I ended up being convinced the following week by Young Tradesman that catching up at short notice was a good idea. I’d had a rough week and was fractious, didn’t have other plans and needed a break from some after-hours work I was doing. We agreed to meet at the same industrial estate as last time. The car park alongside one building was still pitch dark and not monitored by any form of security.

Here is where I gained more empathy for people who keeping making the same mistakes and not learning from their life’s lessons, because after 10 minutes I remembered why last time I said we didn’t do much that warranted mentioning. Hope and optimism tend to cloud and overtake memory and past experiences. I was bored shitless because it was all about him and little — apart from a probing finger a couple of times — about me.

After a few minutes of kissing and grinding into each other against the side of his car, I received the cursory explorations with his finger and I was suddenly glad I only showered and didn’t perform the entire depilation and preparation routine I mentioned a few posts ago. My return on investment would have been appalling, and even thinking in those terms made me realise I should make this a quick time rather than a good time and head home to bed.

He agreed quickly to tearing his jeans off and laying across the back seat of his car and I immersed myself in tonguing his balls and sucking his already iron-hard cock. He shifted my head lower to rim him and lifted his backside to allow me access. I truly didn’t know or remember him having such a hairy pathway from his balls to his anus. My tongue was shredded after only the second lick to try to moisten the area. I managed to tongue fuck his arse a few times before he pulled my head up to suck his cock again. I returned to my earlier ministrations and tuned in mentally to his car’s radio while I was sucking. The radio announcer’s voice was tinny and I wondered why Young Tradesman owned a nice, late-model car that was fitted with such a poor quality stereo system. I realised I was disengaging from the simple pleasure of sucking a cock and set myself the goal of finishing him off in the next three songs.

I failed in reaching that objective but I wasn’t entirely to blame. He pushed my head down a few times to see if I could take all his cock (almost, and I probably would have if I wasn’t grumpy about him being presumptuous by pushing), set me to licking his balls again and shifted to allow me another shot at his forested arse. He must have sensed I wasn’t going to return for another bout for a long time and he was dragging the experience out as long as he could. After about the fifth song I put on my dirtiest voice and said I’d really like him to come in my mouth. He tried turning a quick exchange of words into a conversation, and I replied with, “I want you to come soon in my mouth because I want your tasty come. Now.”

The most interesting part of the encounter was watching him masturbate the head of his cock in tiny jerking movements because I’ve never seen that technique before. I regretted earlier when rousing him that I said his semen tasted clean and healthy, because it didn’t. The sour spurts made me regret I was leaning forwards and had to taste too much in my front and side tastebuds before swallowing.

He put his clothes on, we kissed goodbye and I went home. The end.

It’s only taken me a couple of years to realise, but the last-minute booty calling night of the week is Thursday. The last week has been an accidental sociological experiment because I’ve been exhausted from learning a new job I think I won’t tolerate for long, managing some nasty PMT and my period and I haven’t initiated non-essential contact with people for fear of wanting to bludgeon them. Here are the results of laying low for the week.

Monday was a non-sexual chit-chat day. There was no contact except from The Bachelor to discuss a serious sports injury he incurred on the weekend that will keep him from physical activity for some time. Damn. He’s interested in visiting the bondage supply shop with me though so that might be a fun afternoon out — the trip would be better if we could have sex immediately afterwards and I might delay plans so we can incorporate both activities.

Tuesday was a quiet day of reflection. I thought about how long it’s been since I last had contact with Country Hottie (a couple of months) — I sent the last message to him and I’m leaving him well alone. The Executive also didn’t respond to my last message a few weeks ago so I assume he’s disappeared as well.

Wednesdays are usually a mixed bag. When I had someone regular like Jekyll, we’d be lining up a short-notice meeting or planning for the weekend; with my current situation the middle of the week is often quiet. Young Lion broke the trend and came crashing in with lewd messages and a new voice recording. He spoke my name a couple of times and it was touching that the message was made just for me but a tad disconcerting to think someone’s out there making customised wanking messages. Don’t say it with flowers; say it with orgasms. In all reality, it made my day to check the phone during lunch and have to stand still while listening in case I fell over from surprise and redistributing blood flow. And then step out of the sandwich queue so I could listen again.

Now, let’s see what happens on a Thursday. People’s thoughts wander from the current routine of work and already-fixed weekend plans and focus on when guaranteed sex might feature over the next few days. Someone I’ve been in touch with for months but is a three-hour drive away suddenly decided that finding a way to meet on the weekend was the best idea ever. I had too much to do to clear a whole day and didn’t feel comfortable organising hotel sex with someone I haven’t met so we delayed that idea.

Pleasure Freak suggested an outdoor activity even though the day was blindingly hot, but it had to be that afternoon because he was scheduled for a vasectomy the following morning. I had to laugh at his living life to the full attitude but suggested a sunburnt cock might be hard to explain to the surgical team. He saw a little bit of sense in that reasoning but I don’t know if he chose to wank in safety or tried the park toilet block for a stranger anyway.

The bisexual man I mentioned a while ago who lives in the city also suggested we find a park to meet in for an outside scenario. He thought a golden shower outdoors was a grand idea, however, thinking with a hard-on tends to exclude the finer details of planning like taking water, wet wipes, towels, a change of clothes and whatever else might be needed to even contemplate pissing on someone away from the luxuries of home.

Young Lion came back and we have agreed tentatively to a hotel evening in the next week or two.

Young Tradesman returned from who-knows-where with some of the friendliest messages a girl could ever want to receive and ran off when he read between the lines that I wasn’t inclined towards launching myself at him on the spot. I was bleeding and tired and couldn’t be bothered, but I learned that using the word ‘period’ in a message sends the fly-by-nighters away remarkably swiftly.

Mr OMG sent an unexpected message asking if I’d like a late-night visitor. My alarm goes off at 5am now so his proposed visit after 11pm didn’t work. And if he’s sniffing around so soon after last time I’d prefer not to be always available so I  have some equality of power (yeah, right). I have a scenario in mind for him involving the trio of oral, vaginal and anal sex that will take a couple of hours to play out, so my period and a quick raid might interfere with my plans if he wanders off again afterwards. I might start planting the seeds of the idea and see where it takes us because I think I’m starting to understand the current workings of his mind.

Friday is variable: extremely quiet at the moment but was busy with post-midnight opportunists when I was in the phases of searching for partners online.

Saturday and Sunday aren’t even worth turning the phone on for. Thank goodness for fingers and lube.

The last post about my lips around Mr OMG’s cock was Fleshbotted – I wish I could tell him! I wish I could fuck him again soon, too, and I have told him.

Thanks to Always Aroused Girl for including me. I had no idea you knew of my humble existence, and now I’m kind of shy and blushing. And I’ve been waiting months for another opportunity to put the fisting advice in your blog into practice.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.