2000-07-07 - 15:14:10

*** WARNING - Graphic entry! Not for the easily offended! ***

Yesterday, I was talking about Anti-Romantic Girl (ARG), my last girlfriend, although I shudder to use the term when talking about her.

By the way, continuing entries is a new thing here at the House of Hamsters. It enables me to do entries on serious, somewhat longish subjects, without totally burning myself out.

Before I go any further, I probably should describe what ARG looked like.

She was somewhat short, maybe 5' 2", with blue eyes and reddish blonde hair. She had pale skin with just a hint of freckles and full, red lips. She had a very prominent jaw line.

Due to some sort of spinal ailment when she was young she always walked a little stooped over and she had rounded shoulders, like a much older woman. This spinal problem gave her something of a bad back as well as some other aches and pains. Any kind of serious hugging was out of the question here. It also kind of made her move like an old lady.

She tended to dress in a vaguely punk style with black jeans and a leather jacket, and she frequently wore hats.

Okay, as I said in the last entry, after about a year and a half of "dating" we were finally going out, officially, as a couple. What this meant is that occasionally we would hold hands and every so often I'd get a kiss... but no tongues!! No, no, no. She hated that. It was gross. Still, she seemed to be regarding me somewhat more affectionately than before.

So this was not exactly a major romance here.

By this point, I imagine all of you out there are asking yourselves: WHY was Uberhamster hanging out with this person?? What was the appeal??

To tell you the truth, I'm still trying to figure that out. That's why I'm writing this entry!

In my own defense, I should point out that this was the first real boyfriend-girlfriend relationship that I'd had since Lilac moved out around Thanksgiving of 1989. That's right people, no girlfriend for six long years. I was terribly, terribly lonely. Little did I know that I was going to be lonelier WITH Anti-Romantic Girl than without her.

I thought we were a good match in many respects. We both had kind of a jaundiced view of the world, and we both had no interest in marriage or children.

Also, I think I was half kidding myself that I was in love with her. I tried very hard to find things about her to admire. I told myself the fiction that under her cool exterior beat a passionate heart, waiting for the right person to open up to. I thought I could be that person. However, I learned eventually that underneath that cool exterior was... nothing. Not a damned thing.

And from her side, why was she hanging out with me? That question I find a little harder to answer, mainly because she revealed so little of her emotions to me. Basically, I think she was bored and I was something to do, like a crossword puzzle on a rainy afternoon. And I think a big part of it was that going out with me would make her friends and family stop thinking that she was a lesbian.

And while it's rather pitiful that she was my first serious girlfriend in six years, the fact of the matter was that I was her first serious boyfriend, EVER. That's right, in 26 years of living, she'd had no romantic entanglements of any kind.

Initially, I found this puzzling, but eventually I figured out the reason for this: she just didn't care!

Here is a little story that is typical. The two of us were lying on my bed, snuggling, fully clothed, of course. I nuzzled her and then said something mushy and romantic. Something of the effect that I thought she was cool, and I wanted just to rub her all over me.

Her response was a scornful laugh. "That's just your dick talking," she said.

That was just such a bust to any romantic notions that I had, that I just had to laugh. In fact, I found it hard to STOP laughing. However, it did hurt a little. That wasn't my dick talking, it was my poor, tired heart. But I may as well have been talking to a brick wall.

She utterly hated anything that had to do with romance of any sort. A story with a romantic subplot was a total turn-off for her. She always complained about it, calling them "will-they-won't-they" stories. She seemed incapable of understanding what might draw two people together, other than the desire to fuck.

And this, of course, brings up a delicate subject: our sex life.

In this journal I have mentioned sex in passing, but have written nothing terribly graphic. That is going to change now, because it is an essential part of what I need to say. However, I don't think that anything that follows will be terribly arousing. In fact, it may have the opposite effect.

In spite of ARG's bad attitude toward relations between the sexes, she was not a virgin when she met me. When you are a reasonably-good looking young female, opportunities will present themselves, and she took advantage of a couple of them. From what she told me, she wasn't terribly impressed by sex in general.

There is also some backstory that I need to include here. Before she went out with me, ARG was spending time with my pal, The Manager. Their relationship was strictly casual, although sex was involved. He thought of her as an interesting diversion at least at first. However, he soon got tired of the fact that he had to practically do all the work in the relationship. He considered ARG an energy drain and a passive waste of time.

So, he decided to do an experiment. He decided to stop calling her, to see if she would work up the initiative to actually contact him herself. She didn't. When I talked to her about it she vaguely wondered why The Manager stopped calling her, but never bothered to call him herself to ask why.

As I was getting more deeply involved with ARG, he warned me several times about what she was like, how passive and boring she was. I took what he said with a grain of salt. I don't think I believed him. So my pal, The Manager, let me have my own way, trusting that I was a sovereign individual and that I knew what I was doing.

I remember the first time that ARG and I went to bed together very well. It was July 18, 1996, my thirty-seventh birthday.

We were out at dinner, and I was not in a good mood. Something about ARG brought out the passive-aggressive in me, a fact I am not proud of. I was annoyed that she hadn't noticed that it was my birthday, even though I had made a point of telling her when it was some weeks before. She seemed rather embarrassed when I pointed it out. I then went on to say that I was rather frustrated by our relationship, which seemed annoyingly platonic, in spite of the fact that she was now telling everyone that I was her boyfriend. I had met her parents, and so on.

I was also peeved because I was still paying for all the food and entertainment all the time, even though she now had a better paying job than me, but I didn't bring up that subject.

