My date could only orgasm while clutching onto me – it was a turn off

These thrusts did absolutely nothing for me, but everything for him (Picture: Getty Images)

‘Ugh’, I tried to adjust under my date Gareth* just before his climax, but he weighed heavily on my small body.

His sweaty torso was wrapped around mine, his head buried in my neck and arms locked around me.

I rolled my eyes as I rhythmically moved under him.

He didn’t notice me move, or maybe he completely ignored me, because he continued to thrust fast and succinctly. Like little full stops. 

These thrusts did absolutely nothing for me, but everything for him.

This was him near orgasm, and I simply had to wait for him to finish before he would release his grasp.

Eventually, suctioned in my neck, he let out a whimper like an abandoned puppy. I felt utterly disgusted.

But he was still clamped on me like a child asking for milk.

How silly of me to assume it was over.

I had met Gareth that night at a social media meet up for comedians in central London, on a cold winter night. I’m far from a comedian, but I gatecrashed with my comedy friends hoping to meet new people and laugh.

After telling him I was simply a writer, his smile disappeared (Picture: Getty Images)

No one minded – it was a welcoming environment and people were just happy to have someone new to try out their material on.

My two friends disappeared into the crowd once I was accosted by an over-zealous comedian on the circuit, who wanted to find out if I was an agent, or a booker, or something important he could hustle a job out of.

After telling him I was simply a writer, his smile disappeared and he began to go through the motions of small talk, before Gareth butted in. 

Like the knight in shining armour, he asked if he’s met me before and that he remembered me – in fact, he owed me a drink from last time and guided me to the bar.

We walked up to the bar laughing, the new comedian but a distant memory as he began to introduce himself to me. We got chatting and before I knew it, we began flirting with each other. My friends appeared thinking they needed to save me, but I shooed them away.

Soon, we were out the door and on our way to his house for what we both agreed was a one-night stand. But I wish I never went.

I noticed his kisses were, what I then called, passionate. He pressed his face on mine as if he wanted to leave an impression of his lips permanently on mine. It was not a good kiss. For me anyway, he loved it and kept it going.

Something in me just wanted to please him – I think a lot of women have set themselves up to be disappointed, just to potentially reach a moment of pleasure. As it’s so rare and in between. Maybe these kisses wouldn’t be so bad in comparison to the sex, I thought.

I was wrong.

Back at his, he began taking his and my clothes off, while attacking my face with kisses, and before I knew it, we were having sex.

At first, he has soft and moved around my body, touching and kissing me. But it didn’t take long for him reach climax, and for him to clamp his body around mine like a vice.

He reminded me of the man who would only have sex with me while listening to Tenacious D (Picture: Getty Images)

After the sex was finally over – a minute later I managed to dislodge Gareth from my frame and move away.

‘That was not fun’, I said to him grimacing and wiping his sweat off me.

Turning to look at me, he said simply: ‘it’s the only way I can orgasm’ – his expression unmoving, as if we were talking about the weather.

‘Okay but it’s not how I have sex’, I fired back.

He shrugged: ‘I don’t care’.

He reminded me of the man who would only have sex with me while listening to Tenacious D. Or the one who could only orgasm if I screamed like in a porno.

They all had one thing in common – only their needs mattered. It was an eye-opening moment that unfortunately didn’t last long, since I found myself in the situation a few more times.

I told him he was like a man-child and needed to get a grip (Picture: Getty Images)

It was a year later that I would be in bed with a man who negged me the entire time, and wouldn’t let me leave until I was close to tears. Negging, for those who don’t know, is a form of emotional manipulation where someone uses backhanded compliments to undermine another’s confidence. It’s used to make them seek the manipulator’s approval.

I slowly started to understand my worth a lot more after that, but it took a period of healing.

But Gareth didn’t care, laying lazily in bed, covered in sweat and satisfied.

I told him he was like a man-child and needed to get a grip. Not literally.

Part of me was surprised he didn’t care, because he definitely didn’t give that impression earlier in the night.

I quickly grabbed my belongings and left, annoyed but determined not to let him ruin my next few days.

Texting my friends the update, they told me they didn’t actually know who he was, so they were surprised to see me talking to him. 

Luckily I never saw him again.

Which is good because even thinking of him gives me the ick.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing izzie.price@metro.co.uk. 

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