Melancholy and my Infinite Madness

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These events occurred midsummer a couple years ago. There was always a sense of tragedy about them, although nothing particularly sad happened. No one got sick, no one died, and no one experienced much heartache. Well, maybe a bit of the latter.

This story is 100% true, for what it’s worth. All characters are above 18, ect, ect, ect.

*****

I had just been fired from my job of several years. I would later receive a diagnosis for bipolar disorder, but I had no idea of it at the time. I had even been arrested at one point, during an absolute blackout drunken episode. All I knew was that some days I was fine, and others I was very “off”. My interpersonal relationships with my co-workers were completely in shambles thanks to my mood swings, and this eventually lead to me being let go. Despite having a lot of experience and proficiency in my field.

I also had the poor judgement to have a one night fling involving a co-worker who was engaged, after a bar crawl with work people. We’ll call her “Amanda”. We’d flirted half the night. I overheard her making excuses to her fiancé on the phone, and glancing down the table at me the whole time. I spent the night working the crowd. I was “on” that night, and a little manic. Most of our co-workers eventually left, except for me and Amanda, of course. We found ourselves sitting on the curb of the bar parking lot. I started to give her a bit of drunken self-pity I was working through at the time. Which was strange, because I’d always been a happy drunk, usually. I shared a cigarette with her, although she didn’t smoke. She interrupted me mid-sentence, and unexpectedly said “I think I LOVE you!” I tried telling her that she had terrible taste in men if that was the case. And then we kissed.

She agreed to drive me home, since she was slightly more sober than I was. After we got to my place, I remember sitting in her car, making out, my hand down her shirt. She acted so strangely – she would physically push me away and even pinch me, and then I would sit back, waiting. She’d then bite her lower lip, make a noise that I can only describe as a girly growl and pull my shirt to bring me in closer again. I pulled her bra down and had my mouth on her breasts. God, that was sweet. She had on a lacy turquois bra that I remember liking. Here’s where we get to some of the 100% real parts of the story, so bear with me.

I had some whisky dick, unfortunately, plus a full bladder. I told her I was going to the bathroom, and she said that she would be gone if I went. I went anyway. I knew she was bluffing. I still lived with my ex at the time. When I got in my place, my ex, Jenny, was sitting on my bed, sprawled out and watching TV, looking very relaxed and sexy. She said “hi”, and said my name in a way that made it very clear what she was down for. I gathered that she had been out drinking too, had come home before me, and was waiting for me. I have to admit, Jenny looked very tempting laying there. My ex was very attractive – she had short, curly brown hair and very pale skin. She was somewhat tall and extremely slender. She wore lots of little tank tops and cardigans. She had freckles all over her back that I would look at all the time when we fucked doggy style. Like a road map. We hadn’t been intimate since the breakup a few months before. I have to admit, as sexy as she was, I took a certain savage pleasure in saying “hey, what’s up?” and breezing past her to take a piss. Then leaving to go downstairs to the street to make out with my hot co-worker, Amanda. I guess I hadn’t fully gotten over the break up yet.

I went down to the street, and of course Amanda was still there, as I knew she would be. I got in the car, and she immediately straddled me. We made out some more. I sucked her glorious tits and unzipped her jeans. Her breasts were great – the kind of breasts that didn’t call too much attention when she was in her regular work clothes, but were absolutely perfect up close and in person. Perfectly pale and perky, with soft nipples two shades lighter than the eraser on a pencil. I started fingering her and continued sucking on her tits as she straddled me. After a couple cebeci escort of minutes, she stopped, looked me straight in the eye and said “invite me up to your place.” She said my fingers felt good. She had brown eyes just a few shades lighter than her dark brown hair. I saw no hesitation there, and she never blinked. I explained to her that this wasn’t possible, as I still lived with my ex and she was home. I urged her to find us a dark street where we could continue – we had been making out directly under a street light, and it’s probable that someone passing by had gotten a bit of a show. Her expression curdled, and she refused. We kissed a few more times, and she said that she had to go. I got out of the car and left her crying as she pulled away. I didn’t envy her the task of explaining to her fiancé why she was hours late. I can only imagine what we would’ve gotten up to if my ex had not been home that night.

Needless to say, this caused drama at work. I got very drunk a couple of times and talked about the tryst with some co-workers. This turned out to be a very bad idea. Word got around. I drunkenly texted Amanda one night, and she accused me of harassment. Probably to get me out of the way, as I’m sure it was embarrassing for her to have to work with me after that. The harassment accusation was the final straw for my job, and I was officially let go.

