Differing favourites

If anyone asked me my favourite sexual position, I don’t think I’d be able to narrow the list to fewer than five or so. It’s like the ‘desert island disc’ question when I struggle to squeeze my selection of CDs to 10 (which I did start typing but I reached 15 and had to get back to the reason for this post).

Some of the less obvious criteria for sexual positions include practicality in impractical spaces (like cars) and a partner’s anatomy being suited to some positions more than others. More obvious criteria include the ability to orgasm, ready access to reaching other parts of a lover’s body and visual interest – sometimes closing the eyes and feeling without distraction is what’s needed but at other times watching the scene unfold provides a new layer of sensory joy to the experience.

My least favourite common position is the favourite of a lot of men: doggy style. Each time I flip readily on to my knees and brace myself for a good time, but after the first thrust I remember that I have to concentrate avidly with anyone who has a medium-sized or larger penis. From my fading memory, I think Jekyll was the only man of a size small enough for me to relax and not worry about having my cervix smashed into my liver. Everyone since has required a high state of alertness and the Country Boy is no exception.

He was sitting upright and I was riding him quickly and then slowly; the speed depended if he wanted to delay coming and then if he wanted to submit to his urges. In growing frustration, he grabbed my ponytail and pulled me close for a kiss before asking if I’d like him from behind. I said yes and launched into position on my knees and stretched out on my elbows, waiting for the re-introduction of his cock.

“YOWWW!”

I leap-frogged and landed face-down on the covers. He recoiled and was sent flying backwards. We laughed.

I couldn’t help making an understatement and said, “I think that one was a bit too deep.”

He couldn’t stop laughing. Occasionally he throws in an overly-deep thrust as an act of mischief, but this time he’d gone too far out of abstinence and forgetting that he needs to be careful. We shifted back into our respective positions and started again, with me coiled like a spring in case he started strongly the second time.

He was more restrained but I still lowered my shoulders to temper the angle and intensity of the sensation. I was enjoying myself but my constant vigilance didn’t allow me the mental space to relax and move with him – equally, I’m sure I felt more than enjoyable to him but he also couldn’t relax and deliver the pounding that his body was by now telling him was required.

My reward for enthusiastic and stoic behaviour was being rolled on my back with my legs pointing upwards. I know I can come easily in this position and soon after he entered me I was apparently filling the air with swear words. He enjoyed the uninterrupted view from above until I was almost pleading for a rest and he was fit to burst – from other fading memories I don’t think he’s ever come from that position as much as he seems to enjoy it. He split my legs like they were a banana’s skin and drove hard in the missionary position; his orgasm brought his own noises of release and he disappeared into a reverie for a long while.

I settled under his weight and remembered many of the reasons why we go through so much for brief blasts of physical interaction.

Water boy

“You’ve got such clear urine, it looks like you could drink it like water.”

I’ve tackled years of social programming in response to receiving compliments, from a bashful, “No, you don’t need to say that, you’re better/smarter/whatever plays down the compliment,” to a smile and a thank you that someone has made the effort to relay a kind thought.

In this situation I didn’t know how to respond except with, “Um, yeah, I drink a lot of water.”

The complimentary analysis of my piss kept coming.

“It doesn’t even smell.”

“You’re right, come to think of it” I said abstractly, as I withheld the urge to calculate how much water I drink daily – urinating at will and with an accurate aim was using most of my powers of concentration.

The Country Boy was sitting naked against the wall of the small shower with his legs bent, preparing for the second spurt of the extra litre of water I’d guzzled earlier. He is tall and I had to stand on the tip-toes of one foot with my knee pressing against the shower screen, an arm providing help higher above and my other leg was bent and resting on his shoulder. My free hand was between my legs trying to direct the erratic stream. I whispered, “Get out, you bastard,” under my breath to my bladder when the flow stopped. My legs were cramping and I hoped I didn’t topple before I was finished.

He seemed to enjoy the element of surprise and exclaimed each time a new jet of warmth sprayed him. I managed a few longer bursts and landed streams down his chest and onto his cock. His erection sprang from nowhere and poked upright in defiance of gravity – evidence that he was more into his first golden shower than either of us could have imagined. His enthusiasm didn’t have the desired reaction of me being able to release more easily but I was able to deliver some generous showers on the hand that was now wrapped around his cock and tugging furiously.

