Little oddities

I get more nervous meeting men for the prospect of sex than I do meeting interviewers for the prospect of employment. I have no idea how to interpret this.

On average I spend more time preparing myself to meet a man than to meet an interviewer. The latter is easy: shower, make-up, hair, teeth, paperwork, address which I’ll find without checking as I know all the business districts, car keys, phone, water, leave 15 minutes before I think I should. The former is: shower with skin scrub, depilation, pumice feet as I have a thing about smooth heels, make-up, hair, teeth, bag or bags of tricks depending how well the person knows me, address or hit the web to locate a meeting place, draw a map on a sticky note of meeting place as my sense of direction is awful and I can’t use the GPS thingy on my phone to save myself, car keys, phone, mints, water, portable food, pace the house a few times and double check the bag of tricks, triple check the watch, run to the toilet because my bladder and bowel often go crazy when I’m nervous, wash again, check time and finally leave.

I am close to offer stage with three full-time roles and a couple of short-term contracts where the projects are interesting but the dates aren’t aligning. There are no sexual activities scheduled for this weekend when I’m starting to relax. I’d give up one of the job prospects for a few hours of naked man time.

I watch very little porn. I have some of the Fucked and Bound bondage videos because I like the ropework, but the same turn-off applies with most porn: I can’t stand looking at overly made-up women with long red fingernails, horrendously fake non-stop moaning at the silliest times and the perennially open mouth with the bottom teeth jutting forwards look that’s prevalent these days. I suppose I’m too detail oriented and literal to appreciate commercial clips. I’m the same with amateur porn as I take note of the cheap motel rooms or personal items in people’s bedrooms that they’ve forgotten to move out of camera shot rather than look at the action. Mr OMG rang today and I mentioned I had surfed the web for gay porn earlier to try to focus my mind with something pleasant and I could almost hear his eyebrows raise through the phone. I don’t think watching men fuck each other is one of his masturbatory interests. I thought watching one tattooed Latino man hammering another Latino dude bent over a table was pretty hot.

I couldn’t sleep last night and ended up thinking about my sexual history. I have had almost as many sexual partners in the past two-and-a-bit years as I’ve had in the remainder of my life. I have no desire to write about my past though, even though it’s all contributed to the present. Maybe one day.

I may have had close to a dozen sexual partners since our relationship opened, but I probably have less sex than most people. The Drummer and I haven’t fucked for months and my other life is bursts of action and drought. I think the variety of experiences I’ve had is probably greater than many people’s, though.

There have been no women for me since opening our relationship although I closely identify with bisexuality. I think it’s more the practical side that I don’t read women’s signals very well and I’ve had next to no luck finding free-spirited, adventurous women whom I’ve had the patience to pursue — in early communication I’ve had to take the traditional male role and suggest meeting, and then deciding when to walk away when my patience has waned. We are a tricky bunch to deal with. The lesbian web site I tried was full of 18-24 year olds so I killed my log-in.

Mr OMG is on my hit list as a reward next week if I am offered the job I want. He learned again today that I’m not terribly good at phone sex, but neither is he. To fill the gaps in conversation I asked him questions about fantasies or what he’d like to be doing, and he said, “Oh, anything really.” Not a lot to work with. And I kept pausing to listen when I could hear his breathing change as I found imagining what he was doing erotic.

I took a photo of what I was doing when he hung up the phone. I might post it next week if I get the job I want.

Speaking of recycling

I mentioned in the last post that I now keep a document of phone numbers I delete to manage people from the past who unexpectedly return. It’s working reasonably well, but doesn’t provide a way of keeping track of people who annoy by e-mail. The man who sent his last passive-aggressive message of goodbyes more than a month ago must’ve realised I blocked his e-mail address. What does any good purveyor of harassment do? Of course, create another e-mail address and start again!

I like how he reminded me of every step of the entire painful process, as if I might have forgotten.

~~~

Hello,

I think you’ll remember that we initially made contact back in July and August.

Initially we hit things off pretty well and we arranged to meet one evening, but we had to cancel. After that, things didn’t go very well. You went ‘invisible’ for a while and during that time I looked at your profile several times (you’d given me access to your PG) and that freaked you out and you severed contact.

