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*.

Saying no, saying yes, and saying sorry


I also said no to Mr OMG. And I meant it, but only temporarily.

He must have woken with an erection that needed taming as his first message arrived at about 7.30am. We organised to meet the same night at the park and I was torn between rushing from work and the gym to be on time, and wondering if he’d follow through because he’s backed out of our last couple of meetings.

I was leaving work when he said a family issue had come up and he had to postpone. I was disappointed but took the opportunity to slow down and watch True Blood with The Drummer when I got home. Alexander Skarsgard was naked on the screen, so all was not lost.

About 10 minutes before the time OMG and I were originally meeting, he sent a text message saying he was free and if I’d like to still catch up. It was cold and dark outside, Alexander Skarsgard was still naked, as was Ryan Kwanten, and I was enjoying just hanging out at home. No. I’m tired, I’m cosy, I’m not in the mood for re-finding my enthusiasm.

His messages became more urgent in tone and ended with exclamation marks, and I thought, Dude, I know the fun stuff isn’t going to last more than 30 seconds after a day’s build-up so come back when I’m going to be more than a quick-access orifice. He wandered off for a few days and returned today with a brief message. I’ll taunt him one afternoon and see if I can catch up with him another time.


Long time no hear, but he’s well and we’ve expressed interest in catching up. He’s been interstate and impossible to tie down (figuratively) so I guess we can wait until his life is more settled. (Edited to add: I received a message last night saying he has family visitors arriving and may be free in mid-September; I’m glad my life is a lot more flexible.) I don’t think I told the story here about our aborted night at the football oval the last time we met …

Army Dude

I haven’t typed that alias for a long time.

We exchanged a few Tour de France-related e-mails (it’s strange how a fringe sport here has unintentionally bound me to almost everyone from my present and past). In the back of my mind, I have always felt hypocritical that I didn’t end things cleanly with him, and the feeling has been more pointed of late after taking Country Hottie to task for similar behaviour.

In response to his most recent e-mail, I took the opportunity to write the best explanation I could for my past evasive behaviour and I apologised unequivocally. I didn’t expect to hear back but I was glad I finally gave him the respect I thought was owed.

I heard back about a week later asking for advice on a professional issue, however, he wasn’t going to ask because he didn’t want to jeopardise our friendship. He didn’t mention my e-mail as he was using his work account, so I think I can assume my apology was accepted with the spirit that was intended.

More bits of the puzzle

The Drummer asked if I had “any gentleman callers” scheduled for last weekend and I almost thankfully said no — I was more than fortunate the previous weekend, my period was almost due and his comments regarding jealousy still echoed as a reminder to be discerning. As things turn out, I said a few posts ago that I should make more female friends and since then invitations have arrived for birthdays, housewarmings and an engagement-cancellation party(!)* over the next few weeks and I’m trying to work out when I’ll have time for misbehaviour. The universe listened a little too closely to my complaints.

ArmyDude: I was planning to end things with him in the next week but — and this is the universe again — we have been placed in the same project team at work. Oh, goody. That’s another thing the women’s magazines don’t warn about when fucking workmates: how to choose the most suitable (or least worst) time to exit without bumping into each other after the bad news is dealt. It was going to be a long project but now it’s not because I’m in charge. I don’t know what’s happened to my desire for him; logically the reasons we were together haven’t changed but my desire for him sexually has decayed to reminiscences. He is the same but I am not.

One saving grace is the constant buzzing of his mobile phone when he’s been around — I have hope he is in the early stages of another fling. He also sent me some ‘new’ full body photos that were several weeks old and I suspect they’re leftovers from a profile he’s created on another site. I hope this is the case selflessly because I wish him nothing but fulfilment, and selfishly because if another is distracting him then potential backlash for me might be minimised.

Mr OMG: Of course, he’s gone again. I already knew beforehand that the quicker we got together, the quicker he’d disappear again. I sent him a testing-the-water message a few days after we met and he didn’t reply — the message contained a question that anyone with a pulse would respond to so that was silence enough for me to keep moving on. Last time I logged into the dating site he hadn’t blocked me but had closed his new account — again. Puzzling man.

Pleasure Freak: We still haven’t met since the first time. He blusters in with big ideas such as asking if I’d like to go with him to a mixed night at a gay sauna (sure, why not?) and if I’d like to watch another man suck his cock (again, sure, why not?) but disappears after we agree tentatively to meet and sends a message the following day asking what happened. I’m not investing any more mental sweat in him.

