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The past week has been one to forget (yeah, I see the irony in a great bloody long post detailing it).
Country Hottie responded to the text message in my last post in about half a nanosecond and gave me three dates he was available. I chose one and he responded later that he’d see if he was free and get back to me. Heh? I assumed that I was Plan B on standby and he had since heard back positively from a Plan A option and was starting to weasel his way out. I didn’t bother waiting for him to juggle his options and made plans to meet someone else.
I had drinks with the someone else and I felt little beyond moderate attraction in a I’d have sex with you happily enough but walk away happily enough as well kind of way. Somewhat of a shame as in theory as he is separated and not looking for anything beyond regular sexual contact, works a fly-in/fly-out job and lives alone when he’s in town. Our kiss goodnight was barely more than a peck and I have chalked it down to too much amiability and not enough lust between us.
In a weird coincidence I saw the man outlined in the “Fleeing” post on a fetish web site. Through some enquiries made via a few degrees of separation, my instincts to bugger the hell off were verified. He is known as a delusional, manipulative liar who played other women while with his wife, and appears to be now playing the woman he left his wife for — not mine to judge but the fetish circle he moves in is small and close-knit and his house of cards will tumble soon. I’m glad I was right about him, but I wish my hindsight was fed more directly into my foresight so I could have saved myself some discomfort.
The weirdest event of the week involved someone who took possession of the phone belonging to the man who sent photos of his dick in a cock pump. Someone started sending me unsolicited and detailed text messages from his phone like this:
Hi [creepy use of my first name], this is [Mr Cock Pump's] ex girlfriend and you’ll probably think I’m crazy and perhaps I am right now. [Mr Cock Pump] and I broke up last year and we still have a friends with benefits thing. A few weeks ago I collapsed in a shopping centre and discovered I was pregnant with his child. He has tried to hurt me and I have been in pain the last three weeks. He is a good man and perhaps we have a chance but you also need to know about his mood swings from drug use that make him unpredictable. Contrary to what it sounds like, we are not together now and I want you to know this so you can make up your own mind and avoid the terrible situation I am in. Don’t let this happen to you.
I was bored at work and couldn’t help myself so I replied, asking if they weren’t together, how on earth did she have access to his phone? She responded in an equally rambling and bizarre way and I ended up with more messages over a few hours until I lost interest and decided to step out of both their lives. I doubt he was the sender because of the writing style and he had no reason to scare me off as we never met nor had contact for weeks. Perhaps the nutter was a new, insecure girlfriend who had been snooping through his call logs and was trying to fend off the competition. They are welcome to each other.
I think my only prospects this time around are a woman I’ve been in touch with, however, she might prove too far away and we’ve stepped into the comfort of chatting like friends rather than potential lovers. There’s also a young tradesman about town who comes across as experienced but basic fun and I’ll see what happens. I’m feeling somewhat battle-weary after this campaign and of late the frustration has greatly outweighed the reward.
I don’t know if he picked the best or worst time to say breezily he’s been busy and would like to invite me back to his rural lair soon.
In the previous hours I had almost resigned my job, couldn’t remember driving parts of the way home because of chronic tiredness, vanquished the individual in the previous post, suspended my online account because dickheads had made the process more pain than fun, finished reading the last pages of a book that ripped my heart out and left tears streaming down my face, and I squeezed in an orgasm to really stir the hormones into a wonky mood soup.
The intrepid, prickly other me that would like to fuck him again stood in for the confused and jaded real thing. He can interpret the reply any way he likes.
I wish I could confide details but this was the one man, the one story, the one unusual goal in his life that dominated the first meeting and made me want to leap from my chair into passing traffic to kill the pain of listening.
All I can reflect on is something a former work mentor/clinical psychologist once told me about a study of human attraction. He said that 20 per cent of people experience some attraction when they meet, 60 per cent are ambivalent or form no strong opinion and the remaining 20 per cent will not like each other. My percentages average at about 5 per cent, 90 per cent and I’ve only met a handful of people whom I’ve disliked intensely for unexplainable reasons. I saw this man outside the cafe and my fight or flight receptors immediately said run for the hills before it’s too late. It was one of the strongest chemically-based (I assume) anti-attractions I’ve experienced in my life. Every cell in my body seemed to scream no. No. No. No. No. No.
