Pokemon Go is Stopping Outdoor Adventures

I’m wedged firmly between the gaming eras of Space Invaders and the Assassin’s Creed series but I somehow missed Pokemon the first time around.

However, I’ve become quite the self-proclaimed legend on Pokemon Go through necessity.

NZ and I were messing around in the back of his family transporter, parked adjacent to a sports field and walking path. The sky was a moonless black and we huddled in the bubble of his car because the air was almost freezing outside. No one else was around. No one else was silly enough to be out in the middle of winter.

We had removed our pants, keeping our tops and socks on in respect to the chilly air (or to German porn). I wriggled as far up the floor pan of the car as I could, with NZ wedging himself as best he could between my legs. His tongue and fingers started my slide into a dreamy reverie.

Lights suddenly flashed outside. I sat bolt upright, convinced we were surrounded by police.

“What the fuck is that?” I said, pleasure forgotten.

NZ unwrapped his limbs and looked out the side glass as well. Three mobile phones and dark silhouettes were moving towards us at an unescapable pace. I wondered if the owners of the glowing gadgets could see our outlines through the clouded glass. Towards the left, more blueish-white orbs of light from mobile phones bobbed in the distance. We were surrounded.

NZ pulled a blanket over our bare skin (yeah, officers, we were just having a semi-naked picnic in the back of this car). As we awaited our fates, a sedan drove into the car park and pulled up suddenly. No one got out. Thirty seconds later, it drove off again.

The holders of the mobile phones got within 10 metres of us before veering to the right and then turning vaguely towards where they came from, as if chasing invisible butterflies. They flitted away into the distance. The sedan returned a few minutes later, stopping briefly and taking off again. It returned another time before disappearing.

NZ and I discussed what might have happened. Short of looking for aliens, the best reason I came up with was that people were looking for a lost dog. That didn’t explain the stopping-and-going of the car though. NZ seemed to hope they were outdoor perverts like us, but with thicker skins. We gave up pondering and tried to return to our intended activities. I was too scatter-brained to relax and NZ’s dick went up and down like a see-saw. We finished each other off with our hands, cleaned up and vowed to get a hotel room next time.

The next night I watched the news and the lead story was about the Pokemon Go craze sweeping the country. The footage showed tribes of people roaming around at night, phones glowing in hands while capturing animated insect things. Ooh. I texted NZ with the explanation for the previous night’s happenings.

I downloaded the Pokemon Go app and learned enough to catch a few zubats and ratty critters in my neighbourhood. I haven’t returned to the car park NZ and I met in but something tells me that it was a Poke-stop and the adjacent areas were rich with rare Pokemon.

I can’t wait until the craze is over.

It’s been a long time since I rock’n’rolled

I’m up to my eyeballs in technical writing and hearing the plasticky sound of my thumb hitting the spacebar once more might send me mad, but I felt like checking in and thinking about things other than executive summaries and customers’ hot buttons (no, not those kinds). It feels like bumping into a long-lost friend and there’s so much to catch up on but words are trapped by awkward silence while trying to compress life into a few conversation points. At least I can write a few paragraphs and log off until inspiration hits again, unlike real life where phone numbers are exchanged and promises of keeping in touch are made but never seen to eventuate.

So, the Country Boy story continues. We hit the old roadblock of one of us wanting a bit more and one of us being content with a bit less so we wandered apart again. In the weeks afterwards, I spent about 10 minutes on the online meeting site over Christmas and decided to give up the life for a while and concentrate on other things (retrenchment in a shrinking job market has to be one of the most effective ways of killing a person’s sex drive). And the frustration of theoretically having lots of time on my hands to misbehave but spending most of that time fretting about my future wasn’t good for anyone around me. I’m also hitting that stage of life where maturing has evolved into ageing; it’s like someone has put detergent on the slide into menopause and I’m careening down the slippery ramp a bit faster than I want to acknowledge.

But even with that cocktail of self imposed and forced drama and stagnation, the Country Boy returned and helped me decide that a bit of something great was better than a lot of nothing at all. We reunited at the park in a state of heady anticipation while summer’s sun refused to grant us the darkness we needed to sort things out. I think I ended up facing the passenger seat of the car with him behind me, but perhaps I was on my back and he was skimming the sunroof from on top, who knows. He also did a few home visits to help with some work on the house related to his trade and hung around afterwards for ‘payment’ of the kind where he wouldn’t accept money. We joyfully bartered physical acts in exchange for holes drilled in the wall and joinery components in little bags … Oh, that twenty-cent bracket must be worth riding you against the bed head until you explode, surely?

