head, he was the perfect guy with an ideal combination of beauty and charm. I was fixated on this fantasy of having a happy ending with my first crush, ignoring various other factors proving why we wouldn’t work together. Subconsciously, I was obsessed with that perfect romance. I mean… how many of you were fortunate enough to marry your first crush, a romantic tale your family would pass down for generations to come? I wanted that shit so bad. And we, too, had the ideal recipe for a power gay couple; two above-average looking gay men who cared deeply for each other.
Unfortunately, we can’t really force chemistry. I learned the hard way that physical attraction isn’t a strong enough foundation for a stable relationship. No amount of persistence and effort can alter how one feels about someone else. It’s shitty, of course, but it is what it is. Sometimes, two physically and emotionally compatible people are better off as friends. And that’s just how human emotion works.
And I have accepted that I’m OK with it.
SquirtTale 