The Whittaker Effect

So, my first experience with the lovely 69 position was a bit of an ‘awkward situation’ and although there had been brief acrobatic occurrences of it throughout the next couple years, there was one more, umm, notable night that I feel is worthy to be regurgitated into the written word. It might possibly shed some more light on to why I have such personal animosity towards it as well.

I was well into the swing of the online dating scene; I had been out with at least half a dozen guys by this point. I had noticed that a common symptom of these ‘online suitors’ were that many were incredible on web chat, but not so great in person, and Mr. Whittaker definitely fell into that category. We had a fabulous back-and-forth online banter going on with jokes and sexual innuendoes and I managed to waste many paid work hours on MSN chat with him. After about a week, we agreed that we simply had to meet – and so we did...

BLAH! Conversation was flat and boring. I had really got my hopes up with this guy. He was tall, good-looking and artistic… and like Lurch in person. Yawn. I powered through the evening as quickly as possible and pleasantly said goodbye. I was afraid to logon to MSN the next morning as I wanted to avoid him, but not be a total bitch and block him – not just yet anyway.

Nothing. Phew!

Then a few weeks went by, which then turned into a couple months. He was almost a distant memory in online dating terms by then, but then suddenly, he sent me a wink. Weird, but OK; I wanted to see where this was going to go. He wrote that he wanted to see me again, and finished with a double “wink – wink” so I hesitantly agreed. I had pretty much gathered that this was going to be more of a booty call than anything else, which was perfectly fine with me...

I was never one to turn down a booty call!

I had made the necessary preparations and grooming for the big night – and I must say that I was particularly proud of my lady bits that evening, as I had ZERO blemishes in that surrounding area at the time. I had my trusty hand-held mirror to which its sole reason for purchase was so I could check under the hood more effectively. I was lookin’ fine under there and I couldn’t wait to put her to work.

Shortly after he arrived, we had made our way to my room. The small talk and pleasantries were abbreviated, to put it gently. It wasn’t animalistic lust or anything like that, but we definitely got down to business straight away. He had made a gesture that he was going to go down on me, but being as proud as I was of my sparkling vagina, I pushed him to lay down on the bed and I straddled his face. He seemed into it and I was enjoying myself. After a couple minutes, I turned around to assume the top spot of the 69 position. I had since learned that being on the bottom meant trying to enjoy giving an upside-down and backwards blow job – which is annoying as hell.

We were in full swing of the yin-yang and I must admit that it since I was more confident about myself this time around, I was enjoying myself… and then he stopped… abruptly.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t do this.”
“Do what? 69? We can do something else, if you don’t like that!”
“No. Sorry.”

And he grabbed his clothes like the house was on fire and he left. I didn’t even have time to see him to the door.

What the fuck just happened?

I was in a state of bewilderment and still sitting on my bed, naked. I double checked under the hood while I was sitting there – nope – still good! O well… I was already half way there, so I never even got up to chase after him; I just got out Mr. Purple and finished myself off.

Needless to say, I never heard from that guy again either.