Past the Point of No Return

He met my father before he met me, upon my initial arrival to the I-House at my new university. I felt something the moment we first met...when we shook hands. Not a spark exactly...but I suddenly felt a sense of pride...I wanted to simply go for it. He was a tall, blond, brilliant Masters student from exotic Scandinavia. I had never met anyone from that area of the world. So I suggested that we eat together in the dining hall sometime...he agreed.

As it was, we ended up eating with my roommate, another Norwegian Masters student and a Lithuanian student. We spent the entire day together...welcome events, getting to know everything about each other. In fact, we stayed up until nearly 2 am in his single room. Eventually, my roommate left and the other Norwegian student came in and out, mumbling and such. Poor guy was nervous his first time abroad and sought some guidance.

We spoke about all manner of things...politics, history...it turned out that he had even met some Israelis while traveling in South America. He had learned a phrase in Hebrew: "Yeshlakh eynayim yafot." You have beautiful eyes. I imagined this had been for the lovely Israeli girls he'd met down there.

I had started out on his bed...he was in the chair, directly across from me. Once my roommate left, he moved onto the bed next to me. I truly do not remember the moment he moved...it was growing late and I was becoming tired and a bit giddy. This lovely, traveled man was sitting beside me, explaining how he was nervous about how the professor here would view his thesis preparation.

"Don't worry," I encouraged, glancing into his eyes, "You'll be just fine."

I then turned to him, looked up at him with a small smile and hugged him, cuddling up to his shoulder.

When I pulled back, I could tell by his smile and the way he returned my gaze that a kiss was inevitable. So I leaned in and took his lips with my own. The first thing I noticed (and admired) was that, even after five minutes, he did not try and take it any further. He seemed content with simply kissing, running his tongue over my top teeth, gently grazing his teeth over my lips. But I was eager to begin a new life here, eager to stretch the limits. I lay him down and lay beside him, just gazing into his eyes.

"Yeshlakh eynayim yafot," he drawled, in accented Hebrew.

I was gone. I crawled atop his torso, kissing his neck and lightly gnawing on his earlobe. Then, very gently, I began to grind into his pelvis. It was around 2:30 by this time, so I was becoming a bit delirious and far too bold.

At some point, the light went off. I remember thinking that everything would stay safe as long as the light stayed on. My shirt eventually came off but again, no harm as long as my pants stayed on...

A little while longer, and he reached for my belt...my breath caught.

"Maybe we should slow down," I said softly, "It hasn't been very long. Just teasing can be fun." He was silent.

After some more grinding, he huskily asked, "You're teasing me very badly. Are you sure you don't want to?"

After a short pause, I let him take off my pants and I took off his. I was surprised to find how wet he was...

"You're wet." I stated the obvious.

"Yes," he replied, "You got me very excited."

This beautiful Scandinavian had been all around Kiev with the amazing Russian women and yet, I was able to arouse him so.

I took him in my mouth...he was making many sounds of pleasure, but I decided not to pursue it to the finish. I wanted to take him tonight. Drunken shouts could be heard from students partying down below in the courtyard, along with the humid, night breeze which entered through his open window.

I tangled my fingers in his hair, caressing as I had been for most of the evening, and eventually, pulling. He filled me...he was quite thick. That was around the moment I became addicted...passionate. I began sucking at his neck and even bit down hard. He was quite vocal, grunting and such...he even whispered a few words, but not in English. It aroused me to a frightening level that I could elicit such responses from him. The feeling of power was amazing.

We tried it all...me on top, from behind. After a while, I removed the condom and resumed sucking on him as he stood there with his head back and eyes closed in bliss. But I soon wanted him inside me again.

He spooned me. We went faster and faster until he exclaimed:

"I'm cumming, I'm cumming!" I gave his hair a final tug as we came together. I had never finished at the same time as a lover.

Afterwards, I asked if I should stay the night.

"What do you think?" He asked.

I stayed. He laced his fingers with mine and we discussed how it would be if my dad were to find out that the Masters student he'd met earlier that week had bedded me.

