Mr OMGone

I did it. Finally.

Mr OMG got in touch last week – as he promised a while ago – to let me know the dates of his home-alone time. My schedule was flexible and I told him when I was free from Thursday to Sunday night.

I left the decision to set a date with him because it was his time off to allocate. My secondary reason was that there were no impediments to meeting and I had decided this was the last time he’d be given the opportunity to inconvenience me. I wasn’t setting him up, as such, but leaving myself with no more excuses for being weak when it comes to him.

On Sunday morning (after no calls or catch-ups) I sent a message requesting him not to contact me again. I felt sad and relieved at the same time but ashamed of myself for not doing it a long time ago. In addition to being back online and dealing with some people whose words are not true and whose intentions are selfish, I’m jaded as well as sick of having to demand to be treated with respect.

I still checked my phone to see if he had replied, even though I requested he not contact me again. My sense of logic is a knotted length of yarn at times.

Not a lot to report

The problem with posting in close to real-time is there’s no backlog of material to fill the gaps when nothing’s happening.

And nothing’s happening. The Country Boy just postponed our third meeting plan in a row and I’m feeling a tad frustrated. He has been ill and working seven days a week so I’ve been Ms Understanding and Patient for a fortnight, but it’s a not a long-term part I’d like to play because the forced smile is starting to freeze on my face. My period is also due in the next few days and the window of opportunity will be closing until next week (I’m trying to be patient).

There have been some stirrings of sexual activity on the home front. The Drummer came to me a couple of weeks ago with a hard cock in hand, saying I should take my medicine. Some smutty lines and roleplays make perfect sense if each person is attuned and in the mood, but I was sitting on the couch reading a book and not contemplating men with hard cocks in their hands. I felt lazy just turning my head, opening my mouth and rubbing his perineum area but the fantasy in his head involved me taking my medicine, and a mouthful I took. I pondered the surreal moment, chugged down some water, smiled and returned to my book.

Last weekend something similar happened when he was at the dining table but I moved at the last moment so his semen spurted from my shoulder down to my mid-thigh. Rather than attempt to clean the mess on my gym gear, I elected to change clothes before heading out the door. He said to make it known when I was in the mood for reciprocation, but I’m dog tired by early evening at the moment and my libido is spending more time in the shallows than at its peak. I know that sounds inconsistent to my comments about being frustrated in being able to see the Country Boy, but in the situation with him there’s also the anticipation and risk and break-from-routine novelty that I miss and crave.

Mr OMG has been back in touch and he might have a week of home-alone time later in the month. I’ve nominated myself to help take care of him so I’ll see if he comes good on some of the words he sent that left nothing to the imagination.

Has anyone ever received a mis-fired sexual text message? I received one from Young Lion recently, telling me the voice recording I’d left him was giving him an erection while he was on the train. Heh? I wrote back and said that perhaps his message wasn’t intended for me (we haven’t communicated for months). He back-pedalled instantly and said it was me he was referring to, which wasn’t correct as I haven’t made a voice recording for anyone, ever. I had a laugh about probably killing his public transport-worthy erection with my insistence that he didn’t need to bullshit.

I have to be careful at the moment as ArmyDude and the Country Boy have the same first name. The former is receiving advice on a professional issue and the latter is the recipient of unadulterated smut — a lapse in attention could result in an awkward situation; sending policy guidance to the Country Boy would be an explainable mistake but sending unadulterated smut to ArmyDude could open a whole can of worms. Don’t drink and text and don’t be sleepy and text.

Saying no, saying yes, and saying sorry

Mr OMG

I also said no to Mr OMG. And I meant it, but only temporarily.

He must have woken with an erection that needed taming as his first message arrived at about 7.30am. We organised to meet the same night at the park and I was torn between rushing from work and the gym to be on time, and wondering if he’d follow through because he’s backed out of our last couple of meetings.

I was leaving work when he said a family issue had come up and he had to postpone. I was disappointed but took the opportunity to slow down and watch True Blood with The Drummer when I got home. Alexander Skarsgard was naked on the screen, so all was not lost.

About 10 minutes before the time OMG and I were originally meeting, he sent a text message saying he was free and if I’d like to still catch up. It was cold and dark outside, Alexander Skarsgard was still naked, as was Ryan Kwanten, and I was enjoying just hanging out at home. No. I’m tired, I’m cosy, I’m not in the mood for re-finding my enthusiasm.