This is where I have to swallow my previous righteousness about telling the perhaps brutal truth when rejecting someone. Instead of making the clean-cut decision to tell him I felt nothing, I sat and hoped he’d pick up on my body language and the speed I was making my drink disappear. He was too busy talking about himself to notice. I (truthfully) said I was tired and had to leave and would call him the next day (to end contact). He said he was a night owl and had all night and how about darlin’ why don’t you tell me more about those things you mentioned in your profile? I ejected more kind but condescending crap out of my mouth that I’d gone shy when, in all reality, thinking about giving him an inroad to my desires made me bilious. I silently thanked myself for my reluctance to overshare with prospective partners before meeting. He walked me to my car and wouldn’t stop talking but the subject changed from his life’s goal to his witchy ex-wife. I finally broke away and opened my car door. He was left standing on the footpath like a lost puppy and said loudly, “Don’t I even get a goodnight kiss?”
I thought that getting in my car without him alongside was hint enough that he wasn’t “getting” a damn thing. Emotional manipulation of that nature makes my blood boil. I did a quick assessment of my options and didn’t have the strength to deal with an argument if I said that hell freezing over was a good time with me to kiss him. I had too much pride to get a kiss over and done with and expel him from my life the next day, and I was too angry by this stage to be subtle with a brief and vague rejection.
I made a decision and kissed him. Once. It was awful.
I escaped. Once. It was necessary. I sent a message the next day saying nothing more will happen. He has asked if I really mean I don’t want to see him again.
He’s gone now.
I was driving home from work when my phone started buzzing itself into a frenzy. ArmyDude had been contemplating a golden shower fantasy during the day and needed to share with someone. I stopped by the side of the road several times to ask teasing questions as his desire built and a scenario formed in his mind.
By the time I got home he had formulated a mutual all-over sprayfest in his shower, concluding with me sucking on his tainted cock. My internal editor didn’t approve the last part but his certainly did. Then again, if you saw and tasted the overpriced bowl of salty brown gunge I ate earlier for lunch, a few streaks of piss were hardly going to kill me. We exchanged a few more messages and he disappeared, presumably to wank himself calm as he was home alone.
Half an hour later the phone started rattling again. The Drummer and I were having dinner and I explained coyly about ArmyDude’s mission. (I still struggle with how much of another’s personal life to hold to my chest and how much a generous partner is entitled to know as my benefactor of sorts.)
The Drummer swallowed a mouthful of food, deliberated and said, “Go for it if he invites you. It doesn’t turn me on, but it’s sad he doesn’t have an outlet. Off you go.”
And off I went. It’s amazing how the likelihood of ArmyDude bending his no-home visits rule increased proportionally with the amount of bloodflow to his penis.
He pushed me against the corner of his shower stall and sent a fine jet across my belly. I protested playfully that the agreed scenario started with me straddling his crouched form and he wasn’t allowed to turn the tables. He pushed again and aimed upwards at my breasts. I reached between my legs to direct my first spray at his thighs but he stuck his tongue down my throat and distracted me too much to produce the goods. He sent sprays towards my neck as we were kssing, not misfiring a drop. I turned the shower taps to trigger my body to release an aching amount of urine and finally a steady trickle ran down my legs. ArmyDude was too excited to be passive and kneel and I captured handfuls of warm liquid and tipped them on his erection, massaging my waste into his cock.
We haven’t been able to catch up and see if reality matched his first timer’s expectations. Water sports remain on my silly fun rather than serious lust list but the reward afterwards was outstanding. After we showered he invigorated my wetness with his tongue and four fingers until I was squirming off the edge of the bed. After a few weeks of regular but brief and mainly-clothed contact at work, I bathed more indulgently in our skin-on-skin warmth with him on top and my legs wrapped around his waist.
As good timing would have it, I was in the north, the local man mentioned previously was in the south and our paths were about to cross the night before we planned to meet. He suggested a park and sports ground to catch up that I know well for non-sexual reasons. I said I’d meet him at the main car park where I was confident in the safety of other people but where we could take a quiet walk if things went well.
While I’m in a confessing mood, I covered positive and negative outcomes by stopping at a shopping centre on the way to give the girl bits a freshen with damp toilet paper as I hadn’t showered since the morning, and I detoured via a bookshop to pick up a book I didn’t want to make another trip to buy.
We met, decided mutually the other was pleasing enough and took a stroll in the darkest, coldest evening I can remember for a long time. If I were the one packing a set of balls, they’d have dropped off frozen and bounced down the cricket pitch. We found a park bench and sat shivering for a few awkward moments until I moved to kiss him.
And that’s when the golden beam of the dating gods stopped glowing. He was enthusiastic but guarded and I couldn’t read the tangled signal I was receiving. We kissed a while longer (something was a little off in that department as well and I needed more research) until we agreed to leave it and catch up somewhere more comfortable another time. Later he sent a message of apology for the mixed messages but he had growing guilts about me reminding him too much of his girlfriend.
