Poppycock and balderdash


I re-activated my profile on the original sleazy web site to look around as the Country Boy and I have discussed looking for a third person to join us. I’m not sure we’ll proceed any time soon as we haven’t fleshed out the details of who we’re looking for (I’ll want a man and he’ll want a woman, for starters) and I’m too stressed to hell about other things, but I found a couple of people from the past sitting on my hot list.

Mogul, who “never uses the web site as I’m not usually that kind of man” had been active in the last 24 hours. He wasn’t online so I thought it safe to read his profile and block him so my viewing wouldn’t be logged in his activity list — mature, I know. He is a premium-level member. And he’s in his early thirties, 5 foot 10 in height, has a nine-inch cock, above average looks and finds that most women can’t satisfy him. Well! If the reality police were to conduct a raid, they’d say he was over forty years of age, 5 foot 6 in bare feet, has a cock larger than his other bodily dimensions but — I don’t know — six inches perhaps (maybe he typed the number upside-down), quirky looks with a styled bouffant of hair and, while he’s not lacking in the skill department,  possesses delusions so fanciful that no one could satisfy him. I wonder if the compact brunette he’s piledriving in his photo gallery knows a) she’s featured several times and b) her face isn’t concealed.

Reading his profile was quality entertainment and I might have to unblock him one day and go back for more.


When I met SuperNerd earlier in the year I wrote:

There was no one thing that sent my hackles on edge, but in looking back, it was a series of small inconsistencies and doubts. I still don’t know what his game was, but it doesn’t matter now.

He had been online in the last 24 hours as well and viewed my profile within minutes of me logging in. I looked at his, and he’s changed his ‘single’ status to ‘married’ and written several times that he’s married and doesn’t want judgement or personal attacks.

That at least explains my feeling that something wasn’t above board with him. He told me he was separated, had part-time custody of his child and his house was free for meetings. His wife must have a similar name to mine as in the early days he accidentally sent me a couple of messages intended for her about having paid some of her bills, which I thought was generous or perhaps part of their separation agreement. And he wriggled out of discussions when I mentioned meeting at his house. I wonder how many pickles he got himself stuck in with his secret life before he decided to be upfront.

I know protecting one’s identity is important, but I stick to a rule of twos: lie about my age by no more than two years and my location by no more than two suburbs, and have profile photos less than two years old. Then again, I fell into both their worlds so perhaps slathering one’s profile with mountains of bullshit works as well.


Mogul returned on the weekend with a midnight message enquiring into my general contentment. I snapped quietly the next day and asked Why are you back in touch?

He said there weren’t interesting ladies like me around (I’m apparently a lady, can’t be upset about that) and he’d be happy with occasional text messages and chats if I was willing.

I said I’d give this potential friendship thing a try: I’m not good at reverting to friendships with people from my past, however, I’m in regular contact with MB and exchange messages occasionally with ArmyDude, so perhaps it might work. Now I’ve made a decision I’m blank of topics for conversation, and I don’t have sex with friends so any potential openings there have been closed. I don’t have Facebook so I can’t go and stalk his wall or whatever it is the techno-kiddies do these days. (I think I’ve spent too much time home alone and need to start interacting with people again.)


I responded to Mogul and thanked him for his partial explanation. He wrote back asking a couple of catch-up questions about topics dear to my heart — knowing full-well I couldn’t help but answer — but I gave closed responses and didn’t ask anything of him. I think he’s wandered off again. He seems to be thoughtfully melancholic late on weekend nights and I’ll see if he makes a comeback.

I don’t know why I didn’t tell him to delete my number after the first message. I don’t intend opening the scars again to let him in, but part of me still likes the thought of him, much as he seems to like the thought of me. Idealism is still fighting a losing argument with reality, and the reality is that while I am disposable in some ways, I never want to be made to feel like I am.