I might be due for a dry spell. There’s a young lion about town who’s interested in being dominated and hasn’t shied away from some of my ideas (even the concept of orgasm control, which scared away some of the others who didn’t discern the difference between assertiveness and dominance — I am educating the youth of today and possibly scaring them for life). He seems to want to see if I can manage to dominate him rather than choose to gift himself and this mindset seems topsy-turvy in the way I approach sub/dom mind games, but that’s a confusing essay for another day. I do like his pluck in saying I could either dominate him or have him fuck the daylights out of me — he may need to learn that both are possible at the same time.

I’ve been in contact with someone else but we have never got around to meeting because of distance and mismatching availability, but we have become quite close for two people who haven’t met after six months. He is enthusiastically bisexual according to some interesting action shots he sends occasionally and he’s responded positively to some of my more unusual photo requests — not everyone would humour my tiny evil side by coming in his hand, transferring semen to his mouth and sending a photo.

It was my turn to return the favour and yesterday he asked for a video of me pissing. May I say that was a challenging task for a person with only two hands and without an external organ. All I will say to aspiring water sport self-photographers is to take a B vitamin the night before for improved contrast against neutral shower tiles, and kneeling while leaning backwards seems to give the best angle with the least risk of spillage on recording equipment. I also recommend having somewhere to put the camera aside with the clean hand as there’s no use getting out of the shower until the mess is washed away. He sent glowing praise though and I have gained another skill I can’t put on my resume. We might catch up in a few weeks when he returns from elsewhere because I have plans for him.

* What gift might one buy for a newly-single man? I was thinking condoms, lube and a subscription to the dating site as a joke but he is a serial monogamist and already has a new girlfriend.

Jigsaw puzzle

A few pieces need to be put in place.

ArmyDude: He is back but dropped by the office unannounced three times in the week of his return and hovered aimlessly when other people were around. I read him the riot act about taking unacceptable risks and asked for some breathing space. He agreed quickly but has sent messages daily and I need a break; he is also having serious problems at home and I’m not comfortable with his boundary management at the moment.

Country Hottie: I sent him a photo of nipple clamps attached to a place I don’t have nipples and he responded awfully quickly like Pavlov’s randy dog. We set a date to meet, he became more flaky than my current temperament would tolerate and I let rip with a message calling him a slack fucking bastard who needs letting go, among other less politely worded things, and I walked away. I felt better after clearing my air, he chose to keep hanging around for now and I’m going to be tied up and spanked a pretty shade of scarlet next weekend. I like him more now that I have acknowledged I don’t really like him.

The man with potential from a few posts ago: We agreed congenially and with a hint of regret to stop before we begin. His diary is a ferociously full beast and, with three weeks passing without a spare few unplanned hours in his schedule, I let him know that things weren’t going to work for me, much as I’d like. There is enough intent without availability in my life without adding to it.

Pleasure Freak: He’s new. He sent a message. I replied that I was growing tired of attached men whose concepts of having time for flesh-and-blood pleasure were illusions and I’d leave it to him if he wanted to get in touch. He sent a nude photo instead. I sent him one from work. He sent another from his car. I enjoyed his sense of daring. We met yesterday and I was almost felled by knee-buckling attraction. He almost thankfully wasn’t quite as handsome as his face photos, but in the lovely paradox that looks don’t always equate to attraction, every girl hormone in my body started having a wild party. He is tall and dark and rangy with broad shoulders and a small arse cupped by faded jeans and emits sexuality that I really and truly want to explore. I held back and looked for clues of what was going on in his head; at one stage he touched my arm as he stood to get something from his car and the girl hormones started somersaulting and doing backflips. Later, he asked if I was keen. I paused to manage some nerves, stared in his eyes and said, “Yes, very much so if you are.”

We talked until a few minutes before he had to go and I made him late for a function because we started kissing in his car and it all felt so very, very good. He made himself even later when he said he was going to wank quickly before leaving. I asked if I could stay and perhaps help because I like watching men masturbate (especially attractive men with high sex drives who have sent nude photos and are right in front of me). He pulled down his jeans and I asked if I could touch and taste. He, of course, said yes. I wrapped my lips around the top of his deceptively thick cock and wondered how I’d manage to fit it in, even with more time and a less cramped position for devouring him. I wasn’t able to wonder long as he gave warning signs of orgasm and I let him escape from my mouth before he came up his belly. I’m trying to behave and not do too much on first meetings with those I want to see again. I am cautiously optimistic (and want his cock inside me in many different ways).