To be frank, I didn’t mind because while kissing his tongue was puffy and soft and limp, like I’d imagine a giant sea slug fresh out of the water. I went back for seconds in case we needed to practice more, but I couldn’t erase the mental image. The doppelgänger I wasn’t aware of can be responsible for kissing him.
Onwards, upwards and all that shit.
ArmyDude walked past my office and in a surge of happy hormones I felt compelled to tell him a true story, complete with blushes and bumbles as I dug myself into a bigger hole of confession. The previous night I was home alone, feeling distracted and I went to bed early to masturbate. I woke the next morning with a start, trying frantically to remember what I had forgotten on my mental to-do list the night before. Feed animals, feed self, wash dishes, take bins out, all done, shit, just why is there a vibrator resting on the sheet next to my body and how come there’s an open bottle of lube that has leaked a big sticky hole on the bed cover? I had fallen asleep before fixing myself up. Ah, that would be what I had forgotten to do.
ArmyDude was staring at me at that stage like I was a nutter but wouldn’t let me wriggle out of the rest of the story.
What happened next was I thought I’d quickly rectify the situation before getting out of bed. However, I took ages to come between focusing on the task and scanning the time ticking past get-up o’clock, should-be-in-the-shower-by-now o’clock and why-haven’t-you-had-your-breakfast-yet o’clock. My brain was subsequently fluffy after reaching orgasm and I was laughably late for work and still endorphin-shiny when ArmyDude walked past.
Fifteen minutes later we were locked in a storeroom we haven’t used for months and his tongue was between my legs. I have a semi-circle of pink bite marks on my hand from trying to muffle my noises.
He came with a frenetic thrust down my throat after only a few minutes. I didn’t think my story was that arousing but something got him going.
It’s been a bumpy week but I am on a mission this weekend, I’ve decided.
Pierced Chap – gone
He works afternoon shift and I have postponed evening meetings twice. Unfortunately our flirting phase was before I fell into some long hours and broken sleep and by 9pm I’m ready for bed (mine). He seems to have disappeared and I just have to wear it as a lost opportunity caused by my current circumstances.
Bully – hopefully gone
An unsettling experience that I hope like hell has ended. He wrote a brief, interesting intro and we were progressing towards meeting this weekend. Yesterday I received a volley of text and voice messages saying we had to talk – NOW. He sounded drunk and on the phone tried to insist several times that I visit him on my way home. He ignored my replies that I don’t meet strangers first-up at their homes. Personal safety aside, I wasn’t available and he insisted to the point of haranguing to collect me from work and drop me home again. Red flags waved everywhere and I ended contact. Fingers crossed he doesn’t come back as I am getting shivers thinking about it.
Local Man – on
Single, younger, possibly too close to home as I may know his father (settle, he’s not that young) but we’ve sworn jokingly to not being seen in public if we get along. I don’t have a good grip on his appearance because his photos are of a motley assortment of drunken lads wearing hats but his written communication is more than fine. We engaged in some text flirting during office hours yesterday and I coerced him into wanking in his office toilet and sending me pictures. Whoops. I feel funny sometimes when I’ve seen genitals in close-up technicolour but haven’t a clue about the other bits I enjoy kissing.
Butterflies – who knows
Grouped collectively as the ego boosting, hormone-driven young lovelies who flit about briefly but never land. Impossible to catch except if they’re flying by on Friday and Saturday nights. One of the handful was go, go, go late last weekend but I was ready for bed rather than booty calling. I have been trying to avoid once-off meetings but the little voice says to indulge in him if there’s an opportunity. He sent a photo of his dick in a cock pump and I must say it needs rescuing from the clear tube of torture.
Woman – unsure
We exchanged a few messages on the site and I received a passive-aggressive note when she didn’t receive an e-mail I had promised last weekend. She then checked her spam folder and there, lying undisturbed, was a carefully constructed e-mail I had indeed sent. Her apology was sweet. Still early days and it’s nice to deal with a similar version of me but I had to smile a couple of times when I thought that we could speed up the courtship process — perhaps I’m more Team Testosterone than I think.
My money is on the local man at the moment unless a dark horse (or butterfly) arrives from nowhere.
I know rewards such as memorable sex are more fulfilling if gained with hard work and application, but sifting through reams of unintelligible, presumptuous messages becomes draining. Here’s the worst of last weekend’s inbox surprises.
Mr Chow
Hellooo,im [name],im staying with family if youd like to rendezvous at a local haunt of your choice for a nigt of unbridled rock your panties if you please furn.cheers xo chow bella.
Mr Right Now
Lets catch up tomorrow or on weekends at my place. Assure of fun and satisfaction. Got plenty of drinks etc. Do txt me.
