Fuck, smut, fuck

The next day The Bachelor and I had arranged to spend the afternoon together. I experienced some trepidation because our first evening of sex was less than stellar, but reminded myself that I contribute at least half towards a lacklustre or sensational time and and rocked up with my mind on the latter.

He opened the door, looked down at me with coppery-brown eyes and grasped my chin as he kissed me hello. I didn’t realise last time, but there’s an authentic directness about him personality-wise and physically that I like a lot — there have been no dramas or mis-steps in our communication and he kisses and touches impulsively, kind of like an affectionate new boyfriend for a few hours who isn’t really a boyfriend and knows the boundaries. Also, we were in his bedroom about 30 seconds after our lips parted. I like that, too.

He apologised for his messy room and I removed his clothes and tossed them around, saying a few more wouldn’t matter then. He tormented me for a while with fingers in my cunt and anus while a thumb pressed my clit and I noticed later I had left a long slash of girl juices on the navy blue sheet.

He said that I seemed to need a hard pounding. By then, I wasn’t capable of intelligent conversation beyond, “Yeah!” He was on top and I curled under him and gripped his chest with clenched fingers as he went to town inside me. I think I may have bitten him when I came but he was too gentlemanly to say anything.

We felt too lazy afterwards to head out to the bondage supply shop as we had planned, but had lunch and stopped at a local sex product franchise that stocked the usual range of smut. I experienced choice overload after viewing the first few hundred vibrators and bought a small bottle of silicone lube and a simple prostate vibrator to trial on the willing men in my life — I saw a few more expensive toys designed for the male anatomy but I’m not using the ones I have on others enough to justify adding much to the arsenal. We looped quickly around the fluffy handcuffs and German porn and headed back to his house.

The afternoon session was slower and more luxurious, presumably (I thought without the benefit of hindsight) because we had exhausted the initial surge of lust and could explore languidly. I was partially correct. I sucked his cock for an exceedingly long time and rimmed him until he was at the stage of barely being able to speak like he had me earlier. When I returned to his cock and tasted pre-come he sat up and pushed me back for my turn, but something snapped in his mind and he said he needed to piledrive me again. I ended up on all fours and from behind he almost pushed my head through the wall until he reached orgasm and collapsed in a crumpled heap like the clothes on his floor.

He stayed where he was in a seemingly relaxed state and I reclined and enjoyed doing nothing more than doing nothing. Later he tried to talk but murmured unintelligibly. I fetched him water because he looked pale but he was too weary to hold the glass. He tried to sleep but writhed about on the bed until he got up and I could hear the click-clack of a keyboard. I found him alternating between pacing in his study and typing something — he confessed he’d only had three hours’ sleep the previous night combined with a couple of dozen mixed drinks at a Christmas party and the delayed reaction had hit him like a speeding truck after his final orgasm. I wasn’t keen on hanging around uncomfortably while his hangover evolved and I dressed and headed off into the evening. He gave me a lingering but wobbly kiss goodbye and I received a text message 24 hours later saying he was finally starting to recover.

I had worn him out again, but in a much more positive way than last time.

The body still surprises (or, my arse rocks the house)

A similarity between the non-sexual and sexual compartments of my life is that I am driven largely by the push and pull forces of curiosity and learning. Sexually, the greatest lesson last year was when Jekyll fisted me for the first time. A human hand fitted inside my body and it took two days for me to dare look at the photo because of the shock at my body’s hidden capability. This year Country Hottie sent my sense of comprehension reeling when I squirted for the first time. I was tied up and expecting a simple spanking scenario but the torrents of liquid running down my thighs told me that another bodily secret had been unveiled. I don’t necessarily enjoy the sensation but it could make a fun party trick when I work out how to do it myself.