I did contact you again after that, about a week later, and you said you would reconsider (but made no promises; I understood that). After that, things just went weird, from what I can work out. You asked for time to think and after about a week I prompted you and got a reply which I clearly interpreted in a manner other than that which you expected and things culminated in you telling me you’d made up your mind and me telling you I thought you needed to be less ambiguous in your emails. Messy.

I am sorry I sent that last email, it was rude, very abrupt. Since that time I have successfully contacted a few women, but nothing has developed, largely because what you were seeking was what I too wanted. A big part of the reason I was so, I’m not sure how you saw it – demanding? Pushy? Impulsive? – is because your interest in kinky sex as well as plain vanilla really struck a chord with me. That and the fact that you are obviously witty and intelligent and in my eyes, very attractive. I have not spent the last few months thinking about you, but when I turn my thoughts to playing, you come to mind and what I discussed with others paled in comparison.

I’ve just hopped off from the web site and had a quick look at your profile [I don't know how because I'm sure I blocked him] and noticed you haven’t been on for a while. I guess that could mean you’ve found someone with whom to play or you are still being badgered by guys. If it is the latter reason, would you think again about meeting me? I do think that if we met for a drink you would form a more accurate picture of what I am like and although I would not necessarily expect anything to develop from there (you do mention ‘lashings’ of attraction’ on your profile), at least you would have a clearer idea of who I am, and I of you, for that matter.

I’m not wilful or an idiot, I do remember you stating that once you make up your mind about someone, it stays made up. However, I’ve always believed in taking calculated risks as sometimes they pay off and I do think that we shared some important mutual interests. I have not contacted you earlier because I am a bit of a thinker and I really did not want to be pestering you (although obviously you could interpret this email in that way, but it has been sent in good faith.)

Anyway, if you are of a mind to return this message, I would like to hear from you.

Am I of a mind? Short answer, no. Long answer, no. But I love how he quoted that I wrote ‘lashings of attraction’ in my profile — I didn’t realise the BDSM-focused portion of my mind was active and got away with slipping a good parapraxis in there.

And let’s try another man for good measure

I received a text mystery message the other night that mentioned my name, asked about my (former) work and if I was interested in meeting again because the first time was enjoyable. I had deleted the number from my phone and the sender must have pre-dated my spiffy new Word document with old numbers listed to manage the sexual recycling that keeps coming back. I was caught between rampant curiosity and being annoyed that I had to send a ‘just who is this?’ message without knowing if I wanted to really find out who it was. Curiosity won and I replied and waited impatiently to learn which can of worms I had potentially re-opened.

Ah, Mr Chilled, I was not expecting this! We met in January for a sensual bout of everything-but-sex and drifted apart until he sent an e-mail months ago and wandered off again after I replied positively. He and Mr OMG should get together and compare notes about who has the vaguest concept of time.

To his credit, I rolled out a few messages detailing my lack of enthusiasm for his patchy communication history and he didn’t shy away. He must’ve been randy. He asked me over on a night I was free and I thought, Why not? I may as well complete the hat trick of ill-conceived encounters while finishing the business we left open.

I had concerns on the day that my current distracted, flighty state would clash with his slow sex way of being and I was setting myself up for disaster, but everything came together more nicely than I expected. After talking and circling around each other, we kissed until my lips were swollen and I was ravenous for much more of him. I sat him back on his bed and slid his cock in and out of my mouth with a measured slow rhythm, going down as deeply as I could, holding him for a teasingly long count and sliding out slowly without releasing the head of his cock. He was responding enthusiastically and I felt him shiver uncontrollably when I found room to roll my tongue along the underside of his shaft when his cock was held still inside my mouth. I haven’t thought of doing that before but it worked big time. Perception and memories of the previous encounter told me to eat this man slowly and methodically and he was held captive by nothing but lips and tongue.

I came up to kiss him and he rolled me on the bed and parted my legs and spent a long time working with his tongue and fingers. He was as deliberate and skilled as I remembered and I was awash with pleasure but I couldn’t reach orgasm again. I squirmed about joyously though until I thought his tongue might need a rest and I squealed with anticipation when I saw him reach for a condom. We didn’t manage to get to penetration the first and only time we met and I was bursting to know how his cock piercing would feel.

