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.

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.

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.


Sorry, I’m continuing this deviation from my sexual diary again, but I need to tidy some loose ends before returning to the good stuff.


I mentioned at Christmas that my mother was ill. All is good now and she seems healthier than prior to her illness.

I haven’t mentioned The Drummer of late, firstly because there’s been no sexual activity with him for a long time, and because I am caught in a bind about how much to write. I need to express something as my partner is part of the whole story and enables me the freedom to live this part of my life, but on the other hand he’s entitled to his privacy and I find it hard to gauge how much to tell.

We have been working through some bigger-picture issues regarding our relationship and are coming from different perspectives: he’s simpler and more open in his desire to stay together for the longer term, but I look at the last couple of years and have wondered many times if the now is still what I want in the future because we aren’t moving positively from a stagnant situation. Also, I need to seek help with how to manage living with his mental illness more effectively. I don’t know if I help or hinder his (lack of) progress and I believe a greater understanding of my role will assist. It breaks me on too many days to see him a shell of who he was. I’ve sourced a counsellor and am going to start seeing her to help gain a wiser perspective because I’m too close to the eye of the storm to see what’s outside its fury.

Things are looking positive for the job mentioned in the last post and I hope to have something finalised in the next fortnight. There will be a lot of responsibility and high targets, but the company has the discipline and processes needed to succeed, so it will be up to me to achieve with them. I hope the offer comes off as I’m excited firstly about the challenge, and secondly about the freedom to effectively be running my own business within the business. A side-benefit will be more flexibility than I currently have to pursue my sex life, so things are looking up in a big way after a couple of months of eking slivers of personal time.

The Country Boy

We are back on track although my suit of emotional armour is a little thicker than previously. The irony of being more detached is that something’s occurred that currently impacts on his family and work, and he should have less time for me, but is making a greater effort to meet. Perhaps we’ll both be freer at the same time in the future and we can enjoy some relatively peaceful time together. His house will also be available for a while in a month or so; I can’t maximise use of a hotel room at present so the thought of being in a house and on a bed is enticing beyond words, and even exceeds the discomfort of knowing I’ll be entering someone else’s territory. I greatly enjoy the outdoor activities we engage in, but I’m reaching a stage where more variety and less risk would be good (having said that, we were more brazen than usual last night and I’ll have to write that story up).


Young Lion has been back in touch. He works not far from my temp gig and has suggested we fuck in a booth at a peep show … I don’t even know if that can be done as I’ve never been in a peep show booth. I must admit to some curiosity to the point I walked past the club one lunchtime, but it was at the end of a lane and some seedy-looking people were congregated at the entrance, so I chose not to explore it alone.

NZ and I have had some phone contact. His wife had a baby so he’s been on daddy duty. His sex drive seems quite high according to some of his messages, however, I’m squeamish because I’d feel I’m taking him away from something more important. He has a genuinely open relationship so any time away is sanctioned, but I find it funny that I’m the one with skewed perceptions and not being able to look past them.

I almost posted this without mention of Mr OMG but he texted yesterday to apologise for his behaviour and said he’d leave me alone. I decided that saying goodbye was his way of saying he didn’t really want to end contact, so I said I’d miss him and would like contact in whatever capacity it forms. He replied soon after so I was on the money with my perception, but I still have no idea of my true intention. My motive seems pure at the moment that I like him even though it’s unlike we’ll meet face-to-face again. Or, I am an idiot.

Future of the blog

Having been deprived of time and energy to spend on the things I enjoy has made me appreciate this quiet space even more. There were some moments I thought of walking away and just getting on with living the life rather than talking about it, but I’m not ready to do that yet.

I’ve been thinking about my sexual objectives for the year (it’s a damn long ride on public transport and I need to think about something), but they haven’t really changed from the things I didn’t achieve last year, such as another threesome. I have decided I’d like to find another girl to make some of the Country Boy’s fantasies come true and I’ll devote some time to that in a few months when I have time. I’d like to explore fisting more but I think the Country Boy’s hands are too thick and broad to fit me, but I’ll never know unless we try. That, too, will have to wait until things calm down as I’ll need a lot of relaxing warm-up time to make the attempt.

