Got the job, got some Mr OMG. I rock

I’m off to a company in the industry I was previously employed in. Work is work so I won’t dwell on the specifics, but from a sexual perspective, I’ve noticed that the office is much nearer the parks I’ve inhabited in the past so there’ll be more opportunity for outdoor games after work when my mojo returns.

Another question I had in the back of my mind was if I’d eventually share my relationship status with my new peer group and stop living with so much secrecy. I was leaning towards the positive but one of the directors is married to someone I’ve known for years — she’s a dear friend who is conservative in these things so I’ll probably keep up the tangle of lies to answer the “How was your weekend?” question with stories of people who aren’t really friends and parties that don’t involve lubricant and being tied up. My loss of girlfriend count following a confession is two from two and seems sign enough that my worlds shouldn’t collide.

My attitude and desire levels between the last few weeks of This might be a good idea but probably won’t be and last night’s I may well die if I don’t get his cock inside me are so markedly different that it’s as if I’m two unrelated people. Mr OMG elicited the latter. We were talking about meeting the day before but I was only half-committed from lethargy and feeling selfish that it was the night he had only an hour free. I wanted more. The following night we again vaguely agreed to him dropping by on his way home from a job on the other side of the city but I wasn’t sure if I’d still be up or if he’d have energy after a long day in the sun — we’ve had an unseasonal heatwave that’s drained the lifeblood from almost everything.

It was late and I got ready for bed. A cool change had swept in and I was lounging happily on top of the bedsheets with the front door open, allowing the icy breeze to tickle my skin. Mr OMG sent the text message I was expecting, saying he was exhausted and heading straight home, as much as he wanted to play. I was somewhat relieved to not have to disturb my sense of idle content before going to sleep.

A pang of lust took over my thoughts before I could respond though, and I replied with a snapshot of my hand between my legs with the message I understand, and I’ll be shaved off and wet again for you next time. Goodnight. He called. Quickly. I didn’t expect that reaction because he was as tired as I was. He asked if I was naked. My building libido took over the conversation and I replied that I was as naked as the photo except for some new drops of wetness between my legs. I then backtracked and apologised for teasing and said we’d catch up soon, much as I wanted his cock in my mouth (which wasn’t a backtrack at all, really). He said he only had 20 minutes but could swing past as he was coming through my part of town. I responded reluctantly that we should wait for another time so we can indulge in more than a quick taste. He said let’s taste now, feast another time and what’s the address?

I was still naked when I heard his footsteps nearing along the path and I poked my head around the door and asked him to come in. I think I grabbed his shirt and dragged him into the bedroom because there’s no other explanation for how he got there so quickly. His t-shirt was over his head before our lips met for the first time. I reached to grasp his backside and realised gleefully he’d already sent his shorts and shoes to the floor.

He laid me back on the bed covers and did angelic things with his tongue and fingers and after a few minutes said he needed to fuck me. I reached to embrace the approaching outline of his torso, but changed my mind and said I originally wanted his cock in my mouth and that’s what I was going to do. He stood and I lowered my mouth around his erection and somehow took most of it in the first journey down and held him inside until he groaned. I only got about 10 strokes in when he insisted he had to be inside me. I didn’t argue this time.

He started with three-quarter thrusts that worked my g-spot but I needed to devour all of him and I tilted my hips forward to take the lot. My muscles involuntarily clenched around his cock each time he filled me, as if knowing he wasn’t going to last long and to make the most of every millimetre. Between gasping and trying to express how fucking good he felt, I saw in the reflected light that he had a tattoo I hadn’t noticed before and the dirtied innocence of his face reminded me of the Jason Stackhouse character in the True Blood series. These new snippets of him further increased my raging appetite.

He came much sooner than I wanted but any period of time was not going to be enough. However, I was beyond relieved to have found deep and unstoppable surges of desire and feeling again. The ones who drive me mad also bring out my most inspired behaviour, much as I don’t think I want my lust to exist that way. He needs to visit again soon.

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.