Frank take 2

November 29, 2014 § 5 Comments

There’s another Frank. You may have guessed by this point that his name isn’t actually Frank, I’m being super sneaky and calling him by another name. I now realise that of all the names I could’ve picked it’s not the most beautiful choice, but it’s gone so far there’s really no turning back at this point. I digress.

The other Frank, Frank 2, is a boy I met during Freshers week (ah, Freshers, you wily hound. Can any of us ever escape those hazy, regretable memories?). We met in a club, made out numerous times, ended up at the same post-club flat party where he invited me back to his. I kindly declined and that was that. We continued to text for a while, but it was quite clear it wasn’t really going anywhere, so our conversations dissolved into the occasional ticket sale text from him (he’s a club promoter. Woo).

That was until…

So I miss Frank. The original, in all his delicious glory. And I need to deal with it somehow. It’s been maybe a month since I’ve had sex, which is a LONG TIME. I’ve done it before, but there’s always been distractions, and university is so full of horny, desperate men, it would make no sense whatsoever not to make use of the available stock.

Coming home still slightly tipsy from a night out, I fancied…some company. So I scrolled through the names of gents I knew in the vicinity, eventually deciding on Frank 2 (my age, French speaking, smart and charming – he’s definitely the best of a bad crop) asking if he was still awake and fancied “watching some tv”. Got to keep pretences up right? (yeah, I know, it’s more obvious than a sober fresher in a 9am lecture)

He of course accepted my offer (I probably should be more concerned at uni boys’ lack of concern for anything other than their penises, but we’ll leave that for another time when I’m not in a man-drought), and I sidled over to his flat. He’d barely reached for his laptop before we were on top of one another, though the mood was quickly killed when he admitted to his lack of contraceptives. Bloody hell. You’re a 19 year old in university, buy some bloody condoms.

So we opted for taking the party back to mine, where latex is abundant. I walked through the front door, and before Frank 2 was in sight my flatmate saw me and, knowing where I’d been, loudly exclaimed “So did you get laid?!”.

Frank 2 appears round the corner. “Err, this is Frank.”

Greeted with a look of sheer embarrassment and stammering on my flatmate’s part, I quickly steered Frank into my bedroom, where we soon forgot the awkward encounter.

Round 1 was disappointing. The build up had given me decent expectations (though I’ve yet to meet anyone even comparable to Frank the first), but he came within about two minutes.

Sigh. I get it. I’m astoundingly hot n all. But can you seriously not exercise an ounce of control for five fucking minutes?

I expressed my disappointment, but shrugged it off and went to sleep. It’s always fun having sex with people whom you don’t really care what they think. You can be as bitter as you like and they’ll just take it because they’re so desperate to stick their dick inside you. I wait for the day when someone can retort to my brilliant sass. Guys really aren’t as strong as they make themselves out to be, and this is an excellent way of testing that.

Round 2 was much better, thank God. Several orgasms were had, so I was finally satisfied. I was feeling extremely lazy in the morning, however, with my pounding hangover for company, so I let him do all the work, which I think he struggled with a little. It’s cute how hard teenage boys will try.

In the end, I now have a possible booty call during Frank’s absences, but for the time being I’m gonna stick with self-satisfying until he’s back. I need that guy in my bed and in my life, and amateurs just won’t cut it.

Want more disgustingly honest renditions of the mess that I call my lovelife? Come join me on Facebook and Twitter.


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