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He sent a message saying he needed to return something I’d loaned him last year (oddly enough, I was looking for it the other day and wondering where I’d lost the damn thing).
However, I can’t decide between avoidance by having him drop it in my letterbox when I’m at work or be grown-up and meet in person. He’s relaxed about catching up and added that he’d keep his hands in his pockets if we met. I don’t know if that was his normal good humour because there was a smiley face after the comment or if it was a promise made to relax me about the prospect of meeting. Or, hey, maybe it was a hint to let me know that my hands might still be welcome in his pockets (one of my favourite acts of teasing was to stand behind him and see how far my hands could travel down the pockets of the front of his pants). Nothing is at face value.
I’d like to say there would be no harm in meeting him, but I already know there would be. I’ll either attempt to jump him or re-open the wound, or one after the other.
I must admit to being flummoxed about his disappearance.
He sent a positive text the day after we last met and we sketched a plan to meet for a car activity early the following week. I let him know the days I was free and never heard back.
Lost interest, found someone else, wants someone else, I was too experienced and wild, not experienced and wild enough, fuck knows.
I’m back to step one so I’ll resurrect my profile again. I know where I’ve made errors along the way and can exhibit better judgement, but this last one took me by surprise.
A couple of posts ago I mentioned the man who was driving me nuts with using terms of familiarity and sending several e-mails a day without waiting for a response.
The crunch moment came to decide whether to meet him or send him on his way. Intuition/gut feel/experience said to send him on his way, but the logic overrider (trademark pending) I listen to occasionally told me to show some optimism and see what happens.
So I organised a meeting.
I received this message a few hours before the appointed time. If a hammer just happened to have been in my hand at that moment, I’d have smashed my logic overrider to dust.
Hi [pet name],
I am sorry but I just can’t do this. I think it is better to go through life without sex and not be a cheater.
I have dreamt about the many ways we could make love and I find it very exciting and exhilarating, but what if we do it and then I feel like this.
I DO NOT use people.
It is best I just make the most out of a bad job and not be a prick all round.
Sorry. You are a beautiful and attractive person but I gave up using girls after my earlier days. Can’t do it.
Wish you all the best,
Love
[his pet name for himself and lots of xxxs]
I called him out on his inconsistency in coming on so strongly for two weeks, which was perhaps using me to test his own waters, and possible lack of honesty because he’d said previously that he was a member of another adult site. He didn’t reply. Funny, that.
The tall chap I met and was lukewarm about taking for a test ride has been taken for a test ride. I’m feeling a bit embarrassed as I am running out of names for people; he can be Skinny Lover as the similarly-titled song by Bon Iver was playing on the drive home. The playlist also served up Prince and Queens of the Stone Age so best I stick with SL.
A break of a couple of weeks between having a drink and meeting took me on a spinning wheel of attitudes from joy to apathy but landed on ‘anticipation’ in the days prior. On the morning he sent a message wishing me a good day, and I thought I could take this interaction at face value, thank goodness, as my brain was warping from dealing with others.
I got lost finding his house in the dark and almost took out a rubbish bin in the narrow driveway but I managed to arrive at the agreed time. He answered the door and I did that thing where I skulk around the lounge room uncomfortably while pretending to be relaxed, so this time after a lap or two of the room I planted my backside on the couch. He sat next to me and put his arm around me, and I thought, good, I can respond to that action without looking awkward, so I kissed his neck and after not very long at all our lips made contact.
He seems to have a thing for my breasts and his cold hands brought instant goosebumps when they slid under my shirt. He undid the buttons and lifted my bra to replace his fingers with a warm tongue and small bites until I squealed a little too uncomfortably. My fingers ran along his long spine and clasped his backside and I returned the favour by sliding my hands under his jumper while they were still cold from being outdoors. He didn’t squeal.
We were squished side by side on the lounge and he navigated his way on top of me and ground his pelvis into mine. I encountered the first thought of wondering what he was packing inside his jeans; I’d been switched off the dating site for a week and couldn’t recall if I’d bothered to read the ‘measurements’ section of his profile (I tend not to read those as they’re usually filled with more fantasy than horoscopes in gossip magazines). My initial guess was that if he’s tall and thin then his penis might follow similar lines but I’ve experienced surprise packages in the past. When he raised himself on his arms for me to remove his shirt, his jeans slid down his waist a little and the engorged head of his erect cock poked out.
Oh, hello, this might require further investigation.
Off came his pants and underwear and by then my hands were warm enough to go exploring.
I got the long part of my guess correct, but his shaft was a generous handful of thickness and I was wrong yet again with my prediction. It became my goal to have this slab of cock inside me as soon as possible.
My plan went awry for an hour or so because his cock somehow made the journey from my hand upwards to my mouth. I could get him somewhat firm but couldn’t find a technique to bring him to full hardness, however, I was listening to his noises intensify and he was thrusting in my mouth by this time. I thought I couldn’t be too far from discovering what he liked because everything sounded like he was having a good time.
