The "You Know You Want It" High School Football Coach...

It is the summer of 2004, and I am 24 years old. I am having a wonderfully wild summer traveling, meeting men, working at a bar before starting my "real" career, and just all around enjoying being a young and cute early twenty-something.

Sunday afternoon, and I am working at the pub as a waitress. A cute late twenty-something year old guy orders a drink from me at the bar; a cubs game is on, and the bar is packed with men drinking their afternoon away. His name is Mike, and he is tall, dark, and incredibly handsome. He flirts with me all afternoon. The next weekend he comes into the bar again, and flirts with me yet again - and this time asks me out.

We go out to an early dinner and drinks on a Wednesday night. He is a perfect gentleman; he is a high school English teacher and football coach who loves poetry and the fine arts. We have a pleasant dinner and speak about art and poetry. We say good-night; he walks me to my car and asks me out again. The next week we go out for an early dinner and drinks again. He is nothing but the perfect gentleman... he kisses me good-night, closed lips, telling me how beautiful I am and how he would like to see me again. Of course, I say yes. Why would I not?

We're on our third date, and it's a Thursday night. We have an early dinner at a restaurant near my apartment. We spend hours talking about our families, lives, literature, and poetry. I tell him I write poetry, and he is interested in reading it. He suggests we go back to my place so he can read some of the work I have written. I figure - he's a perfect gentleman, it's our third date, and what harm could it be to have him come over for a drink and a quick read through a couple poems I've written? Plus, he was the first guy who ever showed interest in my poetry (should have been my first sign, huh?!?!)

We go to my apartment, he and I sit on the couch and drink a glass of wine while I read him a few poems. He is oh-ing and ah-ing over them. Next thing I know he is kissing me, and we are laying on the couch making out. It was good, it was fine, but I was already sleeping with two "friends" which was one too many for me, and I figured it would be a bad idea to start a third. I stop it after first base.

He sits off of the couch, then stands up - in the middle of my living room, with the shades open, faces me and somehow (never saw this coming!) pulls his (rather large) pecker out of his pants and starts swinging it around. He is moving his hips in a circular motion, using his hand to swing his dick around, looking me in the eye saying "You know you want it".

I stared at him, my mouth open, just watching him do his pee-pee dance for a good 45-seconds. I kept waiting for him to start laughing and play it off as a joke - it had to be a joke right?? Nope, no joke. He was serious. Dead serious. With pecker still in his hand, I approach him like I am going to kiss him. I embrace him (careful to keep "enough" distance!) and push him towards the door. "You need to leave," I tell him. And he repeats, "You know you want it" trying to kiss my neck in some kind of perverted romantic way. I open the door, pushing him into the hall - he looks at me stunned. "You are kicking me out????" He exclaims (yes, his junk still out in the open, dangling out of his pants) "Yes." And I slam the door. I hear him saying something through the door and turn the music as loud as it will go to drown him out.

He called me several times the next week, leaving messages how he can't wait to go out again, like nothing happened. Needless to say, I never called him back. God bless you, Mike, wherever you and your pecker may be ...