I [M] [44] attempt to explain my Reddit failure.

**I was ‘encouraged’ to post this here – x-post from** /u/sluttyconfessions

I’m still processing this, so this post is probably going to sound more like a stream of consciousness versus a steady stream of hot cum all over her pretty lower back *but* you were warned. My name is **Jeremy**. I’m 44, which by some standards on Reddit is considered old if not prehistoric to some of you – I acknowledge this. I’m a dad. I have three wonderful, healthy children. I was married to an almost-supermodel-esque woman for 16 years, and I’ve been divorced for the last three. Breaking up sucks. I see my two oldest kids going through all that bullshit – girls fucking with their heads, them making poor decisions, feelings, uncertainties and so forth. As a parent, you want to get involved but there’s a fine line, so I’ve come to the conclusion that if they don’t engage me, I leave it alone. My oldest, Jake is a sweetheart. He was ‘dating’ the sweetest girl for a bit. Then he fucked it up because he fell into the trap of peer pressure and tried to play a role – chicks don’t dig that, and she dumped his ass. You live and you learn, right?

Anyway, I’ve been a ‘free man’ for a little while now. While I’m tremendously invested in my family still, and I’m professionally too busy to really say I’m ‘lonely’, I’m trying to move ahead. I bought the condo, hit the gym, leased the Porsche (don’t do that), grew the beard, and bought an ungodly amount of weed since my official ‘departure’ from the house I bought and paid for. Divorce is messy by the way; not to mention costly. We separated amicably but Jesus, once we hired attorneys things got ill. My future ex-wife helped me move. She would even come to my place when she rightfully wanted to murder one of these kids in order to vent. We’d share a couple beers, reminisce, laugh, and sometimes we’d just fuck for a couple hours for old times sake. But as soon as the lawyers got going, all over. It was almost laughable – her attorney trying to make me out to be some monster on the strength that I (on occasion) would do my laundry at my house. My fucking house. My washer and dryer. And audit my expenses? Seriously? It got crazy, and contentious, and it’s unfortunate. Ex-wifey and I are trying to become amicable again, but I’ll never stick my dick in her again, and I’m good with that.

So this left me looking for something. A girlfriend? I’m probably a good, if not safe LTR candidate but I think I need to first grasp single-ish life. An FWB? I’m not even sure I grasp the concept – So you’re my ‘friend only’ but I can fuck you? As opposed to what? That seems relegated to those that can’t have a monogamous relationship with a female without fucking them. Look, I was not a great husband – I went outside my marriage, engaged with a woman 12 years younger than me, and maintained that on and off for about 8 years. I wouldn’t consider that chick my ‘fwb’, girlfriend, or side-piece. I kept my mouth shut, and took it day by day. So Jeremy just figured he’d look to the one place where he had met so many good people, and if you’re reading this, you’re familiar with this place. He flexed across a few new accounts and tested the water. Every now and again he would post something in NJr4r or even randomactsofcunninglinguists because, you know, he is a pleaser and he *really* enjoys eating pussy (its true). Was he just a *little* awestruck (read butt-hurt) that hundreds of red envelopes did not reach his Reddit immediately? *Maybe*.

He knew better. He was a Reddit-or for a decade, literally. Fuck, he helped build some of the Anse Chung fucking lunatic Reddit infrastructure even years before that when they were a customer for the company he worked for (big shout to my Brooklyn homie’s). People have patterns regarding when and how they filter content. Jeremy is aiming at a platform dominated by males, and expecting some magical Reddit SMS push to buzz the pockets of females, no, a subset of females, inside an even smaller subset of females who *happen* to be from New Jersey, and maaaaybeee paying attention, and furthering that probably tossing up responding to his post versus the 28 year old ‘hung’ body-builder with 50 dick picks in his profile on various subs. So let’s be honest – Jeremy is *probably* reaching. Sigh.