More than two months after disappearing, Mogul returned with this message:

So sorry. I vanished, and I know like last time I did that your reply was you just blocked me out. I am texting you because I feel bad. Not going to explain what happened because I’m sure you really don’t care, especially after all this time. You are a really nice person and I enjoyed spending time with you. I think the whole situation was difficult and I got confused. Sometimes I can be erratic and just disappear which I hate about me. Anyway, I hope you are well.

It’s not really an apology (in my confused mind) and it’s not an explanation. He is wrong in assuming I wouldn’t care for the reasons:  I’m very interested because I’m too curious for my own good and I wish to learn as much as I can to avoid others with a tendency to disappear.

I can’t fathom why he made contact again: my guess is that he hooked up with his ex, they’ve broken up again and he’s a lost soul. He always liked me as a person but seemed conflicted about my relationship situation. Otherwise, he did have a significant event about a month ago and possibly ran away rather than face a discussion about not involving me (he might have forgotten I’m used to not being invited to family hatches, matches and despatches).

I don’t know how I’m going to respond. I thought about deleting the message but — right or wrong — I treat others as I’d like to treated regardless of history.


Mogul didn’t respond to a message one night, which didn’t set off alarm bells as he was busy moving house. He called at ungodly o’clock and I assumed he’d hit the bottle again, which didn’t set off alarm bells because he’s done that before. I responded with a text message the next day and didn’t hear back after several days. Oh.

I sent a final message asking for clarification that he wanted me to stop contact, but I didn’t hear back, again. Perhaps one day I’ll find humour in his timing that he disappeared just as I had lowered my guard and let him in further.

I’ll be back once I’ve finished licking my wounds.

You can teach rapidly-ageing women new tricks

I knocked on Mogul’s door and realised he wasn’t exaggerating when he said he was hungover. His complexion was grey, his clothes were hanging off his already thin frame and he shuffled along the hallway like an arthritic dog when he led me inside. No sooner had I stepped over the threshold did he excuse himself to go and vomit. This wasn’t a pleasing start to the night.

When he returned he emphasised — and said almost proudly — that he hadn’t been sick this time. I still wasn’t keen on kissing him to verify his claim.

We talked for a long time as I undertook a risk assessment of him being sick if I pounced (still too high for my comfort). I encouraged him to try a light meal — thank goodness he keeps his kitchen stocked with pre-dinner appetisers in case a busload of hungry gourmands drops by. I eyed him sampling some food; the poor man was being scrutinised like an interviewer poring over every movement of a job candidate.

Four or five hours later (can’t hurry a hangover recovery, unfortunately) we stood as he wanted to show me something and we hugged gingerly. He survived, so we kissed tentatively. His breath was almost opaque with alcohol fumes but otherwise clean so we kissed some more. I led him to his bedroom so we could become horizontal as his balance was less than stable. I was glad we were making progress but terse that a virtual tee-totaller had chosen the night before to go on a bender.

He was like a sleepy, pliant child changing out of clothes for bed when I undressed him. Pushing him back on the mattress could not be considered a feat of strength and I didn’t wait for him to attempt sitting upright — I undressed myself as he laid on the covers. His cock stood to attention quickly with my lips though and I stuck with the basics in case rimming or a finger up his arse was too much of a shock to his system.

Finally the urges of libido overtook the queasiness of his excesses and he indicated for me to roll on my back. He kneeled alongside me so I could continue sucking his cock as he penetrated me with his fingers. He alternated between frantically see-sawing a finger on my clit (less please) and fingering my g-spot roughly (more please) until his cock fell out of my mouth because I couldn’t concentrate. Holy fuck, the world filled with stars and I vaguely remember trying to sit and say thank you as he did it again. I fell back and waited for the heavens to erupt again. They did. I think at this stage I held his cock like a gearstick in case I slid off the bed.