His messages became more urgent in tone and ended with exclamation marks, and I thought, Dude, I know the fun stuff isn’t going to last more than 30 seconds after a day’s build-up so come back when I’m going to be more than a quick-access orifice. He wandered off for a few days and returned today with a brief message. I’ll taunt him one afternoon and see if I can catch up with him another time.

NZ

Long time no hear, but he’s well and we’ve expressed interest in catching up. He’s been interstate and impossible to tie down (figuratively) so I guess we can wait until his life is more settled. (Edited to add: I received a message last night saying he has family visitors arriving and may be free in mid-September; I’m glad my life is a lot more flexible.) I don’t think I told the story here about our aborted night at the football oval the last time we met …

Army Dude

I haven’t typed that alias for a long time.

We exchanged a few Tour de France-related e-mails (it’s strange how a fringe sport here has unintentionally bound me to almost everyone from my present and past). In the back of my mind, I have always felt hypocritical that I didn’t end things cleanly with him, and the feeling has been more pointed of late after taking Country Hottie to task for similar behaviour.

In response to his most recent e-mail, I took the opportunity to write the best explanation I could for my past evasive behaviour and I apologised unequivocally. I didn’t expect to hear back but I was glad I finally gave him the respect I thought was owed.

I heard back about a week later asking for advice on a professional issue, however, he wasn’t going to ask because he didn’t want to jeopardise our friendship. He didn’t mention my e-mail as he was using his work account, so I think I can assume my apology was accepted with the spirit that was intended.

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.

The rest of the OMG tale

I showered quickly and made myself even later by waiting in the wrong car park for Mr OMG. We worked through the geographical confusion and he pulled up alongside me and got out of his car. Darkness had almost fallen and it was difficult to see his features in detail. We hugged and our smiles matched in breadth and he was skinnier than the last time I had my arms around him.

He makes me softer. Apart from the obvious turning to mush of my mind for tolerating and encouraging our situation, whatever ragged edges I have become smoother. After knowing him for more than two years, butterflies still dance in my tummy and I smile and giggle more (I’m usually one for wrenching gut pains with the jitters and use dry humour to deflect signs of nerves). These unfamiliar coquettish traits aren’t negative when they come out on occasion, and I could see the masculine versions mirrored in him as he fidgeted while he said he could barely speak.

I ran my hands across his shoulders and down his back, just to explore his shape and make sure it was him. It was. A tickle of lust spread from my centre to my hands and I gripped his buttocks, I don’t know, just to make sure they were his. They sure as hell were. Or, our tongues were re-acquainting themselves by that stage and whatever my hands did wasn’t my responsibility. He had a week’s worth of facial hair that had curled gently and didn’t scratch my chin as we kissed. I withdrew for a moment to look at his face and I kissed him again; his lips aren’t as full as the Country Boy’s and it felt like uncharted territory re-mapping someone else’s anatomy and movements.

His hand slid down the track pants I’d put back on (my inner rebel said not to make an effort after a year of absence) and the region between my legs sprang with moisture. He rubbed and circled my clit for about 30 seconds and asked if I was going to come. I let out one of those giggles mingled with a snort of doubt and said that I was too nervy and not relaxed enough to come. I wondered later if he was gifted with magical fingers that my body didn’t appreciate, had a partner with the gift of being able to come quickly or he wasn’t as experienced as I’d assumed, I don’t know, but there was no way my body was going to settle enough to find release.

I was giddy with the spirit of adventure and suggested we settle somewhere more comfortable. We looked around and when I thought about the comfort of his car I instead ended up saying we should head over to the picnic bench and table. After I sat on the bench I grabbed the belt of his jeans and pulled him towards me. I thought it was one of my better unscripted moves but I suppose no man in his right mind would say no to having his groin directed at a woman’s mouth. Dark jeans and night time be damned because I could see his erection peaking upwards and I silently lauded the good people who invented denim.

He didn’t need to be asked to unzip. I took him in my mouth and remembered the curve of his shaft as I started gagging. The Country Boy’s cock is broader and straighter so I usually can’t stuff enough in to reach gagging stage, but with Mr OMG I had to slow and re-acquaint myself with ways of sucking him that were pleasurable for him and comfortable for me. Him bracing his hand on the skin between my neck and shoulder and sliding his cock towards the roof of my mouth did the trick. His other hand grasped my ponytail for effect and he thrusted in my mouth until he said he was close to coming. When we started, he said he’d like to come in my mouth and recover before fucking me, but time wasn’t on our side and we only had one shot.