I did get some responses. I did have a few conversations. I did convert a couple of these into commitments both of which just peter-ed out – probably my fault. I waited a week and then I started over. This time I just dropped my line off the dock and waited. It’s Saturday. It’s incredibly noisy and I’m sitting on gym bleachers with my fingernails pressed tightly against the uncomfortable bench. Every time she presses at the key, every time she fakes left and goes right, every time she alley-oops that ball over and over and over.. they look over at me. She won’t. She never does. I do admire that she doesn’t require daddy’s confirmation. It actually annoys me when I see kids that look to their parents in these scenarios. It’s the parents who look at me. Me! Like I had fuck all to do with her and her ability. It makes me feel uncomfortable. I’d feel better if some other kid was leading the team with 36, no 39 points instead of mine. I smell the envy and its apparent. I think its silly and trite. She’s been playing since she was *FIVE*! She does one thing. She loves it and she works for it, at least for the most part. The point is, I have *nothing* to do with it. I don’t know dick about the game. I never was a fan and I sure as shit never played. I’m not that dad. So I was really relieved when I saw that notification. End of the fourth quarter, 33 seconds, she goes up, elbowed, and one. She misses the second foul shot. Good. 67-33 great. Jojo get your shit, I’m not meandering here so your friends parents can verbally stroke my cock. We stopped for lunch bereft of her indicating that she wasn’t hungry. Unfortunately I overlooked that this was an odd numbered week, therefore Jorden is a vegetarian. Or a pescatarian. Or a shamalamadingdongatarian – I just can’t keep up with her. Enjoy those french fries and soup Jojo, because I’m definitely enjoying this burger.

I try to spark some conversation. She’s 13. She has a lot of bottled-up feelings regarding the decline of her parents’ relationship. She’s a lot like me, unfortunately, minus her athleticism. “How’s Jake doing with driving? Do you feel safe in his car?”, I asked. She tells me yes, and she thinks he’s a dork. “Are you taking good care of my baby? You gotta put that Frontline crap on her regularly; she doesn’t shed, you know that”. “Yes Dad, Layla is fine. But she’s not your baby. She’s THE FAMILY’S!”, she retorts emphatically. I drop it and we talk instead about how she wants some cat without hair but my ex refuses entrance to any more pets. We find a lot of common ground talking about animals, and she segues into inquiring about my car. “I couldn’t afford that car any longer so I traded it in”, I told her. She detested it anyway and confirmed that she preferred her mom’s Grand Cherokee anyway…. but she liked my not-even-close-to-a-Porsche car I have now better. Great. I read the notification about an hour later after I dropped the kid off and went home.

The message was nothing unique. She said that she saw my post (obviously), and she was responding (obviously). She wanted to know exactly what I was ‘looking for’. There was some back and forth in Reddit for a day or so, but I’m being persistent about exchanging numbers – at least for texting purposes. My thought process was that if I give you my number, there’s a sense of ‘availability’. Years before, when I was up to no good, I’d be wary that my wife would have my phone available and see the calls from ‘Debs’. Worse, she might see the texts, some of which were ‘anticipatory’ from either of us ie, “I can’t wait to hear your little moans while I devour that pussy and tug on your nips sexy. Let’s hit Porta for dinner”, or “I really miss feeling your cock inside of me. We still on for Wednesday J?”. Other messages were a review of recent interactions like, “You ripped my favorite panties, but worth it. My bed still smells like you. Miss you J”, or “My dick hurts soooo much. That was like twister last night. How’s work?”. I was, therefore cautious about activity on my phone as well as who had my phone within reach. But now *I’m available*! That’s right! I give zero fucks. Here’s my number – seven three two nine four …. wait wait. But yeah, as of late I make it a point to show that I am available.

I told her I wasn’t really absolute about what I was looking for. As I write this, I remember that this is not a good idea, nor is it beneficial towards getting the ends and means justified. Women want to know wtf you want. It’s like going out to dinner, and being completely indecisive. It’s annoying. I forget this occasionally. Needless to say, I detected this self-sabotaging behavior and flipped it around. “Look Michelle, I’d really just like to get together..soon. How about Friday?”. Much better approach. Not creepy, not indecisive, suggestive, and showing interest. And I was interested. She was cute according to the one picture I’d seen. Short and sweet, we agree to meet at a local Panera and maybe grab a drink in the area. Friday rolls in, I arrange my schedule to ensure my work is completed early, and exonerate myself of any kid shlepping duties beforehand. I’ll spend three hours in the bathroom shaving my head, trimming my beard, and doing some much needed man-scaping. Have you ever shaved your balls? You can’t rush that kind of shit and I’m a perfectionist. I’ve been shaving my head since I was about 23. My friends were doing some holiday thing for kids with leukemia at a hospital and we all shaved our heads. I just never stopped because my future wife and everyone else told me it was a good look.. or maybe that was a cruel joke. Regardless, I’ve become somewhat of an expert on shaving, techniques, razors, and re-mediating a nasty nick when you angle that straight razor even slightly off. At this point, I could trim your pussy to look like the Mona Lisa. I could probably even do it with my eyes closed, by feel.

