Erin was almost six feet tall, black, slim, stunning, and impossible to ignore. Next to her, at 5’6” and a little chubby, I must have looked like the punchline to a joke. In public, heads turned, eyes widened, and strangers whispered. That contrast became the rhythm of our relationship—funny, uncomfortable, and strangely addictive.

Upon entering our Uber or sitting in our theater seats, I would whisper, “Did you see that guy with his wife and kids look at you and then look at me in confusion?”

“No,” she would respond, “but white guys always look at me. But did you see that 12 year old, who wouldn’t stop staring at my tits?”`

I burst out laughing.

She continued whispering “Hand me a Benjamin and I’ll show them to you kid.” God she made me laugh.

Her slender frame made her fake double Ds impossible to miss. In a cocktail dress, it was game over—every head turned twice. While we were dating, she was very openly seeing other people, but I slowly came to realize that I was her preference as our dates slowly took up the coveted Friday and Saturday night slots in our schedules. Traditionally, she was way out of my league—clearly high-maintenance. Economically, I felt the need to share the burden, which logically followed that I would have to share from a general sense as well, and share I did.

It was strange to date someone who constantly annoyed me while simultaneously pulling me in. The annoyances fused with the attraction, creating a vortex that I just couldn’t escape. For example, she did take her unrealistic appearance a bit too far. She always wore bright blue contacts and insisted they were real. That small absurdity was one reason men never took her seriously. She also had the problem of an enviably tiny body and bulbous breasts that made her just look like a bimbo upon first glance. My opinion was that men enjoyed fucking her but they didn’t look for much else with her because she essentially made sure no one took her seriously from the outset. This was also problematic in our relationship because even though she was always reading a book she could never really articulate her thoughts and opinions about them. She enjoyed receiving listening to interpretation and analysis, but had a hard time articulating anything visceral to her from what she consumed.

Beyond the physical, I was not her typical type in a number of other ways. At the time I had been working for Microsoft for many years and technology was at the center of all my social conversations. Erin was a nurse. My hobbies and interests outside of work lied in the performing arts, with season tickets to both the ballet and the opera. Erin spent a lot of free time at the gym. Which was how she responded when I asked her about the typical guy she dates.

“Usually white guys who I meet at the gym. They’re always nice and chivalrous at first, but after we fuck they don’t really want anything more.”

I think people have a reflex to want to demonstrate how different of an experience dating them be, but only saying you’re different achieves surface level impact. You have to put your money where your mouth is if you really want to provide and different and positively unforgettable experience.

I never actually felt threatened by the overt interest I could see others had in her: observations, bad date stories, one night stand stories, etc. Nor did I ever feel threatened by the revolving door of men she would interact with at the gym and her passive gloating. But there did come a time where Erin very skillfully instigated some sort of conflict between us in one of the dirties ways possible.

Before one of our dates, Erin said something like “Sure, I’ll be over there after I see my friend Sebastian at 6.” She had mentioned Sebastian in passing a lot and referred to him only as a friend. I never dug into it at all. 7pm rolled around and she was knocking on the door to my apartment. I was surprise to see her so soon after 6pm, thinking she would spend at least a few hours catching up with her friend and gossiping. He lived a 15 minute drive away, so although not very, it made for a short visit. Visibly confused, and thinking something went wrong, I asked her how it was seeing her friend.

“Fine.” She said, as she stepped over the threshold, taking a sip from a freshly ordered Starbucks frappucino. She had time to go to Starbucks…? Her movements were stiff and mechanical as she took off her shoes and headed down the hallway to my room to sit down on the edge of my bed.

“Fine how? Why was the visit so short?” I pressed. She gazed out the windows of my apartment with such a vapid expression it made me think it was the dumbest she’d ever looked.

“Are you sure you want to know?” Her expression and her gaze would not change and it seemed to me she was about to fork my queen and king with her knight in some mental chess game I didn’t even know we were playing.

“I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t want to know.”

“Well I went to go seem him and as soon as I walked in the door he started fucking me.” It took me about two second to process the bluntness of her admission, and then I felt the blood flowing into my groin.