Mr OMG: Ha, now how did he sneak in? I ‘accidentally’ clicked on his profile I’ve been ignoring and he sent a smile the following day. Now I wish I hadn’t, and he hadn’t. I sat on my hands and pondered whether to re-open the not-quite-healed wound. I ended up sending a guarded message to which he was brave enough to reply and we spoke briefly on the phone last night. He is a beautiful man and the centre of a thousand fantasies but after a somewhat awkward conversation (which had to end abruptly and was left open-ended) the reality is that I’m not sure I want to see him. Months after we met the first time he is still drifting and doesn’t seem to know what he’s looking for. I think I don’t want him and I’m too surprised by that thought to believe it yet.

Forecast postscript: No, I don’t have ESP; I think tomorrow I’m going to contradict my last sentence.

The Drummer: Last week The Drummer and I were having a heart-to-heart talk about his mental health, and a side issue that caught me by surprise was his admission of jealousy towards my other life and the opportunities it affords. He is losing his masculinity and sexuality on an increasing dose of anti-depressants; he has (we have) a long and tough journey and I’ll never give up on him but this week I wanted be somewhere else, live someone else’s life and not have to be the parent, the boss, the leader, the guide, the decision maker for a partner who has lost himself. I need someone strong, too, but I look around and the only place I see that kind of help is in the mirror and I am sad.

I didn’t have a response to address his jealousy but the next day I said to him all I really want with the others is something along the lines of what I had with Jekyll, who was around but we weren’t in each other’s faces, and we could mix up the car parks and hotel rooms and go to town on each other in any way with firm boundaries. I don’t have that at the moment and my other life is not all he is perceiving it to be. The majority is just chasing and distractions and misplaced hope. I get nervous meeting new people and cynical from knowing that the intentions of most online aren’t what they appear. I get a little house crazy some weekend nights if he is working and my closest girlfriends work nightshift and a couple of other friends disappeared after I entrusted them with my other life secret. I feel lost and probably in need of more female company sometimes. Some men are mindless diversions, like the stripper, and it’s so easy that it’s not fun. If I could have anything sexually, it would be more of him as my partner, away from the grip that medications have on his sexuality, and perhaps one other to fill the urges for controlled insanity, and that would be it, but that’s not life at the moment and so I will roam with a heart equally weighted with desire and discontent, but I will stay home tonight because my eyes are red and puffy from purging this.


We found a handful of hours to spend together before he leaves town for a few weeks.

No resentment about unresolved issues and meeting others; just kissing, sucking and fucking to re-establish simple pleasures. I was ill and incapable of much beyond languid appreciation and he led, accommodated and fulfilled gently.

I wobbled a little as I came when on top in a 69 position. His cock was still in my mouth and I was grateful for the miracle of sex that keeps delicate parts safe when everything around them is contracting.

We fell into a side-by-side interpretation of a 69 and I admired the lines of his legs as we feasted again. He laid me on my back and entered with less discipline but asked if I wanted him to stop. No. Please, no. I abstractly observed the movements of his body and appreciated his more energetic taking of pleasure until he finished and collapsed on my chest.

I’m looking forward to his return rather than looking to avoid contact. We’ll sort out the other things when he comes back.

Bullshit detector — on

I was given a whole week’s respite from ArmyDude’s campaign to hunt for threesome partners without a plan.

I wasn’t able to visit him the other night and he sent a message saying it was too bad. I thought he was teasing in a sexual manner and asked playfully why he said that, hoping I’d hear something along the lines of I’m missing out on his hard cock and wet tongue. Wrong. He replied that he had created a couples account on a different site and wanted to borrow money from me (his wife runs the ministry of finance at his house) to pay for a membership so we could contact new people.

And, yet, he still doesn’t reply when I ask how. the. fuck. is. he. going. to. escape. to. meet. and. potentially. spend. hours. missing. from. home? Oh, and when was he going to ask my permission to use my identity? Fuck me. He backed off and said that he didn’t actually want to meet people. I called him on the bullshit of why would he pay to contact people mindlessly when he can read all the profiles and view all the pretty pictures he likes for free.