Mr Slippery
lets get to the seduction and you and two naked strippers on a bed. Was it pillows and baby oil? Or did I just add the baby oil? Don’t you love baby oil in the bedroom?
Mr Needs Something
I do have needs, and after a long marriage those needs tend to be VERY needy. However, there are a couple of things that I dont like. I dontlike just a meet/greet/fuck type of thing. I am not into one night stands but do enjoy knowing someone as the intensity of the whole encounter is so much explosive. I also hate quickies. I LOVE a woman that can go the distance, I have a lot of stamina, a lot of years of catch up, and a lot of “happiness” to share. I love going for a few hours. Makes the whole thing worth so much more. I also love when a woman cums, its just as intense for me to feel you cum as it is for me to cum. So I like to make a woman cum as much as I can. Anyway, this is making me rather horney right now, and I hate masturbation, so maybe I can stop for now.
Mr What?
hello iam [name].took the time to read yur profile and normaly i dont . and i did not read yours because you said to lol it just fun
Mr Wherever You Like Except Here
Time you had a good spanking I think…. So where do we go from here?
Mr Any Vagina is a Good Vagina
im a 39 year old single guy with amassive cock if u want a good mothers day u should call me and we can hook up
The last message broke me. I ended up replying that good luck if that approach works for him, but he has no photo, illegible and brief profile text, no real location (unless Cunnilingus is a suburb) and hasn’t even seen my photos. No thank you.
Finally, some sex!
ArmyDude was sniffing around the office yesterday after not seeing him for a couple of weeks. I wondered why he’d made a surprise visit and remembered I had been sending him pre-menstrual dirty messages involving my tongue and lips, his cock, my swollen and aching cunt and being bent over a desk with my skirt around my neck. It’s funny how puzzles make sense when you think about them.
People were wandering past and joining in the conversation but I managed to sneak in a few long looks and sly smiles. He picked up an old wooden ruler from my desk and smacked it against his thigh while making lengthy eye contact. I had to stop breathing to withhold an attack of the giggles.
Later I left the doors open to the lockable office after more heated messages and good fortune that he wasn’t required at home, I have been keeping a habit of late hours at work and the building was close to unoccupied around my office. I pounced quickly after he was safely in the ensuite yet the zip of his pants was already open and he was massaging a hard and red cock when I locked us away. I took over his handiwork, feeling a little selfish and greedy that he’d started preparations without sharing.
Sometimes accumulated mental desire deceives physical limits. I needed to kiss him and feel his body press into me but his stubble razed my skin sharply and my head hurt after being pushed into a timber architrave I’d forgotten about. His hands grasped my breasts and I yelped with pre-menstrual sensitivity — even a gentle tongue felt like talons dragging through sunburn. Bottom-half clothes removed, he bent me over the sink and tried to enter me, but my end of cycle wetness has little viscosity and I had no lubricant on hand to assist with the urgency of my need for him.
There was no way though that I was allowing this opportunity and the solitary condom in my purse go to waste. We navigated a half-crouched, intense pounding from behind with short strokes effective for the task. I pressed my hands against the cold mirror for stability and pushed back eagerly into his cock, breasts swinging wildly and tenderly. I don’t remember us speaking a word until I whispered, “Oh my god,” towards the end.
Someone smack some sense into me, please.
A young man at work has suddenly been friendly to the point of holding eye contact for a microsecond longer than is professionally flirtatious — he must be because I’ve noticed and I’m generally awful at reading signals. I sent a group e-mail and he has used it as a reason to initiate unrelated e-mail chit chat.
Erm, I haven’t stopped him.
Same workplace — bad. Not married — good. Half my age — possibly bad. Actually, less than half my age: to soften the blow and borrow from Miss Elizabeth Bennet, he is not yet one-and-twenty — very bad. Local — good. I’m flat-out busy but bored stupid at work and looking for distractions — dangerously bad. Mutual attraction — very good. If something happens and ArmyDude finds out through other sources — really, really bad. If I could set up a three-way with him and ArmyDude — fucking amazing. If something happens and he’s too inexperienced to know the value of discretion in the workplace — insufferably bad. The mere act of contemplating evil deeds to this extent — completely mad. I truly am that bored.
I know rationally it’s a distraction to make the day pass more pleasantly, but the thought of corrupting a cheeky young thing with a degree of risk holds more than passing appeal. Instead of continuing our debate of whether I’m an angel or a devil (really, it’s all perspective), I updated and sent my resume to some headhunters because intentional self destruction means I should be in a more stimulating job. In the way my world works, I have an interview next week that I’m not sure I really want to pursue and the flirty young thing is away on leave.