Then he said, “You’re going to make me come.”
And he did.
I was not expecting that.
And I wasn’t really wanting that. While I can appreciate the thrill of learning the reactions of someone new, I had no idea of his recovery time and I was feeling more than a little in want of attention.
I didn’t have to sweat the next move as he set me back on the lounge, spread my legs and went on a magical mystery tour with his fingers and tongue. I’ll definitely be going back for more tongue treatment as he has some tingle-inspiring moves; I didn’t come but I think I’ll be able to if we settle into something regular and I can relax more. But his fingers honed in on my G-spot and thankfully he was relatively gentle as I could feel the urge to squirt building when I orgasmed. I could hear myself laughing and feel my legs kicking in the air and thought I could have a hundred of those without batting an eyelid. And all without squirting – check out my new self control!
As he continued I felt his fingers sliding through a different kind of wetness and I asked forlornly if I had indeed squirted on his furniture. He said not to worry about it. I looked for the damage and saw a fist-sized dark patch on the cushion between my legs. I tried to feel guilty about leaving a mess but I was still giggly and also glad my body hadn’t released a full quantity of fluid. He can learn about those marvels another time and in a location not upholstered with fabric.
With both of us sated, we relaxed on the couch and watched TV for a while (not a terrible movie this time, but a boring sports game that I could tolerate as I knew we hadn’t finished with each other).
Part of me was curious about why we hadn’t gone to his bedroom, but when I opened the hallway door to use the bathroom, the rear section of the house was close to freezing and I scurried back to the warmth as quickly as I could. He got up to use the bathroom and I had a quiet perve for as long as my poor eyesight could maintain the view. He’s rail thin and all protruding bones along all the bony parts and there’s a nice covering of muscle along his lengths and some detailed inkwork on his shoulders. Ah ha, Mr Respectful, Normal and Sane has a ‘side’.
He returned and launched for my breasts again and I took him into my hands to do higher level research on how his erection functions. Again, his cock became almost hard when he walked to the kitchen to fetch a condom. We slid into the classic missionary position and I prepared to be filled when he entered me because his cock was at a perfect 90 degrees when he returned from the kitchen.
He entered me but I didn’t feel full. I looked down my belly and could see his cock moving in and out but without the accompanying expected sensation. I wrapped my legs around his back to adjust the angle and there was no change. He brought my legs to his shoulders so I was almost eating my knees and the reduced feeling was the same. I braced my hamstrings to stabilise myself and he put a lot of effort into slamming me — I finally felt some hard thrusting and he came.
Later we repeated the exercise and the same thing occurred. I think he gets fully hard prior to orgasm as I can feel him in those moments, but the rest of the time he operates at about 80 per cent. It’s not a problem as there are plenty of things we can do in addition to intercourse but I was nonetheless thrown out of my comfort zone of assumption and into a new world of perception.
I think I’d worn him out and he distracted me by changing the TV channel to the Tour de France coverage. I was instantly transfixed. I calculated the breakaway group’s margin versus the kilometres left and the likelihood of a thrilling finish versus the awareness that I really should be in bed and not keeping SL up because his television is bigger than mine. After several ad breaks of me saying I really needed to get dressed and leave, I finally got dressed and left, almost taking his rubbish bin out of existence again.
He messaged the next day asking what kinky things I was interested in, so I guess that means we’ll see each other again. I’m happy about that.
I wandered off mentally and had decided to leave him alone when he sent a timely message asking when we’d catch up again. I was in a detached frame of mind at the time and tried to scare him off by threatening to spank his arse. He responded by asking me to bring my bondage gear.
We made a date but I cancelled and said I wouldn’t be in touch again as I needed a bit more on the contact side. Some days I wish I was more easy-going and opportunistic but I’m just not and I’m tired of being made to feel like I ought to be. I spoke to The Drummer about this and he said men (generally) would prefer to line up a meeting, get their rocks off, leave and stay clear until the next urge strikes, but I’m a bit more work than that.
I have suspended my dating account for the time being to take a break. I’m in e-mail contact with a couple of remaining prospects but one is driving me nuts by referring to me as ‘honey’ and ‘babe’ – why use pet names for someone you haven’t even met? Then again, the poor man is probably just trying to be friendly and I’m in a defensive and ferocious state of mind. The other appears more balanced but he might be lost in the fall-out of this mood I’m in.
Postscript: I was meeting the second man tonight but two hours prior to the appointed time he sent a postponement message. Car troubles. The Drummer asked me if he didn’t have any better excuses lined up. I was almost tempted to respond and wish him well with his better offer, but I just said, “No worries.” Next.
I am as guilty of self delusion as any other woman when I say and write I want a respectful, normal, sane casual partner, yet I still revel in the blood-warming flush of lust when facing an unsuitable man with whom I have experienced a strong and immediate attraction.
