Walter

After Reece I had a few troubles regarding selectivity. Meaning: if it looked at me in a certain way, I probably would have dragged it to bed. Hence the notorious Mike incident of ’13…

I don’t think it had much to do with a shattered issue of self-confidence, it was more the idea that I simply could not bear the thought of spending a night alone. Subsequently, I joined every dating site imaginable in vain hopes that I’d find something at least marginally tolerable.

It’s a strange thing about Saffa boys. I am not suggesting that our stock is not of prime quality- indeed, no! Just look at our rugby lads. More often than not I find myself drooling over a fine specimen that loiters about the gyms of Johannesburg or the bohemian night life of inner city Braamfontein … and that’s the truth- our boys are delish, and they know it!

Hence, the problem: avoid one said woman at all costs. I seemed destined to attract drug addicts, the mentally incompetent, the rude, the downright ghastly and, of course, the toothless. Today I am more selective about the boys I date, thank Jesus, and about who I spread my legs for (to my own detriment, as the dry spells can appear to extend long durations of penis-less-ness). The process of coming to these conditions was arduous and somewhat slutty, but I appear to have a more liberal attitude towards sex and relationships than most of my gender. Maybe it’s because I actually know what a full-blown orgasm feels like… hey, I’m pretty sure that most women don’t! If they did, I’m quite sure we’d be a society of mindless, ravaging she-beasts set on humping any male’s legs like desperate bitches.

On one of the multitude of dating sites I was on, I met Walter… a slower specimen of male there never was. He was cute enough and sort of reminded me of Anthony Kiedis, just slimmer. There was a tattoo he boasted proudly on his right bicep and he was friendly and sweet, only problem was that he resided in Benoni, some 45 minutes away, and only drove a scooter (yes, once again a boy with no driver’s license).

It was by chance that a weekend sometime soon after first contact had been made that I visited my cousin who resides in the eastrand and we decided to go out to a local haunt by the name of “Hi Flyerz” (note: I loathe it so!). Only a year separates my cousin and I age-wise, and thus far our love-lives have been following a remarkably similar path. It has occurred more than once that we’ve been able to subtly coordinate a few of our dates so that it becomes a double effort, and it’s just by “coincidence” that we happen to run into each other at the predestined establishment, much to our dates’ surprise and somewhat discomfort.

We planned the same for this evening. I was quick to inform Walter of my plans and my cousin conjured a quick date for herself and we were set.

The evening concluded with me spending the night at his and yes, I fucked him. I already knew that Walter did not have the potential for anything serious… our conversations were limited to the bare minimum, even before we had officially met, and the simplicity of his prose irked me to the extent I felt compelled to stab out my own eyes just so that I could have a legitimate excuse not to read his messages.

He was also the type to throw lavish promises my way. These are but a few I was offered that evening:

1. A home-cooked meal (he is a chef)
2. Ballroom dancing
3. Unsolicited visits and orgasms

None of which have ever been fulfilled… naturally. Not that I’m overly perturbed by all these unrequited devotions as I was aware from the beginning that ol’ Walter had only a scooter by which to traverse across Gauteng’s unpredictable roads and I certainly was not about to go out of my way to drive back and forth to Benoni each day to see a boy I held no particular interest in.

Indeed, our copulation was brief and tinged with an element of surprise on his part. He kept groaning and wheezing, “Can you believe this is happening, hey?” while his below average sized member sieged my nether regions.

During the process, I was suspended in a mild state of disbelief for not moments before his stoned aunt had procured a DVD of profligate pornography and insisted that we watch it (I have never met her before…)

I am quite sure poor Walter was deluded by his bedroom prowess as after a while I informed him to finish to which he stated, quite proudly, “I already have.” Bravo. You maintained turgidity after pre-ejaculation. I’m so thrilled.

Walter still speaks to me with some half-arsed attempt at getting together. However, he’s now a waiter (talk about demotion) and still hiccupping around Benoni on his scooter. This may sound shallow of me, but after three years of embracing debt to support a boyfriend who had no ambition… I can safely say that I’m done with that. Done.