Fast forward a few weeks – My ex had moved out. My – (our?) apartment had two whole barren rooms where her stuff used to be, and after I got fired I would sit on the floor and take phone calls from old friends I had worked with. The echoes in the room bounced off of the chipped hardwood floors and smoke stained white walls, which seemed very fitting for those calls.

It was a time of great change for me.

I responded to getting fired in a peculiar way. As I said before, it turned out that I had bipolar disorder, although I didn’t know at the time. I entered a manic phase. I was determined to perfect myself before moving on in any way. The experience of getting fired from a job I had worked for seven years had me convinced that there was something really wrong with me. On the inside.

I started working out all the time. I jogged so much that I had almost no body fat. I had talked with a friend who had some boxing experience, and after that I became obsessed with perfecting my jab. He’d always said that the jab was so important that boxing could almost just be call jabbing. I’d work it for hours, with a 6 pound weight in front of the full length mirror in the abandoned room my ex used to sleep in. I developed a golden brown suntan on my arms and face from all the time spent jogging outdoors. If anyone who really knew me had known the extent of my obsession, they would have found this hilarious. I am NOT a macho person normally. I have floppy blonde hair, a slender build and green eyes, framed by very long eyelashes and a sensitive face. I’m in my early 30’s. I consider myself more of a social butterfly and a pseudo-intellectual, even though I never made it all the way through college. Nevertheless, after a couple of months of this regimen, I was in the best shape of my life. I ended up sleeping with an old friend at one point, who said my arms in particular looked amazing. I cleaned obsessively and quit smoking. I tried to teach myself quantum physics. I now had a purity obsession.

I had enough savings and severance money to last me a few months. I really had no plan beyond that. So, I did what any sane, intelligent and out of work person would do. I started a Match.com account. That’s where all the classy people are, you see.

After a couple weeks of rigorously working the Match scene, I found myself with two options. One was a cute girl with curly red hair and freckles. She was positive and upbeat, with a line in her dating profile about a guarantee that dating could be fun. For comparison’s sake, my profile was filled with insane shit about how I was like a grand piano mated with a killer whale. I suppose I was hoping my sense of humor would translate. My other possibility was the polar opposite of the first one. She cebeci escort bayan had straight, black hair and an impish grin on her profile pic. She immediately commented about how draining dating could be, and how she really didn’t want to be dragged back into it. She was also a single mom, which was new for me.

Of course, I went with the dark one. Her name was Kathy.

We met at a bar that doubled as a vegan restaurant. I arrived first. My hands were shaky, and I immediately started drinking. My newfound obsession with purity put a lot of pressure on me to be perfect, and I was not relaxed like I normally would have been. She arrived when I was halfway through my first beer. Thankfully, her face lit up and I could tell that she liked what she saw. For some reason that made me even more jittery. It turned out that her previous date had been a guy in his 50’s, who tried to wear necklaces and a shirt advertising a radio station. You know, because he was “with it”. I may have teased her about this any time the word “old” came up in a conversation. She was either too polite or too engaged to notice my shakiness, and I settled down after a few minutes.

A few beers in, and my body language was confident, almost cocky. She was posted up in a corner near the bar, and I relaxed on a stool with my legs propped up against the low window sill. It was almost possessive. She didn’t seem to mind. We ended up pretty hammered and went to another bar next door. It was a great place. It was 1920’s themed, with upholstered chairs you could sit and brood in with your drink. It could only be described as “swanky”. We had expensive liquor with artisan ice cubes. We were in the back, and she had her legs across my lap as we drank. We saw a couple go into the bathroom together, and caught glimpses of them aggressively fondling each other when the door swung. We contemplated doing the same, joking, but not really. It was just that kind of night. We started making out like crazy, right there in the bar. Our waitress almost seemed scared as she gingerly dropped off the check.

We ended up going back to her place to smoke weed. Her daughter was with her dad for the weekend. She went to the bathroom, and I found myself pushing her hard against the wall and kissing her so hard that our teeth clicked. That was an accident. She put her hand on my chest and just said “gentle”.

One of the first things she said to me at her place – and I swear to God this is true – was that she had had sex with Shia LaBeof. She worked at a fancy wine bar downtown, and I guess famous people came through sometimes. They’d apparently flirted, gotten busy and then she’d never heard from him again. She’d had a thing for him for some time after that, but he never returned her calls. She also almost got us tickets to see Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes when she waited on them, but instead got in trouble with her crazy boss for “fraternizing” with the guests.