He extracted his penis from my hand and penetrated me while my vaginal muscles were still contracting. I made wild noises as his cock felt like it was slicing with equal pleasure and discomfort through my insides as my muscles were forcibly stretched. As soon as my body relaxed, he withdrew and finger fucked me again until I came in huge spasms, and he leapt on board again and repeated the invasion with his cock. Usually orgasms leave me calm and replete, but this time my body was feeding on the energy from the sexual releases and I wanted him to do this for several more hours. My urges grew on the cycle of coming, closing and opening and my body was attempting to swallow and engulf his cock each time he loomed over me.

I can’t remember what happened next but he ended up reclined against some pillows and came in my mouth. I must have wanted to thank him in one of the ways I know how.

I was still energised for more and we watched the start of an awful late-night movie as he recovered. My hands roamed along his arms, chest and belly and wandered lower as he began responding. I brushed his cock with my fingertips until he became hard and started pushing into my hand. I rolled my palm over his cock sideways and his pelvis shifted along to the movement of my hand as I waited for the right moment to suggest the next act. I flicked his nearest nipple with my tongue.

And then he ran out of steam. I lost his erection and couldn’t get life into it again. Actually, I couldn’t get much life into the rest of him so I curled up again and watched the rest of the awful movie.

I returned home and was still glitter-eyed and supercharged sexually, so I got myself off before going to sleep.

Wasn’t so wild after all

The month turned out to be less exciting than I had hoped. I ended up postponing a meeting with Mr OMG to live out one of my ideas (fucking in my boss’s company car and hopefully squirting over the upholstery) due to a short-term illness but we have a few weeks to make that happen and I’m full of good health again.

I had dinner during the week with Mogul and my mind was focused on corrupting him in his car in the hotel car park, however, drunk patrons and a roaming security guard put an end to that plan. We caught up a few days later and I’ll chronicle that night in the next post.

A drunk client thought it a great idea that I drive five hours to meet him and I filed that offer away in the ‘unreasonable’ cabinet. Last week Steele returned and asked vaguely if I was still interesting in visiting his workplace, but I thought long and hard about his cancellations and apathy and said no — the convenience is handy but is no substitute for enthusiasm. I closed my account on the bisexual meeting site as the only difference between it and the heterosexual site was the number of men in brightly-coloured lingerie and strained fishnet stockings. The man with a tattoo on the shaft of his penis was a revelation though — I wonder how the tattoo artist completed the artwork as the image looked its most effective in the photos when his cock was erect.

I lamented briefly that April wasn’t full to the brim of wild behaviour, but when I thought about my sexual wish list over the last couple of years, double penetration was the only ‘to-do’ left uncrossed. One day … it’s highlighted in bright yellow and surrounded by stars, just so I don’t forget.

Month of madness 6 — the quick fuck

After the first time with Mogul, I was engaged in an internal argument regarding desire and arousal. I wasn’t as taken by lustful desire as usual because I was still ambivalent about attraction to him, but my body belied my thoughts by making me slick to the point that his cock lost traction and slid out several times when we were fucking. He expressed amazement at my wetness. Hell, I was amazed because I didn’t think I was as aroused as my body indicated, and I was at the time of my cycle when my juices were at their least generous and thinnest.

He invited me to his house again last weekend and I said yes (I was unsure if I accepted because the offer was reasonable or if I was trying to see if the concept of him evolved into the real him). I need to stop overthinking.

We sat next to each other on the lounge discussing non-sexual topics. In the background I was the stage of feeling more interested and curious than aroused, but when we kissed and he undid my jeans and slid his hand down my pants, my underwear was as saturated as last time. I admitted defeat to my bodily state and an explosion of lust burst my mind — suddenly nothing was more important in the world than having this man’s cock inside me. I made myself clear that I was happy with right there and right then on his lounge but he made me wait until we completed a semi-clothed dash to his bedroom.

He lasted no longer than a minute or two including slipping-out and re-entering time because of my overly-generous wetness. Amid the fray, I noted my hamstrings felt flexible as my calves nestled beside my ears comfortably when he put my legs on his shoulders and leaned into me to close the hinge of my hips. Cool. I shut like a book.