We had decided on 7:30 PM. I was feeling good. I smelled great, looked great, and had time to spare. A friend had sent me this really nice piece of glass which went unopened for months. I had it hiding in plain sight in my living room amongst a really ornate hookah, some framed pictures, and another frame with some ticket stubs – Run DMC, Pink Floyd, The Dead, Wu-Tang. There was a poster sized frame in my hallway with many more. I grabbed the glass, loaded a smidge, couple nice pulls, and ding – my phone. She’s running late. By 9 PM I’m sitting on my couch. I’m starving, stoned, and still wearing my jacket. I’m about to text her when my phone rings. I make an extraneous effort to not sound disappointing, instead over-emphasizing an excited tone, so lame. “Heeeey Michelle, thaaaaaaaaanks for caaaalling. What’s your favorite color?”. No. I tried to keep it neutral but I’m guessing my emotions leaked. Something about her sister, and her mom. I was barely paying attention. She still wants to come she tells me – as do I, many times. She suggests however, that we reset and plan for Sunday. Hell no bitch. Do you have *any* fucking idea the level of effort I just put into my balls alone? Do you? My balls! Even under my balls in that weird spot. No fuck that. Don’t try to make me want you. I am familiar with this tactic. But. But maybe she’s sincere.

I coerced her into just coming over. It felt that way. Surprisingly, a knock at my door at 10:22. I quickly return the bong to its earlier location, and run to the door. The North Face is still on the J body, oops. She came inside, and I gave her a hug. She smelled wonderful. Peacoat, scarf, denim button-down over what appear to be black leggings, and black boots. Personally, I’m a skirt and heels kinda guy but let’s be honest – I’m just rocking the nice LL Bean flannel and jeans, and inappropriate North Face black ski parka, inside my condo, so yeah. I took her coat and toss it over my desk chair. We both sat down on my really large L-shaped couch, arms length from each other. We chit chat for a while, and I offer, no, I almost insist she have a beer and I go retrieve two of them. I hear her voice meandering whilst in the kitchen. I hear the click clack of her boots while I’m fumbling around for a bottle opener. I return to the living room, set both Sierra’s on the coffee table, and toss my jacket on the opposing end of the sofa. “I love your bedroom”, I hear. Interesting. She’s in my bedroom. I do the ungentleman-like thing and take a swig. “It’s really big. Damn. How many closets are in here?”, she continued. There are three. Two walk-in closets and a smaller one. It just came this way, no idea why.

She’s snooping around in there. I hear some of the books which I had meticulously balanced fall over, followed by her attempt to rearrange them in the bookcase. “DJ J—, huh… wicky wicky”, she bellows. “Uh, sorta, but no. That’s my little production rig”, I responded. Yes, there’s a desk in there with a nice 8-track mixer, an MPC, two MacBooks, a keyboard, monitors, two guitars, but I sensed she was already past that before deciding to go into an detail. “I found your underwear drawer”, she giggles. This is cute; she’s going through my shit. “You do realize Michelle, that it’s almost my turn”, as I’m thinking exactly this. She returns, plops down next to me, and drops a book on the coffee table. Flump. My book. Watership Down by Richard Adams. “Oh fuck, you found that. That is one of my favori-“, before I could finish, she had straddled herself across my lap. Penis, boxers, jeans, beer, her. The neck of said beer was pressed against my abdomen, and the base cubby-ed by my balls. I recall noticing *this* before becoming aware that her mouth was pressed against mine, and our tongues were entwined.