Mr OMG has caused probably the second-most surprising moment of the year. He called a few mornings ago at an unexpected time that only birds and tradespeople (and me, now) are going about their business and all he wanted to say was how full his mind was with sexual thoughts. I’m not sure what’s behind his increased attentions of late but who am I to do anything but encourage more? We organised to meet on his way home from a Christmas party but I didn’t expect him because I thought he was too optimistic in the time he could leave. However, he called half an hour earlier than he had guessed and was 10 minutes away if I wanted him to drop by. I was in bed reading a book and sleepy enough to desire being draped around him lazily but alert enough to launch out of the covers, strip my clothes and greet him naked.

I left the bedroom door wider ajar than last time to bathe more of his lean body in light from the loungeroom. We mock argued about who was going to devour the other first, and he capitulated after the briefest of jostlings and laid on his back. I used my mouth from the head of his cock past his balls, with the sensation of my wet tongue brushing along the perineum making him shudder like a skyscraper in heavy wind. I wondered how long it had been since someone had adored attention on him there so I made a few passes that caused guttural sounds to escape from deep in his throat.

I flicked and twirled and rolled my tongue around his hole but he reacted most strongly to my tongue diving in as far as I could reach. He wanted deeper penetration and lifted his legs to allow me freer access. I snuck a look up and thought I saw his feet, hands and head in a perfect horizontal row; I’ll have to ask him to do that again when I’m less aroused so I can appreciate his range of movement (and think deviously about other positions that make full use of his flexibility).

He became too charged sexually to tolerate more foreplay and went down on me before we fucked with him on top. It was my turn to make guttural noises from who-knows-where each time his cock sank deeply. He tested the water and said coyly that he had thought again about fucking me anally — in a classic case of reacting before thinking, I squeezed my muscles and ascertained that I felt clean and empty enough to try. Before I gave myself the chance to talk myself out this hasty consent,  I grabbed a tube of lubricant out of the drawer, smeared a generous cold glob over his cock and rubbed the surplus between my legs. He winced at the initial chill but shuddered again and almost toppled from his kneeling position as I masturbated the slick fluid along his length — I suspect he’s never had a lubed hand caressing his cock and I plan teasing him to madness another time when he is unfettered by protection.

He laid me back on the bed and lifted my legs so they rested on his shoulders. Before I could ask him to move slowly and not allow the head of his cock to escape, he was half way in and thrusting. I don’t know which of us was more surprised by the smoothness of his entry. We checked each other’s welfare and were both feeling fine. I propped my head on a pillow so I could take in the view of his cock shifting in and out and felt tingling waves of goodness emanating from my centre. He pushed with more determination a few times and said he was all the way in and asked if I felt all right. I muttered a perplexed, “I do, I feel fantastic actually.” His noises told me more than enough about the joy he was experiencing.

He came and withdrew while he was still hard and we collapsed together — in released pleasure for him and thrilled surprise for me. My body accepted and enjoyed his cock with more ease than a finger or a smaller penis and I felt lighter than air. He didn’t understand my sense of wonder but he didn’t have to; memorable moments are often gifted by people who never realise the magnitude of their benefaction.

I was glad I gave him this pleasure and I felt good, too. If there is a next time, I’ll ask if he wants to try doggy style so he can watch the show as I suspect he’ll enjoy that very much.

You’d be quicker if you were paying

I ended up being convinced the following week by Young Tradesman that catching up at short notice was a good idea. I’d had a rough week and was fractious, didn’t have other plans and needed a break from some after-hours work I was doing. We agreed to meet at the same industrial estate as last time. The car park alongside one building was still pitch dark and not monitored by any form of security.

Here is where I gained more empathy for people who keeping making the same mistakes and not learning from their life’s lessons, because after 10 minutes I remembered why last time I said we didn’t do much that warranted mentioning. Hope and optimism tend to cloud and overtake memory and past experiences. I was bored shitless because it was all about him and little — apart from a probing finger a couple of times — about me.