I have written here in the past that golden showers don’t do much for me sexually but seeing his almost unbelievable excitement ramped up my energy levels. When I was finished and saw the look of determined hunger in his eyes, I guessed he’d be up for almost anything.

“Want me to squirt on you as well?”

“Fuck yes. Yes, please.”

We scrambled about in the tight space to give his uplifted arm some room to work my g-spot. I had to place more weight on my legs to crouch lower and my muscles protested sharply. The first orgasm hit me while the first lot of fluid hit him and I became caught in the conflicting thoughts that I was in a fair amount of discomfort yet I felt unreasonably good. His arm must have been straining as well but he wasn’t going to stop until we’d made complete messes of each other.

“Got any more in you?”

“No idea, let’s see!”

I had plenty more in me.

We stood on shaking legs and stretched as I turned the water on to clean ourselves. His cock was still pointing towards me and, as I cleaned him, he started making the murmurs familiar with his sex drive escalating from high to urgent.

In the spirit of finishing what I started, I turned the nozzle away and knelt before him, taking his cock in my mouth as I cupped his balls. He shifted in time with me and took over holding the base of his shaft while I gripped his buttocks as I sucked. Things got a little porny* when he started rubbing the head of his cock over my lips but I played along and flicked my tongue, occasionally sliding him back in my mouth and clamping down with my teeth**.

There was no way he was going to last long. He thrusted faster into my mouth and I did that other porny thing of keeping my mouth open with my tongue out. I refrained from looking up and doing the over-acted wide-eyed look at him as I do have some have boundaries — inconsistent as they may be — and he came in globs in and around my mouth.

It was a day later I realised that I hadn’t asked if he wanted to shower me with gold. I’ll have to run it past him but I believe answer will already be yes.

* I have never got around to jotting my views on modern-day porn, come to think of it. Maybe one day.

** I have never seen proper biting of a cock in porn. This is one reason I don’t like it.

More almost sex

The Country Boy and I had to delay our next meeting for three weeks because of my period and illness in his family. I wasn’t sure he’d be able to make our agreed catch-up date but my excitement levels skyrocketed on the day when he confirmed the time and mentioned a few somethings about undertaking lewd acts with his fingers and tongue.

We picked the wrong evening for the park because the sun was shining brightly and every sports club in the district seemed to be practising in the fields. Even when I mentioned we take a walk to the bushy area, I saw that construction of a new clubhouse building had started and vehicles were parked uncomfortably close to our ingress point. Great, just great.

As a final shot at being industrious, I looked as far as I could see in the hope of identifying an area I hadn’t discovered in the last three or so years. Nothing. The Country Boy was in a heightened state of arousal and had his hands down the front of my loose pants and up my t-shirt while his mouth was traversing my neck; as much as I enjoyed the attention we needed to quickly work something out that didn’t attract the attention of other park users. He told me about his latest fantasies involving leather cuffs and being bent over work benches and I saw his cock becoming close to tearing a hole in the fabric of his pants.

He suggested I kneel between our cars. When I questioned his intentions, he slid me to the ground so I left a trail of cleanness down the side of my between-washes car. He knelt beside me and launched an attack with his fingers that made me glad he was keeping an eye out as I was dually losing my mind with pleasure while worrying about squirting when still wearing pants. After about 15 more seconds of feeling an orgasm begging for release, I didn’t give a flying fuck if I squirted down my legs and had to drive home in wet pants. Bring it on, and soon. Please.

I gripped his shoulders as I curled into him and he took my gesture as a signal to keep going. I came and felt fluid running down my left calf and thought, oh well, I imagine a large mess is probably as inconvenient as a small mess so we may as well keep going. He experimented with my hip angles between jumping up to look innocent to occasional passers-by while I pretended I was casually sitting around. He returned for round two and after I came many more times I leaned back against the car in an attempt to act normally, like drunk people do when they’re trying to act sober, but I gave up and opted for the don’t-move-and-try-to-be-quiet method of appearing normal.

The Country Boy ignored my request to get in the car and instead told me to turn and bend over. With the top half of my body concealed he used his fingers again to make a larger wet patch on my pants and the bitumen below. It was also probably best to hide my head as I could feel an unbreakable grin and wide-eyed stare on my face that would scare most people into calling the police. He gave my backside an almighty slap, told me to stand and said he had to leave.

What?