My next moment of recollection finds her dry-humping my thigh, while my hands found their way under that denim shirt and cupping two silky cladden grapefruits. It’s challenging, because it feels like she’s trying to start a fire as she gldes herself (well glide is likely the wrong word) up and down my leg. And she’s mewing and kissing me and fuck I’m so horny and fuck I don’t want to ruin this. I make an executive decision. Mr. right hand finagles the bottle and somewhat inconspicuously using blind faith, sets it on the side table. Right hand returns under her shirt, sneaks around back feeling for a hem. Eureka. Slipping my fingers first over her pretty ass, then back to the hem of her pants slash leggings, and just inside. She hasn’t paused for even a moment. The next sensation is something smooth, lacy, then skin. I’ve got my hands on what must be her thong, and my fingers have slipped underneath forming a handle of sorts. I offer a gentle tug, and for reasons beyond my comprehension I get ridiculously turned on.

Let me stop for a moment and kill your lady-boners…. again. My name is Jeremy, I’m 44 and I live in New Jersey. I also have realized that I have a weird fascination. I’m a pretty vanilla sort of guy, and I never considered myself to adhere to much in terms of off-center kinks. For example, I could never pee on someone and find that sexually gratifying. Violence? Well earlier when I alluded to my extra-marital exploration, there were a few heated evenings where in the heat of the moment I slapped her.. on the face. I don’t even know why, it just felt appropriate. And she punched me in the face, got up, got dressed and chaos ensued. This my ladies, was enough to placate any preconceived notion that I had this ability. I also don’t pretend to understand the whole BDSM thing, because I don’t. Add to that, admittedly I’m not a fan of anal sex. Sorry. The best I can do is a finger, and that’s just me being honest. However… there is this one weird fascination I *do* have.

Girls in glasses. I have no idea why but this is almost secondary to sexy underthings. See for me, naked is great. But some sexy panties and a bra, boom. There’s something exhilarating about the whole idealism, the feel and the texture. Seeing your nipples barely camouflaged behind something a little black, blue, red and kinda transparent sets me the fuck off. Maybe I can almost make out your pussy, almost.. wow. There’s something that I just find tremendously appealing about this, enough that given the opportunity, I’ll often opt to leave them on while I fuck you. You wear glasses, leave those on too. Alright, back to it. **Jeremy**. **New Jersey**.

I’m pulling her panties tight, enough that I can see the flower laced pattern on the reflection of the glossy black TV across from the couch. Michelle is increasing her velocity while I’m attempting to determine a strategy. She’s breathing hard and giving me sloppy kisses. Her glasses are offset now and her hair is tickling my face; a few strands are in her mouth, which is cute. And then the earth shatters. She’s shaking. Her one hand is behind my head on the couch back and the other is death-gripping my left side – its painful. She, in some other tale might just have turned into some monster. But she didn’t. She shudders again, screams, and collapses her torso against mine. I remember thinkng about whether or not I’m a hero or a zero at this point. I released her panties, placing my hands on her lower back. She nuzzled my chest, mewing. Time stopped for moment. Everything wrong was going to be OK. I didn’t even have an orgasm, didn’t even come close, but I felt like I had. Every fucking thing was good, in this moment.

“Jeremy”, she said. I guess she had said it a couple times. I had dozed off in bliss, and to be fair I have the most comfortable couch evar, seriously. The couch is nap inducing to the point where I often avoid sitting on it for the fear of succumbing to an unauthorized nap. I snapped out of it, and smiled down at her. “You got anything to put in that bong?”, she whispered. I directed her to the third cabinet, to the left of the sink, Tupperware container. Michelle gets up, adjusts herself, including retrieving her panties sunk deep between her little ass cheeks whilst throwing me a little look. She returns with the party favors box, and we rummage through it. We conclude on what’s inside jar number four and get silly stoned. Michelle then resumes her previous position, playing with my beard now. I’m just enjoying this whilst internally attempting to form a plan. My plan evaporates however, because she’s got her hand palm open on the zipper of my jeans, and she’s moving her pretty little head southbound. I watch her blindly fumble with my belt, then the buttons on my jeans. I’m fucking impressed – she’s doing this while looking at me. *Maybe she’s a witch*.