I intend to try some different ideas like adding photos more often, but that’s dependent on the usual issues of taking snaps that no one else sees and that can’t be linked to anyone. You should have seen me learn very quickly how to kill off geo-tag data on photos — hello, techno-gadget designers, I *don’t* want the world to know what I’m doing where.

I’m also thinking of how I can open this space up, perhaps to questions and answers (I’m too lazy to open and maintain a Formspring account, and I’ve convinced myself I won’t be asked any questions anyway). Felinus had an intriguing idea about a sex blogger-created site where questions or topics could be posted and discussed or readers’ stories contributed and told — like an open-table forum. I think it has huge potential but I’m good at starting and not finishing things so I’m not sure if I’m the right person to kick it off.

To end, I’ll probably have sex no more than 50 times for the rest of the year according to the rolling average of my posts, so I’m going to make the most of every opportunity.


I’m not sure if the government is drip-feeding testosterone in the water supply or if it’s just the first pleasant hint of spring, but last week everyone came out with grandiose ideas and promises.

Young Lion insisted as a matter of urgency that we book a hotel room next week, Pleasure Freak wanted me to watch him masturbate at a public park/beat, Young Tradesman was hunting for a Friday night booty call, Mogul is in touch (as friends for now) but there’s something happening between the lines in his messages, NZ and I have been talking about setting a date to meet, Steele is sniffing around and Mr OMG has performed his tease and disappear routine a couple of times. I complain that my phone never rings but it seems quite a lot now I’ve typed it.

My first thought was that I wished they were all good and ready to go in the past when I have wanted something. Then I thought, wow, imagine getting them in the same room at the same time for a festival of sex; would life get any better than that? It’ll never happen because they’re all very different people and no one meets anyone in my personal world in case they talk to each other :-), but the possibility and fantasy will keep my mind happily engaged for some time.

Loyalty and consistency first, so I’m trying to find a date when NZ is free. In the meantime, the Country Boy and I took advantage of the sun and ventured outside. I need to start writing.

Secretly, I’m dead*

NZ returned and made contact. He suggested several options to meet but the available time for real sex in his diary was more cruelly limited than the free time for thoughts of sex. After three or four or five cancellations I left him an ‘I’ll leave it with you’ message and wandered off.

One afternoon a message arrived saying nothing but, “I’m horny.” Well, fuck, so am I, and self destructive and angry and depressed and sad so I win. What of it? We are both losing. He flung another message and said he’d bring supplies and drive to my side of town if I found a hotel. I was tired and ungroomed but I found a hotel.

We talked and he showered and I wanted oblivion without questions or intimacy but I didn’t know how to describe these things. I removed the towel from around his waist and buried myself in his groin as a replacement for awkward words. I could be alone there. He praised me and took photos so I pushed him on the bed and buried myself lower where no one would find me. He has the tightest anus I’ve encountered and later on getting one finger in was an effort. My tongue was fine though.

We fucked but he was too gentle. He came and then fucked me as gently with his fingers until small orgasms rippled through my nervous system. His fingers evolved into polished steel pistons working inside my body and my fingers grasped bed covers and my toes curled and my pelvis undulated on invisible waves. I had squirting orgasms without the fluid and I wondered briefly what my body was doing but I gave in and let it come as it pleased so many more times.

The physical releases ripped emotional threads that were already weak and I started crying with long sobs that halted my breath. I asked him to stop and I closed my eyes and hid under the post-orgasm haze until my skill at acting composed came back. He was tactful enough not to ask about the stream of tears down my face that he would have seen.

I feel so full yet so empty sometimes.

*I always thought this was the last line of Liz Phair’s ‘Chopsticks’, but it’s Secretly I’m timid. My incorrect version suits the post title though.

Month of madness 4 — the hotel

It was my turn to host a hotel romp (I don’t think I’ve used that word before) with NZ.

