Here’s a story about unnaturally long sex
This doesn’t involve me.
It involves a friend of mine from the high school era. This is retold because, eh, why not … and because in some respects it’s funny.
Some back story on the girl: very cool, has a good sense with guys for the most part (this story isn’t an example of that), political, opinionated, generally pretty interesting. Definitely had a few phases of running through athlete guys in the 22–24 range.
On the dude: never met him face-to-face. From what I can ascertain and infer, about 6–8, wide shoulders, lower-than-typical intelligence, former wrestler and football player, likely a meathead in the most general sense. Passionate about hard rock, however.
Basic layout of the story:
These two had been casually hooking up for about 2–3 months. Sex had been had. One weekend, the dude’s sister goes out of town, and gives him the keys to her place in northern New Jersey. All the other times these two have hooked up, they had to sneak it in a friend’s apartment or a hotel or whatever, so this here — these keys — represent a golden opportunity to have some QT and maybe make a day of it. They go ice skating, grab some wine and (not censoring anything except names) some marijuana and head for his sister’s place.
The dude in this story recently had some issues with his knee, so he’s drinking the wine, hitting a little reefer, and also on painkillers. As any sixth grader who has taken Health Ed will tell you, this isn’t the best combo of concepts right here. The girl is just smoking and drinking. They’re watching TV, playing music, making food here and there.
It gets to be about that time and they head upstairs. They start going at it. She’s on top. The girl isn’t having any real problems finishing (sorry, I can’t write like good fan-fic authors). The dude, however, is. It hits about the 15-minute mark and the girl remarks, as casually as one can in this type of context, “Are you close?”
“Totally. Any second. So hot.”
5 minutes pass, then 10. The question is re-posed.
“Oh yes, any second. Oh god.”
Another 5 pass, then 10. We’re looking at close to 40 here.
Another 5 on top of that, then another 10. The question is re-posed, with a bit more aggressiveness this time.
That wasn’t finishing, that was affirming that finishing would be soon. Finally, around the 50–55 minute mark, we have some closure on the male side.
There’s a pause for some cuddling, some ganga, some pizza, some Reisling — normal things that 24 year olds need at this time on a Saturday evening, maybe minus the Reisling, which is a bit more of a menopausal female drink. Regardless, this time another question is posted. This version is male to female.
“Want to go again?”
The female agrees, albeit reluctantly. She wants some type of confirmation that it won’t be the same duration as last time.
The male nods, smiles. “How could it? That was insane.”
The process begins anew, probably about 12:45am or so. It’s Sunday now, but the base hasn’t changed. We’re at the 30-minute mark. She’s had her fun already. He’s still approaching that station.
I’ll just drop this in here.
It repeats like this for another 15–20 minutes before, again around the 50-minute mark, we get to completion. Back to the hash pipe, the pizza, the wine, and the radio. It’s close to 2am now.
Somehow, the guy here decides to offer up another session, and somehow, he manages to sell the girl on the idea. This time, though, there’s a caveat. “10 minutes and I’m done. I’m off and you can finish yourself.” He does a little faux weeping but consents. They’re back off to the proverbial races.
10 minutes comes and goes, and she’s not off. She’s still there, part of it, thrusting, moaning, all that (see, my fan-fic skills are picking up). This time we hit the 30-minute mark, then the 35-minute mark, and as she tires (but remains committed), she asks again about his future plans with regard to pleasure. He assures her it’s any second. It’s not. 50 minutes, 55, 60 … somewhere after an hour, after 3:20am in northern New Jersey, the third session is done. After this, they pass out. Her immediate attempts to sleep might be fake, lest he attempt to convince her of a fourth effort.
That’s the crux of the story. Here now are the two punchlines related to it.
A mutual friend talks to the girl about the story a few weeks later. After hearing the entire tale, the friend pauses and offers up all that she can. “Well, at least you weren’t on top the entire time. At least you got to switch it up.”
The girl in question shakes her head silently and looks down. “No, I was on top the entire time. All three times.”
The friend is a bit incredulous. She stifles a laugh and playfully slaps her friend on the shoulder. “Why would you do something like that?” she asks. She doesn’t completely care. She’s making girl talk conversation, to an extent, to be sure … but the answer intrigues her a little bit.
“Well, it was his sister’s house.”
“Right. So what?”
“So I felt like I needed to be hospitable.”
My name’s Ted Bauer; I blog here regularly and you can learn about hiring me for freelance and contract gigs as well. You can also subscribe to my newsletter.