I know what’s about to go down, no pun intended. I almost feel like we could just leave this out, but I’m not going to. The reason I’m not going to is because, ladies, pro-tip, dudes like dick confirmation. Same reason we trolled each other when we were little talking about small dick this and small dick that. If you were me, dumb, naive, sensitive, and self-conscious with low self esteem, the mockery impressed itself upon you. I wasn’t aware that we all had tons of conviction at 15 or 16. We had no knowledge, just conviction. I thought my dick was tiny. I was apprehensive about females seeing it let alone anything else. I was terrified of girls at 16. The best friend of what would be my first real girlfriend literally peer-pressured me into fucking her friend. I should thank that bitch. That changed the game though, and although I still had reservations about the authenticity of her, my girlfriend’s claim of me having quote, ‘such a nice dick’, it was a spring-board for my confidence. I would hear this again. And again. And then a ‘complaint’ about fitment via girl three. I never joke about dicks. Never have, never saw a need to, and even so many years later, while I don’t harbor any self-doubt about my cock mostly due to being a fucking grown up, it’s nice to hear a compliment. Jeremy. 44. Lol.

My next mental picture has my chin extended down, watching Michelle. She’s successfully unwrapped me. My jeans are still on, and the waistband of my boxer briefs are the only thing restraining my cock from making a co-star appearance. She has her hand wrapped around the shaft, slowly manipulating it, jerking me off. There’s a drop or two of pre-cum at the tip. This is normal for me, but slightly embarrassing. Maybe even at 44 with three kids I still harbor some naivete. She’s got the head of my very engorged, very swollen cock in her mouth now. Her hot saliva and warm tongue have me in the zone. I don’t know about everybody, but I have some opinions on blowjobs. Put your panties back on for a sec. Some women are really, really masterful at the blowjob. Some women, conversely, meh. Some are really great at the task but don’t necessarily enjoy it, and some enjoy it but it’s a painful sacrifice to endure, my ex-wife for example. I’m a pleaser. If it pleases *you* to suck my cock, so be it – go nuts. But please be careful because I’m a bitch and if you inflict pain, my dick will retreat. Conversely, if your main goal is to just get me off via your expert level oral skills, well, I want it nice and slow, and I want and need you to derive some pleasure from the experience. That’s just me. Jeremy. New Jersey. I have a Golden doodle. She eats birds.

Honestly, I’d rather eat your pussy and bring you to orgasm or at least make every damn last attempt to versus getting my dick in your mouth, real talk. Nothing is absolute, but that’s my general charter. So I asked her. Loaded question, but whatever. “Do you enjoy sucking dick Michelle?”. I’ve got my hand through her hair, and a decent hold on it. “I do… very.. much”, she said. Dur. I mean what is she going to say, ‘no’? She’s slid down to the floor, the coffee table pushes back, and her beer spills. Fuck. Let it go Jeremy. I fight my instinct to rescue my furniture. Michelle didn’t even notice. She’s gone down the vertical double-black diamond with no poles attempting to consume my entire shaft down her throat. I’m wishing I could somehow get my hands back into her pants but alas, her pretty head is the best I can do. Truthfully, it was kinda invigorating to feel my cock against my left hand through her cheek. She comes up for air every few moments, strings of saliva drip on me.

So yeah.. It’s fair to say maybe I was a little overzealous on the whole BJ rant because wow. I’m glad she spilled that beer too, because I can focus my attention towards my OCD and away from going full caveman and emptying my entire army of little Jeremy’s .. 44.. from New Jersey in her mouth. This requires great focus, for me. She’s squirming again; both her knees pressed tightly together and she’s like, well, gyrating is the best way I can describe it. I’m literally bugging out. I collect myself after probably six or seven minutes, and remove the dick. She doesn’t stop, and she’s like battling me all the while she once again has these little tremor-like things. Then she stops. She peers up at me, saliva and spit all over her mouth, and says, “I just came so hard. Twice. Again”. Twice again, so wait, two plus two plus uh, one, hey hey. I’m not a math expert, but she is shutting me out. She hops back on the couch, my dick gives me the dirty one eye look as if to say, “WTF bro. Helloooo. Who’s in charge here?”. Me dick. I’m.. I’m in charge? Yes. I am in charge.