I booked a suitably seedy but clean hotel at a reasonable price, checked in and tucked myself into bed with the covers up to my neck as it was the first cold evening of the year. By the time I heard a knock on the door, my hands had emerged enough to scroll the news feed on my phone and I wondered how my plans for mayhem had descended into everyday domesticity. I redeemed myself by answering the door naked. He was taken aback momentarily but almost sprinted to the shower regardless.

By the time NZ emerged clean and ready for action I was huddled under the covers again and had turned the heater on. He slid beside me and used his hands and lips to bring some warmth to my body. I was thinking I should show more initiative and take the lead on what to do next, but I enjoy hearing him say, “So, shall I fuck you now?”

And I say, “Yes, please do.”

And we did. The evening continued down the domestic path as we fucked in the missionary position the same way as last time and I wrapped my legs around his torso and felt him as deeply as I could. A little avalanche of shuddering orgasms took me elsewhere for a while and he came. Later I used my hand to get him hard so I could suck his cock but he came with my hand, again, the same way as last time.

So much for a romp, but there’s nothing at all wrong with good, basic, enjoyable sex.

I’ll pack the ropes and leather bits next time.

On to other things, there’s a huge gap in my blog reading list. Trumpeter from A Secret Life hasn’t posted for so long, and An Affair to Remember, Naughty Secretary and Salacious Soul haven’t posted for a while either. One of the web’s most thoughtful and articulate storytellers, Laken, has gone private, and I scrolled through my bookmarks and saw sadly that Confessions of a Sinful Wife and The Real Jackie Sampson have closed their blogs. Nightmare Brunette is taking a break so read Charlotte’s articulate memoirs while her blog is still open.

I don’t know if any of you are reading, but thank you sincerely for sharing your lives. Safe travels and pleasurable experiences to you all.

Month of madness 1 — the fisting

I forgot it was my two-year blog anniversary (got caught up contemplating closing this site when some days only nine readers pay a visit, but anyway, that’s an internal philosophical argument and battle of the ego for next month). To celebrate — and because circumstances early in the month allowed — I vowed to say yes to every reasonable* opportunity and see what happens.

I need to eat my words regarding the doubts I had about NZ and his cock. We snuck away from our respective workplaces early one afternoon and spent a few joyous and relaxing hours fucking in a hotel room. He confirmed the date, booked the venue and arrived first to welcome me — appreciated gestures after a harried day at work and to quell the voices of doubt I was experiencing.

NZ has an accent influenced by time spent in several countries, with a slight touch of plum-in-mouth, proper English. Hearing him say, “So, would you like to be fucked now?” in clipped upper-class tones made me laugh but didn’t stop me from saying yes quickly. We started in the missionary position and sprawled over the middle of the bed, wondering what to do with all the available space after two bouts in his car. Pinning me down, parting my legs and entering me was a damn fine start. He thrusted gently until I wrapped my legs around him and encouraged him to go as hard as he wanted. I sometimes don’t know much, but one thing I’m sure of is that I won’t break from penetration.

He was tactile in craving skin-on-skin contact and gripped and pulled me as close as he could as he neared orgasm, and nothing but a layer of sweat separated all our limbs when he came. He collapsed on me and I held him as he recovered.

I nestled into his chest and we laid about on the bed chatting. From nowhere he said, “Would you like me to fist you?” I replied, “Um,” while urging my brain to process his simple yes/no question. One part of my mind said that I needed to prepare mentally for such a stunt, while the other part said to throw caution to the wind. The latter won in the spirit of the month of madness.

I had brought a zip-lock baggie of lubes of the world and tossed him the silicone variety (he doesn’t know me well enough yet to learn about my Crisco research). I began to doubt the sanity of my decision when he removed the entire lid and poured the lube into his hand in preparation for serious activity. I kissed him nervously and laid back with an air of false bravado while my fingers clenched the bed covers.

He fingered and probed and explored and I felt relaxed and open when he was penetrating with pointed fingers. He started massaging my clit with the flat part of the thumb of his other hand and I felt an orgasm building. My reverie was interrupted when he said that I seemed to be enjoying myself. I confirmed his observation and opened my eyes to see his forearm moving between my legs. Fuck!

