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.

I’ve emerged from my sick bed and can speak briefly without coughing spasms and the thought of performing oral sex is starting to re-gain some allure. Somehow I evolved from no voice to rasping voice and I’m displeased about that — after three weeks, my untended pubic hair has grown unthwarted by illness yet I don’t even get a husky voice for a few days as compensation.

Young Lion has been sending obscene text messages and we have been trying to organise a day to catch up, but our timetables aren’t agreeing. He called yesterday to ask if I’d like to hear him orgasm, and I took evil delight in saying I was in a train carriage with a hundred complete strangers and would he like me to turn on the speaker phone? He scurried away and later sent an audio message.

Pleasure Freak sent a message about catching up and had forgotten all about the hotel dealbreaker (or I’ve met him at short notice in the past and he’d thought he’d try his luck with my inconsistency). I let him know that I was looking for someone more regular and he sent a “?” in response, as if I were verging on insane to not want to see him; a few days later he asked how my luck was panning out with my search and he was free if I was. I like him and his optimism but a couple of months is long enough for intent without sex, however, I feel weak sometimes when he gets in touch.

Mr OMG did a better job of trading in on my inconsistency without even trying. He called and I ignored the phone, but I called him back half an hour later. My resolve is growing! After receiving some excellent sympathy for the state of my voice, the conversation took a turn.

Mr OMG (while he was masturbating): So, we’ll have to talk more about what you said about anal sex.

Me: Huh? (my next job won’t be starting a phone sex empire)

Mr OMG: Last time you mentioned you were interested in having me inside your arse. You know, getting you all wet and excited and then sliding the head of my cock in slowly and …

Me: Who, me? I have a near-photographic memory but I don’t remember that conversation.

A few seconds passed in silence.

Me again: Ohhh, I remember now. You must’ve had me very aroused.

Me again: And I said I’d happily die trying, didn’t I?

Mr OMG: Yes, you did.

We finished the phone call without discussing when we might see each other. I didn’t mind. I’ve seen handballing videos with men’s arms up to the elbow in other men’s backsides so I know intellectually that taking him is possible, but the little voice in my head is discussing why I ask for crazy shit without considering the reality.

This weekend I’m meeting two of the men mentioned in the last post: the outrageous one if he has recovered from a virus, who behind the initial approach is an over-achieving, smart single man about the city and now I can’t fathom why he made contact because there are many available women outside his own door step. He’s suggested dinner and a movie which is messing with my pre-conception that he was playing a numbers game and we’d probably be a once-off event. I need to stop overthinking and just meet him for a drink — my mind is playing catastrophising tricks at the moment and making me doubt everything I do. The single man with his own place is confirmed: we have flirted mildly for a few days and I’m looking forward to meeting him, no tricks of the mind, which in my mind probably is a kind of nasty game. I think a firm spanking will help smack the suspicious paranoia out of me.

I keep writing self-indulgent drivel and posting privately. Here’s the readable version of where things are at. I’m still sick and have no brain capacity for a thoughtful title, either.

Mr OMG is as flaky as ever. We’ve been a few weeks without contact but I bumped into him at the shops last week and he was charming and overjoyed to see me. Then I didn’t hear a word after I sent a follow-up message. I keep telling myself I want him more than he wants me and I need to get over it, but I’ll distract myself with others instead.

I haven’t done a thing about finishing up with ArmyDude either. I met his wife inadvertently the other day: I was pulled up at traffic lights, looked to the side when I heard beeping and a woman in the next lane was waving at me. While I was wondering who the hell she was, ArmyDude leaned from the other side of the car and waved, too. The family that waves at me together stays together, it seems. I returned the waves and smiled and waited with knuckles clenched for the lights to turn green so I could hot-foot it in another direction.

My phone has been deathly quiet since I put Young Tradesman, Pleasure Freak and Young Lion on notice that the next catch-up will be some hotel hours. I don’t know why but this amuses me. To Young Lion’s credit, he did some homework and suggested a day and a hotel but later said he only had about a third of the cost because he was low on cash. It’s kind of sweet how reality keeps getting in the way of his no-holds-barred enthusiasm. I was going to book somewhere anyway and take him for a test run, but every acceptably dodgy place was booked and I need to be mindful of my own fiscal responsibilities at the moment. His next suggestion was to meet at the beach and he’d pound me from behind, but I’m too delicate at the moment to think about getting sand in my nether regions.

