I’ve been away and inactive on the man front so don’t have a lot to report. However, I have tidied a post sitting in the (now empty) draft queue from an episode in the car.

He finished with a long shudder and stayed in my mouth until he recovered. I eased myself up and my eyes met his.

“Don’t think you’re kissing me!”


My mind raced with so many thoughts I couldn’t catch one and shape it into words. Haven’t we done this dozens of times before – and kissed afterwards? Are you really that keen to disassociate yourself from potential homo-erotic connotations? You realise you taste just fine? Does this mean in future I should spit your cock out of my mouth when you’re close and you can tidy up your own belly afterwards? Or perhaps I’m the one with boundaries so flexible and warped that almost everything seems normal these days?

I have no idea.

He’s spent plenty of time between my legs with his tongue everywhere it can go. I’ve urinated on him, squirted on him and we had an unfortunate incident with anal sex when my body wasn’t empty enough and he dealt with the aftereffects better than I did.

We all have illogical quirks that we don’t just to justify to anyone, but I am curious. Maybe I’ll ask next time we’re in the same situation.

Lay back and enjoy the ride

The Country Boy turned the lever to push the car seat as far back as it would allow while cranking the recline dial to maximum. One second he was upright and talking to me and the next he was laying back saying, “You never know what’ll happen to a man in this position.”

Yes, I do know! It was one of those moments I wished he could see the non-stop reel of crude thoughts scrolling in a fast forward, high-definition montage in my mind.

I snapped back to reality (reclining, aroused man with mischief on his mind) and said, “The first thing that should happen is your zip needs to come down.”

He completed the task before I finished the sentence.

He knows I have a thing for feeling his cock through fabric and he left his underwear on to indulge me. I felt the hardening lines of his shaft and he widened his legs to allow access to the softer areas. After teasing him a while longer I peeled his underwear down and saw the reclining, aroused man with mischief on his mind sporting a monster-sized erection.

What to do? What to do?

Ride him, damn it.

I was wearing a long skirt and scrambled to ditch my shoes and pantyhose (how I wish stockings and suspenders were more practical to wear in the daily world). With the folds of my skirt in one hand I traversed to his side and used my other hand for balance while I positioned my feet. His erection had softened while I messed about but something about me hovering over him brought him back to hardness soon enough.

After lowering myself to take his full length in a fit of enthusiasm, I sprang back up from discomfort as I wasn’t ready for his size. He thought the first deep penetration was a hint for more and helped me down again while I resisted and tried to control depth. We sorted out a compatible rhythm quickly and he came after about a dozen thrusts. Thankfully I’d relaxed enough after a few strokes to come a couple of times as well.

He said he was disappointed in a way that I had come because he had other plans for me, but my world was hazy and sparkly and he is saving his plans for next time.


We met at the park and squeezed in about 15 minutes of show, tell and touch time in the car before visitors arrived for a function at the nearby clubhouse.

I don’t know what was going on in there but it wasn’t an ‘arrive and leave at the same time’ event and the procession of cars was disrupting our routine. Our routine was me demonstrating my skill at removing work pants while in the driver’s seat of my car and him interrupting by inserting his fingers inside me and causing me to forget why clothes were important. I guess it was my fault because the easiest way to take off my shoes seemed to be by flinging my legs around the steering wheel and leaving plenty of space for his hand to wander. He was flexible enough to bend and use his mouth on me for a few short moments until the headlights of yet another car killed the darkness.

He laughed at my building frustration but shut up after I removed his cock from his pants and used my hand on him. The only words he was soon capable of were, “We need a bed. Privacy. Space. A fucking bed.”

After several build-ups for me with no relief, I passed the stage of wanting to orgasm and was full of tetchy non-specific energy that needed using. I asked if he thought I’d fit in the passenger seat floor pan. He pondered why and I said I’d explain if I could manage to squeeze down there.

It was only after I half-turned, straddled and slid between his legs that I realised getting into the small space was going to be easier than getting out. He realised quickly that my mouth was at the perfect level to suck his cock and didn’t seem to be thinking at all about how I’d get out. I kept the thrusts with my mouth fairly short so my head didn’t bob above the line of the window, however, as time and his excitement levels progressed he straightened his back and met my mouth, holding my head to stabilise me. I gagged a few times as he was thrusting ferociously at this stage but I held tight and waited for the extra feel of hardness in his shaft that precedes his orgasm.

His breathing became ragged and I knew he was close. He started to say, “I’m going to ….” but the sentence turned in a plea of “DON’T MOVE!” I couldn’t move anyway as he was spurting in my mouth while a car pulled up alongside us. I was trying to hold his cock in my mouth while trying to swallow, he was trying to come silently and we both willed the people in the car to fuck the hell off. After what seemed like an eternity he said it was safe to breathe and move again. I swallowed and laughed because the timing couldn’t have been more inconvenient.

It was his turn to laugh next as I tried to work out how I was going to get out of the floor pan. The front of my thighs and the front of the car seat matched like a good Tetris play and I wasn’t sure how I was going to straighten my knees to slide up the seat. I extended my legs as much as I could and pulled myself up using him as a lever. He flipped me around to the driver’s seat after an unplanned interaction with the handbrake and sat me back where I started. It’s not a manoeuvre I’d like to perform every day but it’s good to know there’s another space in the car that can be used as a portable bedroom.

By this time I was content in having seen him but he told me to put my pants on and get out of the car. Curiosity, of course, won me over. My pants didn’t stay on long as he pulled them to the ground, pushed me against the side of the car and worked my g-spot until what I thought was a small spray hit the bitumen. He kept going and my head was spinning and I don’t know if I was upright or flopped like a soft toy by that stage. The fourth release felt like it ripped me open and I felt fluid rush down the inside of both thighs to my ankles. I wanted to see how much I’d squirted on the ground after that flood and then realised my pants were technically still on. I pulled them up and the wet patch was larger than a dinner plate, which made sense because the bitumen was dark and wet in front of and behind my legs.

We admired our handiwork until I really had to put the cold and wet pants back on and drive home. He had made a good point earlier that we need a bed and privacy soon.

Everything old is new again

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

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

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

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

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