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.




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.

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.

And might still be new

I hadn’t heard back from the Country Boy for a week and was wondering what had happened this time. He’s not vicious of character enough to build up for two months and then disappear after one encounter so I considered a change of heart or being taken by aliens — the usual wanderings of a confused mind.

Just as I was clearing the emotional decks and thinking about my next move, a message arrived from his work phone saying his personal phone couldn’t be resurrected after breaking and he hadn’t heard from me. I don’t think I’ve been this happy about a mis-communication for a long time.

We’re trying to line up a day to see each other this week and build on our last meeting. A bed behind a locked door would be ideal but I’ll be more than pleased with a car in a quiet car park.

On to what’s happening with the blog, I’ll keep it open as I enjoy the thinking and writing but it will continue to be a quiet place. The days of having quality and quantity in this part of my life seem to be over so I’ll focus on the quality when I’m fortunate enough to enjoy it.

Everything old is new again

After he finished with a last driving stab he said, “I wanted to last longer but nothing was going to stop that.”

I said I didn’t mind because the intensity with which he was shoving his cock into me was becoming almost too much to tolerate. While I craved as much as I could handle because it had been so long, the reality was that I hadn’t adapted to his size and needed a break from the sensory overload. His orgasm was the easiest way of ending my internal argument about whether to continue or take a breather.

I came to my senses and looked at the mess below me: one shoe on and one discarded so I could get my pants off; pants half-way down one leg and the hem of the other leg held in my hand, half my underwear on and other half lost in my pant leg; glasses over there somewhere and possibly a red indentation on my forehead from being bent over a stepladder and using the top rung to steady myself. Some scenarios make perfect sense at the time (“Hey, of course you can bend me over this stepladder but let me just push it against the desk so it doesn’t shoot into the wall”) but look a trifle confusing on inspection afterwards.

We tidied ourselves and talked about everything but us before he said he should go home. While a little earlier I thought I was being dealt almost too much, I was ready for round two but the new and lower maintenance me put a smile on my face and said it was great to catch up again.

So, yeah, the Country Boy seems to be back. I don’t have a conclusion to write because I don’t know what happens from here. We had exchanged text messages for a few weeks and were warming to the idea of seeing each other again (he was keen from the outset but I was slower and more wary), but yesterday he invited me to visit his office as he was working on the public holiday. I was free and couldn’t think of a reason to say no, so I said yes.

When the shit goes down ya better be ready

There is no secret that I feel a tiny bit anxious and perhaps even a tad stressed when looking for a new lover.

I was doing something benign and unrelated the other night – probably brushing my teeth – and the thought occurred that I was looking forward to meeting someone. The thought wasn’t bound with conditions or doubts; it was just a clean and clear flash of hope with a trail of warming optimism. I must have been brushing my teeth as I then remembered looking in the mirror to make sure I was still myself.

Of course, things changed the next day.

In less than 10 minutes I decided to meet Seven, I sent The Drummer a message to let him know I was organising a drink for that night and, oh, the Country Boy sent a message or five. He leaves me be for several weeks when I want to know what happened and then lucks on the precise time I organise to meet someone else. I have upgraded the firmware on my phone and text messages now scroll line-by-line at the top without opening them; the downside of this nifty feature was that I could see an essay of the last few weeks’ happenings unfolding, together with a never-ending editorial about how I had failed him.  Each line brought me closer to tears but I quickly confirmed drinks with Seven before I could change my mind and throw the damn phone in the bin.

I read the Country Boy’s messages properly: his horror year continued with a family emergency on Christmas Eve and it was the first Christmas Day without the family member who passed away recently. Once presents were opened and lunch was cleared, he appeared to have drunk himself into trying not to care any more.

He was upset with me for breaking my agreement to take it easy on each other and he said any meaning behind his absences was in my head only. He concluded by saying if I meet another man interested in a threesome, he’d like to participate (I don’t know where that came from).

I replied later that night to address some of his points and I also said it was too early for me to consider his request to stay in in contact. He came across as immature and still feeling sorry for himself at times and I need to maintain distance until we are more resilient. I would never tell him what to do but I think he needs to look for and meet other women when he’s ready, not for me to rub in how fantastic and suitable I am by comparison (although I have to admit that would be my ideal outcome), but maybe there is someone else who is content with what he can give.

To return to the initial point of this post, I met Seven for a drink that night and will write about that next time.


I started this post in the week prior to Christmas and kept adding to it. It’s up to date now, unfortunately.

I’m reading between the lines of his alternating enthusiasm and absences that he’s again struggling with grief, unsustainable working hours and other pressures that are pushing him back into a depressive hole. One day he’s promising to catch up, the next he’s forgetting to cancel and leaving me angry, and I haven’t been shy in telling him how his self-absorbed behaviour has affected my planning. Something was invariably going to snap because at the moment I don’t have the inner resources to be his stabiliser.

He sent a long and rambling message that I should again consider someone who is more available and reliable, but he didn’t end things or reach any kind of conclusion. I could sense from his up-and-down pattern that this message was coming, but I was angry before all else that he seemed to be leaving the decision to me. I wrote back with some thoughts and stubbornly didn’t offer which way I was leaning. He fired up at my suggestion that perhaps he should seek someone else who doesn’t want much of his time – it wasn’t my fairest fighting, but I hope it stops him saying what’s best for me.

We agreed to sleep on it. I want to keep seeing him and work through this ongoing rough period, but I’m wary as his return to normal life has no end date at this stage. I am equally tempted to pull up stumps and tell him to leave me alone as I can’t deal with the upheaval again, but I know after a few days’ relaxation both of us will probably regret rash actions. However, if we keep limping along, our holiday rest might make everything artificially salvageable until he is thrown back into his overloaded routine.

I’m happy to enter battle as I’m harbouring a lot of work and seasonal tension that wants an outlet, but I have no idea what I want to fight for or against. I am going to wait for him to make the call.

Postscript: I softened and he softened and we agreed to take it easy on each other during our holidays. I sent him a message a couple of days prior to Christmas and hadn’t heard back by Boxing Day, so I sent a message saying I could deal with challenges but not a lack of communication so I would leave him in peace again. He didn’t reply and I still wonder what happened. 

My sense of observation is usually crystal clear when reading other blogs and knowing when people’s attempts at re-uniting won’t work, but I ignored the signals in my own situation. We weren’t going to last long if the circumstances causing our problems weren’t resolved so I set myself up for failure again and let hope overrule logic. I will never say no in the future if he is organised and stable but I think I would probably feel guilty for not supporting him more at this time. Regardless, I need to deal with the current situation and move on.  

I don’t have any posts in my draft pile so things might be quiet here for a while. I’m not in the mood to do my annual review or things I’d like to do in the coming year (‘not make too many mistakes’ and ‘find someone nice’ hardly comprises a list).