And a quick shot it was. He bent me over the bench with my upper body sprawled across the table and tore down my pants. My body was more than ready and he slid in to the hilt and fucked with long, firm stabs. Little waves of orgasm ripped through me quickly, for which I was grateful to my willing body because it was all over in about 15 strokes.

He was embarrassed about the outcome but happy to catch up with me, I was frustrated with the outcome but happy to catch up with him, and we vowed with utmost in-the-moment sincerity to catch up before another year passes. We’ll see.

This week’s cameo role is played by Mr OMG, with a guest appearance by The Drummer

Mr OMG and I have fallen into a strange but comforting routine over the last six months. He storms in from wherever he’s been, I respond with cautious joy, he occasionally sends pictures, I occasionally reciprocate and he suggests a meeting driven by the state of the hard-on in his pants. I confirm and he either disappears without notice or remembers to postpone, but it doesn’t hurt as I knew it was going to happen. We lay low for a few weeks and start the cycle again.

I have accumulated quite a collection of pictures and the resilience of mind that we may never see each other except for chance sightings at the local shops. He did offer to exit my life but we have developed a tolerable pattern of behaviour and an amiable companionship of sorts. If I weren’t so awful at being friends with exes, I’d almost call it friendship.

Last weekend we exchanged a few messages in the morning and by late afternoon his libido was rampaging. He offered to meet at the foreshore in the early evening and this time I suspected he was prepared to follow through. I was sitting at home with unwashed hair, no make-up and wearing an old tracksuit and needed to make a decision quickly. I gained the Drummer’s blessing to dash out for an hour or so and responded to Mr OMG that I’d have a shower and hit the road.

Between putting the phone down and heading to the bathroom, The Drummer intercepted me with his cock in his hand and the comment that he wanted a bit of what Mr OMG was going to have. I stopped, and was caught in a never-never land of indecision and guilt. The Drummer and I have had limited sexual contact over the last 12 months and he consents to my other life so who am I to rush out without paying attention to his wants? Then again, his lust was probably only sparked by the knowledge I was heading out to meet someone else and he has all the other time in the world to be physical with me. But I haven’t approached him for a long time though and should be welcoming of his advance regardless of its timing, but I’d made a commitment to Mr OMG.

Fuck. You can read all the self-help books and blogs in the world about non-monogomous relationships but there are some crossroads that don’t come with roadmaps.

The Drummer pulled my pants down and pushed my upper half over the bed. Decision made on my behalf. His cock was becoming harder but my body wasn’t ready and I experienced jabbing pains until my body adapted to penetration. After more thrusting he felt good inside me but the clock in the back of my mind was ticking that I had about 10 minutes until I’d be late for the agreed time with Mr OMG. The Drummer is on medication that can delay orgasm and I suspected with the short lead-in that I’d possibly be leaving him dry.

Fuck.

The Drummer removed my pants, flipped me around on my back and got on board. We kissed and I wrapped my arms around my back and the mis-fire of our last attempt at sex a few weeks ago was fading from memory. However, his thrusting started falling into the mechanical monotone that signals he’s a long way off coming and I broke the pattern and said I should have a shower and go.

The Drummer was understanding and said that at the start he was into it but not fully into it, if I knew what he meant. I didn’t. Maybe he was acting on the first impulse that hadn’t fully developed into serious intent; he can come in a reasonable time if he’s had a longer build-up and this was a spur of the moment action.

I showered quickly and made myself even later by waiting in the wrong car park for Mr OMG. We worked out the geographical confusion and he pulled up alongside me and got out of his car. Darkness had almost fallen and it was difficult to see him in detail after a year’s absence. We hugged and our smiles matched in breadth and he was skinnier than the last time I had my arms around him.

And I’m going to have to continue this another time as I’m away from the computer for a few days. I’ll be back.

Got/not got

Got

I got the job. My mind is springing between excitement at being given what I asked for, and being petrified at being given what I asked for. Hopefully there’s a happy medium.

I almost got a few hours with Mr OMG, to the point of him suggesting and committing to a night and time (all I needed to supply was the venue), but my period arrived early. I had to laugh about that.

Not got

The Country Boy and I were going to catch up but Mother Nature chose to interrupt those plans as well. He offered to wait on the sidelines until I’d settled into my new job, but I need to tell him my philosophy that if I’m breathing, I’ve got the energy to meet him. I am going to wish for some naked time with him next week.