He’s either in denial or lying his arse off and using my details to differentiate himself from the solo men, or is using others as wank material when he’s home alone with no intention of meeting them. Both are unpalatable to me as is his reluctance to be frank and honest but wanting my passive involvement.

The crack is opening. And I really need more control over my sarcasm at the moment.


Over the past couple of weeks I’ve been involved in more admin than action with ArmyDude. After he cancelled the meeting with the possible third person, we had also planned tentatively to meet a couple the following week and I was to contact another woman he’d been in touch with to prove I did indeed exist. After a couple of dozen indecisive messages the night of the first cancellation he asked me to postpone the couple and the woman for a week, yet we still didn’t have any kind of plan for getting him out of the house safely in future.

I hit my limit of crap, cancelled them all and ignored him for a couple of days. The project was becoming bigger than the underpinning reason for being together.

I said no to his next invitations to meet and reluctantly yes to a third when I’d worked out what I wanted to talk about — it was hard to convert “I dread hearing my phone buzz at the moment because I know it’ll be you” into language and intent that wasn’t so heartless.

I dropped by his house and we sorted a few things out on the chair of his study when his head was between my legs and his fingers were working my cunt and anus. I made sure to do most of the talking to avoid interrupting his work.

We agreed on more while I was on all fours on his bed and he was fucking me from behind and pulling my hair.

I disagreed with his proposal to stick his cock in my arse without lubricant — his response was to flip me on my back with my legs in the air and fuck me while standing at the side of the bed with my feet curled around his neck. I keep forgetting about this undervalued position until I’m in it and remember the pleasures of being able to feel so damn good while watching the show in front of me.

He later suggested we suspend the shared online account for a while and get back to basics. I could only nod assent because his cock was in my mouth and about to erupt down my throat.

All in all it was a successful meeting, however, I zoned out a couple of times during sex and don’t know why. I over-compensated by participating with more energy so he wouldn’t notice my mind wandering. I hope it’s just post-crapfest comedown.

I can give you reason to be nervous

I still don’t understand why my phone sits silent for days and I suddenly hear from several people at the same time. I spent a fair part of last night preparing for my first home visit with ArmyDude as the guest of honour. I was a wreck by the time I finished washing linen, making the bed, stocking up towels, finding scent-free soap for him (ah, the considerations of fucking married people), shopping and filling the fridge to prepare for dinner, agonising beforehand for hours about what I might make for dinner for someone I know so intimately but not well when it comes to the domestics and, of course, tackling the most dangerous job of scrubbing the computer’s insides of all traces of my other lives in case he wanted to check the shared account together.

He had an alibi that allowed him to also set up a drink with a woman who had expressed interest in us. Five hours before we were due to meet I received a couple of texts saying he was convinced his wife was acting suspiciously. I thought he was projecting his own nerves but I happily gave him the option of deciding to proceed or cancel because he is taking the greater risk.

For the next three hours he disappeared from phone contact, and I knew from experience that he was cancelling but didn’t know how to break the news. An hour beforehand I received a message saying he felt more comfortable cancelling. I didn’t mind: I’d already prepared mentally for a no-show, dinner was almost ready, vibrators were fully charged and the thought of a freshly-made bed was hardly the end of the world. He sent another half a dozen messages apologising and saying how bad he felt, which started tainting my accepting mood. He got the message when I sent a terse “No more apologies, please.” Go away!

At the same time, Pierce came back in a mix of optimistic pleading and anticipated rejection. He unfortunately was at the end of a cycle of meeting people mindlessly and I didn’t want the reminder or to try to start again. Whatever was causing me to lash out with the wrong people seems to have settled for the time being. I’m probably in the opposing mindset of wanting nothing more energetic and safe than lounging in the winter sunny window like a neutered cat, but that’s bound to change soon enough.

The woman I’ve been trying to make contact with also sent an e-mail citing great amounts of nervousness about meeting one-on-one. She suggested we meet at a swingers’ night as the surroundings would be less stressful for her than at a cafe. Really? I could easily get offended if I think about it too much.