My online membership has two weeks before I’ll let it revert to unpaid member status (it doesn’t greatly affect the ability to communicate as no one replies when I initiate contact, but I’ve paid mainly as an indicator that I’m not a time waster). I re-activated my profile the other day and a few interesting types have dropped by to say hello. None are within an hour’s drive or have much intent towards ongoing situations, but two or three caught my interest out of curiosity value.

One sent an outrageous message with his phone number and I countered that he hadn’t verified I was female, let alone seen my pictures. He didn’t care because he was convinced he’d like me. Perhaps being caught in my own stresses and snot at the moment is attracting me again to full-of-life, unbreakable types whose energy I can steal or borrow temporarily. Another is built like a bronzed god, possibly thick as a plank of wood but wants to bring me soup until I’m well, take me out drinking and then rim me senseless. He might be a fun diversion. There’s another man but it turns out he lives in the same place as Country Hottie; that’s going to stay a one-man town for me so he has to go. The last at this stage is a younger single man who’s moved into his own house — we’ve had some relaxed communication and I need to sort out his sexual interests but I think we’ll have drinks next weekend when I’m human again. Oh, and an interesting man with a penis and a vagina sent a smile and I really don’t know what to do — I mean, I’ve thought of umpteen things I could do with him (seriously, spend a few minutes thinking of the combinations with a man wielding fully functional male and female genitals), but no idea whether I’m taking his approach seriously which will lead me towards what to do as far as replying.

I discovered a new industrial estate less than 10 minutes from home the other night. I wasn’t exactly out looking for sites but Young Tradesman got back in touch when he was passing through my area and trying to convince me to leave the house and join him. We didn’t do much that warrants recollection but nearly all of the warehouses and showrooms are new, lacking security cameras and I didn’t see any mobile security patrols during the time we were scouting around (no wonder we didn’t do much that warrants recollection as my mind was wandering to how I might utilise the site in future and if the territory was ‘his’ seeing as he found it). On the other side of the road opposite the empty buildings, perhaps five acres is levelled, cleared and pitch dark at night. I think it’ll be good for at least six months with the current economic malaise.

The next day I thought of a scenario I’d be interested in trying. I could be inspecting some of the developments as a site to start a business and something goes wrong with my car when I try to leave, or perhaps I’m waiting for an hour-afters appointment with a real estate agent who has just cancelled. A white delivery van (with a floorpan in the back long enough for people to lay down) pulls up … this is realistic and situationally safe because one of the existing businesses on the street has a fleet of white vans for food delivery and we wouldn’t stand out if discovered. The driver and possibly his co-driver (I keep thinking about two men at once at the moment) offer assistance but I say I live locally and will call a friend to wait with me until the tow truck arrives or whatever continues the scenario.

A struggle ensues and my captor/s drag me into the back of their van and they drive somewhere within the complex to have me as they wish. I think this time I would be subjugated quickly and embrace the principles of pleasure rather than an entrapment based on rough treatment.

I think The European would be perfect to make this happen but we haven’t been in contact since our roleplay. I’m not sure whether to get in touch with an outline. I could hire the transport and he said he had attractive, sane friends if ever I was interested in a multiple-partner activity. No harm in asking, I suppose. I’ll think about it.

Let me pretend I thought about this for more than five seconds. Country Hottie had a few days off work and invited me to visit him. The last weeks of my resignation period have been filled with ostracism, politicking, lazy bastards trying to involve me in their late projects so the soon-to-be absent me can take the blame on their behalf and some constrasting heartfelt support and kindness from others that has had me hiding tears too regularly. And I have three months’ sick leave because I’m usually conscientious and sick leave isn’t paid out on exit. Easiest decision ever. The hardest part was deciding what to take.

I experienced a pang of guilt early in the day and hoped like hell I wouldn’t be involved in a bizarre event or car accident that made the news (a friend once skipped work to see me when I was living interstate, and it was the day a baggage handlers’ strike broke and she was seen standing in the airline queue on the TV that night; another was featured on the front page of a newspaper after a photographer snapped him enjoying a ride at an agricultural show instead of being at work), but today space junk didn’t fall from the sky on my head and  traffic parted like the trip was meant to be.

I arrived and Country Hottie said, “So, what was this plan you had in mind for me?”

I replied, “Massage you and jump you.” I considered my bluntness and lack of detail and added, “I know it’s a simple plan, but simple plans are often the best.”