I was brain-fuzzy and asked why he was depriving himself. He replied that he hadn’t masturbated since he last saw me and wanted to test his ability to abstain until we could meet with privacy (we have tentative plans for a hotel afternoon in the next couple of weeks). No one who knows me personally would ever say I’m a bitch because I don’t tend to harbour behind-the-scenes nastiness, but his comment turned me into one. I knew he’d been aroused for almost two hours and was tetchy so I grabbed his crotch and invited him to get in the car, I offered to unzip his pants and demonstrate the luxurious warmth of my mouth and I told him snippets of fantasies while kissing the sensitive parts of his neck. He fell into my promises and jumped away with equal frequency until I thought he’d lose the plot.

I sent him home in his fragile state but the intriguing thing is his idea has driven me to the point of distraction. It’s as if a rejection of sorts has made me even more determined to get my claws into him and turn him into a quivering and helpless mess. I’m not sure whether to play it cool until we meet to mess with his head or to ramp things up and make his blood run even hotter, but it’s encouraging that we are playing freely with the conviction that we will see each other soon for more.

Almost sex

The Country Boy and I seem to be getting back on track. We are relaxing a little more after our talk and we’re more considerate and comfortably affectionate towards each other. I am pleased but I’m still encountering some awkwardness in how to respond when he blasts in from nowhere with a rude message and his next is reserved and almost formal.

I worried the night before our most recent meeting at the park as I sent him a message describing how I’d removed the hair from my girl parts and how soft and slick the ride would be if he wanted to take it. I didn’t hear back that night or the next morning and I thought I’d mis-judged his mood and taken things too far. However, a few hours before we were to meet he responded with a long and detailed message about what his tongue and fingers were going to do with my soft and slick girl parts. I’d only mis-judged his mood in the wrong direction as he had put a lot of thought into choosing the smutty adjectives littering his response.

He was almost hyperactive with pent-up desire when he arrived at the park and couldn’t seem to decide whether to hug me, kiss me, stick his hands down my pants, start with a civil conversation or suggest we take a walk away from the other park users. I recommended we walk as it had been many months since we enjoyed the bushland environs.

We followed the old (and now tatty and overgrown track) to the first concealed area but it had been cleared of trees and debris. The reserve manager may as well have installed spotlights and a camera for all the privacy it offered. We went hunting for our second spot which was in the opposite state of upkeep with the track impossible to find among the lush foliage. We took a long walk around to the other side and scrambled under fallen branches and through bracken to find the large log in what was now a mis-named clearing. I felt blades of swordgrass itching my legs up to my arse when he peeled my pants down but the workings of his fingers soon stopped me thinking about a damn thing.

I can’t come from someone’s fingers being used from behind. I can’t come in daylight in the open. I can’t come while bent over a goddamn hunk of dead tree.

Oh, yes, I can. He did something with his fingers (that feels like two fingers bent so the knuckles are entering first but I  know it isn’t) that made my vision turn white and yellow while orgasms tore through me. My legs became a light and weak mess and I almost fell when he turned me around to face him. He said urgently that he wanted to do something else before we ran from the rain. Rain? I then realised that the spots on my clothes were more like dark patches and I’d mentally missed a whole downpour. His ‘something else’ was toying with my g-spot until I came several more times and was barely capable of staggering to shelter, let alone negotiating the bushes in the first instance.

He led the way towards our cars but I remembered the playground equipment in the other direction had a roof and I wanted to return some of the pleasure he gave me. He said his only goal for the evening was looking after me but my argument to convince him to go my way was easily won.

I sat on the edge of the wooden platform and asked him to stand on the foot rail in front of me and remove his cock from his pants. His lower half and I were concealed by the side panels but his upper half would have been visibly shifting forwards and backwards. He didn’t mind while he was able to keep his eyes open and look out for passers-by but as pre-come spilled into my mouth he took over with his hand. At the time I thought perhaps I wasn’t doing an adequate job but I enjoyed the close-up view of him masturbating and remembering how he likes a hand used on him. He soon came, collapsed on me and explained that he kept thinking about being discovered so he sped things up. He thanked me for my attentions but repeated that he didn’t expect anything; we have a way to go in being completely comfortable with each other again and falling into the rhythm of knowing that our giving and receiving levels out in the long term.

We meandered back to my car and talked for a while. I had recovered enough to start again but I knew he didn’t have a long time left before he had to leave. I said to him that when we next have time and adequate privacy I’d love to be filled with his cock. He smiled but then apologised he wouldn’t have time and I needed to remind him that I said, “Next time.” I’m going to have to tread carefully a while longer as he wants to please me and is more insecure at the moment that I had thought.