After a few minutes of kissing and grinding into each other against the side of his car, I received the cursory explorations with his finger and I was suddenly glad I only showered and didn’t perform the entire depilation and preparation routine I mentioned a few posts ago. My return on investment would have been appalling, and even thinking in those terms made me realise I should make this a quick time rather than a good time and head home to bed.

He agreed quickly to tearing his jeans off and laying across the back seat of his car and I immersed myself in tonguing his balls and sucking his already iron-hard cock. He shifted my head lower to rim him and lifted his backside to allow me access. I truly didn’t know or remember him having such a hairy pathway from his balls to his anus. My tongue was shredded after only the second lick to try to moisten the area. I managed to tongue fuck his arse a few times before he pulled my head up to suck his cock again. I returned to my earlier ministrations and tuned in mentally to his car’s radio while I was sucking. The radio announcer’s voice was tinny and I wondered why Young Tradesman owned a nice, late-model car that was fitted with such a poor quality stereo system. I realised I was disengaging from the simple pleasure of sucking a cock and set myself the goal of finishing him off in the next three songs.

I failed in reaching that objective but I wasn’t entirely to blame. He pushed my head down a few times to see if I could take all his cock (almost, and I probably would have if I wasn’t grumpy about him being presumptuous by pushing), set me to licking his balls again and shifted to allow me another shot at his forested arse. He must have sensed I wasn’t going to return for another bout for a long time and he was dragging the experience out as long as he could. After about the fifth song I put on my dirtiest voice and said I’d really like him to come in my mouth. He tried turning a quick exchange of words into a conversation, and I replied with, “I want you to come soon in my mouth because I want your tasty come. Now.”

The most interesting part of the encounter was watching him masturbate the head of his cock in tiny jerking movements because I’ve never seen that technique before. I regretted earlier when rousing him that I said his semen tasted clean and healthy, because it didn’t. The sour spurts made me regret I was leaning forwards and had to taste too much in my front and side tastebuds before swallowing.

He put his clothes on, we kissed goodbye and I went home. The end.

Got the job, got some Mr OMG. I rock

I’m off to a company in the industry I was previously employed in. Work is work so I won’t dwell on the specifics, but from a sexual perspective, I’ve noticed that the office is much nearer the parks I’ve inhabited in the past so there’ll be more opportunity for outdoor games after work when my mojo returns.

Another question I had in the back of my mind was if I’d eventually share my relationship status with my new peer group and stop living with so much secrecy. I was leaning towards the positive but one of the directors is married to someone I’ve known for years — she’s a dear friend who is conservative in these things so I’ll probably keep up the tangle of lies to answer the “How was your weekend?” question with stories of people who aren’t really friends and parties that don’t involve lubricant and being tied up. My loss of girlfriend count following a confession is two from two and seems sign enough that my worlds shouldn’t collide.

My attitude and desire levels between the last few weeks of This might be a good idea but probably won’t be and last night’s I may well die if I don’t get his cock inside me are so markedly different that it’s as if I’m two unrelated people. Mr OMG elicited the latter. We were talking about meeting the day before but I was only half-committed from lethargy and feeling selfish that it was the night he had only an hour free. I wanted more. The following night we again vaguely agreed to him dropping by on his way home from a job on the other side of the city but I wasn’t sure if I’d still be up or if he’d have energy after a long day in the sun — we’ve had an unseasonal heatwave that’s drained the lifeblood from almost everything.

It was late and I got ready for bed. A cool change had swept in and I was lounging happily on top of the bedsheets with the front door open, allowing the icy breeze to tickle my skin. Mr OMG sent the text message I was expecting, saying he was exhausted and heading straight home, as much as he wanted to play. I was somewhat relieved to not have to disturb my sense of idle content before going to sleep.

