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I am strong. I will not yield from my game plan. I am disciplined. I will not waver when I am before him.
I am full of shit.
Country Hottie confirmed the time of our meeting with a slightly out of role text message starting, “Hey there, gorgeous thing …” and my resulting internal monologue went along the lines of Oh my god, I’m so nervous, how am I going to stay in role, oooh he might make me squirt again even though I’m not supposed to want pleasure, and I hope we do some fun stuff afterwards because I’d really like to massage him, *squeal* god he’s got a nice body and I can’t wait to get my hands all over him again, growwwwl I could easily have his cock inside me right this second, I wonder what’s in the toy bag he hasn’t let me see inside yet, and hey, you, overactive brain, focus on the dark and serious things again, please.
Hopeless.
I ended up replying to Mr Chilled the day after he wrote — my message was welcoming but measured and I expressed interest in catching up again. I haven’t heard back for more than a week and one of my (newer) rules of thumb is that people who express interest singly tend to consolidate with mutually agreeable murmurs of intention within a couple of days. His e-mail was too well expressed to be a drunken missive, so I’ll chalk it down to either stroking his ego to see if he still has ‘it’, something in my reply sent him running, he’s just changed his mind or he hasn’t changed from the ethereal self I remember. The more people I meet, the fewer I understand, I swear.
One thing I should have done at the start of setting up an online account was create a document for ‘do not answer’ names and numbers. I’ve been caught out again twice by deleting numbers of people I didn’t expect to contact again and my urge for a tidy contact list in my mobile phone is too strong to change. I received a message from an unknown number pondering why my number is in his phone as he has no idea who I am. I replied and a second later felt sick in the stomach and realised it was the man who gave me the strongest sense of anti-attraction of my adult life. It took a few messages to banish him again. This time I’ve saved one of the messages with the number.
Even worse, I received a 3am message from an unknown number saying, “Is your husband still working at [company name]?” I can’t place the number at all, the person didn’t reply to my response the next morning and I’ve scoured my e-mail and online account for clues. Assuming it’s someone who knows me, is familiar with my relationship situation but not enough to be accurate, and being correct but out of date in where The Drummer works, I think it’s the man from a few months ago who I met in a park before he freaked out. We had a ‘who do you know?’ chat before we met as I knew of his family and we lived in the same locality. When I checked his old messages in the online acccount I saw he’s been viewing my profile exactly once a week for two months. Creepy. I blocked him.
The roleplay is scheduled for next weekend and I hadn’t anticipated how much work is involved in artificially constructing a naturally-flowing scenario.
My inner control freak is happy that acting the professional but brusque salesperson will be an extension of my real-life annoyance with Country Hottie (he took more than a week to respond to a message asking for the last piece of simple information and I was about to cancel). My personal shield of detachment is ready to deflect the easygoing charm I’m expecting when he opens the door and I think I’ll try to rush the inspection and force an early move to mess with how I think he’ll start his game. I have all the props except an expendable skirt and fishnet pantyhose (not the sexy and easy-to-remove stockings but the impossible-to-negotiate pantyhose that end somewhere near the belly button).
I need to find time for the hair removal session from hell as I’d use copious amounts of duct tape if I were him. And I’d have rough hessian rope and industrial-strength cable ties waiting under the bed but there’s little preparation that can pre-empt abrasions. This is important because I’ve decided my tactic is to fight like a wildcat and satisfy my curiosity about what will transpire when I try to escape. I’ve almost hit the limit of my patience dealing with him in real life and I’m going to make the most of these hours in case they’re the last.
Little ‘to dos’ keep popping into my head. I need to figure out how to discreetly store a set of casual clothes and toiletries because I’m not keen on leaving looking like I’ve been dragged backwards through a bush of blackberries.
We found a handful of hours to spend together before he leaves town for a few weeks.
No resentment about unresolved issues and meeting others; just kissing, sucking and fucking to re-establish simple pleasures. I was ill and incapable of much beyond languid appreciation and he led, accommodated and fulfilled gently.
I wobbled a little as I came when on top in a 69 position. His cock was still in my mouth and I was grateful for the miracle of sex that keeps delicate parts safe when everything around them is contracting.
