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.

No chilling but plenty of creepiness

I ended up replying to Mr Chilled the day after he wrote — my message was welcoming but measured and I expressed interest in catching up again. I haven’t heard back for more than a week and one of my (newer) rules of thumb is that people who express interest singly tend to consolidate with mutually agreeable murmurs of intention within a couple of days. His e-mail was too well expressed to be a drunken missive, so I’ll chalk it down to either stroking his ego to see if he still has ‘it’, something in my reply sent him running, he’s just changed his mind or he hasn’t changed from the ethereal self I remember. The more people I meet, the fewer I understand, I swear.

One thing I should have done at the start of setting up an online account was create a document for ‘do not answer’ names and numbers. I’ve been caught out again twice by deleting numbers of people I didn’t expect to contact again and my urge for a tidy contact list in my mobile phone is too strong to change. I received a message from an unknown number pondering why my number is in his phone as he has no idea who I am. I replied and a second later felt sick in the stomach and realised it was the man who gave me the strongest sense of anti-attraction of my adult life. It took a few messages to banish him again. This time I’ve saved one of the messages with the number.

Even worse, I received a 3am message from an unknown number saying, “Is your husband still working at [company name]?” I can’t place the number at all, the person didn’t reply to my response the next morning and I’ve scoured my e-mail and online account for clues. Assuming it’s someone who knows me, is familiar with my relationship situation but not enough to be accurate, and being correct but out of date in where The Drummer works, I think it’s the man from a few months ago who I met in a park before he freaked out. We had a ‘who do you know?’ chat before we met as I knew of his family and we lived in the same locality. When I checked his old messages in the online acccount I saw he’s been viewing my profile exactly once a week for two months. Creepy. I blocked him.

More comebacks and an amusing disappearance

Young Tradesman issued an enthusiastic and surprising invitation considering I thought we were a once-off that didn’t go very far, but I’m struggling to garner enthusiasm for anything with only a few hours’ notice. Our planets might collide again if he gets in touch and I’m less distracted and rundown (I need time to document why life isn’t going to plan at the moment but the list keeps getting longer).

The other challenge with strictly casual arrangements I’ve been avoiding is that I grow cold and lose interest after a couple of weeks without mental interactions to feed lust and intent. If I’m home and the physical urge strikes, I take the pragmatic approach and get myself off rather than go on the hunt for someone on speed dial who might be free. Most men I’ve been in touch with — including Young Tradesman — who prefer the hunting method think I’m from a different century and that any non-sexual contact is akin to constricting their freedom. Regardless, he’ll either tire of pursuing an option that can’t be bothered showering and braving the cold, or I’ll get around to telling him myself.

I received an e-mail from Mr Chilled this morning, filled with reminiscences and asking if I’d be interested in catching up again. The practical beauty of the blog lately has been quickly being able to track whether I’ve had fun or not with those who have disappeared (big yes, judging by the endorphin-distilled essay I wrote in January) and the reality check that we met six months ago before communication with him became too much hard work. I’m not sure whether to despatch him or go back and finish what we started. For no particular reason and no regard for consistency, I’m leaning towards the positive.

I want to finish the tale of the woman I’ve mentioned a few times. We were due to meet but she hooked up with her husband’s female lover at a swingers’ party they all attended and the two women seem to have run off into the sunset together. I’m not sure how her husband feels about this. I have been dumped quicker than the proverbial hot potato but it’s all been worthwhile for the biggest belly laugh I’ve had in ages.

PS: I was starting another post that I’d had enough of Country Hottie’s lax communication (ten days or so since I asked for some final essential detail about the roleplay) and, low and behold, I just received an e-mail from him. He is free next weekend, when I will be bleeding half to death. I’ll sort it out later.

Sex is … what I say

When is someone’s name added to the tally of sexual partners and etched on the memory’s list of lovers (or experiences, for the especially frenetic who don’t remember names)? What defines the acts that bestow the qualifier of I have had sex with that person?