I was at the stage of arousal that I wanted to be filled, needed to be filled, and fucked, firmly and basically, now. He raised my legs in preparation for what I thought was going to be a pounding, and he inserted only the head of his cock. I tried to push into him but he withdrew and taunted me with hints of promise. This was not the time for games! After what I’d call an agonising wait he picked up the tempo and depth and we fucked happily in a couple of positions, although afterwards I thought the piercing didn’t make a difference to the sensation. After a while he lost his erection (I don’t know his body well enough to know why) and went down on me again. I turned him around into a 69 position and positioned his cock in the cleft between my breasts and massaged the shaft. He became rock hard when my tongue licked along his perineum and we feasted on each other until I thought his poor tongue might fossilise.

I called him up for air, laid on my side and clasped his buttocks in my hands as his cock slid in and out of my mouth again. He withdrew at the last moment and came in a mess over my shoulders and breasts. Afterwards when we were sprawled about on his bed, I said that he felt sublime and explained my current orgasmic challenge that I can take up to 40 minutes to come when masturbating so I haven’t been bothering because I bore myself to sleep — he laughed with a hint of pity and horror, I think. He started dozing and I looked at the clock and saw it was 3am. Shit. The Drummer was due home from work in 90 minutes and my drive home was more than an hour. He has no problems with whatever time I get home but I feel uneasy if I’m out carousing when he’s been working and coming off a long nightshift.

Mr Chilled and I had been fucking for five hours and the time had flown, so that’s an improvement on the past few weeks.

Different man, same outcome

After the lacklustre first time with The Bachelor, the opportunity arose to take someone else for a test run (and for me to continue denying that I might actually be the problem).

Purely by coincidence last weekend, the man I met a couple of months ago (successful, older, attractive devil, I probably left stains on the leather upholstery of his car, never available) got back in touch. He decided to put more effort into opening pockets of time, and I subsequently decided to put more effort into accepting that everything started well and I can have everything I want but just not when I want it. Hell, the grand vision of one semi-regular lover isn’t working out, so I’ll try to be more flexible towards a rotation of occasional flights of fancy even though being adored for a few hours and then ignored for weeks doesn’t work for me.

We agreed a night, I booked a room at a not-too-expensive-but-not-too-seedy motel and I amused myself masturbating while reading a book as I waited for him to arrive. The book was one of the most anticipated releases of the year and quite possibly the most over-wrought, unbelievable waste of lopped trees I’ve read in a long time. Shame on the publisher and author and there won’t be a film deal out of this one. I almost left the book in the hotel room but thought I might get $5 at the second-hand shop if I didn’t smear girl fluids on the pages.

I answered his knock on the door wearing nothing but a lacy bra, a white shirt and a bold stare. I stuck a finger coated in cunt juice in his mouth. He sucked my finger clean and then pushed me backwards on the bed and tongue fucked me royally. The hint of stubble on his chin scratched along my clean-shaved parts and sent electric goosebumps all over. Then the mental ghosts from last weekend returned and I knew I wasn’t going to relax into myself enough to come; as a smokescreen I sat up and suggested he remove his clothes so I could return the favour. He didn’t take long to lose his suit and I distracted myself with his cock. I should possibly be concerned at how much of my outer life I’m faking at the moment.

We fucked, firstly with him on top and later with me riding him. He’s fit but I wore him out, too. This current state of detachment is turning me into a fucking robot. I looked through the crack between the curtains and saw the sun fading and wondered how many more hours we had until I could go home and be alone.

He played with the contents of the toy bag I packed and asked me to use a vibrator on myself. He took over after a while because I was self conscious with him watching and darkness was well and truly filling the gap between the curtains. I kept reaching 95 per cent but I couldn’t sink deeply enough to find the place where oblivion was teasing. I think he started fucking me with the vibrator and I finished myself with my fingers — I nearly cried with relief that my body finally allowed me release and I apologised to him for taking so long. I was nicer and more forgiving of myself after the hormones flushed my bloodstream.

He laid back and I bent over him and sucked his cock dry. We were going to head out for a quick dinner and return for another bout, but time was about to expire on his alibi and I didn’t know if I was glad or not to be packing my bag and not returning.

I am working obscenely hard during the day on my job search and gift myself with relaxation time as a reward. But when the time comes to grant myself the moments of freedom, I feel guilty that I haven’t earned them or I’m not working hard enough or umpteen other self-defeating messages that play through my head. I may have to give up sex and dealing with people for a while as nearly all of the time the physical follows the mental for me. If my mind isn’t empty, my body will never be content.

