Dear Diary,
Lately, I have kind of, sort of been talking to a guy who also works at the Ministry. He's a friend of someone in my department and I'd often seen him in the dining hall. Eventually we had been introduced and began getting lunch together. Initially, things were friendly and cordial. But, hey, he was cute and intelligent and had such boyfriend potential. About two weeks ago, he finally asked me on a date! Yes, it was old-fashioned to wait for him to make a move, but putting my heart on the line was tough work. There was no reason to jump the gun if it turned out he wasn't even interested. However, things did not exactly go as planned.
He took me to a Quidditch match. As you know, I'm not particularly fond of the sport, nor do I really understand the rules of the game. But I don't think either of us paid much attention to the field. He was sitting so close to me on the bleachers that the slightest movement caused our bodies to rub against each other. The slight friction of skin on skin had me on edge. We didn't even wait for the end of the match to leave.
We Apparated back to his flat. Thank Merlin none of his flatmates were home. Otherwise, our impromptu attempt at sex in the foyer would have been extremely embarrassing (not that it wasn't already). I'm almost ashamed to reveal what happened..
The second we were through the front door, his hands and lips were on me. Hot and heavy. I couldn't get enough. Frantically, we pulled at each other's clothes until there was nothing between us. His chest was warm and inviting. We were too eager to make it to the living room, not to mention the bedroom. The coolness of the hardwood floor was a shock for my overheated body.
"Fuck yeah," he muttered as he pushed into me. He wasn't as thick as Ron, but the feeling of being stretched wide open was all too familiar. Rolling over, I took the initiative to set the pace. It had been a while since my last romp and I needed release.
"Ride that broomstick!" he panted. "Yeah, just like that!"
It was in this moment that I realized things weren't going to work out between the two of us. Not that I have an issue with Quidditch fetishes, otherwise things with Ron and Krum would have been weird to the extreme. However, I did not possess a solid enough understanding of Quidditch to play along with this particular fantasy. Despite this setback, I truly tried to keep up, but failed miserably.
While I had been contemplating how to proceed, my tempo slowed and my "broomstick" was displeased. His hands moved from their position on my thighs to my pelvis.
"If I play with your golden snitch (READ: clitoris), can we win the game (READ: orgasm)?" At this remark, he flashed me a wide, cocky grin as if what he just said wasn't gross and creepy.
Unfortunately, my body was no longer aroused and my silence put a damper on his excitement. Feeling guilty, I tried to finish him off with my mouth. I sucked, twisted, licked, but to no avail. His cock flopped unceremoniously against his stomach; limp.
After that, neither of us really knew what to do or say. Quietly, we redressed and I gave him an awkward kiss goodbye before leaving. Suffice it to say, I never saw or spoke to him again. If you ever have the misfortune of running into this man, his name is Bartholomew Tibbott.