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I’ll Take It Black - “Virginia is for Lovers Pt. 4”

I’ll Take It Black - “Virginia is for Lovers Pt. 4”

Now, we may not have had a title, I’ll give him that. But, the 6 months of talking, planning to move in together and solidifying exclusivity was close enough for me. I didn’t start this trend of disrespect and bullshit in our “relationship”, but I could sure as hell end it.


When he pulled up, I threw the charm (or whatever it’s called) at him. I knew I should have kept it, just to be extra petty, but throwing stuff always adds a nice, dramatic touch. He looked dumbfounded as he picked it up and I could tell he was trying to do two things before reacting: figure out how much I really knew, then come up with an excuse to account for his “misbehavior”. This time I wasn’t giving him a chance. After a barrage of, what I like to call, forgivable insults and a face full of tears, I drove home. Ready to drink away the days feelings and watch X-Files until my brain was numb.


I never considered myself to be a particularity good liar, so I often avoided anything that’d force me to do it. (Example: talking to other dudes behind my current dude’s back) But, considering we were now through, it seemed appropriate to make plans with the handsome, educated and successful friend of a friend, who had been hitting up my DM’s for weeks. He responded immediately with an offer to take me out for dinner and drinks, to which I replied, “Pick me up at 7 tomorrow.” It was on.

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It probably doesn’t need to be said, but I didn’t intend on actually going on the date. Not only was I still too awkward to successfully navigate them at this stage in my life. But also, I just wasn’t interested. So the thought of even pretending to enjoy another man's company hurt my soul. One thing I do know though, his dick was not his heart. So I didn’t really mind taking advantage of it. Especially with consideration of the current situation. He showed up promptly at 7pm like we had agreed. “Oh, uhm, I’m not ready. Come in and smoke while I finish up..” I knew my behavior wasn’t really justifiable, despite “the ex’s” actions, but I guess that’s always the case with emotional decision making.


He came in and sat down, now realizing I had no intention of actually getting ready. I stood, rolling up at my counter, giving him the full body view. My sweatpants hung loosely on my hips. My tank top revealed just the right amount of cleavage. His eyes were locked on me and I knew, he knew, what was happening. Almost as soon as I had sparked it, he had grabbed my sweats by the waist band, pulling me on top of him. Now straddling him on my living room chair, I rubbed my body against him. A brief preview of the bliss he was about to experience. He was loving it. Slowly, I stood up and led him upstairs, pulled down his pants and worked on a condom.


We fucked and he lasted longer than I had expected. It was clear he had been wanting to fuck for a long time. You can always tell by the look in their eyes during. That hungry, thoroughly thought out, I’ve been dying to fuck you, look. He was about to finish when my phone began ringing downstairs. I knew it was “the ex” and began to throw my ass back harder, more strategically. I felt his dick pulsate as he came and his body dropped on top of mine. After a few minutes, I worked my way downstairs to pee and grab my phone. It had 5 missed calls and a text that read, “Fine. I’m just showing up. On my way.” OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD. With alarms sounding in my head, I began executing an escape strategy. Last thing I needed was for this other man to get murdered in my apartment.

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As quickly as I could, I typed out a text response, “No. I don’t want you in MY space. I’ll come there to talk.” He agreed. I quickly usher the “new dude” out of my apartment. Sliding on sweat pants as I explained that my best friend had called with a boyfriend emergency and I had to go. If things weren’t already stressful enough, it had also been discovered upon removing his penis from me, that the condom had broken. Fuck my life and pour hot coffee in my eyes. I ran out the door to head to his house, not wanting to linger in fear he was already waiting outside my apartment to trap me.


Luckily, he wasn’t and the concern shifted back to the cum residue in my vag. Why hadn’t that been my priority?! For once, I found relief in the fact that he was selfish in bed. Meaning, the chances of him eating my pussy we’re low to none, so it seemed unlikely I’d be discovered. After a few hours of kissing my ass, cooking me dinner and providing all the smoke, he made his move. Obviously, I didn’t stop him. I was there, wasn’t I? What I didn’t anticipate was when he pulled off my pants and immediately dove between my legs. PANIC! PANIC! I try scooting back but wasn’t fast enough. He grabs my thighs and pulls me into him. His face firmly planted against my lady parts. Well, too late now. Fuck it! Karma really is a bitch.


The next morning, I blocked the other guys number in an effort to move forward seamlessly. I felt guilty, even though I knew I didn’t really have a reason to. Life was rocky, but we were working on it. Putting more rules in place, claiming me publicly, the whole thing, and after a few weeks, things really seemed like there were falling into place. Finally.

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Then one afternoon, he called me crying. He told me that his Dad had been diagnosed with cancer and it was clear that I needed to go be with him. I mean that’s why he called me, right? Turns out, that wasn’t why he called. Fumbling his words as he tried to piece together an excuse to decline my offer. “Uhm, no it’s okay, beautiful. I’m just gonna go to bed and get some sleep.” It oozed bullshit. Call me insensitive, but I can smell suspicious behavior. Pacing back and forth in my room, I told my best friend the story about how he said he just wanted to go to bed.


Passively, she tried to deter me from my decision to pop up at his apartment to find out if my assumption was correct. It didn’t take long for her to give in and before we knew it, we were in route to his place. When we pulled up outside, I noticed all his apartments lights on. A sign of sleep, surely? I wanted to give him one last chance to prove me wrong. To make me feel crazy and to show he could be trusted. I mean, what kind of person uses their dads cancer as an excuse anyways?


Turns out, he did. He answered when I called and I could tell by the hesitation in his voice that he was lying. Within a minute of hanging up, I was at his door. At first I just knocked. Then I started banging. I could hear him fumbling around inside in an effort to figure out his next move. Then, about a minute later, I heard his back door open. This was all the confirmation I needed, since obviously, I would’ve been invited in had there not been a woman there. I ran down his stairs as fast as possible, with hopes that I’d somehow be quick enough to shove in his back door. Instead, we nearly collided on the side of his building.

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With tears already running down my face, I ran at him and began swinging. I wasn’t exactly aiming, but that didn’t stop me from catching him on chin with my fist. He wrapped his arms around me and I could tell that he wasn’t just trying to block my attack, but also, comfort me. He knew he fucked up, but it didn’t matter. This was the point of no return. At least for our “relationship”.


He stayed blocked for a while and after a substantial amount of time had passed, we became friends. Non-sexual friends this time, of course.


Life has moved on and so had we. It’s crazy how that works.

Lovelace Media Set To Host "Virginia Is For Lovelace" Show For Virginia

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