He said he wasn’t good at trying to be submissive and I negotiated impatiently that all I wanted from him was to relax and be still. I’m not sure if grinding his groin into the mattress while I was massaging his backside was relaxing either of us as I was getting awfully distracted, and by the time I had oiled his feet he was rubbing them over my breasts, but he tried to relax and not participate, I guess. As I rolled him on his back and worked from his thighs to his upper body, he had me flipped over, pinned underneath him and was sliding his slippery chest along my body.

I have little gaps in memory and the order of events, but before I showered I remembered remarking that I was covered in oil, sweat, my own wetness, squirt juice and the semen he massaged into my breasts when he came on me.

At lunch we had a heart-to-heart talk and he said he had no problem meeting switched-on, attractive women but their sexual conservatism has been a deal breaker. One considered having her hands bound beyond her limits and they said they wouldn’t consider indulging him in his BDSM interests if in a committed relationship. None would support him seeing other women with an interest in fetishes so he could feed that side of his sexuality elsewhere. I said his situation was a reminder of the fortunate position I was in and that breaking free of ego issues and social conditioning got easier with practice (and making the most of my side of the bargain) but I could understand how a lot of women don’t learn to both merge and separate love and sex. I said my problem is that I struggle dealing with people and the sex isn’t usually a problem as it doesn’t often get that far. We sighed and decided to make the most of the day and return to his house.

Part of the afternoon was spent seeing the other women’s point of view: I was sitting on the edge of the lounge with a large dildo in my cunt surrounded by a dozen clothes pegs attached to my labia and clit. My hands were tied behind my back and he was standing in front of me with his cock sliding in and out of my mouth. If I allowed his cock to fall out of my mouth, he would smack my breasts with a riding crop. I let him slip out a couple of times to test the water and the strikes were firmer than I wanted to tolerate; he also gradually leaned back so I had to bend to not lose his cock, which made the dildo start to slip. Very clever. I’m the first to agree these games aren’t everyone’s idea of a good time and the breadth of his experience can be intimidating, but seeing him switch to the part of his mind that concocts these scenarios is like opening and allowing part of his sexual expression to bloom.

The last part of the day was spent lying on his loungeroom floor with him on top piledriving me into quivering orgasms every few strokes, thinking the other women have no idea what joys he could give them if they trusted him. He’s healthy, athlete fit, responsive, skilled, open to any scenario and stays hard for as long as desired — communication dramas aside, the man is a human playground and it’s not every day I’m left lying on the floor so exhausted with heart-singing pleasure.

The universe punished me with a rotten head cold the following day that genuinely kept me at home. It was worth it.

I’ve learned to let people down with a brief message and no explanation: the breaking point was that too many times my profile was pinged by people far from my locational boundaries and I replied with a safe, “Sorry, you’re too far away,” response. Many decided conquering a few miles would instigate true love Rapunzel-style and returned with twice as much determination and promises from everything to driving to see me every weekend to camping in their cars outside my house until I was ready to meet them. Extremely disturbing, and I opted for a less is best approach.

However, someone let me go recently with this message:

No matter how tempting you and I are to each other I don’t think sweet talking you into progressing is the right thing to do. I admire your honesty a great deal and I would have absolutely loved to feel my hands firmly all over your body but our circumstances just don’t permit greater contact. I can’t guarantee work or distance won’t conspire against us again and it is a great pity. Good luck gorgeous, you’re really something.

It’s a bit flowery and I don’t expect this level of contemplative prose, but I almost don’t mind being dumped with that kind of style.

I’ve had problems in the past few weeks managing someone I didn’t meet. My gut feel told me something wasn’t right — we spoke on the phone and he laughed too quickly at my jokes and agreed with everything I said a little too hastily. I felt uneasy afterwards but overruled my intuition by convincing myself I was being critical of someone who might just be nervous. The next time I logged in to the dating site I saw he was viewing my profile and photos at least once a day, which creeped me out to put it mildly. I sent him a message with a cancellation of our plans and ending contact, except I included the explanation that his constant viewing made me uncomfortable. I paid for it.

~~~

I have looked at your pics several times because you are very attractive. Many women will simply not put up pics or they display simply a close up face pic or close up of some other part of their body – not very helpful. Your profile is also very entertaining, you may not have any idea of how much better it is that the VAST majority of other women’s profiles I’ve read. The whole thing shows some thought has been put into it.

Anyway, I am sorry if I worried you with looking at the profile and I will stop if that makes you feel more comfortable.

