The next morning came, as John found himself enjoying a longer lay in than usual. His head throbbed and pounded as he rose. He looked back at his sleeping girlfriend. He still wasn't feeling anything for her. All he could think about was Tasha.
Through his weariness, he thought he could see Tasha, laying there, filled up with his juices, smiling, satisfied, and full of love for him. He loved that in his mind, Tasha wanted to share all of her love with him, and appreciate him.
John crept out of the room as he slowly felt a throbbing in his loins. He locked the bathroom door as he began stroking and pulling at his member as it grew harder and longer in his hand. He was biting his lip as he rubbed and tugged harder and harder. He could feel himself throbbing more and more as the sensation intensified.
"Boom!" he heard, as the bathroom door thudded. "What are you doing in there?" she asked.
"Nothing," he said.
"I know what you're doing, open the door."
John hoped for a repeat of last night, as he opened the door. His member throbbed towards the sky, as he stood there. He moved towards her, gripping the base of the shaft.
"What are you doing?" she said.
"I thought maybe we could..."
"Could what?" she interrupted. "I'm not in the mood. Surely last night should've been enough for you."
John knew it wasn't, as the once erect member he was so proudly holding moments ago, began to fade. He didn't want to make love to her. He wanted to savagely thrust himself inside her. He found himself full of sexual aggression. He wanted to be rough with her, and treat her like a whore. He didn't love her, but now he felt he'd got back his sexual prowess, he wanted to re-hone his powers, perfecting each stroke and push. He was doing this for Tasha. He didn't want to disappoint her, if he ever got the chance. The way that his advances had been rebuffed had shattered him.
John moved out of her way as she walked into the bathroom. As he left, she slammed the door shut. This wasn't just the simple closing of a door; it was her slamming the door shut on their relationship.
Tasha wasn't in the best shape either, she had found her way home, and had somehow managed to climb into bed, and woke fully dressed. She had cried herself to sleep. She loved John, but she just couldn't tell him. Her phone vibrated as she found a text from him.
Her lips curved into a smile as she read, "How are you? Hope you got home ok?"
She loved the fact that he cared so much. No man had ever cared that much for her. He was a gentleman. She knew that his heart and loins had ached after her so long, but his shyness was cute; and he could never tell her. She had longed for someone like him for so long, but she felt that he could never treat her this way, knowing of all the men she'd been with since they'd known each other. She felt like a whore; worthless, cheap, and a liar. She felt her eyes fill as she remembered the events from the previous night. How could he walk away so freely. He'd even looked back and saw her standing there, sobbing. Perhaps he wasn't the white knight on a steed that she'd dreamed of. Perhaps he was only interested because he knew she was so easy to jump into bed with the first guy who gave her some attention.
She ignored John's text, broken by his actions from last night. What she didn't know, was that if John would've heard her, he would've walked straight up to her and kissed her. He wouldn't have taken her home and thrown her around the room, as much as he'd have wanted to. He'd have lain there, holding her, making her feel safe and warm. He would've gently rubbed at her arms, stroking her neck and her back. He would've caressed her with his lips, dominantly kissing her, gently grasping her chin as he caressed her tongue with his. He would've laid awake and waited for her to close her eyes and gently drift off to sleep.
Tasha didn't know this, and she would never have believed it, even if she'd been told. She called up some girl friends and suggested a night on the tiles was in order.
John checked his phone every five minutes, convinced that it had vibrated in his pocket. It hadn't. And it wasn't going to either.
Tasha found herself in a club, surrounded by girlfriends. As the drink flowed, she smoked cigarette after cigarette, moving further and further into a drunk oblivion. She was trying to forget about John, but she was failing miserably. Her friend whispered to her what the matter was, and Tasha told her. Her friend offered her a small bit of advice.
"The best way to get over a bloke, is to get straight under another one! That bloke over there's been eying you up all night, invite him over. Tell him to bring some mates, they might even by us all a round of drinks!"
Tasha did as she was told, necking the last of her drink.
He was a tall, dark, attractive South American man. Muscular, ripped, with a shaved head and pencil beard. They talked for a while, as he bought her drink after drink. He kissed her neck as she pulled back.
"I don't even know your name" she said.
"Carlos," he replied. "Shall we get out of here?"
Tasha had never hesitated before, but she felt her heart strings tug her back.