Respectful, normal, sane men can’t win sometimes if their assets aren’t immediately evident and women can be their own worst enemies for not giving these men a greater chance. I don’t know the moral of this story yet except I’m currently trying to break the stereotype but may fall back into delusion and want things that aren’t good for me.
Perception
I met the third man mentioned in the last online dating post, and the poor-quality profile picture of a young, shit-grinned punk didn’t do him justice in the slightest. When a tall, charismatic, broad-shouldered, dirty blonde-haired, golden-skinned, hand-carved statue of a man (that might be enough adjectives …) strode towards me in his building’s foyer, every cell in my body woke and paid strict attention. He was friendly and wasn’t scared of direct, unblinking contact with his opal green eyes but I couldn’t read a single message contained in them. Even towards the end of the conversation his body language was open and interested but was no different from when we said hello. Bamboozling, and I, of course, could not have been more interested in determining when I could rip the suit from his body.
When I needed to leave I asked if he was interested in meeting again. He said yes and suggested we have lunch next time I’m in the area.
What does lunch mean? Doubly bamboozling.
Nevertheless, I was still enchanted and we later exchanged a few messages heading into decidedly heated territory. He started making more mention of his predilection for swingers’ parties and watching people fuck while having his cock sucked. I must’ve processed the conversation overnight as I woke in the morning thinking that getting naked with strangers wasn’t my thing, and it was his, which was fair enough, but we hadn’t spoken of anything that might happen between us.
And thankfully my interest level waned; he also must have experienced buyer’s remorse overnight because he didn’t respond to my last message. I mentally said goodbye and let him be. Phew.
Reality
I met the second man from the same blog post for a drink. He is outrageously tall and had to bend markedly at the neck and base of his spine for us to kiss hello. He’s also fashion model skinny and has mad scientist-unruly strawberry blonde hair verging on red depending on the poorness of the lighting. I liked his physical differences and how we interacted, but when we left the bar I wondered if I could make myself feel a spark of lust for him. I was in a mindset of if we were stuck on a deserted island together we’d be going for it day and night rather than fetching coconuts, but in this real life I’m holding back for some reason. Oh, perhaps it’s because I want everything in one person straight away even though not many in that mould exist and I may not be worthy anyway.
I engaged in some self talk telling myself to be less critical and more open, and I spoke up and asked if he’d be interested in catching up the next weekend we were free (he has part-time custody of his children).
He said yes and leaned against my car, pulling me towards him and locking his lips with mine. After a couple of exploratory kisses he grasped my breast and I could feel the hunger building through the pressure of his hand. It was too early in the piece for me to reach correspondingly for his groin area so I felt around his bony spine and shoulder blades with fascination (I’m distracted at the most inappropriate times but my mind wandered to thinking if his hip bones would hurt if he was on top of me – only one way to find out).
But I felt some things happening inside, and one of them was satisfaction at my maturity of committing to see him again. It’s not forever if it doesn’t work out during the test ride.
He sent a message one night when I was at the gym and resting between sets. I was moping and missing the Country Boy, and it seems also not in the mood for using punctuation properly.
My last message could and probably should have been interpreted as mean of spirit but he accepted it as the provision of sound advice. Somehow, an hour later I was preparing to meet him at the park — my heart wasn’t in it but I wanted to be distracted for a while.
I arrived at the old haunt and scanned the place like a detective just in case the Country Boy was there — I haven’t contacted him again and still don’t know the protocol for custody of shared meeting places. He wasn’t there and it’s the site of most of my sex life so I staked my claim.
OMG arrived and we stripped off our pants in the back seat of his car. His cock slid in and out of my mouth. My clit got friendly with his tongue. His hand stroked his cock as mine rubbed his balls. He penetrated, I twisted an abdominal muscle while scrunched against the door. He came.
A moment later I was thankful for the darkness hiding my facial expression when he asked, “Do you think I have a problem with premature ejaculation?”
My immediate answer was going to be, “Well, fuck yes, I’ve got the vaginal equivalent of blue balls here,” but hurry up brain, please give me something that’s more kind and productive.
To buy some thinking time, I asked when he last ejaculated; he said he hadn’t masturbated for almost a week. I ended up replying with something along the lines of, “You might have had some build-up there and we exchanged a lot of highly-charged messages earlier. If you’d wanked then, you probably wouldn’t have been motivated to catch up now.”
Good answer. I gave myself a mental pat on the head.
Now, to expand on the conversation and look for ways of alleviating my frustration if we see each other again.
He thinks he can get himself off and remain interested and awake enough to meet me afterwards. I remain skeptical but perhaps it will work if there’s a couple of hours between his self love and our exchange of loving feelings. Or I really need to secure a longer block of time with him and remind him of the joys of seconds and thirds.