“Your whole hand is in there!”

“Yes. Didn’t you know?”

“No,” I squeaked.

I wondered if he thought I was a secret rampaging fisting queen playing an innocent act or had a saggy, baggy vagina that could take a human hand with room to spare. He applied more pressure to my clitoral area as he fucked me with his hand and I came while seemingly levitating somewhere near the ceiling. He relaxed the pressure and thrusting to allow me to relax a little and re-applied the treatment until I was an orgasming, giggling wreck again.

“You seemed to enjoy that,” he said as I returned to earth.

“Yeeeeeahhh yeee ha ha ha ha eeeee mmmmm, um, yes!”

Later, as our faculties returned and we had about half an hour left together, he asked if I’d go down on him. I moved into position and rubbed his cock with my hand until he was hard, but the room had gone quiet and he was squirming into the movements with his head back and eyes closed so I continued the gentle pressure and tempo and he came with a dribble of semen down his cock. I was caught by surprise as I can’t remember the last time I got a man off with my hand alone, but whatever I did worked for him.

We showered and returned to civilisation with the intent of getting together again before he goes overseas in a couple of weeks.

*Reasonable is based purely on my definition and mood at the time, but definitely does not include 18-year-olds who call at the last moment, late-night booty callers whose numbers have been previously deleted from my phone, or anyone or anything else that annoys me at the time.

Dick goes up, dick goes down, and repeat

All right, I’ve named the chap from the post on 11 March (attractive, messed about in the same car park as Super Nerd, couldn’t work out how to keep his cock erect) NZ as he’s from New Zealand. My imagination is going to win me an award one day.

He was flakey about when he could meet for a hotel follow-up, however, on a Friday afternoon he sent a message asking if I wanted to book a hotel room that night. Apart from not being near a computer, my waning enthusiasm hadn’t recovered enough to jump to attention and overcome my end-of-week lethargy.

We agreed to meet for a drink and return to the car park for further exploration. A couple of glasses of wine later we got in his car for a drive and discovered happily that the car park was empty. Game on. Our kissing came together much more smoothly than last time and I launched at him quickly because I was aroused as well as not feeling like a late night (I was ready to leave the bar after the first drink but he was more civilised). After more kissing and roaming hands he suggested we walk up the steps to a lookout and fuck on a park bench. Why not? I said.

We traipsed up some steps in the dark, found a bench to our liking and continued foreplay until he insisted on fucking me (he didn’t have to insist, but it sounded good). I removed my shoes, pants and underwear as he did the same and I kneeled on the wooden planks to suck his cock to life. I might have to go to fellatio school as everything I tried had a success rate of between flatline and barely alive. After cupping his balls and sucking consistently for a few minutes, his cock sprang to life with a rock-hard erection and he grappled with a condom and exclaimed that I bend over the bench in preparation. By the time he’d unrolled the condom, his cock had returned to a flaccid state and I hit the deck and put my mouth to work again.

If I may fast forward five minutes, ten minutes, 20 minutes, I don’t know, my knees were aching from kneeling on the unforgiving wood, I was shivering from the descending night chill and I couldn’t get his cock up for love or money. I suggested we put some clothes back on and return to the car.

We stumbled half-dressed down the steps and he said that perhaps the cold was the cause of his hibernating cock. In the car we reclined the front seats and masturbated each other and he said perhaps the car was too cramped for his hibernating cock and a hotel room would have been a better idea. He took over wrangling his cock and couldn’t get it hard, and I heard him talking to himself, saying, “What does it take to get you up?” I almost replied that he was the subject matter expert and should possibly know by now because I was out of ideas.

He became erect and told me loudly to prepare to be fucked, as if declaring war on a small nation. I prepared with an air of excitement, and by the time he had clambered over to the passenger seat, he had already lost the erection. Three attempts and wasted condoms later, we gave up and agreed to try another time in a hotel room.

