The Devil In Disguise

WARNING: Explicit Content. NSFW. NSFK. Graphic sexual content.

My mind has been so obsessed and stuck on this shit with my mom and the fact that (other than the now completed closet project) my projects are not moving along as planned. I have felt frustrated and lonely and angry all weekend. So, I thought I might talk to…I'll call him M… about it. So I texted him and then paid him a visit. I told myself when I headed over there that it was just a visit for talking. I was NOT having sex with him this time. NO WAY! Because he’s not good at it anyway. Well, he could be but his dick is too small. He is a giant of a man with a tiny, unproportionate penis. Sad, sad, sad. Then you add in the limp dick syndrome he gets from the medication for his diabetes and blood pressure and it’s no bueno. So anyway, there’s no point in having sex. Because I’m not actually getting off…I’m lying…and faking it. Because I don’t have the heart to tell him, he’s not doing it for me. He thinks I am in love with his dick. He thinks that I crave it. Either he is not a smart man, or I deserve a fucking Tony Award for my acting skills. I will say this though, even though I’m not getting off…there’s something about the sex with him that’s different…it makes me feel kinda special for some reason.

Anyway, I said this to myself as I was leaving for his house. No sex. Just talking and then leaving. I said it again when I got there. I knocked, checked the knob, and it was unlocked so I went in. He was, as usual, in his recliner and leaned all the way back to see who was coming in. He immediately reaches his arms over his head for me to come closer. Instantly, anything I’ve said to myself fucks right off because I lean over and give him the kisses he’s asking for. I then go around the couch and sit next to him and promptly curl up into him with my head on his chest/shoulder and his arm draped down my back and his giant hand firmly on my ass. 

We talked. He asked me about what was going on. I told him. He understood immediately. I didn’t have to explain how the closet project was a big deal to me or why. He knew. Because as I started to tell him, he was finishing my sentences perfectly. It made me feel seen. Understood. Like I wasn’t alone. Validated in my frustrations toward my mother. 

After I was done telling him about it, I laid my head back down on him and he pulled me in close and kissed my forehead and my nose. I love it when he does stuff like that. It’s so romantic and sweet. It makes me feel so good. I lifted my head and we kissed. Deeply. Passionately. I laid my head back down on him again feeling safe and loved.

 And then the thought occurred to me that he didn’t love me. He’s told me so. He “cares a lot” for me. He doesn’t even want to be my boyfriend. We are just friends…right? I was about to pull myself from his caress and make myself leave before it went any further. But instead I heard myself say, “M, can I stay with you tonight?” to which he immediately said “Yes. Of course!” and then “Do you have your medicine?” I said no. He said, “Will you be okay without it?” Which I read as concern and caring for my wellbeing. My heart melted a bit. I said I would be. We cuddled on the couch. Later,  he went through his routine downstairs and then we went upstairs to bed, where he pulled me close under his arm again…him naked and me in my tank top and shorts. He kissed my forehead again. And again. He laid there watching TV, holding me, squeezing me close to him, stroking my back with his hand and I laid there with my eyes closed, emotionally exhausted from my “mommy issues" and soaking in the feeling of being cared for. 

A random thought popped into my head and so I asked him my strange question, “When you think, do you think in Spanish or English?” We laughed at my question. Then he answered, “Both. It just depends on what I’m seeing or hearing.” Then, “What made you ask that question?” I shrugged and said it just popped in my head. He looked at me for a moment, scanning my face.