He replied, "That would surely erase me from the list of candidates for a future son-in-law."

I laughed. "Wow. We came together."

"I can go on for quite a while, if I want to." He insisted.

I smirked. "It's quite the compliment when you finish after a short time."

But...

"I know this was a little quick", I admitted, "I hope you don't find it sleazy or anything."

"It isn't the pace that matters," he answered, "But whether or not something feels right. This felt very right."

"It is fun," I cooed, "You should know that I love sex."

"That's great," he laughed, "I have a neighbor who enjoys sex. It is fun. Especially with a nice girl like you." He held me close. "Please let me know," he continued, "if this is moving too fast or too slow for you. I want you always to be comfortable and that we will always be friends. I do not want to ruin things with you."

"Too slow? But we should be careful...you're only staying for ten months...and we're seven years apart." I am always the pessimist.

"But age doesn't matter, so long as both people are at the same point in life. We are both studying."

This was true. "I'm glad you chose I-House." I admitted.

"So am I." He replied.

We dozed, but soon, he began humping me from behind again so we decided to part for the night in order to get some sleep.

The next morning, I was a little convinced that it had all been a dream...until we encountered each other at lunch and he had a huge mark on his neck. I suddenly became viciously possessive. I had marked him. He was mine. I spent the whole day craving his touch again...I wanted him inside me again, wanted to release my aggression as I made him moan with incredible pleasure. I also looked into his past a bit online...surveying his past photos with girls from the Ukraine, as well as girls who had shown him around Munich. All girls...well, some men but mostly girls.

The next night, we made love again.

I knew that as it all seemed too good to be true, something would go wrong. He wouldn't want to be tied down to one girl in the face of so many gorgeous females at Berkeley. So I went to his room and voiced my concerns:

"I just want to let you know that I have developed an attachment to you through our time together, and that it would bother me if I were to see another girl coming out of your room. I realize this is a rather difficult situation, seeing as we are neighbors." I told him directly as I sat on his bed and he faced me in his chair. He had to know.

"I was going to say that I didn't want you to become too attached. I would like to keep my options open...I've never had a relationship, nor wanted any commitment to just one person or location. "

I was feeling slightly ill. "Was your heart broken in the past?"

"No," he replied. "It's just who I am. I am sure my mother would like me to settle down...perhaps some kids one day. But I don't wish to arrange my plans around someone else. I have met women abroad who would move to Norway in a heartbeat for marriage...but they are gold diggers. But I do not want to hurt you, because you are a nice girl and you are very hot."

"So...you enjoy bed-hopping?"

"I do not have any moral issue with sleeping with a different girl every night," he replied. Wow. "...but I am aware that it could lead to 'practical problems'. But I promise that you will not see another girl coming out of my room."

I wanted to explain that my father was a physician and that there would be no reason I'd need his money. But it was coming together...he had told me that he wouldn't answer his parents when they called from home, because they called at the same hour every day and that he found it 'mundane'. Obviously, romantic or even sexual commitment was also 'mundane'. He claimed to prefer 'spontaneity'. I began to realize just how much of an utter mistake this had all been.

That evening, he allowed me to sit on his lap, even though he said that his friends don't usually sit on his lap. But he'd make an exception for me. He gently rubbed my back. I caressed his hair and turned to gaze at our reflection in the wall mirror. He was smiling with so much affection but would not let me kiss him.

We hooked up late at night a few times after that. The physical chemistry was just too strong to deny. It was like I was on fire around him. I discovered that he was obsessed with anal play. He had entered that area with his finger on the first night, using my arousal to try and lubricate me, but our attempt had failed...still, he persisted on following nights, and it worked.

He also took advantage of the fact that I enjoyed performing oral sex on him. He refused to reciprocate, always saying that he was 'too tired'. However, he said that he does do it...just not to me, apparently. Our skirmishes soon became a bit racy, such as him placing me in different positions, dropping me on the bed when he wanted to change position, holding my hands behind my back to prevent me moving...when I suggested to him that perhaps taking a young undergraduate was getting to his head, he replied,

"I forgot that you were an undergraduate. Well, we can play the father-daughter role, if you like."