But we have returned to our old farewell routine of spanking the other’s backside so all is well in the world for now.

Chiaroscuro

The moon was waning but reflected an exaggerated glare from the dense clouds. It might have been possible to read a book outside without straining the eyes*. No one was around, but if anyone had happened upon us they’d have only seen flashes in the darkness.

Perhaps they’d have seen isolated parts of him outside the car: his fair-skinned face and hair contrasting against dark clothes, his hands and maybe glimpses of his shaft as it left my body. The porcelain skin of my backside and bent legs protruding from the side of the car would have also been kissed by the light. The top of my body was concealed by a long black skirt lifted when I presented myself to him.

Anyone passing would have definitely heard us in the rare quietness of the car park but the space was ours.

I remembered to turn the car’s interior light off when he opened my door and said he had a plan – I wouldn’t mind if someone caught a glimpse, but I’d never make it easy.

*Afterwards I stood outside and his fingers brought me some squirting orgasms. When I opened my eyes and focused again, I could see the large raindrops I’d left on the bitumen except for a half-moon shape of dryness where his foot had been. He took a photo for posterity’s sake.

And we met again

None of my half-formed sentences were said, and he also didn’t stick to the agenda.

He got in my car and we discussed surface-level topics again as his hand ran along my arm and traipsed down my thighs. Our mouths soon turned to kissing and talking about when the only other car in the car park would drive away so we could remove some clothes. That wasn’t on my list of issues that needed airing but it had quickly escalated into the most important. My hand rubbed his cock through his pants as we waited and his hands travelled up my jumper and under my bra.

A cold change in the weather passed through and the difference in temperature and humidity fogged the windows inside. Hoping that the occupants of the other car wouldn’t be able to see us, I peeled down his pants and perched sideways on the driver’s seat to lower my mouth around his cock. He touched me softly for a while and gathered tendrils of my hair in his hand so he could see me at work, but his hand soon clamped more firmly on my head and he said almost painfully that he needed to shove his cock inside me.

The man spoke sense. I sat up as far as I could, held his cock in one hand like a gear stick and leaned out one side as I asked him to check his side. Our heads poked out of our respective doors and we saw the lone car with its lights on and (hopefully) about to drive off.

It didn’t drive off; it sat there. And then sat there with the orange reversing lights on for an even longer period. I didn’t know what was going on in that car but it was taking far too long. I was at the point of saying to the Country Boy that my car was so fogged no one could see inside but finally the other vehicle reversed and left the car park. About fucking time.

Our pants flew off and he pushed me back in my seat to pay me some oral attention. Oh, I’ve missed that slow twisting thing he does with his fingers inside me while his tongue runs along my clit. I pushed into him and purred and gurgled and regretfully agreed that the time had come to return to the original plan of his cock being shoved inside me. I felt greedy and wanted the anatomical impossibility of both at the same time and, if he wasn’t bent in unnatural shapes over protruding bits of the car, I’d have begged politely for more oral attention.

He returned to the passenger’s seat and I clambered on top of him with my shaking legs with the grace of a drunken three-legged mountain goat. My left foot became stuck between the seat and hand brake and the other foot slid over the edge of the seat and was wedged almost sideways along the door. I couldn’t move and he had his cock in his hand waiting quizzically while I attempted to extricate myself. I ended up smothering his face with my breasts in a not-too-sexy way while I unwedged my feet and tucked them under his thighs. However, the delay was forgiven when I lowered myself onto him, according to his long, unbroken moan. I was in a cheeky mood after my navigational misadventure and paused at the bottom while tightening my pelvic muscles to taunt him. He accepted a few squeezes with good grace and then grabbed my hips impatiently and yanked my body onto his.

A benefit of being tucked in such close quarters is that small movements have a dramatic impact. I held the headrest and impaled myself on him which took only a little effort but achieved full penetration; my whole body relaxed and loosened on each outward stroke and tightened again for a directed thrust downwards, as if I had something to prove or to show him what he’d been missing. Take that! And another one! He couldn’t last long with the intensity and my determination and he folded under me as he came.

I wasn’t done with him and was curious to learn if he could repeat the quick return of his erection like last time. There weren’t many places to go anyway so I crouched with him still inside me and rested. He wasn’t ready to go again when I was but the second-quickest path to engaging his lust — after licking his ear lobes — is paying attention to his nipples. I slid his t-shirt up and pinched both nipples gently until they became erect and let my tongue take over one at a time. Alternating between flitting with the tip of my tongue and firmer circular movements had him gripping my hips again and forcing me down on his new-found erection.