Rewinding to the following day

In the post before last I questioned the outrageous man’s motives for wanting to meet me. My intuition, experience, paranoia or whatever was ringing alarm bells seems to have been correct as far as outcome but the reason was unexpected.

We exchanged text messages and spoke on the phone a few times before arranging to meet. He even sent me his business’s web site address, almost as verification of his bona fides because I must’ve come across as world-weary and cautious. We agreed to meet on a weekend afternoon for a late lunch and return to his house if things progressed well, again, agreeing readily with one of my personal rules that I don’t show up the first time at someone’s home. I was feeling good, and was in an unusual mindset that if our physical attraction wasn’t strong, we could possibly form a friendship (in writing this I just realised I am not in contact with any ex lovers — there’s no ill feeling or bitterness, I seem to work on recovery and re-building and I never go back while the memory of what was still hangs in the air).

The message that arrived in the middle of the night was that he *might* have to attend family business the next day but he *will* call me and explain in the morning. I was distracted at the time by some guilt that I was leaving someone else’s bed and I sent a quick reply that it wasn’t a problem and I’d hear from him in the morning.

I woke in the morning with a turbo-charged surge of logic. The previous night he said he was going to a friend’s birthday pub crawl and we had joked that he had better not get too drunk as he might be needing his energy and powers of recovery the following day.

I’d be willing to bet what’s left of my savings that he met a girl in a bar, was going to take her back to his place and couldn’t guarantee when he’d have her out the next day so it was easier to bump me with a lame reason. If that’s what happened, I wouldn’t have told the truth or expected the truth either, but I ended up indignant that my pride was dented and concerned with self-justification because perhaps I should give the benefit of the doubt as he didn’t owe me in-depth rundowns of his personal problems. Then again, what family issues arise in the late hours that only elicit a ‘might’ have to go?

He didn’t call that day, or the one after, or the one after that. I wrote him off mentally and didn’t bother following up. I get caught about whether I should send parting messages to bounders, but ultimately I can’ t dictate or predict how people behave and I need to dust off and get on with my own life.

Four days later he sent a message asking if I had forgiven him for the cancellation. Well, it wasn’t really about that. I ended up replying, saying that the postponement wasn’t the issue as life gets in the way of plans, but it was about honouring his word that he’d make contact and he had followed the cowardly fleeing habit of many of his fellow users on the web site and I had shut him out of my mind. It was a long message. Possibly a bit unhinged, too. He didn’t reply.

Oh, yeah, the hermaphrodite ran off as well. I ended up responding to his message with some carefully considered words and he didn’t reply. The most annoying part of that correspondence (apart from how much fucking time I spent trying to come across as a casually open-minded libertine who hangs out with hermaphrodites all the time) is that if I send a message and don’t receive a response in a couple of days but the person has logged on, I know they’re not interested — the hint is obvious. If I try to do the same and ignore a message I’m sent, I keep receiving more and more insistent messages until there’s a mini-war erupting in my inb0x or I have to be assertive with the block option. I’ve suspended my account because I’m dealing with enough of that behaviour with agencies during the job search; the similarities are amazing but I don’t have the energy to be dicked about by both — the pursuit of income rather than sex wins for now.

Back in the saddle (kind of)

I’ll call the single man The Bachelor for want of something more creative. Then again, the only source of food he could offer after an afternoon and evening together was perhaps some bread in the freezer he could defrost but his fridge contained pin-straight rows of many beers of the world. The Bachelor will do nicely.

We met for a drink at a beachside hotel and got along famously but there was still the flow of desire that made me want to rip the shirt off his back if I had the energy. I wouldn’t know until I tried. I returned to his place and we watched a DVD for a while, sitting a friendly distance apart and later sidling together as we returned from searching for food or toilet breaks. I adore those moments of anticipation of not having had sex but knowing rampant nudity is only a short while away.

We kissed for a long time and I followed him to his bedroom. I realised it has been some time since I have unwrapped a new lover’s outer layers and discovered the beauty underneath, but I didn’t get much of a chance as there was no mood lighting in the bachelor pad — I was working completely in the dark and hoping it wasn’t because he had a shrivelled penis or contagious skin infection he was trying to conceal (my mind is still playing nasty tricks at the most inconvenient times). I explored all over with my hands and everything seemed smooth and healthy. His cock was on the slightly smaller than average side, hard and with a handy upwards curve, like a practical Swiss Army Knife penis that could get the job done in any condition.