~~~

He came back.

I thought a fair bit before sending this email because even though I know you hardly at all, I get the impression that when you make up your mind, it stays made up and thus you probably would not re-consider meeting me. However, I decided to contact you because I was genuinely interested in meeting you.

I can guess at three reasons why you decided to discontinue things (of course, there may be others): I freaked you out by looking at your profile so often and asking questions; you met someone more suited to your needs; or you felt uncomfortable in terms of things with your partner. You are the most engaging person I have met and I probably didn’t convey to you just how much more appealing to me you were compared to other women with whom I had corresponded. Maybe I struck you as just too keen, too eager, maybe desperate because I checked out your profile so often, but that was definitely a reflection of finally finding person who seemed a pretty good match. I also looked at your profile a lot simply to check details; as you know, you look at a few profiles and they tend to blur after a while. So, not desperate or some weirdo stalker, but someone who was genuinely delighted to find someone who shared the same interests as him. I would have explained all this you had we met and had the vibe been ok.

Anyway, that is where I was coming from and I was disappointed when you decided to finish up contact. I do understand if you just don’t have the right vibe from me but I am wondering if you would reconsider meeting, just to see if things might work?

~~~

And again.

I’m definitely not trying to annoy you, or even hurry you but I am wondering whether or not I should be interpreting this as an Ominous Silence? I’ll obviously understand if, having thought about things, you do wish to cease contact just wondering where you are at? For what it is worth, I am still interested in meeting, just to see if there is some chemistry between us.

~~~

And, yes. Again.

Are you sure you want to cease contact? Like I said, I am definitely not trying to annoy or hassle you and I am prepared to be patient, I understand that these things take time. I don’t want to freak you out but can I share something with you? I have thought a little bit about what we might do together – don’t worry, I don’t sit around all day fantasising, but I do let my imagination out for a bit of a run every now and then. And in so many ways you seem to be interested in what I like and you have definitely captured my interest. I know we have not even met and there may be no chemistry but like I said, much of what you have said you like I would really like to do with you / to you / have you do to me; you get the idea.

So, I would like to meet and despite the fact that I sent that email earlier this week, I am prepared to wait, especially if you think you might like to meet me, just to see how things are between us. If you need more time to clear things up, that is fine, I have been involved in this sort of thing for long enough to know that you do need to think about things before acting.

As I said in an earlier email, you are so far in front of the other women I have met in terms of having your act together and just being a decent, well adjusted person that I am definitely prepared to wait and take things at your pace.

~~~

He’s back.

As usual I did think a bit before sending this email because I don’t want to freak you out or cross a line into really pissing you off. I’m just wondering if you are still considering meeting? I am hoping that you are if even if you are still making up your mind; I’m just wondering if you could give me an indication. As I said in my last email (which I am not sure you received), I can be patient and I am definitely not trying to hassle you.

If you definitely don’t want to meet, just let me know and I won’t contact you again but if you do need more time, let me know with a quick response to this email and I’ll wait. Remember, I’m just talking about meeting for a drink – nothing more – something we came close to doing. By the way, I did just have a quick look at your profile again, to see if you had changed anything or closed your account and yes, I had a quick look again at your pics.

I am not annoyed at not hearing from you or anything like that.

~~~

I ended up responding to the last message, repeating no more contact. He returned before I managed to block every form of communication.

I emailed you again because I simply wanted to clarify what was going on. Something to keep in mind next you stuff someone around.

I’ll take the personal attack in exchange for a guarantee he’s gone.

I am craving many things at the moment.

I am craving a hotel afternoon in a spacious and luxuriously-appointed bed, with a sturdy and comfortable couch, large shower and hours with the door shut to fuck and cleanse and recover and eat and drink wine and fuck all over again.

I am craving Mr OMG’s bare chest against mine. This is not a healthy craving but I wonder if acknowledging a weakness makes it more or less weak. I keep thinking about him sitting with his legs bent and lowering myself on him and feeling glorious warm pain that I never want to end.

I think I am craving to be fisted by a woman with refined fingers and a slender wrist.

If not, I’ll crave being fisted again by a man.

I am craving lying sideways, being embraced by two naked men, feeling the erection of the one at the front grinding into my pelvis, and the hand of the one at the rear reaching around and massaging my middle places into alarming warmth and wetness. His hand will brush the other’s cock because I want them to also crave each other.