My sense of mischief returned and I leaned backwards while curving my spine into a ‘C’ shape so I didn’t thump the roof. My hips ground into him in slow rolling movements to continue teasing him but an orgasm crept up and hit me without warning. So I kept doing it until I was in another world and I thumped the back of my head on the roof. I’ll be saving that movement in the (dented) memory bank until I can try it in a more civilised setting like a bed.

Sensing I had returned figuratively, he pulled me close and gave me the promised shoving of his cock inside me. He exhaled loudly with each plunge into me and he came quickly again, with sweat beading on his forehead and his heart beat thumping in my ear as I settled on his chest. He was speechless and melty until he had to go as he needed to buy dinner on his way home.

We stood between our cars and I thought, uh oh, we haven’t had the serious talk yet and I’ll regret not doing it, so when he turned to open his car door I spanked his backside instead. He grabbed me in a one-armed hug and gave my bottom a few stinging slaps. I wriggled from his clutch and he bent over as an easy target for me to land a few more on him.

Laughing and shrieking is like talking, isn’t it?

Yeah, so the Country Boy and I met

We agreed a meeting date and I felt a ball of knots bouncing in my stomach but I told myself to get over it because he was over it and I could do the same thing easy peasy and he subsequently disappeared for a week and a mental wall of discipline and detachment protected me and I was going to be tough and resilient even if he rocked up naked with a shiny red bow tied around his cock but on the day we organised I woke with a forgotten but quickly familiar buzz between my legs and the feeling of being more alive more aware more conscious of everything around me like when we used to meet and I asked my body to please not crush my mental wall of discipline because it’s really only plywood and not brick but it’s okay because he won’t see the structural weakness as I won’t let him get close enough and the afternoon arrived and we met and stood at a polite and awkward distance with arms crossed in a relaxed but hands-off kind of body language and I thought hell yeah I am strong enough to walk away from this look at my wall of discipline holding up ha ha it’s masterbuilt and not flimsy now just what was I scared of again and after lots of irrelevant small talk while avoiding everything that needed saying the time came for me to say I was going to get dinner on the way home but I couldn’t decide what to buy and he said he should let me go and he asked if we could hug goodbye and I said yes but didn’t say my wall is up and a gentle hug won’t be knocking it down any time soon because it was obvious and then my head nestled in his chest and his arms wrapped around me and mine around him and we were soft with each other and not sexual but neither of us made a move to part and soon we were both shy about what to do next and when I turned my head to look at a car driving past and turned it back we kissed quickly on the lips as friends and it didn’t go further but when I sank into his warmth again his lips brushed my jaw and cheek and ear and I said to him that whatever he gives I’ll return and I don’t know if that’s a promise or a threat and he quickly recoiled because he misinterpreted me and I realised I didn’t want to be misinterpreted or to be left with the one friendly kiss and I made myself clearer by saying whatever he did to me would be done to him equally and he said that was fantastic as he ran his lips along my ear lobe because it’s no secret his legs will wobble when I do it to him and I did it to him and his legs shook like twin jelly towers and by then we were pressing into each other forgetting about the polite and awkward friendship thing and a few bits of ply fell from my wall and I could feel the growing mass between his legs and how could I have forgotten the lifeforce of the cock now not hiding in polite and awkward friendship but waking and presumably wanting to re-introduce itself to me ha I can’t believe I thought we’d stick to polite and awkward friendship and then we kissed properly and it was like two months hadn’t passed at all and many minutes in a kissing haze passed and neither of us wanted to go but we already said we had to go and the wall of discipline seemed too crumbled to stick to the plan of leaving and from memory I think he said he was cold and we should sit in my car or maybe magical forces shuffled us into my car because that part is blurry but everything was in perfect focus when his hand went down my jeans with definitely magical quantities of extra lycra because he even slid fingers in and probed my g-spot all while my magical stretchy jeans were on and I’m going to buy another 20 fucking pairs if this is what happens while wearing them and I couldn’t reach him from the angles we were in so I kept kissing him as we reclined the seats and laughed when we both crashed at the end of the recline ride and this freed up my right hand to move in his direction and he sensed it in the darkness and undid his button and zip with his spare hand with quite some adroitness and his big healthy cock jumped out and filled my hand and I rolled it and rubbed it and shifted it up and down until his groans filled the cabin and his fingers forgot the work they were doing inside me but he broke the last plank of my plywood wall when he said my pants should be off and I should be on top of him and by then I knew well and truly that we weren’t going to part as polite and awkward friends but I was still polite because I formally greeted his cock with my mouth and his pelvis rose to meet me faster and faster and he asked me to bite his cock and I did a few times until I thought I should stop so he didn’t come because the air inside the car smelled distinctly of me and my pent-up desires and I bent and warped my frame to remove the clothes on my lower half and slid under him in the passenger’s seat and somehow he was above me even though we had never done that in the past because we didn’t think he’d fit and to allow him closer I flipped one leg to the side and wedged the other along the window and we wriggled to find an angle where his cock would find my overwhelming and surprising wetness and when he entered he groaned like his world was beginning and ending and I don’t know what noises I made but there were swear words abound when I came and maybe my nails dug into his back and one of my feet whacked something hard and plasticy but I won’t feel that until tomorrow when the endorphins wear off and I looked up and saw he was entering a zone where nothing was going to stop his orgasm and it felt and sounded like it deconstructed him entirely and he paused for only a few seconds and like a man possessed by the recollection of the sensation and wanting and needing it again he resumed thrusting and made himself newly hard and I didn’t come again but he did in less than a minute and surprised himself more than me and we parted to clean up and my juices will probably leave abstract patterns on the seat cover when they dry tomorrow and I can’t wait to check in a perverted little way before the washing machine rinses the memories down the sink but before that happens we really had to say goodbye and we hugged again and everything was okay until he said this could be confusing and then every cell in my brain stopped what it was doing and said oh fuck this is confusing what the fuck have we done and how am I going to react to this when the feel-goods stop feeling good and oh shit I said I’m confused now but hey I’ll worry about it tomorrow and he said it was great to catch up whether it happens again or even if he only has sex every couple of months he’d be happy if it made him feel like that and I wondered what the hell he really meant and we were walking away from something we hadn’t defined because a fuck has never been just a fuck for us and we drove off separately with our thoughts and I felt a bit overwhelmed and then absurdly ebullient and then so freshly aroused I could have had him naked for the next 24 hours and not dented the amount of desire that awakened and I went home after I grabbed dinner and was quiet about the night with The Drummer because there was too much to process and so I wrote this to get it out of my system before going to bed and worrying about it tomorrow because as far as I can predict tomorrow always comes when you least want it and we didn’t contact each other afterwards but I’ll think of something to say over the weekend preferably after I work out what I might want from this because deep down I think I want him in my life again even if it means being more compromising but I don’t know if that’s me being understanding and more mature or just indulging the surge of sexuality that broke free and allowing it to rule my principles and reason and I’ll go to bed now and stop fucking well overthinking but I’ll spend a few moments now remembering how fucking good he felt.