His response was to devour my mouth in a kiss. He rolled toward me and started biting my neck. His hand found my ass where he slid it down to my thigh and lifted my leg towards him groping for my pussy. Unable to attain the feel he wanted, he promptly began removing my shorts. Mission accomplished, his hand found my pussy he stroked it a couple times and then went back to squeezing and kneading my ass cheek and my thigh. He took off my tank top. We made out passionately and I became anxious for penetration…even though the thought swam in my head that it wasn’t going to satisfy the growing need in my body. I rotated and lifted onto my knees. His hand followed my ass as we continued to kiss deeply. I love the way he sucks on my tongue and bottom lip. And I love sucking on his also. His hand brushed my clit and a thrill went through me. I thought to myself “If he knew how to finger me properly, I might actually get the release I need.” But he doesn’t. He rose to his knees in that moment and I turned and backed my lifted ass right up to his crotch wriggling and writhing; desperate to feel something hard and long and solid inside my wet hole. He didn’t penetrate me right away. He ran his huge hand up my back the way I love, taking me in, and then back down to my ass where he swatted my cheek. Then his other hand started working his dick as he tried to get/maintain a real erection. He must have done it I guess because I felt him push against the opening of my vagina. The sound he makes when he penetrates me makes me feel like my pussy is made of gold. Like I have the most majestic pussy on the planet. I love that breathy sigh he makes. He loves my pussy so much that he wants to own it. He asks me while he fucks me all the time, “Who’s pussy is this.” I let him think he does, and obediently reply, “Yours, M.” He has been the only visitor since February. He likes it when I tell him he owns it. I remember this so, while he’s thrusting away, I moan breathlessly (like I can actually feel what he’s doing), “You are sooo good to your pussy.” His response threw me. I wasn’t expecting it at all. “My pussy is so good to your dick.” The shock that went off in my head…I mean, I said nothing…just moaned a bit as he continued thrusting…but that’s the first time he’s ever really said that he was mine in any fashion at all. I liked it. A lot. 

One thing about his limp dick syndrome, it gives him some pretty decent stamina. Sex with him is never less than 20 minutes, and usually way more…like 45 minutes. (If only he had a bigger dick. I am telling you, he would be GREAT at sex). So, anyway, we kept going for a while. He never came. Which, yes, that DOES make me feel bad. Even though he has told me on a number of occasions that it isn’t my fault. It’s just what happens for him. He has also told me that he loves fucking me and that it feels amazing to him. He has also told me that his purpose for having sex with me is to make ME happy. Which makes me feel bad for the show that I put on for him. But, seriously, HOW do you tell a man that his dick isn’t big enough for you without sounding like a completely ruthless and heartless bitch? And it IS the size of his cock. He has the moves. He has stamina. Just not the length and girth. Again, sad, sad, sad! 

Back on track here. He didn’t come. We stopped. I was tired. I went to the bathroom and cleaned up (which didn’t take long because I was not super wet). I come back and I lay down on my back on my side of the bed and close my eyes. He leans over and starts sucking on my tit and fondling the other…and then the fondling hand moves down to my pussy where he starts stroking over the blanket. I smiled and turned my head toward him, “You’re not done with me yet, are you?” He turned up the corners of his mouth and kissed me sweetly and said, “No, baby, don’t worry. Get some sleep.” He kisses me 3 more times and then moves back to his side of the bed. I close my eyes again. Then I feel his lovely huge hand slide over my shoulder and grab my breast as though it’s just the most natural thing in the world for him to hold my boob in his hand while he watches TV. It was nice. And it did feel natural. He tried to move his hand away a few moments later and I quickly stopped him putting it back. A few moments after that, he tried again, and this time I let him go. I wanted to know what he was going to do.

You see, I wasn’t sleeping. Dog ass tired, yes. Able to sleep, not on your life. I hadn’t had my medication. My brain was in a tizzy with thoughts and emotions. A busy, busy little bee in my head bouncing from flower topic to flower topic. And when he moved his hand, it went to “What’s he doing on his phone?” I creeped my eyes open to see. He was looking at pictures. Of what? I couldn’t tell. I wasn’t wearing my glasses and he was too far away. Though, there did appear to be quite a bit of flesh in the photos. 

The next part, I didn't know how to feel about right away.Right about the time I figured out that he was looking at porn on his phone, he started stroking himself. I didn’t look. I didn’t have to. The bed started shaking, just the smallest bit at first. I closed my eyes again debating on how to handle the situation. 