To top off my night, a message saying hello and enquiring about my wellbeing landed in the phone from an unknown number. I asked who it might be. Low and behold, it was Mr New Year’s Eve from … let me count with two hands here … oh, six months ago. I asked coolly if he’d mistaken me for someone else because we were meeting last Christmas and he cancelled the same day and disappeared. He bravely (or stupidly) responded and claimed nerves but he’s back now and ready to meet. Again, really? That’s nice. I struggled to contain my sarcasm said it was a shame that people becoming paralysed by nerves sure seems to happen a lot. He didn’t come back. I’m a lot of things but six-month-old bargain barrel slops isn’t one of them.

The treble — fail, ?, ?

This time last week I was primed with superfluous energy and looking for somewhere unsuitable to expend it. This time this week I couldn’t be arsed. And men say they don’t understand women …

If you saw hell frozen over last night it’s because I said no to ArmyDude. Get out! I know! He was messaging excitedly and incessantly about us potentially meeting a couple, but shied away from logistical aspects such as when he could escape home safely to meet people about 90 fucking minutes away and, oh yes, I just got access to their private gallery and experienced an instant case of anti-wetness in my central region when I saw the man of the duo. He went into a defensive ‘oh my god, she’s turning into the fishwife’ mode and didn’t reply to my messages yet hours later came out of hiding with a hard-on and invited me over. I thought about it and couldn’t be bothered. Wanting low maintenance needs to work both ways.

I could be meeting the pierced man tonight. Our last contact was left open-ended a couple of days ago as he suggested meeting at my house and I insisted on a neutral place first. I don’t know if a lack of repsonse means that he’s fine and we’ll sort out a meeting point on the day or he’s not happy with that.

ETA: he’s just let me know when he’s free tonight — I must be getting old and out of touch with the she’ll-be-right communication habits of those a dozen years younger *smiles*.

In an act of masochistic game playing I can’t quite drag myself away from, I had Country Hottie pencilled in for this weekend but again he hasn’t confirmed anything beyond, “Hey there, sounds great, will be good to see you, I think this day will work for me xx.” I think more than anything I’m curious about why he swathes non-commitment with flowery niceties that I’m the most special person on earth when we’re both aware I’m not — I’m the loan girl. I’ll absorb his attention gratefully, of course, but it means nothing without follow-up. I think he runs the same attractive, charming cad who makes ’em feel good routine on everyone and I’m just still stubborn enough to think I can manage him in my way.

ETA: I’m a bit gobsmacked as he has just asked what time I’ll be there. Roadtrip here we come. Note to self: take more notice of what I just wrote about him getting away with caddish behaviour. I rest my argument on my relative detachment and desire for some bondage — I was sorting through a bag of equipment the other day and lamenting I haven’t played with ropes and cuffs since probably the first time with him.


I received a message from ArmyDude saying he was free the following morning if I wanted to drop by and ‘borrow some books’. I organised a time and let The Drummer know I’d be out doing a house call when he returned home from a late shift.

ArmyDude had already selected a couple of titles in order to maximise lustful opportunity time. I had my period and wasn’t inclined towards managing the logistics, so I dropped his jeans, sucked his cock and tongued his balls with a level of intentional deliberation and care that was making him impatient. He smelled clean and soapy and had shaved off recently and I was in no rush. Still, I was in and out in less than half an hour, keeping the alibi legitimate and giving us a pleasant start to the day.

I returned home and The Drummer asked if I’d had a good time with ArmyDude. I said I was bleeding so I sucked dick and did some shopping and got petrol and washed the car on the way home; he didn’t hear a word after I said “sucked dick” and ten minutes later he was in front of the computer watching porn and nursing a hard-on. I rubbed his balls as he masturbated and he said, “Here, have your second load for the day.” I didn’t have a chance to object or laugh at his porny dialogue as he was joyous at taking a short time to reach orgasm (he’s changing anti-depressants and can take up to 45 minutes to finish a simple wank). I guess that was a win/win of sorts.

The same afternoon Country Hottie asked if I was free next weekend — I’m not sure I’ll hear from him after I suggested his communication needed work after he disappeared last time he was in touch. The young tradesman I mentioned earlier seems keen for anything, anywhere, anytime and the pierced man is back in touch (he wants to know if I’m up to being fucked anally — he has several ball-ended studs in his shaft and I’m somewhat curious in a masochistic, death wish kind of way). I don’t understand why this all happens at once.