Sex with Clay, Part 1:
- Sex with Michael “Clay” Basham was unsatisfactory to me.
- Michael “Clay” Basham, would bark at me like a drill sergeant while having sex.
Opinions and reflections:
After having sex with Michael “Clay” Basham, much to my surprise, I was left horribly unsatisfied. It was what I call “Quarterback Sex”. Quarterback Sex is when the guy feels that his mere presence is more than enough to satisfy the woman’s needs. Picture Christian Bale in his role in American Psycho, but not as hot. You know, the scene where he’s having sex with the girl while admiring himself in the mirror. Well, that’s Quarterback Sex. No regard for the woman, only himself. Beyond the obligatory minute gestures, “Clay” rarely went beyond the actions of teenage foreplay.
After the first time I had sex with Michael “Clay” Basham, he asked me if I came. It reminded me of high school. I had given no indication of climaxing, yet he asked me if I came. Despite my integrity, I experimented by saying, “Yes”. I had to know if he really thought he actually did ANYTHING for me. He smiled triumphant and that was that. WTF?!?!?! I was dumbfounded. How on earth could he think I had finished? He barely paid attention to me all the while being partially erect, at best. How could he possibly think that I finished? Why hadn’t he paid more attention to my needs, if I were as perfect as he had described?
I confided in a friend of mine. A friend that knew him while he was actually working with juvenile youth. The fact that he had helped her son was a direct “in” with me. He was allowed a fast pass into my life, because I thought that I had proof of who he was. Knowing my track record with douchebags, she asked me if I thought it might be time to grow up. Meaning, it’s more important to be with a good guy, than one that was good in the sack. I agreed. Sex was something that was secondary to having a “good guy”. Based on Clay’s pageantry, I thought I found that “good guy”.
So, I continued in my relationship with “Clay”, despite the bad sex. As he became more comfortable, the less he’d pay attention to me. Each session became a quest to get him to finish. A quest that could take a day, or weeks. I realize that I said I was a submissive, but I’m not a parlor monkey. “Wear this…wear that…put on red lipstick…pinch my nipple….harder…softer…the other one…stick your finger in my butt…stick the vibrator in my butt..suck on this nipple…pinch the other one…”. Over and over and over. The moment I would start to slide my hand to his back and escape into my head (attempting to realize some small piece of pleasure), he’d bark “PINCH MY NIPPLE!” I felt like an interactive blowup doll. There for his pleasure only. What happened to me being the perfect woman? Is this how he treats his dream girl?
Granted, he did attempt some dominant/submissive action, but he wrongly assumed it meant degradation, and being mean. A couple of times, he actually “got it”, but on the whole, I gave up, and became his mattress puppet. Which would have been fine, if I got anything out of it.
I tried everything to improve that part of our lives. After all, we were to be together forever. I dressed how he wanted, inflated his ego and bent to his will. Not realizing I was working with a narcissistic sociopath, I didn’t know that’s ALL he likely wanted, and my pleasure was clearly of no interest to him. So, I kept trying…
See you next Tuesday, for the second part of this new series!