Scratch the itch

I met this particular gentlemen thru a political group networking function. I was there for networking and happy hour. I was busy trying to recruit new members. It was a good night, two new people, two checks. Score!

The gentleman this post is about walked up to me and he then offered to buy me a drink. He’s tall, receding hairline, well dressed, well spoken, with a nasal like voice.

He brings me my drink. We proceed to get into heated conversation. Remember, political party event. Heated conversation is part of the party experience.

We exchange numbers. We go out on a few dates. It ended up being more of a friends with benefits situation. Y’all know what I’m talking about. You’ve got an itch that you want to scratch as people say. He helped me scratch the itch.

He was my own personal cortisone.

During a few of our scratch the itch sessions I discovered something unique about my partner. No people get your mind out of the gutter! This doesn’t not involve cages or any other accessories.

He liked to give himself pep talks…

Now I’m sure you might be wondering what I mean by pep talk. He was his own personal cheerleader. It was like he was having his own personal pep rally. Games, stunts, dunking of coaches, no no. Instead he decided to say the following while we are mid deed: “You know I’m better than a porn star!” He’s on top of me leaning back. Like he’s riding a horse. He’s completely into it. Just going at it!

All I’m thinking is oh my god please shut up! I’m about to get there! Be silence and let me enjoy my blissful moment. Obviously you’re enjoying yours!

I pulled him down towards me which stopped the constant porn star chit chat. He finally gets off. He showers. Then he cooked me dinner. It was the best part of the evening.

Gotta love a man who can cook, lol.

Fast forward, a few months. It’s now the holiday season. We scratch the itch every now and again. But not as frequently. He calls me and says he needs a date for a small holiday gathering. I agree. He gives me the address, so I meet him. The location is a private home on north beach.

When I pull up to the house there are multiple cars. They have filled the driveway and have spilled onto the street. I’m thinking I’m at the wrong house because, this is not a small gathering.

He greets me at the door. I say hi, hold up and show him the bottle of wine I brought. After all my mother didn’t raise a fool. You always bring a gift for the host or hostess. He says hi, it’s so great to see me. Thanks me for coming.

Informs me it’s his mother’s annual Christmas sit down dinner party. His so excited, I get to meet his mom.

Inner Monologue Moment: Did he just say mom? Mom! What the fuck! How is he going to introduce me to his mother? Hi mom, this is my fuck buddy? Or this is my scratch the itch buddy? Oh shit.

I’m greeted with at least 50 people at minimum. A variety of family, friends, colleagues etc. He takes me into the kitchen. There’s a petite woman with an apron on. Shit, his mom is the modern day Betty Crocker. I’m in so deep now. He introduces me. Mom automatically sizes me up with the look. You know the look I’m talking about.

I’m extremely uncomfortable at this point. I turn around to inform him and he’s gone. So I decide to wing it in the lion’s den. I give mom the wine. She thanks me for it and pours me a glass. She then says the following statement. Needless to say it threw me. It’s so nice to finally meet her babies girlfriend. Oh shit. Did she say girlfriend? Yep I’m only on my first glass of wine. I’m completely lucid. She did said girlfriend.

Fast forward, to the end of the party. I’ll spare y’all the details. Great party, great food etc. I’m getting ready to leave. Mom grabs my hand and  informs me I can’t leave. I shouldn’t drive after drinking. I decide to go with flow and be safe.

She gives me a shirt and shorts and yes my scratch an itch partner is staying over at mom’s too. We go to bed. I tell him I’m not in the mood. I was blindsided.

We go to sleep.

I wake up in the middle of the night. He’s cuddled to the side of my body. His arm is thrown over me possessively and his head somehow made it onto my chest.

That’s fine. It’s not the problem. I woke up due to a strange sensation. My right breast feels strange. He’s sucking my breast. Not in a sexual manner. He’s sucking my breast like a baby breast feeding.

Strange, doesn’t even begin to describe this scenario.

I ask him what the hell is he doing? He informs me that this calms him. What the fuck! Calms him? I don’t care if this will win you the lottery! Stop attempting to breast feed. This is so not alright.

Also, we’re in his mother’s house. Oh my fucking God!!!

There is light coming thru the window. I go to the bathroom. I get dressed and make a run for it. But who should I run into? Mom of course. She’s making breakfast. She offers me a cup of coffee. Shit. What am I supposed to do now?  I do what any sane woman would do. I take the elixir of life from her, and thank her. She proceeds to make me bacon and eggs.

At this point I can’t decide if making a swift exit before he wakes up would be rude. I finally use the excuse that I need to go home and let my dog out. I say the usual pleasantries and I run.

Beware of Southern Momma Boys

© southerngabunny