We fell into a side-by-side interpretation of a 69 and I admired the lines of his legs as we feasted again. He laid me on my back and entered with less discipline but asked if I wanted him to stop. No. Please, no. I abstractly observed the movements of his body and appreciated his more energetic taking of pleasure until he finished and collapsed on my chest.
I’m looking forward to his return rather than looking to avoid contact. We’ll sort out the other things when he comes back.
Young Tradesman issued an enthusiastic and surprising invitation considering I thought we were a once-off that didn’t go very far, but I’m struggling to garner enthusiasm for anything with only a few hours’ notice. Our planets might collide again if he gets in touch and I’m less distracted and rundown (I need time to document why life isn’t going to plan at the moment but the list keeps getting longer).
The other challenge with strictly casual arrangements I’ve been avoiding is that I grow cold and lose interest after a couple of weeks without mental interactions to feed lust and intent. If I’m home and the physical urge strikes, I take the pragmatic approach and get myself off rather than go on the hunt for someone on speed dial who might be free. Most men I’ve been in touch with — including Young Tradesman — who prefer the hunting method think I’m from a different century and that any non-sexual contact is akin to constricting their freedom. Regardless, he’ll either tire of pursuing an option that can’t be bothered showering and braving the cold, or I’ll get around to telling him myself.
I received an e-mail from Mr Chilled this morning, filled with reminiscences and asking if I’d be interested in catching up again. The practical beauty of the blog lately has been quickly being able to track whether I’ve had fun or not with those who have disappeared (big yes, judging by the endorphin-distilled essay I wrote in January) and the reality check that we met six months ago before communication with him became too much hard work. I’m not sure whether to despatch him or go back and finish what we started. For no particular reason and no regard for consistency, I’m leaning towards the positive.
I want to finish the tale of the woman I’ve mentioned a few times. We were due to meet but she hooked up with her husband’s female lover at a swingers’ party they all attended and the two women seem to have run off into the sunset together. I’m not sure how her husband feels about this. I have been dumped quicker than the proverbial hot potato but it’s all been worthwhile for the biggest belly laugh I’ve had in ages.
PS: I was starting another post that I’d had enough of Country Hottie’s lax communication (ten days or so since I asked for some final essential detail about the roleplay) and, low and behold, I just received an e-mail from him. He is free next weekend, when I will be bleeding half to death. I’ll sort it out later.
I was given a whole week’s respite from ArmyDude’s campaign to hunt for threesome partners without a plan.
I wasn’t able to visit him the other night and he sent a message saying it was too bad. I thought he was teasing in a sexual manner and asked playfully why he said that, hoping I’d hear something along the lines of I’m missing out on his hard cock and wet tongue. Wrong. He replied that he had created a couples account on a different site and wanted to borrow money from me (his wife runs the ministry of finance at his house) to pay for a membership so we could contact new people.
And, yet, he still doesn’t reply when I ask how. the. fuck. is. he. going. to. escape. to. meet. and. potentially. spend. hours. missing. from. home? Oh, and when was he going to ask my permission to use my identity? Fuck me. He backed off and said that he didn’t actually want to meet people. I called him on the bullshit of why would he pay to contact people mindlessly when he can read all the profiles and view all the pretty pictures he likes for free.
He’s either in denial or lying his arse off and using my details to differentiate himself from the solo men, or is using others as wank material when he’s home alone with no intention of meeting them. Both are unpalatable to me as is his reluctance to be frank and honest but wanting my passive involvement.
The crack is opening. And I really need more control over my sarcasm at the moment.
Country Hottie provided some views and skews on the roleplay.
He’s moved the venue to his house, presumably to shift the balance of power even further his way. The premise is that he is putting his house on the market and I will make an appointment to appraise the property as the local real estate agent’s rep. The only other guidelines are to dress as professionally as possible in clothes that won’t be lamented if they’re destroyed. Anything that happens during my inspection remains locked firmly inside his head.