We kiss for a while. She’s stroking my cock and telling me all sorts of wonderful stuff. I re position her, pulling down her black leggings, the crimson, lacy panties, and as I bend her forward and my dick is no more than an inch from that pretty pussy, she scares the fuck out of me – literally. Michelle, ass up in front of me, whilst my cock is aching, throbbing, glazed all over in a mixture of saliva and pre-cum – she starts bawling. Now, I’m not exaggerating – sure I was a little, ummm, OK OK I was like medium stoned but this bitch started straight crying. I’m not talking a little bit – this is “Daddy get the rabbit out of Layla’s mouth it’s squeaking” level crying. Tears and shit. Seriously, fuck my life. Welp. I’m an idiot… Jeremy.. 44.. idiot from Jersey. I’m dumbstruck. So what would you do? I put my dick back in my jeans, and I did the only thing I knew how. I murdered the bitch.

Yeah, right. The only thing I can murder are burgers and houseplants… and your mood, probably. I lifted up her panties, then her leggings, and I sat her down on the couch as she continues to cry. She attempted to grab the beer that (she) spilled during this, and I quickly grab said bottle and place it next to my now lukewarm beer. I don’t do well with crying. Should I offer to buy her ice cream or something? Please stop crying Michelle. It’s awkward. Even retrospectively it feels, awkward. I get up and grab her a box of tissues and a bottle of water. I wipe her face gently of her tears and spit. I open the water and hand it to her. She calmed down slowly. I tried to lighten the atmosphere with my really inappropriate comedy. This was my mechanism for dealing, and it didn’t work. Then I did something so fucking strange that I’ll just ask all you fuckers to PLEASE, never repeat. I took another tissue, up to her face and told her to blow her nose. Jesus. And she did. So weird. I grabbed a throw blanket, draped her in it, and turned on my giant ass TV – at least something is getting turned on. Trailer Park Boys or People Just Do Nothing Michelle? Fuck it, The Office. Again. And so we watched two episodes in silence. And she giggled a little at Scott’s Tots. I mean its impossible not to.

Michelle seemed to have calmed down, and then explained herself to me. She told me that she is or was a rape victim. She said the perpetrator was a guy she really liked, seemed kind, and had, and I quote, “a cute beard and nice dick like you”. I empathize with her, despite my own opinions on the beard. I still have three of four very close childhood friends. I ran into a girl from my childhood some time ago, and we developed a new repoire (?) on FB. One of our conversations included Jay, my old friend who lives in Florida. She described, in great detail how she was raped by, one of my four, my friend, Jason. I honestly wouldn’t say I was shocked. This happened years ago, and that ‘friend’ had a pretty tumultuous childhood. Rapist? I didn’t see that, but sometimes you think you know someone. I had approached this ‘friend’ through a phone call, asking him why this happened and whatever. I’ll spare you all the details, however I’ll say that this was the last we spoke. Judgement aside, even 12 years ago I knew that girl I went to HS with was telling the truth, so I opted out of my friendship with Jay. I don’t know much about rape. That other girl really impacted my way of thinking, and she was suffering. Even so many years later, when my Jojo tells me she’s going to her buddy Tyler’s house I’ll ask about who else is there – overprotective dad? Maybe.

In any case, back to present company. In that moment I wanted to make it right for Michelle. Earlier, there was nothing aside from my absolute intent of getting my dick deep inside this lovely girl in my thoughts. Now I’m even regretting all of it. Michelle and I talked for the next few hours, sporadically making advances again. We kissed a few times, but I simply couldn’t draw myself to anything more than that. At around 1 AM, I encouraged her to go home. I insisted on following her the 22 miles, not in a creepy way, but only to ensure she got there safely. My drive home was pretty sad. One of those times when you contemplate the universe and consider what your own role is. Hobbling back up to my condo I made the decision to leave this one alone, and that, despite her numerous texts, was what I did. Thanks for listening… to Jeremy… the idiot… with the rabbit eating Golden doodle.. 44… from New Jersey.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/emtkmx/i_m_44_attempt_to_explain_my_reddit_failure