Then the work finished and he disappeared. Neither of us has ever disappeared without communication and I wondered if he’d changed his mind or something personal had come up. I sent a couple of text messages but never heard back so I let him go again and got on with less interesting priorities. A couple of months passed and one night The Drummer brought in a crumpled scrap of paper that was addressed to me. The Country Boy had lost his phone and didn’t know how to get in touch so he left a note on the door step. It worked when re-establishing contact with his mates and he thought it might work for me as well. Unconventional but effective. I sent him a message and we sorted ourselves out yet again — the sorting out in the back of a delivery van was particularly productive and I’ll have to tell that story another time.

On the work front, I have been picking up some contracts as well as setting up my own business. The lumps of money and positive feedback from contracting have been good but now I’m enjoying the opposite problem of earlier in the year in being too busy and feeling rundown. My goal is to manage more of the work and do less myself and I am spending frenzied bursts of time on freelancer web sites imagining the promise of virtual help. It’s kind of like online dating though where many profiles are full of falsities and contradictions that make me close the screen and walk away. But, like with online dating, I’m sure the answer will come when I’m about to give up.

Talk soon.


The tables have turned

The Drummer received a message on a meeting site where he has an inactive account. A local woman who wasn’t responsive towards his profile last year had a change of heart and got in touch with him.

You know when someone has gone out for a quick introduction and hasn’t returned hours later that something enjoyable might be happening? Yep, he got lucky.

He backed up with another visit to see her the same weekend; I was supportive and delighted that he’d met someone but felt slightly apprehensive that so much was happening in a short time. Was she a psycho hose beast? Clingy? Or just plain content and wanting seconds?

She is about 10 years younger than him, recovering from a painful relationship break-up and looking to sample the delights she finds in the online world. She seems to be in a mindset similar to mine of a few years ago where new experiences were to be had for the having, regardless if they turn out positively or more as lessons in life. She has another man or two on the go which has tempered my reservations that she might be a psycho hose beast.

I laughed wildly when he returned after the second meeting and said it took a long time driving around to find somewhere private in the great outdoors. Like in the last post, shit, I understand the frustration of public spaces being used by the public for their intended purposes rather than smut. She has a house nearby but it wasn’t available so they needed to furtively scratch about for an alternate venue.

A few days later I was at work when she visited The Drummer at home. My first thought wasn’t about someone entering my territory but rather if the house was clean and did he remember to leave a towel out in case she wanted to shower? I guess that means I’m comfortable with our new arrangement to use the house even if it isn’t to my direct advantage just yet.

Everything’s changed but nothing’s happening

I haven’t written for some time because I haven’t been active or looking for activity. Things have changed on the home front though.

One night I was at home, doing something relaxing like reading a book, and The Drummer said he had something serious to discuss with me. I couldn’t tell from his body language if serious meant a jocular discussion about a lack of chocolate in the house or a truly serious issue. I turned my attention to him and hoped we were running low on chocolate.

He said he’d been reading some old posts on my blog and wasn’t aware I’d once invited Mr OMG into our house. I experienced a moment of wonder that two people could have an important conversation after which one has no memory while the other has down-to-the-sentence recollection. I explained that I once had his blessing to invite Mr OMG, however, he wasn’t comfortable with the arrangement afterwards and I returned to my nocturnal life in car parks. Shit, I don’t dodge sporting teams and others looking for mischief at the park because it’s invigorating and good for addressing my lack of patience.

We talked further and he said he was fine if I invited someone over. I’m glad for the additional – and comfortable – venue but I had to laugh that I now have all the facilities I need when I am at the tail end of my adventurous period.

The unexpected conclusion to this post is that he utilised our (reciprocal) offer first.

New year, new cheer, new look and all that


I was messing about with WordPress templates and this was the least worst of the freebies (don’t get used to it as I’ll no doubt change my mind). The current trend of clashing typefaces and over-sized headings upsets my sense of balance. I’m no graphic artist but it’s almost worth blowing my anonymity to buy a customisable template.

Happy new year and I wish you good health and many opportunities for misadventure. I’ll do my best to revert from amateur-level analysis of typography and return to professional-league smut. I think the Country Boy is working one day next week when his workplace will be quiet; perhaps this will be an opportunity to pay a visit.



I’ve been away and inactive on the man front so don’t have a lot to report. However, I have tidied a post sitting in the (now empty) draft queue from an episode in the car.

He finished with a long shudder and stayed in my mouth until he recovered. I eased myself up and my eyes met his.

“Don’t think you’re kissing me!”


My mind raced with so many thoughts I couldn’t catch one and shape it into words. Haven’t we done this dozens of times before – and kissed afterwards? Are you really that keen to disassociate yourself from potential homo-erotic connotations? You realise you taste just fine? Does this mean in future I should spit your cock out of my mouth when you’re close and you can tidy up your own belly afterwards? Or perhaps I’m the one with boundaries so flexible and warped that almost everything seems normal these days?