SL – hello

The tall chap I met and was lukewarm about taking for a test ride has been taken for a test ride. I’m feeling a bit embarrassed as I am running out of names for people; he can be Skinny Lover as the similarly-titled song by Bon Iver was playing on the drive home. The playlist also served up Prince and Queens of the Stone Age so best I stick with SL.

A break of a couple of weeks between having a drink and meeting took me on a spinning wheel of attitudes from joy to apathy but landed on ‘anticipation’ in the days prior. On the morning he sent a message wishing me a good day, and I thought I could take this interaction at face value, thank goodness, as my brain was warping from dealing with others.

I got lost finding his house in the dark and almost took out a rubbish bin in the narrow driveway but I managed to arrive at the agreed time. He answered the door and I did that thing where I skulk around the lounge room uncomfortably while pretending to be relaxed, so this time after a lap or two of the room I planted my backside on the couch. He sat next to me and put his arm around me, and I thought, good, I can respond to that action without looking awkward, so I kissed his neck and after not very long at all our lips made contact.

He seems to have a thing for my breasts and his cold hands brought instant goosebumps when they slid under my shirt. He undid the buttons and lifted my bra to replace his fingers with a warm tongue and small bites until I squealed a little too uncomfortably. My fingers ran along his long spine and clasped his backside and I returned the favour by sliding my hands under his jumper while they were still cold from being outdoors. He didn’t squeal.