I think we spent too long on foreplay. He promised earlier he’d work me over with his tongue, and he did, but my mind kept zoning out into things that I didn’t really need to be thinking about and I wasn’t going to lose myself enough to reach orgasm. I swung his hindquarters around into a 69 position and made him feel very good but couldn’t get him near orgasm — he responded well with my mouth but I didn’t get far with my hands and I was running out of tricks. Sometimes solo exploration goes to plan and sometimes it doesn’t without more active feedback from the recipient.

I fucked him from on top and rode until my heart rate was about to cause the ceiling to collapse. He took over and fucked me missionary style until his energy gave out and we curled up together and talked instead.

We started round two but I saw the clock was past midnight and I have been in bed much earlier the past few weeks. I hadn’t eaten since lunchtime and I knew I needed my last dregs of energy to drive home safely. With a bruised ego, I confessed I was too sleepy to do more regardless of my desire and asked if he’d come in my mouth. He took only a minute or two; all the equipment is working and we probably need to spend more time sharing the secrets of our bodies if we meet again.

The stodgy mix of grains and dried fruit in the emergency muesli bar stored in my glovebox was the most flavoursome manna after being deprived of nutrition for more than 12 hours. Always carry water, mints, condoms and a piece of portable food. On the way home at about 1am, the second man I’ve been in contact with sent an unexpected text message regarding our plans for the following day. And that brief and disheartening story, dear friends, can wait until next time.

The break is about to storm

I’ve emerged from my sick bed and can speak briefly without coughing spasms and the thought of performing oral sex is starting to re-gain some allure. Somehow I evolved from no voice to rasping voice and I’m displeased about that — after three weeks, my untended pubic hair has grown unthwarted by illness yet I don’t even get a husky voice for a few days as compensation.

Young Lion has been sending obscene text messages and we have been trying to organise a day to catch up, but our timetables aren’t agreeing. He called yesterday to ask if I’d like to hear him orgasm, and I took evil delight in saying I was in a train carriage with a hundred complete strangers and would he like me to turn on the speaker phone? He scurried away and later sent an audio message.

Pleasure Freak sent a message about catching up and had forgotten all about the hotel dealbreaker (or I’ve met him at short notice in the past and he’d thought he’d try his luck with my inconsistency). I let him know that I was looking for someone more regular and he sent a “?” in response, as if I were verging on insane to not want to see him; a few days later he asked how my luck was panning out with my search and he was free if I was. I like him and his optimism but a couple of months is long enough for intent without sex, however, I feel weak sometimes when he gets in touch.

Mr OMG did a better job of trading in on my inconsistency without even trying. He called and I ignored the phone, but I called him back half an hour later. My resolve is growing! After receiving some excellent sympathy for the state of my voice, the conversation took a turn.

Mr OMG (while he was masturbating): So, we’ll have to talk more about what you said about anal sex.

Me: Huh? (my next job won’t be starting a phone sex empire)

Mr OMG: Last time you mentioned you were interested in having me inside your arse. You know, getting you all wet and excited and then sliding the head of my cock in slowly and …

Me: Who, me? I have a near-photographic memory but I don’t remember that conversation.

A few seconds passed in silence.

Me again: Ohhh, I remember now. You must’ve had me very aroused.

Me again: And I said I’d happily die trying, didn’t I?

Mr OMG: Yes, you did.

We finished the phone call without discussing when we might see each other. I didn’t mind. I’ve seen handballing videos with men’s arms up to the elbow in other men’s backsides so I know intellectually that taking him is possible, but the little voice in my head is discussing why I ask for crazy shit without considering the reality.

This weekend I’m meeting two of the men mentioned in the last post: the outrageous one if he has recovered from a virus, who behind the initial approach is an over-achieving, smart single man about the city and now I can’t fathom why he made contact because there are many available women outside his own door step. He’s suggested dinner and a movie which is messing with my pre-conception that he was playing a numbers game and we’d probably be a once-off event. I need to stop overthinking and just meet him for a drink — my mind is playing catastrophising tricks at the moment and making me doubt everything I do. The single man with his own place is confirmed: we have flirted mildly for a few days and I’m looking forward to meeting him, no tricks of the mind, which in my mind probably is a kind of nasty game. I think a firm spanking will help smack the suspicious paranoia out of me.

