The Interview

brazil_flag_mapI’ve been waiting to get this job. Two months now. Two interviews, waiting on a third. I’m starting to have a bad feeling. I think dating has prepared me for this – I know when they don’t want me, I can feel it when they become vacated of interest. It’s palpable.  Like when I said to Amanda that I would never want kids, that I hated kids, that having kids would be the worst possible thing I could do to my life, I could smell the silence, I could hear the light go out in her eyes. But we still had a good time. We still finished dinner. We still got gelato. We still made out in my car and I still felt her up. She had a nice body too. But she really wanted a baby in it at some point. So we would not have a second date. And I would not lie about what I want just to try sleeping with her.

Two interviews doesn’t mean anything either. I had two dates with Gabriela and I thought it was going well. She was a gorgeous six-foot-one Brazilian woman with thick, cascading red hair. She was into feminism and social justice and greasy food. We had similar appetites and she complained how she gained a hundred pounds since coming to the states. Sugar is in everything. And she can just see me as a fat American kid eating chicken nuggets and ketchup and I laughed it off but thought her choice of words was rather rude. We talked about how racist America is but still not as racist as Brazil. Apparently, if you’re anything other than black, you’re white. Asians, Mexicans, they’re all white so long as they’re not black. We talked about how when she was 13 she was in an abusive relationship with a 19 year old boy and how her dad would drive drunk with a bottle of whisky between his legs because that’s fairly standard down there.

Since she was new in town I drove her around some of the more beautiful parts of the city – the river, the statues, the park. Such beautiful expanses, still held within the city limits. She wore a charming blue and white Greek inspired dress and I tried rubbing her leg a bit throughout the drive even though I still had no idea what I was doing. When we got back I gave her a six pack of her favorite, illusive beer and she took me upstairs. I didn’t know what to expect. I was still struggling with confidence issues before taking pills. And a three flight walk up doesn’t exactly put me on my game. But we split a beer and made out and all I could think was this amazing woman could have any guy up here with her, and she’s chosen to have me, and I creeped my hand up her thigh until I realized she wasn’t wearing panties and I fingered her, and sucked her pierced nipples, and pulled her hair and choked her, and she told me harder, don’t be afraid, and I strummed her clit and she grabbed my wrist and said she’s not a banjo, and I really wanted a blowjob but I didn’t know what to do, and I said her sucking on my finger makes me think about putting my cock in her mouth, and she whimpered, asked to please put my cock in her mouth and it clicked and I just told her to suck it, and she got down on her knees and I was afraid I wouldn’t be ready but she worked it and held on to my thighs as I held on to her amazing fiery red mane and fucked her mouth until I asked if she wanted my cum and she squealed with delight and I shot down her throat and she said thank you and we kissed and I asked if she liked how it tastes and she said it tastes like victory, it’s her reward for the effort, and I really wanted to see her again and eat her pussy and fuck her but that would be our last date because she’s looking for love and she didn’t see a future for us. There was that familiar paranoid silence between texts which gave me a bad feeling.

But I kept thinking about how much she enjoyed giving me head. Is it possible she just blew me for selfish reasons? Instead of me giving it to her, did she take it from me? Did she already know there was no future for us and decided to play me just to suck a dick? Would I have been more powerful to deny her? Fuck no, I wanted that blowjob. I craved that blowjob like steel craves a stone. My edge will grow dull without it, but getting sharper means I will lose a small amount of myself in the end.

But I’m not always right. After all, I got the job.

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