The CFA

Another story, this time told by my friend, Janet. I've edited it heavily because the girl simply can't write to save her life. As always, this is another story I can definitely relate to.

We've all probably had one or several. We all understand the game.
We know the risks but still we play. The CFA is the
greatest invention after sliced bread. For those of you who
do not know what CFA stands for, let me break it down:

Imagine that you're not looking for a relationship.
Boyfriends are generally cumbersome and unreliable.
Finally, let's be honest, which hairy chested man is ever
faithful to one woman? A girl, however, still has
needs that have to be satisfied. I mean, seriously, even
the batteries for the vibrator wear out eventually. In
addition, even the best vibrator is not very good at
cuddling.

It is for these situations that a girl must have a
Convenient Fucking Arrangement. This is the guy you call
when you need some good loving with no baggage or
expectations. The difference between the CFA and a
boyfriend is that there are no strings attached. There's an
understanding that this is not a relationship and that no
one is obligated to anyone else in any way. No
commitments.

For a chic like me, there's one other benefit of having a
CFA. I can be as nasty as I want to be. I don't have to be
the church going Catholic girl simply because I want this
dude to introduce me to his mother one day. I don't have to
worry that he'll think I'm a whoring slut simply because
I want to try some position that I read in the Kama Sutra.
In short, I can bare all without having to live with the
consequences.

The first time, and the only time, I ever hooked up with a
CFA was when my boyfriend flew out to work for a Christian
organization in some God forsaken corner of the planet. As
far as he knew, I had been a virgin before meeting him. In
fact, if he'd mention oral sex I'd look at him the way a nun
would look at a priest who had just been found fondling an altar
boy. Being a "good Christian", the only position I'd let
him have was missionary.

So when he left, I felt heartbroken and emancipated at the
same time. I could finally get back to living a normal
life. At my place of work, we're usually paired because of
the strange way the offices were built: They are too small
for three but just big enough for two. It turns out that
last year, I was paired with John, a rather strange guy
who had always been trying to flirt with me.

Now, at close quarters, seeing him everyday, I felt
tempted to see what would happen. I was, after all, a
single girl. I don't know how it happened but soon enough I
found myself in his apartment doing things I hadn't dreamt of
doing for ages. The man was a beast. I'm a rather "big
boned" girl and he was the only guy who's ever been able to
lift me like I was a feather while pounding my brains out at
the same time.

This went on for the next eight months. At work,
everything would seem normal. You wouldn't even know that
we were meeting up to four times weekly to enjoy long
sessions of sinful sexual mayhem. I loved the freedom. I
loved the mystery of the situation. I loved seeing that
semi-tumescent bulge in his pants as he walked around the
office. I could see him trying to keep his eyes off my well
exposed cleavage and making a superhuman effort to ignore
the mini-skirt that would ride higher and higher up my
thighs every time I moved.

I felt like a dominatrix queen. Suddenly, I knew why men
are such philanderers. It's a wonderful experience. I
loved not having to bother taking care of a man. I loved
not having to massage his ego constantly the way a girl is
wont to do when in a relationship. I didn't have to "ask
permission" to go out with the girls. If I flirted with
another man, even another workmate, I didn't feel guilty.
When I slept with someone else, it didn't matter because it
was none of his business!

In September, however, something suddenly changed. I was
at Java House having coffee with my girlfriends when he
walked in. He wasn't alone. Instead, he had this eighteen
year old adolescent stuck to his arm. In all fairness she
was beautiful with those big innocent doe eyes that older
men love seeing in young girls.

I went dead silent. My lower lip started trembling. I
wanted to stand up and ask him what the hell he was doing
with that barely pubescent teenager. I felt hurt,
betrayed, wounded. What the hell was a thirty five year
old man doing with this eighteen year old girl? Look at
her. Her breasts were still pointing skyward even without a
pushup bra!

I couldn't bring myself to talk to him. All my girlfriends
were around. If I told them what I was thinking and feeling
they would just tell me that I had been stupid to hang on to
a CFA for that long anyway. Later that night, I did what
any woman would do. I tried to call him. I felt this need
to be with him, to hold him and hear him tell me that I'm all
he ever needed. I called fourteen times. The phone just
rang. Each time, it went to that irritating Safaricom
voicemail message.

The next week, he wasn't at work. I felt nervous asking
anyone where he was. I thought that it would make them
suspicious. I pretended not to care. After two weeks, I
was dying of horniness, loneliness and regret. Why didn't I
try to ask him if he wanted a relationship. Damn it!

One night, after getting home, I called his number. The
answer I got was: "I'm sorry but this number is no longer
in service..." I held the phone to my ear, breathless.
The message kept playing over and over. It almost drove me
mad.

I decided to ignore everything and get on with my life.
Even after making this decision I couldn't. I had trained
this man for a year!

He now knew just how I liked to be kissed, licked, stroked
and touched. He knew how much pressure to use when rubbing
me. I had taught him how to stimulate me so that I would
have amazing full body orgasms. The man couldn't even
kiss properly when we started sleeping together. I taught
him how to kiss like a pro. Our bodies went perfectly
together. I could confidently say that he was the best lay
I had, and probably would ever, have.

Most importantly, after having spontaneous sex for so long, I
had grown to trust him implicitly. We regularly had
unprotected sex. Wearing a condom was just too inconvenient
given all the action that happened in and out of the
bedroom. I felt close to him....I loved him.

I had broken the first CFA rule. I had gotten emotionally
involved with a convenience. The result was that I had got
my heart broken again. I decided to wait it out.

A month later, John strolled back into the office as though
nothing had happened. He was beaming from ear to ear and
bouncing with every step like an astronaut on the moon. He
didn't even greet me. He just collected his stuff, mumbled
something that sounded like "Hi" and walked into the senior
manager's office. That was the last time I saw him.

That afternoon, our senior manager announced that John had
been promoted to head an offshore division. What was even
more shocking was what the manager said next: The boss also
wanted to congratulate him on his wedding!

That did it. I had to sit down and catch my breath. The
bastard had gotten married! He didn't even tell me. He
didn't even warn me. He didn't even say goodbye. We had
been meeting regularly, upto four times a week and twice
over the weekends. Where the hell did he get the time to
find a wife? What the fuck was going on? What the fuck had
just happened to me?

Filed Under: Encounter of the week