If I Get Turned Off, He Can’t Turn Me Back On
When the body and the mind don’t play nicely together
As easy as it is to turn me on, I can be turned off instantly, almost like a light switch. The problem is that my light bulb actually burns out after one turn off, even if I don’t want it to.
Sadly, it’s very rare that I can ever be turned back on by the same man if he does something that I consider a major turn off.
This light switch effect is a blessing in cases where I know I deserve better and I’m not willing to settle. But it’s also a curse when I’m horny as hell and could use the services of my ex-turn-offs.
For me, sex is as much a mental sport as a physical one. A man can fuck it up without even trying if the entire scenario isn’t right. I don’t need rose petals and champagne to kick things off, but I do need him to be as present and immersed as I am, or it may result in my light burning out.
Oddly enough, two of my biggest turn-offs in the past came from two of my most talented sex partners ever. Both men treated our sexual encounters like an art form and both are superb at what they do.
Perhaps that’s the reason why the disappointments felt like massive letdowns when they happened.
Turn-Off #1
I had been casually seeing Jackson for roughly six months. He lived and worked in a city a couple of hours away from mine but he drove a short-haul truck route between our cities.
He was in town a couple of times a week, usually just for an overnight each time. As slutty as it sounds, a lot of our sex happened in the bunk of his big rig truck. It was kind of hot, I’ll admit it.
Occasionally, Jackson would also make the extra effort to drive here on his own time, spend the night at my house, and go back home early the next day.
Jackson was incredible in bed. He did everything I wanted all the time, no-fail. With him, I knew it was all about me and I craved him when he wasn’t around. We were a perfect match between the sheets because his only desire was to get me off as many times as he could, all the time.
If I could have kept Jackson as a sex lifeline forever, I would have. But then the turn off happened.
After several months of meeting him strictly for one-night encounters, I grew a bit weary of always staying in. I wanted him to take me out once in a while like normal people do. Getting out of sweatpants and showing our faces in public is normal and I wanted that.
He agreed, and planned a dinner and drinks date downtown, one October night. The only problem is that I had family in town staying with me, so we wouldn’t be able to have our usual sex mashup at my place after our date.
Jackson solved the problem by getting a hotel room for the night.
Date night was very pleasant and done properly. He picked me up at my place like a gentleman would, and I felt a bit more special being out for dinner and drinks, interacting in public with him. I knew this would be a rare occasion considering we lived hours apart, so I soaked it up and enjoyed it to the fullest.
As the evening wrapped up we got in his car and headed for the hotel he’d chosen. When he pulled into the parking lot I nearly died. It was one of those cheesy ass, no-tell motel type deals. In fact, I knew for certain that rooms in this particular hotel could be rented hourly.
It was a straight-up dive and I had no problem asking him why the fuck he got a room there. He explained that he’d forgotten his credit cards at home two hours away, and this was the only place he could find that accepted cash.
I was mortified, but I also didn’t want to be a bitch over the fact that he forgot his cards. So I reluctantly went inside the room with him.
It was everything you’d imagine it should be for a room-by-the-hour type establishment, right down the shabby, paper-thin walls. I could hear every voice of every person in all the rooms attached to ours.
Jackson got undressed while I dipped into the disgusting bathroom to freshen up. When I reappeared to start getting my ghetto hotel freak on — he was fast asleep on the bed.
I stood there incredulous for a minute. I think I even said, “What the fuck?” out loud. If I wasn’t getting sex that night I damn sure wasn’t laying my head on those skanky pillows.
I rifled through Jackson’s pants pockets, took a cigarette out of his pack, and called myself a taxi to go home. I was offended beyond words.
Keep in mind, Jackson was the guy who would drive two and a half hours to have sex with me, and then drive another two and a half hours home on the same night. So falling asleep on our first actual date night? Inexcusable.
That was the end of our sexcapades and shortly after this incident, he ended up moving cross country for another job. Although it took me some time to get over the biggest turn off ever, we’re now friends and keep in touch a couple of times a year. I’ve even seen him once or twice while I’m on stopovers in his city….in a hotel room of my choice.
Turn-Off #2
Malcolm is a different kind of story. We’ve only recently met and have indulged in a few sexual encounters so far. From the first time he touched me I knew we would be 100% sexually compatible — and I was right. We’re on fire.
Our first night together lasted the better part of four hours including foreplay. He’s a master manipulator and plays the long, slow game. Our sexcapades start early in the day via text message, before he even comes over. He’ll fill me in on everything he’s going to do to me that night and then later, he shows up and delivers.
Sex with Malcolm is like a rodeo. We hit all the positions and we hit them heavily. At 3:00 A.M. when we both rollover and crash, there’s coconut oil everywhere, towels strewn, and the sheets are a disaster.
But something dreadful happened during my third (and last) encounter with Malcolm, and now I don’t know if I can bring myself to ever want to see him again.
The night started off wonderfully with a couple of cocktails on my couch, before getting down to business. Foreplay with him involves a ton of tongue action. He lubes up all my areas that crave attention. He bites, he teases, he licks, and sucks every square inch of my body and it lasts for hours.
This is the kind of thing that drives me insane and I need it before I end up begging for a good, hard fuck.
In between his maneuvers, I let him take breaks so I can return the favor. I love it when he lays back and lets me torture him for a while. One thing I’ve noticed about Malcolm though is that he doesn’t get hard while he’s pleasuring me. He only gets up when I give him plenty of attention.
In all of my past sexual experiences, this hasn’t been the norm. I’m used to a guy getting a hard dick while his pants are still on and it stays hard for the duration.
During my first couple of hookups with Malcolm, this wasn’t a problem because he got hard when I needed him to and he took care of business. But the third night, it wasn’t happening at all.
He was absolutely limp. To the point where even when I took him into my mouth and tried my best to help him along, it was like sucking on a noodle. I couldn’t make him stand up and I lost my desire to try.
Malcolm didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he used his fingers to finish the job. I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it or that he didn’t get the job done, but that’s not what I wanted. Even worse, I couldn’t figure out which one of us was the problem.
Was I the reason he couldn’t get it up? Or was it his own problem? I never asked and he never told, so we now sit at a crossroads.
He still texts me all the time but I’ve lost interest so I make up excuses about how busy I’ve been. I know that sounds cruel but I just can’t bring myself to possibly end up in the same situation again because it’s not fun for me at all.
I could be selfish and make him come over just to pleasure me but I know that inevitably I’ll have to return the favor, and I just can’t.
When your mind isn’t in the game it’s pointless to even attempt having sex. If it’s obvious that his head (literally) isn’t in the game I can’t bring myself to try.
Sex is a mind-fuck as much as a body experience and the psychological piece can’t be missing if it’s going to work out for me, whether he’s someone I just met or someone I’ve grown fond of over time.
If he’s not turned on enough to get himself ready for the deed it reflects on our sexual chemistry, am I wrong? Men, if you’re out there I’d love for you to weigh in on this.