A pang of lust took over my thoughts before I could respond though, and I replied with a snapshot of my hand between my legs with the message I understand, and I’ll be shaved off and wet again for you next time. Goodnight. He called. Quickly. I didn’t expect that reaction because he was as tired as I was. He asked if I was naked. My building libido took over the conversation and I replied that I was as naked as the photo except for some new drops of wetness between my legs. I then backtracked and apologised for teasing and said we’d catch up soon, much as I wanted his cock in my mouth (which wasn’t a backtrack at all, really). He said he only had 20 minutes but could swing past as he was coming through my part of town. I responded reluctantly that we should wait for another time so we can indulge in more than a quick taste. He said let’s taste now, feast another time and what’s the address?

I was still naked when I heard his footsteps nearing along the path and I poked my head around the door and asked him to come in. I think I grabbed his shirt and dragged him into the bedroom because there’s no other explanation for how he got there so quickly. His t-shirt was over his head before our lips met for the first time. I reached to grasp his backside and realised gleefully he’d already sent his shorts and shoes to the floor.

He laid me back on the bed covers and did angelic things with his tongue and fingers and after a few minutes said he needed to fuck me. I reached to embrace the approaching outline of his torso, but changed my mind and said I originally wanted his cock in my mouth and that’s what I was going to do. He stood and I lowered my mouth around his erection and somehow took most of it in the first journey down and held him inside until he groaned. I only got about 10 strokes in when he insisted he had to be inside me. I didn’t argue this time.

He started with three-quarter thrusts that worked my g-spot but I needed to devour all of him and I tilted my hips forward to take the lot. My muscles involuntarily clenched around his cock each time he filled me, as if knowing he wasn’t going to last long and to make the most of every millimetre. Between gasping and trying to express how fucking good he felt, I saw in the reflected light that he had a tattoo I hadn’t noticed before and the dirtied innocence of his face reminded me of the Jason Stackhouse character in the True Blood series. These new snippets of him further increased my raging appetite.

He came much sooner than I wanted but any period of time was not going to be enough. However, I was beyond relieved to have found deep and unstoppable surges of desire and feeling again. The ones who drive me mad also bring out my most inspired behaviour, much as I don’t think I want my lust to exist that way. He needs to visit again soon.

And let’s try another man for good measure

I received a text mystery message the other night that mentioned my name, asked about my (former) work and if I was interested in meeting again because the first time was enjoyable. I had deleted the number from my phone and the sender must have pre-dated my spiffy new Word document with old numbers listed to manage the sexual recycling that keeps coming back. I was caught between rampant curiosity and being annoyed that I had to send a ‘just who is this?’ message without knowing if I wanted to really find out who it was. Curiosity won and I replied and waited impatiently to learn which can of worms I had potentially re-opened.

Ah, Mr Chilled, I was not expecting this! We met in January for a sensual bout of everything-but-sex and drifted apart until he sent an e-mail months ago and wandered off again after I replied positively. He and Mr OMG should get together and compare notes about who has the vaguest concept of time.

To his credit, I rolled out a few messages detailing my lack of enthusiasm for his patchy communication history and he didn’t shy away. He must’ve been randy. He asked me over on a night I was free and I thought, Why not? I may as well complete the hat trick of ill-conceived encounters while finishing the business we left open.

I had concerns on the day that my current distracted, flighty state would clash with his slow sex way of being and I was setting myself up for disaster, but everything came together more nicely than I expected. After talking and circling around each other, we kissed until my lips were swollen and I was ravenous for much more of him. I sat him back on his bed and slid his cock in and out of my mouth with a measured slow rhythm, going down as deeply as I could, holding him for a teasingly long count and sliding out slowly without releasing the head of his cock. He was responding enthusiastically and I felt him shiver uncontrollably when I found room to roll my tongue along the underside of his shaft when his cock was held still inside my mouth. I haven’t thought of doing that before but it worked big time. Perception and memories of the previous encounter told me to eat this man slowly and methodically and he was held captive by nothing but lips and tongue.