Update

I keep writing self-indulgent drivel and posting privately. Here’s the readable version of where things are at. I’m still sick and have no brain capacity for a thoughtful title, either.

Mr OMG is as flaky as ever. We’ve been a few weeks without contact but I bumped into him at the shops last week and he was charming and overjoyed to see me. Then I didn’t hear a word after I sent a follow-up message. I keep telling myself I want him more than he wants me and I need to get over it, but I’ll distract myself with others instead.

I haven’t done a thing about finishing up with ArmyDude either. I met his wife inadvertently the other day: I was pulled up at traffic lights, looked to the side when I heard beeping and a woman in the next lane was waving at me. While I was wondering who the hell she was, ArmyDude leaned from the other side of the car and waved, too. The family that waves at me together stays together, it seems. I returned the waves and smiled and waited with knuckles clenched for the lights to turn green so I could hot-foot it in another direction.

My phone has been deathly quiet since I put Young Tradesman, Pleasure Freak and Young Lion on notice that the next catch-up will be some hotel hours. I don’t know why but this amuses me. To Young Lion’s credit, he did some homework and suggested a day and a hotel but later said he only had about a third of the cost because he was low on cash. It’s kind of sweet how reality keeps getting in the way of his no-holds-barred enthusiasm. I was going to book somewhere anyway and take him for a test run, but every acceptably dodgy place was booked and I need to be mindful of my own fiscal responsibilities at the moment. His next suggestion was to meet at the beach and he’d pound me from behind, but I’m too delicate at the moment to think about getting sand in my nether regions.

My online membership has two weeks before I’ll let it revert to unpaid member status (it doesn’t greatly affect the ability to communicate as no one replies when I initiate contact, but I’ve paid mainly as an indicator that I’m not a time waster). I re-activated my profile the other day and a few interesting types have dropped by to say hello. None are within an hour’s drive or have much intent towards ongoing situations, but two or three caught my interest out of curiosity value.

One sent an outrageous message with his phone number and I countered that he hadn’t verified I was female, let alone seen my pictures. He didn’t care because he was convinced he’d like me. Perhaps being caught in my own stresses and snot at the moment is attracting me again to full-of-life, unbreakable types whose energy I can steal or borrow temporarily. Another is built like a bronzed god, possibly thick as a plank of wood but wants to bring me soup until I’m well, take me out drinking and then rim me senseless. He might be a fun diversion. There’s another man but it turns out he lives in the same place as Country Hottie; that’s going to stay a one-man town for me so he has to go. The last at this stage is a younger single man who’s moved into his own house — we’ve had some relaxed communication and I need to sort out his sexual interests but I think we’ll have drinks next weekend when I’m human again. Oh, and an interesting man with a penis and a vagina sent a smile and I really don’t know what to do — I mean, I’ve thought of umpteen things I could do with him (seriously, spend a few minutes thinking of the combinations with a man wielding fully functional male and female genitals), but no idea whether I’m taking his approach seriously which will lead me towards what to do as far as replying.

Another fantasy

I discovered a new industrial estate less than 10 minutes from home the other night. I wasn’t exactly out looking for sites but Young Tradesman got back in touch when he was passing through my area and trying to convince me to leave the house and join him. We didn’t do much that warrants recollection but nearly all of the warehouses and showrooms are new, lacking security cameras and I didn’t see any mobile security patrols during the time we were scouting around (no wonder we didn’t do much that warrants recollection as my mind was wandering to how I might utilise the site in future and if the territory was ‘his’ seeing as he found it). On the other side of the road opposite the empty buildings, perhaps five acres is levelled, cleared and pitch dark at night. I think it’ll be good for at least six months with the current economic malaise.

The next day I thought of a scenario I’d be interested in trying. I could be inspecting some of the developments as a site to start a business and something goes wrong with my car when I try to leave, or perhaps I’m waiting for an hour-afters appointment with a real estate agent who has just cancelled. A white delivery van (with a floorpan in the back long enough for people to lay down) pulls up … this is realistic and situationally safe because one of the existing businesses on the street has a fleet of white vans for food delivery and we wouldn’t stand out if discovered. The driver and possibly his co-driver (I keep thinking about two men at once at the moment) offer assistance but I say I live locally and will call a friend to wait with me until the tow truck arrives or whatever continues the scenario.