I knew in my heart that I was being used, but I felt lonely my first time living on campus and utterly bored, apart from studies. I made friends with some girls in my hall and such, but not close friendships...they had known each other for two years already. I tried desperately to get over him but it was impossible when we saw each other in the hall every day. The very fact that I could turn him on so much fed my incredibly insecure ego.

He asked me to visit a few times late at night via text. I recognized what we had as a booty-call relationship. It was my first but I refused to let myself see it clearly enough to stop. But whenever I initiated the 'call' (except for once), he would pretend to be busy or not answer. Everything had to be on his terms. It still floors me how men can change their minds about what they want so utterly out of the blue. If he had only told me before we had sex that he was not looking for commitment...he even acted like he wanted commitment after we had sex the first time. He had asked if it was true that American college girls are with a different guy every week. I had replied, some, but that I become emotionally attached. I had warned him but I suppose even a Masters student in Applied Mathematics cannot always be expected to think with his head. Perhaps a relationship is not always preferable if it leads to drama, but I prefer at least sexual monogamy, for both moral and health reasons. Not to mention, I am incredibly possessive, by nature. I do not want to share my partner.

I had a few first times with him, such as an anal orgasm, finishing at the same time as him and having him lift me in the air while he made love to me from behind. He referred to us as 'lovers', something that I had never heard a man say before, at least not in real life.

He eventually stated that he felt we should stop being 'lovers', so as to prevent any emotional attachment. Too late. I felt it had to mean something, when most hook-ups came as a result of drinking and ours were totally calculated.

I had been on my way back to my bedroom after washing up for the night when he beckoned to me quietly from his door, which was ajar. I felt my way across the dark room to his bed, as he turned to climb in before I'd entered. When I climbed into bed with him, he stated that he'd called me here because it was 'nice to sleep with someone', but that we should really stop 'this whole lovers thing'. He then proceeded to reach inside my pajama pants...I hate men, sometimes.

Eventually, he didn't even kiss me anymore. It was all about sex and getting off. A few moments of holding each other, and then the clothes would be off and he would be pushing my head down. He even mentioned other girls while we lay together such as our floor RA, a beautiful Persian girl and undergraduate, like myself...How she was 'quite pretty'. At which point I pulled his hair and he swore that he'd done nothing with her. But I loved this tryst we had at the same time as I hated it. He kept calling on me even after he said we should stop. Well, once more.

He then wouldn't reply to any of my suggestive text messages. Then, he sent a Facebook message, saying that he simply does not want a sexual or romantic relationship with me, just as he doesn't want one with 99.9% of the people he meets, and that it just took him longer to figure that out with me. He then said that nothing else would happen between us. He hoped to get the point across and that I would quit sending him lewd text messages, and 'wasting my time on him'. I was utterly humiliated.

Needless to say, a month passed and we encountered each other in the hall late at night. We spoke for a bit. He invited me in....looking me up and down the whole time with a leer. But he had said nothing else would transpire between us...I reminded him so, when he invited me to join him on the bed. His beckoning and leers while he reclined on the bed excited and exasperated me all at once. He then replied,

"Well, I do not want a label, even as 'friends with benefits', but I am still obviously attracted to you. Are you going to come join me over here?"

"We are obviously quite attracted to each other." I replied. It happened again, and after some fooling around, I changed position and he began playing with himself.

"No," I insisted, "Don't make yourself cum."

"Why not?"

I smiled in the dark. "Because I want to do it. You don't want to cum in my mouth?"

"Can I?" He sounded like a kid in a candy store.

I made him finish with my mouth. Thinking back, the oral sex was something very intimate for me. He would go from grabbing fistfuls of sheet and twitching with ecstasy to gently stroking my jaw as I pleasured him. I then observed that he must be quite used to such treatment, traveling the world and impressing girls with his academic excellence...particularly the Russian girls.

He then responded, "If the Russian girls were like you, I never would have left."