So it was somehow decided that after dinner we'd go back to my place and have sex. Yes, I guilted her into it.

When we got back to my house we took off our clothes and climbed into bed together. I started trying to make love to her, but there were all sorts of things she didn't like. She couldn’t tolerate any open-mouthed kisses, she really didn't like to be touched anywhere but on her vagina, and so on.

She had said that it was very hard for anyone but herself to get her off, so I was rather proud of myself that after about an hour of playing with her and licking her, she had an orgasm. Although, if I hadn't been paying close attention, I might have missed it. All her climax consisted of was a variation in her breathing, and her body stiffening slightly, then relaxing.

I had never been to bed with someone so quiet and passive. It was a little off-putting.

After she came, her pussy was very sensitive, so nothing else happened. She then rolled over and went to sleep.

Still awake, lying next to her I felt unsatisfied, but rather cheerful. My long drought was over. I assumed that the next time we went to bed, it would be better.

It wasn't. In fact it was exactly the same. I got her off, a little quicker this time, and then she rolled over and went to sleep. The same thing happened the next time as well.

I'm sure that some of my female readers might be smirking to themselves at this point. Maybe some of you have experienced sex with a partner that cared nothing for your pleasure? Could be? But for me it was a new thing and I found it very, very unpleasant. I couldn't believe that someone could be so rude and uncaring. I was embarrassed to point out her incredible breach of etiquette, but I was also very angry and unhappy.

By the time we had slept together three or four times, I knew enough to stimulate her until she was aroused, but not let her cum. It was then I made some distressing discoveries.

First, and most awful, was the fact that in the six years since I had last been sexually active, my body had changed radically. The main difference: I was 100 pounds heavier! Also, I think that Diabetes, and the medicines I was taking, had taken their toll as well.

Although I'd lost some weight from my peak, I was still tipping the scales at about 280 pounds. I was very upset to discover that I just didn't have the flexibility and stamina that I was used to, not even close. I was ashamed and disgusted by the condition I was in. I would even go so far as to say I was actually turned off by my own body, it repulsed me.

Prior to this, I'd always had a positive attitude about sex. Nearly all of my previous lovers had been good in bed themselves and had been appreciative of my skills, most notably Lilac and Anne. This failure of my now-elephantine body was a terrible blow to my already shaky self-esteem.

Now I'm sure that if I'd been in bed with someone with the least tenderness and sensitivity, it would have been okay. I'm sure I would have adjusted and found my stride. However, that was not the case here.

ARG's favorite motto was "It's okay to laugh in bed, just so long as you don't point." Even though she didn't point, I found myself scored by her sarcasm, her passivity, her lack of concern. I began to truly despise myself.

And by the way, she was not a slender little slip of a girl herself. Still, this earned me no sympathy. However, there was an additional problem.

I think it had something to do with ARG's spinal problem that I talked about earlier. Whatever it was, there seemed to be something wrong with her vagina. There seemed to be a ridge of bone there that prevented me from finding a comfortable angle to enter her. We tried every position that two out-of-shape people like ourselves could manage, and yet still my cock still felt like it was being bent at an uncomfortable angle. Intercourse was impossible without pain on my part, although it felt fine for her, apparently.

Not terribly surprisingly, I began to have difficulty achieving and maintaining an erection. This made me feel even better about myself.

Eventually I was also able to shame her into trying oral sex on me. If anything, it was even worse than intercourse. She wasn't horrible at it, but she was mainly dutiful and uninspired. I could tell she didn't like doing it, and she was never able to make me come that way. I'd get hard for a while, and then go soft. She'd also only go down on me in absolute darkness, so no visual stimulation for me!

Also, the only time that she would consent to have sex was at the very end of the day, when I was at my most tired. Since being diagnosed with Diabetes, my stamina was for shit. It's a wonder I could get it up at all.

Finally, I just gave up on my own pleasure. I went back to simply getting her off, and letting her go to sleep on me.

And while she slumbered, I'd lay there in the dark next to her, staring up at the ceiling, feeling like an ugly, unlovable hunk of shit. I wanted to be erased from the face of the earth.

Sometimes I was so miserable that I would quietly crawl out of bed, get the cordless phone and go to the opposite corner of the apartment and call my pal the Manager and pour my misery in his ear. He was helpful and supportive, in spite of the fact that he had warned me, and I hadn't listened.

I was very conflicted. I was having sex again, wasn't I? Shouldn't I be happy with that? Why wasn't I enjoying it? What was wrong with me?

The fact is, I didn't believe that sex between two consenting people could really be bad. I remembered a joke where a father was talking about sex to his son, and the punchline was "Son, the worst I ever had was terrific!"

I maintain that this was not all ARG's fault. After I discovered that it was bad, I should have stopped, begged off. But because I kept on, denying the evidence of my senses and my heart, and I may have done myself some serious damage. I never dreamed that I could feel so bad about something that was supposed to feel good.

When I was getting to know her, ARG told me the story of one guy she had slept with, and after they were done he said to her: "You're the worst lover I've ever seen!"

Being a good boyfriend, I was shocked that this guy had said something so cruel and hurtful to poor ARG, and I tried to comfort her. Why, the cad, the brute! And so on.

Eventually I came to realize that this unnamed guy hadn't been kidding! In fact, this stranger had been sending me a secret message, which was: Flee! For God's sake, get out while you can!

And believe it or not, there's more and worse. But that's enough for one day.

There is one essential test of a girlfriend, and it only comes along once in a lifetime. This test came along while I was going out with ARG, and she failed it miserably. You'll all find out what that is when this is...

Concluded, tomorrow.