We were squished side by side on the lounge and he navigated his way on top of me and ground his pelvis into mine. I encountered the first thought of wondering what he was packing inside his jeans; I’d been switched off the dating site for a week and couldn’t recall if I’d bothered to read the ‘measurements’ section of his profile (I tend not to read those as they’re usually filled with more fantasy than horoscopes in gossip magazines). My initial guess was that if he’s tall and thin then his penis might follow similar lines but I’ve experienced surprise packages in the past. When he raised himself on his arms for me to remove his shirt, his jeans slid down his waist a little and the engorged head of his erect cock poked out.

Oh, hello, this might require further investigation.

Off came his pants and underwear and by then my hands were warm enough to go exploring.

I got the long part of my guess correct, but his shaft was a generous handful of thickness and I was wrong yet again with my prediction. It became my goal to have this slab of cock inside me as soon as possible.

My plan went awry for an hour or so because his cock somehow made the journey from my hand upwards to my mouth. I could get him somewhat firm but couldn’t find a technique to bring him to full hardness, however, I was listening to his noises intensify and he was thrusting in my mouth by this time. I thought I couldn’t be too far from discovering what he liked because everything sounded like he was having a good time.

Then he said, “You’re going to make me come.”

And he did.

I was not expecting that.

And I wasn’t really wanting that. While I can appreciate the thrill of learning the reactions of someone new, I had no idea of his recovery time and I was feeling more than a little in want of attention.

I didn’t have to sweat the next move as he set me back on the lounge, spread my legs and went on a magical mystery tour with his fingers and tongue. I’ll definitely be going back for more tongue treatment as he has some tingle-inspiring moves; I didn’t come but I think I’ll be able to if we settle into something regular and I can relax more. But his fingers honed in on my G-spot and thankfully he was relatively gentle as I could feel the urge to squirt building when I orgasmed. I could hear myself laughing and feel my legs kicking in the air and thought I could have a hundred of those without batting an eyelid. And all without squirting – check out my new self control!

As he continued I felt his fingers sliding through a different kind of wetness and I asked forlornly if I had indeed squirted on his furniture. He said not to worry about it. I looked for the damage and saw a fist-sized dark patch on the cushion between my legs. I tried to feel guilty about leaving a mess but I was still giggly and also glad my body hadn’t released a full quantity of fluid. He can learn about those marvels another time and in a location not upholstered with fabric.

With both of us sated, we relaxed on the couch and watched TV for a while (not a terrible movie this time, but a boring sports game that I could tolerate as I knew we hadn’t finished with each other).

Part of me was curious about why we hadn’t gone to his bedroom, but when I opened the hallway door to use the bathroom, the rear section of the house was close to freezing and I scurried back to the warmth as quickly as I could. He got up to use the bathroom and I had a quiet perve for as long as my poor eyesight could maintain the view. He’s rail thin and all protruding bones along all the bony parts and there’s a nice covering of muscle along his lengths and some detailed inkwork on his shoulders. Ah ha, Mr Respectful, Normal and Sane has a ‘side’.

He returned and launched for my breasts again and I took him into my hands to do higher level research on how his erection functions. Again, his cock became almost hard when he walked to the kitchen to fetch a condom. We slid into the classic missionary position and I prepared to be filled when he entered me because his cock was at a perfect 90 degrees when he returned from the kitchen.

He entered me but I didn’t feel full. I looked down my belly and could see his cock moving in and out but without the accompanying expected sensation. I wrapped my legs around his back to adjust the angle and there was no change. He brought my legs to his shoulders so I was almost eating my knees and the reduced feeling was the same. I braced my hamstrings to stabilise myself and he put a lot of effort into slamming me — I finally felt some hard thrusting and he came.

Later we repeated the exercise and the same thing occurred. I think he gets fully hard prior to orgasm as I can feel him in those moments, but the rest of the time he operates at about 80 per cent. It’s not a problem as there are plenty of things we can do in addition to intercourse but I was nonetheless thrown out of my comfort zone of assumption and into a new world of perception.

I think I’d worn him out and he distracted me by changing the TV channel to the Tour de France coverage. I was instantly transfixed. I calculated the breakaway group’s margin versus the kilometres left and the likelihood of a thrilling finish versus the awareness that I really should be in bed and not keeping SL up because his television is bigger than mine. After several ad breaks of me saying I really needed to get dressed and leave, I finally got dressed and left, almost taking his rubbish bin out of existence again.

He messaged the next day asking what kinky things I was interested in, so I guess that means we’ll see each other again. I’m happy about that.

