[Continued from "Correctional Officer, Part 7."]

The Ex and I broke up.  I didn’t contact Correctional Officer.  I fucked a whole lot of people.  I didn’t contact Correctional Officer.  My life generally went to shit.  I didn’t contact Correctional Officer.  I fucked a lot more people.  I didn’t contact Correctional Officer.  My dog died.  I didn’t contact Correctional Officer.

I did finally contact him just to say happy birthday.  I figured I’d send an email into the ether, he’d read it or not, but that I wouldn’t hear anything from him.

Only I did.  We began emailing each other again.  He told me that he and his wife had broken up, less over he and I, and more over her being an irresponsible mother to their son – by overdosing on prescription drugs when she was caring for him.  He told me about his friends I had met.  His one sweet, young friend who had only slept with one woman had taken in a woman who had just had a baby and he was considering marrying her, but only after she divorced the baby’s father.  I guessed when they were bored in their shit town they created their own drama.

CO and I didn’t have the same relationship we’d had before the shit storm.  Maybe because neither of us was cheating, so it wasn’t nearly as exciting.  Or maybe because we had both been through so much shit.  I encouraged him to go out and find some ladies to fuck.  He said he was too shy.

I didn’t fully comprehend just how shy he was.  I didn’t fully comprehend that the major reason we fucked because I made things happen.  Though it was he who drove several hours to really make it happen (because I certainly wasn’t going to go back to the shit town he called home) so I thought he had some initiative.  However, he had cast himself as the shy guy who was afraid to talk to women so he was the shy guy who was afraid to talk to women.  Well, not afraid, because he talked to women all the time, but unaware if they were hitting on him and unskilled in the flirting arts.

Eventually we planned another tryst.  He had to lie to everyone about what he was doing, which I thought was just silly – everyone needs to get laid, it’s good for the soul.  He drove to San Francisco.  We had planned to go to sushi but the two places I knew were good that were close to my house were closed because it was a Monday afternoon.  We finally settled on burgers, but not until he whined about having to walk too much.  Or maybe he was just giving me a hard time and I was defensive.  I hate being in a situation where I’m supposed to know something – like my neighborhood – but I fail miserably to meet someone else’s expectations.

I had told CO that we would be using condoms this time.  I informed him that there were concerns other than pregnancy, and since I was on the Pill and he had had a vasectomy, that wasn’t a concern at all, and that he should practice jacking off with a condom on if he thought he might have trouble coming whilst using one.

Once I saw his cock I realized that I had not really looked at it when we had fucked before, at the W.  It was larger than I remembered.  What a pleasant surprise.  It was one of those cocks that is thickest at the midpoint of the shaft, as opposed to the head being the largest part.  We fucked, utilizing condoms, of course.  Again, he tossed me around and roughed me up in a somewhat clumsy way.  It was probably due to his job that he was rougher than he realized.  I reminded him that I was a girl, and that I was not a guest of Butte County, and that he needed to tone it down a bit.

He reminded me that I had not given him a blow job the first time we fucked.  I apologized profusely.  Apparently he had only ever gotten one blow job in his life, and it was half-assed.  His ex-wife didn’t see the point of blow jobs since they didn’t provide her with any pleasure.  How sad.

He sat on the edge of my bed.  I sat on my haunches between his legs.  I sucked his cock.  At first I think he just felt lucky to have a mouth on his cock.  Then, after I got his cock all wet and sloppy, I put my hands behind my back and let my mouth do all the work.  He came in my mouth and I swallowed it all.  I looked up at him with a smile on my face.

CO looked down at me … sort of.  He couldn’t really focus.  He was loopy.  That fun kind of post-orgasm loopy.  He said he was worried he’d not be able to drive home.  I assured him he’d be fine and told him that he should tell his coworkers what he did on his day off, because surely getting a driving impairing blow job was worth bragging about.

After that we continued to contact each other, but not with nearly as much zeal.  I had no intention of going to his town, and it was way too much driving and lying for him to come to me, even for great blow jobs.

Our last communication had him asking me, via text, about fisting.  Really, fisting is more than a text conversation so I told him he should call me but he never did.

I swear.  True story (that is over, finally).