I came up to kiss him and he rolled me on the bed and parted my legs and spent a long time working with his tongue and fingers. He was as deliberate and skilled as I remembered and I was awash with pleasure but I couldn’t reach orgasm again. I squirmed about joyously though until I thought his tongue might need a rest and I squealed with anticipation when I saw him reach for a condom. We didn’t manage to get to penetration the first and only time we met and I was bursting to know how his cock piercing would feel.

I was at the stage of arousal that I wanted to be filled, needed to be filled, and fucked, firmly and basically, now. He raised my legs in preparation for what I thought was going to be a pounding, and he inserted only the head of his cock. I tried to push into him but he withdrew and taunted me with hints of promise. This was not the time for games! After what I’d call an agonising wait he picked up the tempo and depth and we fucked happily in a couple of positions, although afterwards I thought the piercing didn’t make a difference to the sensation. After a while he lost his erection (I don’t know his body well enough to know why) and went down on me again. I turned him around into a 69 position and positioned his cock in the cleft between my breasts and massaged the shaft. He became rock hard when my tongue licked along his perineum and we feasted on each other until I thought his poor tongue might fossilise.

I called him up for air, laid on my side and clasped his buttocks in my hands as his cock slid in and out of my mouth again. He withdrew at the last moment and came in a mess over my shoulders and breasts. Afterwards when we were sprawled about on his bed, I said that he felt sublime and explained my current orgasmic challenge that I can take up to 40 minutes to come when masturbating so I haven’t been bothering because I bore myself to sleep — he laughed with a hint of pity and horror, I think. He started dozing and I looked at the clock and saw it was 3am. Shit. The Drummer was due home from work in 90 minutes and my drive home was more than an hour. He has no problems with whatever time I get home but I feel uneasy if I’m out carousing when he’s been working and coming off a long nightshift.

Mr Chilled and I had been fucking for five hours and the time had flown, so that’s an improvement on the past few weeks.

Different man, same outcome

After the lacklustre first time with The Bachelor, the opportunity arose to take someone else for a test run (and for me to continue denying that I might actually be the problem).

Purely by coincidence last weekend, the man I met a couple of months ago (successful, older, attractive devil, I probably left stains on the leather upholstery of his car, never available) got back in touch. He decided to put more effort into opening pockets of time, and I subsequently decided to put more effort into accepting that everything started well and I can have everything I want but just not when I want it. Hell, the grand vision of one semi-regular lover isn’t working out, so I’ll try to be more flexible towards a rotation of occasional flights of fancy even though being adored for a few hours and then ignored for weeks doesn’t work for me.

We agreed a night, I booked a room at a not-too-expensive-but-not-too-seedy motel and I amused myself masturbating while reading a book as I waited for him to arrive. The book was one of the most anticipated releases of the year and quite possibly the most over-wrought, unbelievable waste of lopped trees I’ve read in a long time. Shame on the publisher and author and there won’t be a film deal out of this one. I almost left the book in the hotel room but thought I might get $5 at the second-hand shop if I didn’t smear girl fluids on the pages.

I answered his knock on the door wearing nothing but a lacy bra, a white shirt and a bold stare. I stuck a finger coated in cunt juice in his mouth. He sucked my finger clean and then pushed me backwards on the bed and tongue fucked me royally. The hint of stubble on his chin scratched along my clean-shaved parts and sent electric goosebumps all over. Then the mental ghosts from last weekend returned and I knew I wasn’t going to relax into myself enough to come; as a smokescreen I sat up and suggested he remove his clothes so I could return the favour. He didn’t take long to lose his suit and I distracted myself with his cock. I should possibly be concerned at how much of my outer life I’m faking at the moment.

We fucked, firstly with him on top and later with me riding him. He’s fit but I wore him out, too. This current state of detachment is turning me into a fucking robot. I looked through the crack between the curtains and saw the sun fading and wondered how many more hours we had until I could go home and be alone.