I don’t know what to do. I’m prepared to try again in more congenial surroundings and lose half the cost of a room to satisfy my curiosity of whether his temperamental penis is environmentally influenced. We’re attracted to each other and get on well externally to the sexual side of things, but he’s not helping me much as far as communication. I can only see what happens, I suppose. He sent me a photo of his erect cock to christen the camera on his new phone, which only confuses me more, come to think of it. Perhaps it is me.

He suggested we meet this weekend, but said he was frantically busy when I reminded him about the Easter holiday. It’ll happen when it happens. Anyway, there may be an 18-year-old (whoops) for me to corrupt next week (he had made a compelling case involving rimming and squirting).

Second-last man standing

I suspended my online account; before hitting the ‘close’ button I saw a message from one of the remaining men I was interested in but I was too battle weary to respond and I had already given him my e-mail address.

He had the foresight from our previous messages to guess correctly that I was considering temporary retirement and my account shutdown wasn’t because of him. I received an e-mail and we met for a drink a few nights later. I didn’t have a good read on him because his profile photos weren’t good quality and our communication had been brief, but his e-mails mentioned enough about his interests and background to pique my curiosity and prop my ailing sense of hope.

I nominated a hotel to meet for a drink and he walked in a door as I was walking out to look for a quiet table to sit. I only recognised him as we were on the phone together at the time trying to find each other. He was more attractive than his photos and I couldn’t conceal my delight. He’s of average height and weight and has brown hair and brown eyes but the way everything is assembled worked for me big time. He seemed pleased and kissed me hello on the lips.

We discussed our situations: he is in an open relationship where his wife is accepting of his non-monogamy and is expressing interest in the lifestyle but hasn’t taken action. His special interest is playing the third man for couples and we exchanged stories until the hotel closed — he won the discussion about group sex and I was queen of car sex tales. We were sitting at 45-degree angles and his leg touched mine for longer periods as we talked. I grasped his wrist when I was emphasising a point in a story to let him know I was also interested.

We agreed to take a drive in his car and look for a quiet place to get to know each other better. I suggested a beachside car park but it was adjacent a main road and he drove confidently to what turned out to be the same car park where I spent time with Super Nerd. I chose to feign ignorance like I think he was and pretended we were creating this space for ourselves. We kissed; finding a happy connection with our lips was awkward for a while — his mouth is smaller and rounder than mine and his lips thinner, and our teeth occasionally gnashed until we worked out the real estate of each other’s mouths.

He is senior in the industry he works in, has impeccable manners and a high-end car, but couldn’t stop himself from gasping, “Great tits,” when I undid my bra. I laughed and enjoyed hearing the basic response of a man when lust strips away his layers of civility. I reclined the seat and laid back while he rolled my nipples between his fingers and brushed his fingers along my belly. My pants and underwear ended up on the floor and he fingered me shallowly; by then I was ruing that I had my period and hadn’t brought protection as I wasn’t anticipating anything beyond meeting him for the drink. I asked him to remove his clothes and he wondered what had taken me so long.

I wrapped my hand around his cock and massaged it to life. He squirmed and praised and said how much he wanted to fuck me. I leaned over the centre console and went down on him and couldn’t find a way with my mouth to maintain his erection; he was still aroused and moaning but I will take a while to work out his likes if we see each other again. I returned to masturbating him while kissing and his erection returned.

He became quiet and his breathing increased in tempo while thrusting in turn with my hand. He seemed to orgasm without ejaculating; again, if there is a next time I’ll need to spend time working out his body. I’ve witnessed this before but only rarely and I wonder if he was being polite. He pressed into my clit with his finger and made circles until I came, and I wasn’t just being polite.

We talked a while until he drove me back to my car. I’ve noticed the last few men I’ve met for outdoor activities have driven away without waiting for me to start my car and ensure my safe departure, but he escorted me to my car like a gentleman — and then pushed me against the door and grinded into me as we kissed goodnight until we almost ended up in his car again. I liked both sides of his behaviour.

He is interstate for the week and I’ll see what transpires when he returns.

Another postscript: He has postponed our planned meeting this weekend due to an extension of his trip. We’ll see …