A struggle ensues and my captor/s drag me into the back of their van and they drive somewhere within the complex to have me as they wish. I think this time I would be subjugated quickly and embrace the principles of pleasure rather than an entrapment based on rough treatment.

I think The European would be perfect to make this happen but we haven’t been in contact since our roleplay. I’m not sure whether to get in touch with an outline. I could hire the transport and he said he had attractive, sane friends if ever I was interested in a multiple-partner activity. No harm in asking, I suppose. I’ll think about it.

Go to work for the day … or go fuck Country Hottie for the day?

Let me pretend I thought about this for more than five seconds. Country Hottie had a few days off work and invited me to visit him. The last weeks of my resignation period have been filled with ostracism, politicking, lazy bastards trying to involve me in their late projects so the soon-to-be absent me can take the blame on their behalf and some constrasting heartfelt support and kindness from others that has had me hiding tears too regularly. And I have three months’ sick leave because I’m usually conscientious and sick leave isn’t paid out on exit. Easiest decision ever. The hardest part was deciding what to take.

I experienced a pang of guilt early in the day and hoped like hell I wouldn’t be involved in a bizarre event or car accident that made the news (a friend once skipped work to see me when I was living interstate, and it was the day a baggage handlers’ strike broke and she was seen standing in the airline queue on the TV that night; another was featured on the front page of a newspaper after a photographer snapped him enjoying a ride at an agricultural show instead of being at work), but today space junk didn’t fall from the sky on my head and  traffic parted like the trip was meant to be.

I arrived and Country Hottie said, “So, what was this plan you had in mind for me?”

I replied, “Massage you and jump you.” I considered my bluntness and lack of detail and added, “I know it’s a simple plan, but simple plans are often the best.”

He said he wasn’t good at trying to be submissive and I negotiated impatiently that all I wanted from him was to relax and be still. I’m not sure if grinding his groin into the mattress while I was massaging his backside was relaxing either of us as I was getting awfully distracted, and by the time I had oiled his feet he was rubbing them over my breasts, but he tried to relax and not participate, I guess. As I rolled him on his back and worked from his thighs to his upper body, he had me flipped over, pinned underneath him and was sliding his slippery chest along my body.

I have little gaps in memory and the order of events, but before I showered I remembered remarking that I was covered in oil, sweat, my own wetness, squirt juice and the semen he massaged into my breasts when he came on me.

At lunch we had a heart-to-heart talk and he said he had no problem meeting switched-on, attractive women but their sexual conservatism has been a deal breaker. One considered having her hands bound beyond her limits and they said they wouldn’t consider indulging him in his BDSM interests if in a committed relationship. None would support him seeing other women with an interest in fetishes so he could feed that side of his sexuality elsewhere. I said his situation was a reminder of the fortunate position I was in and that breaking free of ego issues and social conditioning got easier with practice (and making the most of my side of the bargain) but I could understand how a lot of women don’t learn to both merge and separate love and sex. I said my problem is that I struggle dealing with people and the sex isn’t usually a problem as it doesn’t often get that far. We sighed and decided to make the most of the day and return to his house.

Part of the afternoon was spent seeing the other women’s point of view: I was sitting on the edge of the lounge with a large dildo in my cunt surrounded by a dozen clothes pegs attached to my labia and clit. My hands were tied behind my back and he was standing in front of me with his cock sliding in and out of my mouth. If I allowed his cock to fall out of my mouth, he would smack my breasts with a riding crop. I let him slip out a couple of times to test the water and the strikes were firmer than I wanted to tolerate; he also gradually leaned back so I had to bend to not lose his cock, which made the dildo start to slip. Very clever. I’m the first to agree these games aren’t everyone’s idea of a good time and the breadth of his experience can be intimidating, but seeing him switch to the part of his mind that concocts these scenarios is like opening and allowing part of his sexual expression to bloom.

The last part of the day was spent lying on his loungeroom floor with him on top piledriving me into quivering orgasms every few strokes, thinking the other women have no idea what joys he could give them if they trusted him. He’s healthy, athlete fit, responsive, skilled, open to any scenario and stays hard for as long as desired — communication dramas aside, the man is a human playground and it’s not every day I’m left lying on the floor so exhausted with heart-singing pleasure.

The universe punished me with a rotten head cold the following day that genuinely kept me at home. It was worth it.