We tidied and went out for a drive and a quick meal. When we returned I said it was time for me to head back to my full-time life, but when we kissed goodbye I was struck by an urge to push him against the wall and rip his clothes off. Next time.

Month of madness 5 — the mind fuck

Sometimes events are inevitable, not through obligation or desire, but just because a conclusion is overdue. The nature of the conclusion doesn’t matter because it’s merely a marker point of sorts and not a climax.

After six months, I finally met the man who cancelled at the last moment and re-initiated contact a few weeks ago. And had sex with him. I don’t really have an opinion about how I want the conclusion to eventually read. He wasn’t at all like I had imagined in my mind after so long, as if the more time and contact I had with which to construct his identity, the further along the plane of reality the real him was when he opened the door*. When I think of him, I picture the old him of my mind and not the real him, and that’s not fair on either of us.

The flesh and blood him before me was smaller, finer and less charismatic than I imagined, not as contemplative, but steadier in overall demeanour. He fucked like I imagined though: lots of kissing, finger fucking and every position under the sun. However, the illusionary him wouldn’t have changed positions every time I settled into a rhythm. I went with the flow and bent my body to meet his as shapeshifting seemed the only thing to do. He showered kisses on shoulder bones and arms and my guard wasn’t down enough to appreciate these intimate touches as I didn’t know if his tenderness was real or situational.

I showered and he had prepared an antipasto platter, which the other him would also have done because he would do things with style, regardless of the outcome. I ate and slipped out into the dying light and he didn’t walk me to my car. I took it as a sign that while he doesn’t make decisions or enter into arrangements lightly, he was thinking as I was and our conclusion wrote itself at his front door.

Postscript: He sent a text message less than half an hour after midnight on my birthday because he wanted to be first to wish me happy birthday. I’ve got no fucking idea about people.

* First man I’ve met at his house without meeting in public first. I thought six months was long enough to feel comfortable about meeting someone on his own turf the first time :-).

Month of madness 3 — the, um, nothing

Last weekend came and went with a lot of promise and as much frustration.

I banished Young Lion for telling me he had a week off work and plenty of time to catch up, but he couldn’t/wouldn’t commit to a day. He tried the last-minute game and I walked away; now he’s sending photos and text messages and being almost clingy. Fuck, all I’ve asked for is a few days’ notice and I’ll move mountains to spend time with him, but I’m not in the mood to be his last-minute girl.

Pleasure Freak has sent some messages, but our timetables haven’t matched for a park meeting. He likes watching people suck his sock and said he could pick up a man and let me watch (in the spirit of this month). He is another last-minute fly-by-nighter with whom I’ve not maintained contact, but the park is only 15 minutes from work and is an option for an eye-opening experience if it comes off. I’ll have to try him on afternoons I’m free and see what happens.

Someone from my almost-past returned and we’ve engaged in some cautious phone contact. He postponed our planned first meeting in the early hours with an excuse I thought was a cover-up for having met someone else. I was right (almost impossible to be wrong on that one) and they have since entered and ended a relationship. I can’t fathom what he wants in the larger meaning of his world; he wants an understanding friend to talk to, but a couple of times has called late at night on a mission to collect me and return me unharmed in the morning. There’s something unresolved from last time, but I’m not sure — and he’s not sure — of his intentions that I don’t know what to do. Commonsense says run, don’t walk, but curiosity and the need for resolution keeps me from donning the running away shoes.

I’m meeting NZ again early this week for a couple of hours, so all is not lost.

I found a bisexual personals site and placed an ad for two men who want a third person (that would be me), but most of the responses have been from crossdressers and t-girls far outside my age range and location range. However, I’m learning lots of new terms such as “suck’n’run” and “wank buddy.” I was deadly serious in my post a couple of weeks ago about hiring a man or two for a double penetration, but it looks like I’ll be needing surgery in the next couple of months and the out-of-pocket expenses will be high. It’s hard to justify rampant hedonism when more serious financial obligations are pending (and my period is out of whack and now due on the day of my birthday).