She started to sober up, and decided to turn coquettish. She said “I don’t think we should have sex tonight” and smiled. She had a great smile, the same impish one that had drawn me to her profile. I… didn’t exactly see this for what it was. I slightly hung my head and tried to sell that I also thought that was a good idea. Less pressure and things like that. I still didn’t have too much confidence.

We ended up on the couch, watching Arrested Development on Netflix. We took the back cushions off the couch after a bit, and ended up spooning. I found myself caressing her breasts as she sighed in between fits of laughter. We were pretty high. After a couple of episodes had ended, she got on top of me and straddled me. She seemed almost reluctant, probably at having to make the first move. I took off her shirt first, and then mine. Her tits hung over me. They were good, about a C cup with long nipples from breastfeeding her daughter. I pushed them both together and sucked on both her nipples at once. She positively squirmed when I did that, and later told me that she almost came. She took off her jeans, and then pulled down mine. We started with a condom, but she escort cebeci ended up taking it off after a little while, which I just dumbly nodded along with. She had an IUD.

I was extremely hard. She lowered her pussy down onto me with a sigh, and we fucked like that for a while. Her breasts dangled right above my face, and I sucked them while we fucked. I held her hips with my newly muscled arms, gripped tightly and held her in place as I pushed into and out of her rapidly. It was fucking great. It had been a couple of months for me at that point.

We switched to spooning again, and continued like that for a while. She got up and knelt in front of me. My erection was full on, almost angry looking and pointing at her face. She took it in her mouth quickly, like she had been waiting for it the whole time. She gave great head. She cupped and massaged my balls as I enjoyed her wet mouth going down on me quickly. I reached down and pinched and played with her nipples while she did it, and she moaned deliciously, seeming to nearly come again.

I suggested we move to the bedroom. She was reluctant for some reason, but then agreed. We started off doggy style. One thing – she had a total tramp stamp (and I don’t use that term lightly) on her lower back. I’m talking about a blue butterfly all on its own. I drunkenly remarked something eloquent, like “hey… there’s a butterfly.” She was embarrassed, which I found hilarious, but we got back to it immediately.

The best part for me was getting introduced to her FABULOUS ass. She taught Pilates, and was fairly slender all over. Except for that ass. It was very nicely toned. It was what you’d call a bubble butt. It was very awesome to see it wiggling and shaking as I pushed into and out of her. She came hard, putting a pillow under her pelvis so she could grind her clit into it as she came. It felt like a lightning storm of electricity all along my shaft. I’ve still never felt anything quite like it.

I still hadn’t come yet. She went down on me again, and that did it for me after about ten glorious minutes. We were both sweating like crazy – it was mid-July and her air conditioning was broken. She rolled over a little bit, went to the nightstand and spat out my cum into a cup. It was totally a plastic pink My Little Pony cup that she’d gotten for her daughter at some point. She just shrugged and said “don’t drink from that cup”.

Our affair continued for a few months after that. We’d have a lot of fun that was sometimes punctuated by gunshots from outside – she didn’t live in the best part of town. It was always the same – she’d call me up, we’d get together and smoke some weed and fuck. It was exactly what I’d needed at the time. She was obsessed with porn, specifically Jenna Jameson. She was at least 25% more “manly” than I was, which was hilarious. We’d try out all kinds of crazy shit that she’d seen in porn, like fucking on her dining room table, and doing it with her bent completely over and grabbing her ankles. Wearing nothing but red high heels. The best parts for me were the compliments. They helped build back up my damaged self-esteem. When we finished, she’d say “WHERE did you learn to FUCK like that?!?” She’d say stuff like “you have a B-E-A-yootiful cock!”, which I knew she got from her gay best friends, Daniel and Daniel. I was also the first person to make her come in missionary. Best of all, I always knew she was telling the truth. She was painfully blunt at times, and allergic to bullshit.

We eventually drifted apart. I still had mood swings and a lot of personal drama to sort through, and the downside of her cavalier attitude was that she was fairly phobic of emotional commitment of any kind. She told me that she still didn’t consider us dating after we had been seeing each other for 3 months, on and off. The last time I saw her was in a hotel room. I was out of money and was moving back in with my parents for a while, until I could get my shit together. We smoked a J in the room and had a great time. She slept over and we shared the breakfast. Then I moved and lost my phone, and that was pretty much the end of it.

Looking back, I have absolutely no regrets, although I did develop a little bit of a longing for a more emotional and lasting commitment. But, if I could go back, I would’ve done it twice.

It was the stuff of future nostalgia, living on in my mind like a sepia photograph buried at the bottom of a picture box.

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