This leads to my craving for double penetration.

I am craving the man I met at a party. I don’t mix my social life with the pursuit of sexual partners, but he bowled me over with attraction and the more we talked, the more I wanted his expressive hands caressing my backside. This craving needs to subside in its own time because he was visiting from interstate and staying with a dear friend who doesn’t know of my nocturnal hobbies; the potential complications were too many. I only went that far in my thinking because he liked me, too.

I am craving someone regular. I am adapting to having casual suitors flitting around but they are still ancillary to my desire for someone who wants more than rushed basics. Pleasure Freak, Young Lion and Young Tradesman are on notice that I’m not seeing them unless it’s to indulge in my craving for a hotel afternoon.

Just as I was leaning towards the negative in regard to a casual future with Young Lion, he sent a message complimenting my skills with my mouth and how rare it was for his cock not to be grazed with a partner’s teeth. After thanking my lucky stars it wasn’t just me who found manoeuvring his size a challenge, I did a little strut of pride around the lounge room because I have it, people, even when I think I don’t. But seriously, for me, a compliment after a sexual experience is worth ten times more than one given in the lead-up because the motivation is much purer.

As Dave said in a man’s perspective on oral sex (in my favourite new blog and hurry and write more please), “Most people probably do think that they’re amazing at it. Most of these people have also probably been with guys who will praise their partner in order to get future blow jobs. It’s a vicious cycle. One that doesn’t lead to many people advancing their blow job technique, which is unfortunate.”

I’ve never had the gumption to rate or talk up my technique with a potential partner and I truly don’t know how skilled I am. With my courage in seeking new experiences comes an equal dose of insecurity that still accompanies me on my travels. Porn is hardly a do-it-yourself guide to self improvement and I’ve never been in an F/M/F threesome to exchange handy hints on the spot with another woman (damn, because it’s a good idea come to think of it). All I know with certainty is that I enjoy sharing pleasure and I’m observant to a partner’s verbal and physical responses during exploration. My pervey side finds watching a man masturbate arousing on its own and also lets me see the places he touches — I’ve never met a man who indulges in much foreplay on himself because they tend to go straight to what works .

(From my side as the potential recipient, I don’t listen to any man who says he’s great at performing oral sex on women and those on the dating site who market themselves with variants of  ‘love giving oral for hours’ are sent to the blocked list. The female anatomy is a tricky and temperamental piece of equipment — even when getting myself off, what worked yesterday won’t be what I want today. Immediately before my period I crave clitoral stimulation from a vibrator and a week later I want the whole damn lot. And now. While I prefer experienced partners with a broad repertoire because I might discover something new and I enjoy several non-standard activities, it’s my responsibility to communicate rather than expect a stranger to have the road map to a new and dangerous country plotted.)

ArmyDude has never reached orgasm from my oral sex alone — after a year of experimentation I doubt my technique sucks (apologies for the awful pun) but his sex life is limited mainly to masturbation; the sensations of a set of lips and different hands feel exquisite but don’t finish him off. M1 expected me to find what worked for him with little communication and I’d receive a spanking or paddling when I couldn’t get him to orgasm. One night he became angry and impatient and gave me some hints: how the fuck would I know that his dick needed wrapping in a handkerchief and then jiggled like a tea bag in a cup? For Jekyll, any attention was positive attention. His cock was on the smaller side and I could usually take it all in and lick his balls at the same time — he loved that visual and I enjoyed his enthusiasm and quick recovery time so we could do it all again. Country Hottie can be tricky to keep erect but filthy language works a treat although it’s hard to spew gutter talk with a full mouth. He prefers to fuck anyway, unless I am getting it wrong.

I was in Pleasure Freak’s car this afternoon (I know I said I’d lost patience but he got me at a moment I was on the road and ovulating) and I had a magical time exploring him on the back seat with his legs wrapped around my shoulders. He was so responsive and full of praise and up for anything that it was my pleasure to be let loose on his body. I don’t know him well enough to judge if his exaltations were bribes to encourage more or if his words were real but I was so turned on by the end that he fitted four fingers and the start of a fist inside me without lubricant. It doesn’t mean I’m the “ohhhh you’re such a great cocksucker” he shouted when my mouth was stuffed with his cock and he was near orgasm, but I’ll be volunteering to spend more time down there if the opportunity arises. He also had the perfect finger length to find and work my g-spot in a matter of seconds and actions often mean more than words.