I have no idea.

He’s spent plenty of time between my legs with his tongue everywhere it can go. I’ve urinated on him, squirted on him and we had an unfortunate incident with anal sex when my body wasn’t empty enough and he dealt with the aftereffects better than I did.

We all have illogical quirks that we don’t just to justify to anyone, but I am curious. Maybe I’ll ask next time we’re in the same situation.

Hello, I’m still here.

I haven’t had much to say and there’s only so many ways to describe car sex without becoming repetitive. There hasn’t been much sex anyway as I was sick and now the Country Boy is ill; with luck there will be some action in the week once I’m over another illness, and my period and whatever else gets out of the way.

I’m not settling into my new job as quickly as I had anticipated (this is my third job since starting the blog so I really need to stick with this one). My manager won’t spend time to get me up to speed while the culture is to spend as many hours in the office as possible. I’m spending too much time bored as fuck and not enough being productive, which is the reverse of what I’m about when people give me money in exchange for my daytime hours. The upside is that I’m waiting for my overseas training schedule so there could be some travel to the northern hemisphere in the next few months.

The Drummer almost met a woman but she became flaky before the meeting stage and didn’t contact him until the morning of a proposed meeting. But, in a late-breaking update, they have arranged to meet for a drink tomorrow so I hope they get along well.

The Drummer and I have been making some attempts to be more physical with each other and I’ve been reminded how well he knows me orally in the most spectacular way. On one occasion I laid around in bed for a while before getting in the shower and saw a concerning amount of flaking skin on my breasts. It took a few moments of worrying about allergies or a disease to remember he had come on my breasts and I’d left the fluid to dry. Next time I’ll shower quickly and save myself some unnecessary shrieking.

Apart from that, NZ has been in touch but he has been sick as well. His last text also asked about not using a condom if we meet and I really don’t know what to say to that. I appreciate his trust, but I’d rather keep myself clean (mentally, so I don’t have to think about where I’ve been). I’m still in touch with Jekyll but we haven’t met yet as our schedules haven’t matched. I think we’ll say hello in the next fortnight and see what happens from there.

I’ll be back when something happens.

Blasts from the past

I haven’t disappeared; this post has been in edit mode for a couple of weeks after a crapload of freelance work hit me just before I started a new job.

Some people from my past have been returning to the orbit in subtle and obvious ways. Mostly it’s been good.

Army Dude

Army Dude and I have been in touch for our now-entrenched Tour de France discussions every June and July. After a few days of messages he invited me to his house on his day off. Apart from me being busy in my resignation period at work, I didn’t know how to say I wasn’t keen on a once-off interaction without sounding unreasonably uptight about it. He has moved house and I’m not sure if his wife is working so I imagine his opportunities to misbehave are few and far between. 

The one who got away quickly

I was reading the weekend papers recently (I know, it’s old school) and someone I met for lunch once was gracing the cover of the weekend supplement. What the hell, the ones who reject me are now haunting me in full-colour imagery.

He was the man who provided every obvious clue that he couldn’t flee quickly enough, but I was quietly glad as it saved me an uncomfortable exit. One of the  jobs in his online profile was ‘acting extra’ and he seems to have scored a gig in a stock photo of a nightclub security guard.

The paper may have later been used to wrap kitty litter.


As well as being stuck in the old world of newspapers, I don’t have Facebook or many other forms of social media apart from LinkedIn under my non-dirty blonde identity. I was at a meeting recently and re-acquainted myself with an industry contact who reminded me of Jekyll (similar average height and lean build, attractive, well-cut silvery hair, nice tie) and it prompted me to look up Jekyll on LinkedIn.

He’s been active on there and I spent a few minutes checking out what he’d been up to and reading testimonials of his work. I logged off from my surreptitious snooping and pondered if I should make contact or leave the past alone. However, I hadn’t considered that he’d have a paid account and could see that I’d been fishing around.

While I was contemplating whether to make an approach or not, he sent a contact request with a note saying hello. It was brave of him considering we haven’t spoken for more than three years and I hadn’t sent a contact request after looking at his profile.

I responded positively and we’ve been e-mailing most days. It sounds like he hasn’t had a lot of luck meeting like-minded kinksters and is missing the physical side of his life. I’m not sure what will come of our contact but I feel good about being in touch.

I mentioned to The Drummer that he’d made contact, and he said, “Is that Mr Crisco?”

Um, yes *blush*.

Lay back and enjoy the ride

The Country Boy turned the lever to push the car seat as far back as it would allow while cranking the recline dial to maximum. One second he was upright and talking to me and the next he was laying back saying, “You never know what’ll happen to a man in this position.”

Yes, I do know! It was one of those moments I wished he could see the non-stop reel of crude thoughts scrolling in a fast forward, high-definition montage in my mind.