“Fucking you how?” she was wearing an electric blue sports bra and gray Lululemon yoga pants. I imagined that there must have been some work involved, some foreplay, or some time before ‘immediately started fucking me’ would have been a possibility. But no…

“I walked in the door and he was already naked and hard. He pushed my face up against the wall and pulled my pants down just enough so that he could get his dick into me and fucked me against the wall for like 30 minutes.

Something about the disbelief functioned as an aphrodisiac, as I was then completely erect. Again, her expression and her gaze did not change. I couldn’t tell if she was focused on the memory of it, or if she was gluttonously devouring the enjoyment of telling me this just minutes after it happened. I suppose it would be safe to assume both aspects were paralyzing her ability to formulate any sort of facial expression. Her only movement were the sips of her frappucino between my questions and her answers.

“What the fuck Erin? You knew you were coming over here to spend the night with me and you let some other guy fuck you right before you came to see me? What the fuck is your problem?” And still, she stared out my windows as though this guys cocked hypnotized her into only allowing her lymbic system to function once she saw me.

“I didn’t let him fuck me. He just did it. He took what he wanted and sent me on my way.”

God fucking dammit. My dick was on the verge of exploding and her minimalist movements were making it worse for me. I wanted more reaction from her, more conflict, some sort of acknowledgment of violated ethics or morals or something! Either she genuinely didn’t care how I felt, or she knew I wouldn’t. An ever so slight possibility was that somehow she sensed it would turn me on to hear the details. I didn’t think I was doing a good job of feigning my frustration with her very well, but I was committed to the display.

“Well Jesus… did he at least put on a condom?”

“Nope.”

“Fuck Erin. And did he cum inside you?

“Yea… like twice.”

“What do you mean twice? You said it was 30 minutes of you against the wall.” I was impressed.

“Yea… he came inside me and then he kept it inside while he caught his breath for a few minutes, and then without even taking it out he started again and fucked me for another 20 minutes until he came inside me again.”

There was leaking of precum showing through my pants at this point. My fake anger was no longer fooling anybody, and still I couldn’t abandon it.

“Great, so while you’re telling me you want to be more serious with me, you’re letting your friends fuck you without a condom when you know that I wanted to have sex with you today??”

Finally something shook her out of her hypnosis, “I’m sorry, I can take a shower real quick.”

“No,” I said. ”I’ve been waiting for you all day so lets just have sex now and you can take a shower later.”

She knew.

She laid back on my bed and pulled her yoga pants and her underwear off together. I noticed that the crotch of her pants were wet… I guess she must have been really turned on. I pulled off my pants and climbed over her... I kissed her lips and rubbed my dick against her washboard stomach. I looked down so that I could watch my cock slide inside her and noticed her stomach was smothered with my precum as the trail was like a hanging bridge from her stomach to the tip of my dick.

I slide it inside her and I could feel how insanely wet she was as the insertion was completely effortless. But then I sat up from her and I pulled my dick partially out to assess how much of her wetness was covering my dick. But what I saw that my dick was already covered in semen and ejaculate. Some other guy’s cum was all over my dick.

“Jesus Christ, Erin… you couldn’t even wipe your pussy after he fucked you?”

“I told you I could take a shower!”

“No no… I just have to accept that my girlfriend is apparently a huge whore.” It only took about three more thrusts and 5 seconds for me to explode insider her. Which is surprising when a pussy is that wet. There wasn’t much friction to give me sensation, which I had to deduce was probably aided by the size of this other guy’s dick.

She pulled me into her when she knew I was about to explode and it felt like a gallon of cum streaming through my penis into her. The feeling of her hands tugging at my lower back to pull me only heightened the explosion.

Perhaps not a checkmate exactly. I underestimated the underlying connection we had and the insight it gave her. I underestimated how keen her instincts where. I underestimated the brazen lengths she was willing to go to do something that uniquely heightened our eroticism. And yet she estimated me perfectly.

She didn’t seem to care that it was less than a minute of sex. I kissed her magnificent lips and her reception was full of passion and desire. For the first time since we began seeing each other, and in unison as we looked into each others’ eyes, we both said “I love you.”