My line in the sand for heterosexual contact has been vaginal penetration. Simple. Gropings, mutual masturbation, half-furtive beginnings that screamed promise but petered to abandoned intent are memories – and sometimes lessons – but not etch-worthy. I’ve never had anal sex in isolation so my cunt-defined decree stood steady and unchallenged.

Until Mr Chilled tore up my rules.

We talked for a good hour until I returned from a toilet break and asked him coyly to lead me somewhere darker and more horizontal.

Before we left the fluorescent glare of his kitchen, we kissed until my body warmed to the temperature of the inflaming heat of stubble rash around my lips. We went back for more because, well, just because.

In his bedroom I touched and brushed his increasingly bared skin to adapt to the sinewy leanness of his frame. I can’t remember embracing someone so firm yet seemingly delicate.

His cock was a revelation, both its size being larger than his body’s proportions intimated and the metal ring glinting from its head (a Prince Albert piercing, I think). He didn’t mind that I experimented with a number of lip and tongue variations until I felt comfortable with the feel of steel sliding in my mouth.

He guided me backwards on the brushed cotton bedcover, removed my pants and underwear with almost painful leisure and explored studiously. He held one nipple between his thumb and forefinger and did the same with my clit while his tongue darted like a languid hummingbird. I fought the urge to pull him on top of me and relaxed into the mind spell of his slow sex.

We kissed again and I curled into a foetal shape when he slipped a vibrator between my legs. I pulled myself closer to his kneeling form and sucked his cock with my wet lips as he held my hair. A finger explored my wetness and I craved, almost said out loud, my desire to have him inside me but I withheld the words so I could experience where we’d travel organically.

I slipped into a hyper-relaxed void of not knowing where his touches were beginning or ending and he applied a little more pressure to a sweet spot that delivered an orgasm wrapped in the stars. He held my hand until my faculties returned.

I asked him to position himself on all fours for me and I admired the taut arcs of musculature from his waist to his shoulders. He murmured words of approval when my tongue probed and he backed into my hand almost needily when I slid two fingers inside. I didn’t know his desires or limits and I’m glad I took a chance to explore and be rewarded with his pleasure.

A small vibrator took the place of my fingers and I brushed his balls and perineum with my freed hand. He masturbated and said an urgent yes, please, when asked if he’d like the vibe’s setting increased. I held the toy in his contracting anus as he came and thinnish fluid filled his cupped hand.

We chatted until not long before my usual get-out-of-bed time and when I was alert enough to drive home safely. We kissed goodbye a few times at his front door, somewhat longer and with deeper tongue play with each contact until I had to battle the temptation to push him back inside.

Not a sliver of fucking in the (my) traditional sense but hours of sublime erotic exploration that left us replete and smiling whenever our eyes met. I have left him a message to the effect that I can’t wait to feel him enter me. Regardless if we meet again, this was etched-in-the-mind sex, oh yes.


I met a man. A sane man. A not-married man. An available on weekends man. More than an hour’s drive away but a tolerable trip man. Someone pinch me.

His online profile has several torso photos and I have to stop peeking because he’ll check his page views and think I’m a fucking pervey stalker.

He has nicely mussed hair and is lithe and snake-hipped like an indie musician. He has elegant hands with muscular forearms (a rather strong turn-on for mysterious primal reasons I can’t comprehend) and a relaxed and easy smile.

My only niggle is that we haven’t spoken yet beyond the building blocks of what we’re seeking: we’ve struck common ground with wanting regular, ongoing physical meetings with some interaction between, and agreed we’d like to see each other beyond our first, innocent meeting. All very civilised and a nice ice breaker but with his languid, go-with-the-flow style, I haven’t got a confident read on his sexual mapping. Best I send him some questions while I lie back and ponder.

[Ongoing postscript: His responses regarding desires and things not completed on his sexual wishlist were also easy-going and general and I’ve been thinking please don’t let me drive all this and make it feel like work. I’m the (paid to be) boss at work, I’m the (reluctant but have to be) boss at home most of the time and the best I can do with my other life is be the occasional leader, co-conspirator or enthusiastic follower. I’ll see what happens over the next few days.]