Selective amnesia

I was a little bemused and intrigued when I saw his name appear in my new message list. It reminded me immediately of our last meeting - after insisting on meeting me for a coffee, he became increasingly reluctant to commit to a time and date for further playtime. After two frustrating evenings of cancellations and poor communication from other men, I decided to just invite him over for a test run.

After what seemed an eternity, he was sitting on my sofa as I straddled his lap. It was still stinking hot, even after midnight, and the fan whirred its sticky air onto us. His T-shirt and jeans came off in rapid succession, revealing the brightest yellow pair of boxer briefs I have ever seen, and no significant bulge. He had the muscular physique of an athlete, his legs well formed by hours of soccer every week. Despite the heat, it was clear that his skin tone had more to do with his Mediterranean heritage than any time spent in the sun.

He pushed me up to my feet and bent me over the couch. Kneeling behind me, he buried his face between my legs and ate me... just not very well. After a few minutes of this, I got impatient and switched places with him. Peeling off the fluorescent yellow monstrosities, I came face to face with six shaved inches of not very much, but I soldiered on and coaxed him to full hardness.

He sat back down on the couch as I straddled him. For the third time that night, he moaned, "It's so hot", and I knew it had nothing to do with me. Reaching below me, I guided him in and tried to establish a rhythm, but he kept slipping out. After he had slipped out for the umpteenth time, I stood up.

Bending over, I went down on him again and tried to encourage a little more life into him. I managed to get a bit more response from him as the sweat rolled down his torso, so feeling encouraged, I stood up in front of him and grabbed the back of the sofa.

I could feel him behind me as he steadied himself with a hand on my hip, the other furiously trying to beat a response into his cock while keeping the condom in place. Finally he pushed up against me... Only to fold in half and flop away again.

"It's too hot," he whined again, before peeling off the condom and reaching for his underwear. I stood up straight, nonplussed. Great.

I did one final scan of the coffee table for stray wallets and phones before shutting the door behind him.

*     *     *

Fast forward six months, and his name appears once more in my inbox. I couldn't believe it. After not hearing from him since that fateful night, I'd added his name to the Kryptonite list and promptly forgotten about him.

"hey my name is tony and ur pics are hot. hit me up at [MSN] and [Yahoo] to chat more."

Unbelievable! He didn't remember me at all. This was some A-grade douchebaggery. My photo (singular) hadn't changed; the copy of my profile had undergone only minor modification, and he still didn't remember cheating on his girlfriend but being unable to get it up or finish. I wrote back.

"Really? You don't remember me? You don't remember meeting at [restaurant] for coffee on a rainy afternoon? You don't remember coming to my house late on a Saturday night and being unable to get it up?"

I didn't get a response.