Meanwhile, he had been growing close with my friend's roommate, a brilliant fellow undergraduate who had been a student senator for Barack Obama. I heard from my friend that her roommate felt that he liked her...how could someone not like such an impressive girl? I asked him and he said that they were simply friends. Then, he spent Thanksgiving with her and her family and I just about died. We also have a condo at the local beach and could have housed him just as easily. But he obviously has more respect for and gets along better with her. I had attempted to converse with him civilly at the residence café, but he likes to debate and criticize rather than converse. Perhaps they share more ideals. He finds my views that my country of Israel should remain intact insane, and exploitative of another people, whereas he worships her liberal views on politics. Still, our six-page long Facebook-message debate regarding the conflict in the Middle East (which he initiated) proved that at least he recognized that I have a mind as well as a body. However, the fact that he had customized his profile so that I cannot write on his wall, comment on his photos/statuses or see his U.S. photo album anymore infuriated me...as if I was some sort of stalker. I had made absolutely no rude comments...not many comments at all, in fact. He couldn't even treat me like one of his friends and yet, he used my body on a semi-regular basis.

After nearly four months of sharing my body with him, I was unfathomably angry with myself for my utter lack of self-respect. At the end-of-semester Masquerade Ball, I knew that he would call on me. He had left the dance early and I turned on my phone after helping a friend sober up. He had texted me once for the past three hours.

"Hey, are you at home? Are you downstairs?"

"What are you up to?"

"Let me know if you are awake..." the latest at around 4 am.

Usually, he would just send me one message and if I was asleep and didn't respond, he would give up. I was in my room, he was in his across the hall and there was an eerie force pulling me towards his door.

I responded, via text message. "I am at home. Are you?" Curt and to the point.

Half a minute later. "Yes. The door is open."

"Do you want a visit?"

"Sure."

I went to his room and we proceeded.

"Why tonight?" I whispered.

"Why not?" was all he replied.

Soon enough, his fingers found my ass—I found it a bit pathetic that he didn't even go for the other entrance first.

"You really like anal." I observed.

He responded with what I could only describe as a growl.

That night, I became the first to finger him anally. He seemed to enjoy it immensely, curling into my hand and thrusting into my mouth as I moved my finger around inside him, his walls contracting around me. I felt the need to violate him, control him, make him finish against his will. I needed power. I had none...he had entered me without protection, despite my direction not to...we almost always used protection but when we didn't, I did not protest as much as I should have. The night of the Ball, he told me that if I left another hickey, I would not be allowed back to his room...a threat? I had not left another since our first night together...after which he had cut himself there with a razor to make it all look like a shaving accident. But a threat? As if behaving as his personal sex slave was a privilege for me...He then told me that I was doing an 'excellent job', as a teacher would a pupil. When we finished for the night, he asked if I had come and thanked me...it was the first time he had bothered to do either. In retrospect, he would usually just lie back and let me work on him.

Then, two weeks later, despite his promise that this would never happen, I heard another girl in his room. They were just talking, but after all...that was how it had begun with me, as well. He reels them in, with his striking appearance and background...hopefully, most are not as gullible and prone to addiction as I am.

That was when I ended it. I still feel a pull when I am around him, a sort of sadness, longing...but at the same time, I know that it was not worth it. I do not blame anyone else for what happened...the responsibility was totally my own...indeed, it could all have been avoided. Subtle signals...my roommate pointed out that he never knocked on the door to see how I was, as did her boyfriend. He genuinely did not care about me at all...about my life apart from my body.

Despite the physical attraction, there was nothing else. No respect...and I deserve respect. We were not even in the same group of friends, more compatible by night...my infatuation had been so strong, I had savored every memory, would not feel complete unless we were together. I ended it, even though my primal need for him still ached. I have no idea from where that need came, but it frightened me. Insane with jealousy and hurt, I never want to relive such an experience. I ended it with a simple Facebook message, explaining that I had heard the girl in his room and that I was finally taking his advice to 'stop wasting time on him'.