A Tale of Two Nymphs

looks like a clean slate to me

And thus, as I make preparations to move back to Uni, I am bereft of women with which to fornicate.

The blonde nymph, having found her decidedly mentally unstable, is no longer a suitable candidate for my desire. The problem is, our agreement was supposed to confine our sex life to something akin to a loose agreement to play poker every friday night. As some kind of hobby, say. Thus, should one of us ever feel the need to stop playing poker with the other, or, decide to start playing poker with someone else, it wouldn't have a great impact on the other. Nay, the other party should practically encourage them to fulfill their needs.

Unfortunately, somewhere along the line she got really attached, and the second I start to move away she becomes desperately upset. To be honest, I should have noticed when she got jealous of me looking at other women, but alas I lack that kind of foresight. However, I really should have started running when she began to play mind games with me, holding back on my requests from my varied sexual palatte in an attempt to keep me hungry, keep me wanting more of her.

It had the adverse effect, it triggered the flight response normally seen in spooked animals and caused me to run rather abruptly from her house in the country back to where I live, with the strongest notion that never again would I submit myself to her or someone like her. Try to play mind games with me, and I will shun you like a plague victim.

Well now I know. Exit left, the blonde nymph.

And I move on to the brunette nymph.

Sex with her has, unfortunately, been the equivalent of a large but shallow pool, if I may make a metaphor. At first, it seemed bountiless and plentiful, and I did take large drinks from it. But as time wore on, I realised that the depth was not as I had predicted, and it dried up far sooner than predicted.

The quality of sex was not something to be desired either. My thirst should have been quenched, but instead I was found wanting. This probably arose from the fact that she comes from the school of the ragdoll strategy, in which the man is basically allowed to do what he will to her and she consents by simply letting him, the only obvious enthusiasm being the moans from her mouth. I've had this before, and it will just simply not do.

No ladies, I must request that you bite back. I must request that as you ride on top of me you grab the scruff of my neck to pull me up to kiss me. Also, I have the bizarre and disturbing fetish of, every now and again, the woman pulling me from whatever we're doing and off to bed, rather than me being the one to start it every time.

And so, she will off back to University on the friday, and I will keep my own counsel for the coming weeks. And as I've mentioned in a post or two previous, I am currently at my lowest libido I can remember for years past.

I'm rather enjoying it, to be honest. And thus exit left, Brunette Nymph.