OMG came back, and came quickly

He sent a message one night when I was at the gym and resting between sets. I was moping and missing the Country Boy, and it seems also not in the mood for using punctuation properly.

My last message could and probably should have been interpreted as mean of spirit but he accepted it as the provision of sound advice. Somehow, an hour later I was preparing to meet him at the park — my heart wasn’t in it but I wanted to be distracted for a while.

I arrived at the old haunt and scanned the place like a detective just in case the Country Boy was there — I haven’t contacted him again and still don’t know the protocol for custody of shared meeting places. He wasn’t there and it’s the site of most of my sex life so I staked my claim.

OMG arrived and we stripped off our pants in the back seat of his car. His cock slid in and out of my mouth. My clit got friendly with his tongue. His hand stroked his cock as mine rubbed his balls. He penetrated, I twisted an abdominal muscle while scrunched against the door. He came.

A moment later I was thankful for the darkness hiding my facial expression when he asked, “Do you think I have a problem with premature ejaculation?”

My immediate answer was going to be, “Well, fuck yes, I’ve got the vaginal equivalent of blue balls here,” but hurry up brain, please give me something that’s more kind and productive.

To buy some thinking time, I asked when he last ejaculated; he said he hadn’t masturbated for almost a week. I ended up replying with something along the lines of, “You might have had some build-up there and we exchanged a lot of highly-charged messages earlier. If you’d wanked then, you probably wouldn’t have been motivated to catch up now.”

Good answer. I gave myself a mental pat on the head.

Now, to expand on the conversation and look for ways of alleviating my frustration if we see each other again.

He thinks he can get himself off and remain interested and awake enough to meet me afterwards. I remain skeptical but perhaps it will work if there’s a couple of hours between his self love and our exchange of loving feelings. Or I really need to secure a longer block of time with him and remind him of the joys of seconds and thirds.

About the young single chap from the last post — 2 of 2

We didn’t talk much as we watched the film, but laughed at the same punchlines and felt comfortable in the silence.

As his hand started running absently along my thigh, though, thoughts simmered that I’d be up for seconds if he was. A few innocent-but-not-really brushstrokes of my fingers along his inner thigh brought his cock to full attention and I was impressed with the fast response; why didn’t I make the move earlier rather than submit myself to so many smutty gags on the screen?

We made preparations again and he entered me while he was on top. After feeling him labouring, I felt guilty in my passivity and suggested it was my turn to jump on board. He agreed quickly and we skipped to his bedroom to take up where we left off. His mattress was as spongy as the lounge and I understood why he was panting and sweating despite his fitness; too much energy was being absorbed by the base and not enough was being rebounded into upwards projection. I grabbed his shoulder with one hand and the wall with the other and tried to break the laws of absorbing mattress physics, however, the effort turned me into a sweating mess as well. I’ve never had sex on a waterbed, but this experience can’t have been too far from it.

He rolled around, took ownership of the top again and hammered away until his energy was depleted. We sat, looked at each other and didn’t know what to say — we were too breathless to talk, anyway. I was happy enough as far as pleasure received and I found the breath to ask if he’d like to wank and come in my mouth. He paused a moment – I don’t know if from surprise or having to think if he’d rather go to bed and sleep than bother – and eventually he said yes. He got on his knees and I rubbed his perineum area as he rapidly yanked the uppermost part of his cock and spurted a fresh quantity of semen in my mouth. We flopped back on the enemy mattress with a shared sense of relief.

The hour was getting later than I’d planned staying and I waited a polite amount of time before saying that I should go. He walked me to the loungeroom to recover my clothes from around the floor and escorted me to my car on the street. A quiet and affectionate kiss goodbye, a couple of text messages the next day and then an obvious silence hit the airwaves. It seems he thought he wanted something more than he really wanted it, but there was no real harm done. I was glad to have met someone new for the first time in more than a year and review how I let this one slip through my guard: hope, optimism, lust, all of the above – I’ll return to playing with my own generation and avoid the young pups.

Postscript: about five days later he sent a message saying he’d been busy with friends and work and he asked how I’d been. I reacted in the only way I knew how and contacted MB for his counsel — he messes with women’s heads regularly and his advice was to ignore Cub until he returns with another message. I won’t do that as I wouldn’t want that done to me, but I’ll wait a couple more days before responding. I was on the dating site tonight clearing messages and he’d viewed my profile so at least he’s thinking.