On one hand, I was upset and kind of offended that he was jerking off while I was laying right next to him. The predator used to do that all the time, too. It pissed me off then also. 

On the OTHER hand, I was done having sex for the night. I was tired. Physically. Emotionally. I just didn’t want to fuck anymore. And he hadn’t gotten off before when we were fucking. So, who was I to say that he HAD to have blue balls just because I was done? I mean, that’s not really fair…but then…what would happen if I started masterbating after we’d had sex? How would he feel if we fucked and then I whipped out a vibrator to finish the job that he started and didn’t finish? And I did it while scrolling pictures of other dudes? I decided it wasn’t particularly respectful, to say the least. 

Hmmm…wait…this is M. Wasn’t one of the things that kept me coming back to him how respectful he was? Let’s review. 

-He was jerking off to other women right next to me in bed after we had just had sex.

-He broke up with me, and despite me telling him I did not WANT a friend with benefits relationship with him, somehow convinces me to have sex with him by just starting to make out with me, every time we see each other, which has essentially put us in an FWB relationship. 

-He continues to have sex with me despite knowing that I care for him WAY more than he cares for me. 

-He kind of treats me like a whore, only reaching out to me when he wants me to come over…which then leads to sex…because he still treats me like a partner when I’m there…and then that confuses my brain and makes me not think about the fact that he is NOT my boyfriend. 

So…he’s manipulating me…and misleading me…and not paying attention to my boundaries…and not taking my feelings into consideration. He is only taking what he wants when he wants it. 

OH! MY! GOD! M is a fuckboi!! He isn’t respectful. I only gave him that title because he asked if he could before he fucked my ass the very first time we were together. That’s not respect! That’s common decency. Why was I elevating him above other men simply because he treated me with common decency?!?! Jesus Christ! Was I so deprived during my previous relationships that that one simple thing, would get you a pedestal and my undying affections?!? 

In the harsh light of reality, M has never been truly respectful. He has some basic hosting manners. He has some basic stereotypical gentlemanliness about him. He has common decency for other human beings. But none of that equals respect. In fact, he has shown me repeatedly that he is NOT respectful. He is selfish and only cares about his own needs being met. He is impulsive. He is reckless with other people’s feelings. He is essentially a functioning alcoholic. He is malleable under pressure. He is a liar, in that he will tell you what you want to hear to shut you up. And…AND…his friends are assholes. Which doesn’t seem like it matters, but it matters. Because someone like M…so swayable…will literally follow their lead into anything. So, when they say, “Let’s get dinner.” and he says ok, and then after dinner they say, “Let’s go to a house party.”, M just says, “Ok”, instead of, “I can’t. I have plans with my girlfriend.” Which then, makes HIM an asshole, like his friends. He doesn’t know how to communicate effectively. He isn’t emotionally intelligent at all. He doesn’t even really know himself or what he wants out of life or in a partner. And he doesn’t trust easily because his previous relationships fucked his head up. He thinks that if he shows affection to a woman or puts any real effort in to keep her, that somehow makes him weak…or not manly enough…and THEN, the woman will see that in him, and take advantage of him, cheat on him, use him, and hurt him. He’s also NOT over his past relationships. He hasn’t had many, to his credit, but he still has old girlfriend memorabilia ALL OVER his house. 

ALL of this revelatory information hits me like a brick and in a split second…all while he’s over there jacking off…and suddenly, I just want to go home. To get as far away from him as possible. To get out of this bed, that he probably shared with one of his ex’s, and get dressed and leave. 