The date might be a few weeks away: I need a couple of framing questions answered so we can be in role from my first phone call and I don’t know his availability for next weekend. My period’s also due the following weekend. I know out on the streets that assault doesn’t wait for bodily cycles, but fantasies are hygienically-modified worlds of desire: we slap instead of punch, bite instead of break, ravage instead of damage, and I have no qualms about pre-editing the elements over which I have control.
I wish it was now. I’m in what seems to be a pre-depression mindset of darkness around my heart and being insulated from life but hypersensitive and prone to crying deep inside. I’d like to ask him to have the Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds’ cover of ‘The Carnival is Over’ playing during the most harrowing of whatever happens, but I’ll be in his hands by then and will only have control of the soundtrack in my head.
After Mr New Year’s Eve crawled out of a hole last week, another two returned. I keep looking over my shoulder because it feels like the march of the undead sex zombies.
Someone sent an e-mail asking why I hadn’t been back in touch about a roleplay. My memory is usually sharp but I wondered who the hell he was and why on earth I’d be discussing a boss/secretary scenario (I spent enough years in real life being called ‘The Temp’ and misfiling documents to last a lifetime, thanks). I followed the e-mail trail and saw he was someone I had been in contact with and declined his proposal. He disappeared for six weeks before dropping by with a new e-mail name the same as a famous porn actor’s and a renewed approach that I had allegedly agreed to. I guess his ruse didn’t work.
The second person to express renewed interest was the man from April who at the last minute insisted I always wear an arse-skimming skirt and high heels or the deal was off. We’d had no contact since deciding it wasn’t going to work for either of us, yet all of a sudden after three months he would very much like to get together and play. No wonder I’m short tempered. Go away.
Is it the time of year? Other options exhausted and they’re hitting the recycling list? They can sense I’m sitting home knitting and letting my pubic hair grow instead of braving the elements in search of adventure? The only missing in action man from the past few months I’d want to hear from is Mr OMG, which of course will make him the least likely to be in contact again.
Over the past couple of weeks I’ve been involved in more admin than action with ArmyDude. After he cancelled the meeting with the possible third person, we had also planned tentatively to meet a couple the following week and I was to contact another woman he’d been in touch with to prove I did indeed exist. After a couple of dozen indecisive messages the night of the first cancellation he asked me to postpone the couple and the woman for a week, yet we still didn’t have any kind of plan for getting him out of the house safely in future.
I hit my limit of crap, cancelled them all and ignored him for a couple of days. The project was becoming bigger than the underpinning reason for being together.
I said no to his next invitations to meet and reluctantly yes to a third when I’d worked out what I wanted to talk about — it was hard to convert “I dread hearing my phone buzz at the moment because I know it’ll be you” into language and intent that wasn’t so heartless.
I dropped by his house and we sorted a few things out on the chair of his study when his head was between my legs and his fingers were working my cunt and anus. I made sure to do most of the talking to avoid interrupting his work.
We agreed on more while I was on all fours on his bed and he was fucking me from behind and pulling my hair.
I disagreed with his proposal to stick his cock in my arse without lubricant — his response was to flip me on my back with my legs in the air and fuck me while standing at the side of the bed with my feet curled around his neck. I keep forgetting about this undervalued position until I’m in it and remember the pleasures of being able to feel so damn good while watching the show in front of me.
He later suggested we suspend the shared online account for a while and get back to basics. I could only nod assent because his cock was in my mouth and about to erupt down my throat.
All in all it was a successful meeting, however, I zoned out a couple of times during sex and don’t know why. I over-compensated by participating with more energy so he wouldn’t notice my mind wandering. I hope it’s just post-crapfest comedown.
I received a text message from Country Hottie in response to the scenario ideas: “Mmmm thks for e-mail so horny now lets do one line soon x.”
I think that means no at this stage to the first 95 per cent of my message, but he wants to fuck my arse as I described in one of the final lines (the sentence was more graphic and daring in the version I sent and was presumably the one that got his testosterone racing.)
I’ll see what happens — or when, more to the point because it is him, but I already have a Plan B dom/sub scenario in the back of my mind. I should be careful what I wish for because he is of larger than average length and girth and has enviable endurance. Each time with anal sex feels like the first time, which is the dangerous beauty of its dual games of trepidation and anticipation.
PS: I hope the unplanned new look is working.