I snapped back to reality (reclining, aroused man with mischief on his mind) and said, “The first thing that should happen is your zip needs to come down.”

He completed the task before I finished the sentence.

He knows I have a thing for feeling his cock through fabric and he left his underwear on to indulge me. I felt the hardening lines of his shaft and he widened his legs to allow access to the softer areas. After teasing him a while longer I peeled his underwear down and saw the reclining, aroused man with mischief on his mind sporting a monster-sized erection.

What to do? What to do?

Ride him, damn it.

I was wearing a long skirt and scrambled to ditch my shoes and pantyhose (how I wish stockings and suspenders were more practical to wear in the daily world). With the folds of my skirt in one hand I traversed to his side and used my other hand for balance while I positioned my feet. His erection had softened while I messed about but something about me hovering over him brought him back to hardness soon enough.

After lowering myself to take his full length in a fit of enthusiasm, I sprang back up from discomfort as I wasn’t ready for his size. He thought the first deep penetration was a hint for more and helped me down again while I resisted and tried to control depth. We sorted out a compatible rhythm quickly and he came after about a dozen thrusts. Thankfully I’d relaxed enough after a few strokes to come a couple of times as well.

He said he was disappointed in a way that I had come because he had other plans for me, but my world was hazy and sparkly and he is saving his plans for next time.


We met at the park and squeezed in about 15 minutes of show, tell and touch time in the car before visitors arrived for a function at the nearby clubhouse.

I don’t know what was going on in there but it wasn’t an ‘arrive and leave at the same time’ event and the procession of cars was disrupting our routine. Our routine was me demonstrating my skill at removing work pants while in the driver’s seat of my car and him interrupting by inserting his fingers inside me and causing me to forget why clothes were important. I guess it was my fault because the easiest way to take off my shoes seemed to be by flinging my legs around the steering wheel and leaving plenty of space for his hand to wander. He was flexible enough to bend and use his mouth on me for a few short moments until the headlights of yet another car killed the darkness.

He laughed at my building frustration but shut up after I removed his cock from his pants and used my hand on him. The only words he was soon capable of were, “We need a bed. Privacy. Space. A fucking bed.”

After several build-ups for me with no relief, I passed the stage of wanting to orgasm and was full of tetchy non-specific energy that needed using. I asked if he thought I’d fit in the passenger seat floor pan. He pondered why and I said I’d explain if I could manage to squeeze down there.

It was only after I half-turned, straddled and slid between his legs that I realised getting into the small space was going to be easier than getting out. He realised quickly that my mouth was at the perfect level to suck his cock and didn’t seem to be thinking at all about how I’d get out. I kept the thrusts with my mouth fairly short so my head didn’t bob above the line of the window, however, as time and his excitement levels progressed he straightened his back and met my mouth, holding my head to stabilise me. I gagged a few times as he was thrusting ferociously at this stage but I held tight and waited for the extra feel of hardness in his shaft that precedes his orgasm.

His breathing became ragged and I knew he was close. He started to say, “I’m going to ….” but the sentence turned in a plea of “DON’T MOVE!” I couldn’t move anyway as he was spurting in my mouth while a car pulled up alongside us. I was trying to hold his cock in my mouth while trying to swallow, he was trying to come silently and we both willed the people in the car to fuck the hell off. After what seemed like an eternity he said it was safe to breathe and move again. I swallowed and laughed because the timing couldn’t have been more inconvenient.

It was his turn to laugh next as I tried to work out how I was going to get out of the floor pan. The front of my thighs and the front of the car seat matched like a good Tetris play and I wasn’t sure how I was going to straighten my knees to slide up the seat. I extended my legs as much as I could and pulled myself up using him as a lever. He flipped me around to the driver’s seat after an unplanned interaction with the handbrake and sat me back where I started. It’s not a manoeuvre I’d like to perform every day but it’s good to know there’s another space in the car that can be used as a portable bedroom.

By this time I was content in having seen him but he told me to put my pants on and get out of the car. Curiosity, of course, won me over. My pants didn’t stay on long as he pulled them to the ground, pushed me against the side of the car and worked my g-spot until what I thought was a small spray hit the bitumen. He kept going and my head was spinning and I don’t know if I was upright or flopped like a soft toy by that stage. The fourth release felt like it ripped me open and I felt fluid rush down the inside of both thighs to my ankles. I wanted to see how much I’d squirted on the ground after that flood and then realised my pants were technically still on. I pulled them up and the wet patch was larger than a dinner plate, which made sense because the bitumen was dark and wet in front of and behind my legs.

We admired our handiwork until I really had to put the cold and wet pants back on and drive home. He had made a good point earlier that we need a bed and privacy soon.