Then all of the thoughts of how he made me feel earlier in the evening crept back in…and I started thinking about what would happen if I suddenly just got out of bed and started getting dressed to leave. I would have to say something to him. I didn’t want to tell him about my revelations. I didn’t want to tell him all of that because when I tell him that stuff, he always, always, always manages to change my mind. To make me think that I was wrong for thinking such things about him. Which, we can add gaslighting to the list, I guess, because it genuinely makes me question my sanity. My evidence is physical. Indisputable. But somehow he twists it. Has an excuse. And I give over to him and I see his reasoning as logic. And then I wind up apologizing to him for thinking or saying such awful things to him or about him. So, no, I didn’t want to communicate anymore. It was time to believe what he SHOWED me from day one and stop believing his words.

I rolled over to my side as the bed-shaking crescendoed. Finally, it stopped. I felt him get up from bed and heard him go into the bathroom. Now is my chance. I can be up and dressed and heading down the stairs before he returns.

But I laid there. Frozen. Feeling stupid. Hurt. I just laid there. He returned to bed moving to his side and sliding one arm under my neck and draping it over my chest…not to fondle…but to pull me in close to him…and the other arm over my waist, again, pulling me in tightly to him. He gently kissed across my shoulder and back of my neck. Tears welled in my eyes. Because, god dammit, did I love how it made me feel being wrapped in his arms , him pulling me to be closer, holding me tightly like he might never let me go, like he needed me. And now I knew it was a lie. I let myself go to the feeling of love and safety it made me feel. I revelled in it. I languished in it. I soaked it all in as much as I could. Every last drop I could stand. 

And then I shifted and his grip loosened. I shifted again and repositioned myself to my stomach. He rolled onto his back and I thought “Ok. I’m free now. I just have to wait until he starts snoring.” and then his hand caressed my ass cheek. Not in a gross and gropey manner…gently. Like it belonged there. Like he couldn't fall asleep unless he was touching me. My heart cracked at the thought. Shit. He’s still touching me. I started to wonder if I was going to have to stay there…wait until his alarm went off in the morning to leave.

No! I was not going to live in this illusion or lie anymore. I moved his hand off of me and began to sit up. He immediately grabbed for me again, but I dodged him…sliding off the bed. I went to the bathroom, testing the waters. I came back to him waiting for me. He threw open the covers on my side as I approached the bed. I got in, but stayed too far away to touch, even though he tried sleepily, his hand outreached toward me in the space between us. I felt my heart crack a little more. 

I heard him start to snore. I carefully rose, but I was shaking. In one fluid motion I got out of bed, bent over, picked up my clothes and started getting dressed. I heard in the dark, “Are you okay?”. Shit. I woke him. I continued dressing. “Yeah. I just can’t sleep. I need my meds. So, I’m just gonna go home. I’m fine. Go back to sleep.” I lobbed. “Are you sure?” came his response. “Yeah. It’s ok. I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

He got up to go to the bathroom again. I quickly dressed, grabbed my things, sped downstairs, slipped on my flip flops, and headed to the door, car keys and phone in hand. I made sure to lock the knob on his front door before I exited and closed it tightly behind me. I bounded across his overgrown slope of a front yard down to the street where I was parked. I quickly got in and slammed the car door shut behind me. 

That’s when the dam burst. Tears of heartbreak and anger and frustration with my soft-hearted self. Tears of mourning for all of the feelings of being cared for and validation and safety and being seen that only he had ever made me feel.

 I didn’t look back and I only let the tears flow for about 2 minutes before I started the car and pulled out of there as fast as I could.

 It was 1:00 AM when I left his house. As I started home, I got a text message from my son. He had been with his whatever she was with him all weekend. His own mistake. One day I hope he wakes up, too. He was requesting a ride home. So, I detoured and gave him one. I was home by about 1:30. 

Will I go back to M’s? Yes. Only once. Only to put the envelope that holds the money he loaned me in his mailbox. That’s it. 

Will I respond to texts or calls from him? Only with vague responses until he’s paid back. Then I’m gonna be blocking his number.

Why? Because I can’t let myself trust someone like that. Because I am not a whore and I refuse to be treated like one by some damaged fuckboi. Because I won’t settle again.

Because The Devil comes for you looking like your dreams…not The Devil.