He played with the contents of the toy bag I packed and asked me to use a vibrator on myself. He took over after a while because I was self conscious with him watching and darkness was well and truly filling the gap between the curtains. I kept reaching 95 per cent but I couldn’t sink deeply enough to find the place where oblivion was teasing. I think he started fucking me with the vibrator and I finished myself with my fingers — I nearly cried with relief that my body finally allowed me release and I apologised to him for taking so long. I was nicer and more forgiving of myself after the hormones flushed my bloodstream.

He laid back and I bent over him and sucked his cock dry. We were going to head out for a quick dinner and return for another bout, but time was about to expire on his alibi and I didn’t know if I was glad or not to be packing my bag and not returning.

I am working obscenely hard during the day on my job search and gift myself with relaxation time as a reward. But when the time comes to grant myself the moments of freedom, I feel guilty that I haven’t earned them or I’m not working hard enough or umpteen other self-defeating messages that play through my head. I may have to give up sex and dealing with people for a while as nearly all of the time the physical follows the mental for me. If my mind isn’t empty, my body will never be content.

Back in the saddle (kind of)

I’ll call the single man The Bachelor for want of something more creative. Then again, the only source of food he could offer after an afternoon and evening together was perhaps some bread in the freezer he could defrost but his fridge contained pin-straight rows of many beers of the world. The Bachelor will do nicely.

We met for a drink at a beachside hotel and got along famously but there was still the flow of desire that made me want to rip the shirt off his back if I had the energy. I wouldn’t know until I tried. I returned to his place and we watched a DVD for a while, sitting a friendly distance apart and later sidling together as we returned from searching for food or toilet breaks. I adore those moments of anticipation of not having had sex but knowing rampant nudity is only a short while away.

We kissed for a long time and I followed him to his bedroom. I realised it has been some time since I have unwrapped a new lover’s outer layers and discovered the beauty underneath, but I didn’t get much of a chance as there was no mood lighting in the bachelor pad — I was working completely in the dark and hoping it wasn’t because he had a shrivelled penis or contagious skin infection he was trying to conceal (my mind is still playing nasty tricks at the most inconvenient times). I explored all over with my hands and everything seemed smooth and healthy. His cock was on the slightly smaller than average side, hard and with a handy upwards curve, like a practical Swiss Army Knife penis that could get the job done in any condition.

I think we spent too long on foreplay. He promised earlier he’d work me over with his tongue, and he did, but my mind kept zoning out into things that I didn’t really need to be thinking about and I wasn’t going to lose myself enough to reach orgasm. I swung his hindquarters around into a 69 position and made him feel very good but couldn’t get him near orgasm — he responded well with my mouth but I didn’t get far with my hands and I was running out of tricks. Sometimes solo exploration goes to plan and sometimes it doesn’t without more active feedback from the recipient.

I fucked him from on top and rode until my heart rate was about to cause the ceiling to collapse. He took over and fucked me missionary style until his energy gave out and we curled up together and talked instead.

We started round two but I saw the clock was past midnight and I have been in bed much earlier the past few weeks. I hadn’t eaten since lunchtime and I knew I needed my last dregs of energy to drive home safely. With a bruised ego, I confessed I was too sleepy to do more regardless of my desire and asked if he’d come in my mouth. He took only a minute or two; all the equipment is working and we probably need to spend more time sharing the secrets of our bodies if we meet again.

The stodgy mix of grains and dried fruit in the emergency muesli bar stored in my glovebox was the most flavoursome manna after being deprived of nutrition for more than 12 hours. Always carry water, mints, condoms and a piece of portable food. On the way home at about 1am, the second man I’ve been in contact with sent an unexpected text message regarding our plans for the following day. And that brief and disheartening story, dear friends, can wait until next time.

Another fantasy

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

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

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

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

Go to work for the day … or go fuck Country Hottie for the day?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On cocks and compliments

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

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

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

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

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

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