Cock Blocking Yourself…or…You Talked Me Right Out of It

Lately I’ve been experiencing..um… a little difficulty, and its quite out of character for me. The last few times I’ve met with clients, I’ve been unable to…well…“cross the goal line”. It doesn’t always happen, but for the most part, when I see a client, he’s not the only one going for the gold. I’m looking to be pleased just as much as he is, and I take my pleasure from seeing and feeling him enjoy himself with me. For some reason though, I’ve had problems with my own enjoyment.

I took a call later in the day last week from a gentleman I’ve seen before. We haven’t seen each other for over a year, and I couldn’t recall why. I’d already had one date earlier in the day, and taking another was a rarity for me, but with my recent “depression”, I decided I needed to go for it anyway. Its not that I can’t handle multiple clients in a day, I just prefer not to.

Anyway, we met at a local bar/restaurant for a drink, and I agreed to stay for dinner. We spent about an hour sitting together, sharing drinks and food…and sooo much more. I suddenly realized why this guy and I hadn’t visited more often: over-share. Not only was he telling me about how things had been going since we’d last met, but he launched into so much detail about everything that had happened over the last year that I began to think this was an inventory of his life. I’m not exaggerating. Really. When I asked how his family was, I expected an “oh, they’re great, the kids are growing” or a quick “same shit, different day”…you get the idea. What I did not expect was a detailed run-down of every milestone that had occurred with each of his four kids. When I tried to change the subject, he kept bringing it back around to what he wanted me to know about his family. Was he cock clocking himself?

After 40 minutes, he finally stopped talking about himself long enough for me to suggest that we head over to his room. In situations like this, I try to get things moving to avoid another ramble. In this case, no such luck. He’s unhooking my bra while recounting every last detail of taking his son to the Irish parade the month before. I’m telling you, I could not make this stuff up. An hour into the festivities, I realize its not going to happen for me. I’m reminded of how he’s “that guy”. You know, the one who wants her to enjoy things just as much as he does? Yeah.

Remind you, I’m not a good liar. I don’t like to fake it because its not gonna be believable. Motor mouth begins to talk dirty in an effort to get me to cross the goal line. He’s not just trying to paint a vivid picture for me…oooooh no. This guy is workin’. Hard. Sweating, gasping, grunting. The result? Nada. Ain’t gonna happen. I can’t take watching him try to force it, so after his third time begging to G_d…I tell him. He doesn’t believe me. Really? He thinks I just need to “concentrate”. If I have to concentrate on cumming, its just not working out.

I help him get cleaned up and realize he wants to talk about it. That’s what worked for he and “the Mrs.” Um, what? This cannot be happening. The more he “communciated”, the more my vagina shriveled up further inside me. I swear it started to disintegrate. I could not believe this. Was motor mouth’s talking keeping me from enjoying my usual sexual prowess? I can’t say that I’ve ever had a man talk me out of an orgasm before. Obviously, the more mundane conversation you impose on your fantasy woman, the less “heated” things get. Wanna cool down a lady who’s intent on jumping your bones? Talk about your home life non-stop, and then try applying what you learned with your marriage counselor to the way you communicate with your hooker. Sheesh!

The moral of the story? Leave home at home and don’t cock block yourself out of a good time.Not only do I feel like I can’t see this guy anymore, but his overshare makes me feel like I know too much. Ugh.