I am an idiot – parts 1 and 2

Part 1

Mr OMG called when I was at work in the temp gig office. In a shining example of disciplined behaviour, I grabbed my phone and bolted towards the exit to take the call. However, the phone was connected to the computer while the battery was charging. The USB cable ended up coming with me and it was only pure good luck that I didn’t haul the computer off the desk as well.

We had an easy and relaxed chat about Christmas and our previous conversation about mental health and the hardening state of his cock (I didn’t intend for us to talk about that). I rode along with his positive mood and we ended up agreeing to meet the following night. Later in the afternoon we exchanged about 20 text messages and he sent two nude photos.

Of course, what goes up must come down. At lunchtime on the day I confirmed the time and venue; an hour later the little voice in my head that knows he checks his phone at lunchtime said that he’s going to cancel. I finally received a message saying he had a family thing that he’d forgotten about and if we could pencil in the following night.

I took a few deep breaths and asked him to conjure a more convincing story, and to not bother about the next night. It’ll be a while before we talk again.

Part 2

I received a series of calls one night from M1 (potted history: first man I met as part of this journey, haven’t seen him for more than two years, dominant, pissed me off by not being appreciative one night when I cooked a meal with my hands bound to my neck). I ignored the calls as he’d been sniffing around before Christmas and intimating that we should re-visit the past. However, his messages were so carefully worded that he could have feigned innocence if I told him I wasn’t interested in sexual contact, so we were in a stalemate of me waiting for him to overstep the current boundary.

The next morning I sent a note saying I couldn’t talk. A long reply followed saying the phone had been found, I was in the contacts list and could I contact the owner to collect it from the police station? Sure, it’ll give me practice at not being such a tetchy ex. I tidied things up via e-mail and he got his phone back thanks to the kind and persistent stranger. Then the real M1 called to ask me to lunch to say thank you.

I said yes and then began to regret leaving the door open to more contact. But we met and had a reasonably relaxed conversation until he said he had a DVD of mine and he’d bring it next time.

I don’t think I’ve heard that tactic to ensure a second date in advice columns since I was about 17 years old. I stared at his smiling look how clever I am face and didn’t know whether to slap him for being so cheeky or shake his hand for having the gumption to try. I said it wasn’t my DVD and he replied that it must be because he’d written it in his loan book. The whole hour had turned surreal after hearing that, together with his sidestepping mention of buying new bondage toys I might like to see one day but not inviting me expressly to test them, so I wandered off and wondered what it all meant.

The one I can have, and the one I can’t

Occasionally I’ll send the Country Boy a text message with the skeleton of a fantasy we could indulge in, and he’ll either endorse my suggestion wholeheartedly, or return it with extra dirtiness and element of danger. I enjoy how he’s younger and less experienced but has no fear in giving me the contents of the sexual recesses of his mind.

In the last potential scenario I sent him, I said I wished it was autumn (southern hemisphere) on a temperate evening, and we were standing outside his car. He would open the car door, bend me forward so my hands were bracing the seat and my backside was at his hip level. After grinding his pelvis into me to check my body was positioned in the correct angles and his cock was hard, he would pull down my pants and enter me, with the opened car door providing protection of sorts from passers-by.

He replied with enthusiastic endorsement of my idea, but said the best part of the message for him was that I’d mentioned a timeframe months away and he hoped we’d continue seeing each other as long as we can.

When I read that part of the message I felt unusually tingly in the head and warm throughout my body — not in the way like a tongue’s down my throat, two fingers are in my vagina and a thumb’s in my arse, but in a soft rejuvenating way, like feeling the warmth on my back when sitting in a sunny window reading a favourite book.

Oh, fuck, I think it means I’m content. I’ve been drifting for so long that the feeling of contendedness crept up and tapped me on the shoulder without warning. I even checked ‘contentedness’ in the dictionary to make sure it was a real word and not one I invented.

I promise I won’t lose my edge though. He doesn’t know yet that I’ve found my buzzing butt plug and want to insert it in his bottom.

My reverie was interrupted when Mr OMG called to check after my welfare. He raised my hopes absurdly when he promised a photo to cheer me. It was late afternoon and I suspected he wouldn’t have time for a snapshot and would then forget. I was right. Even with this state of feeling pleased with my sexual lot, he gets under my skin without trying. I keep telling myself we all need something in our lives to remind us we don’t always get what we want.

Glass half empty

Between-meeting communication with the Country Boy dropped off suddenly. I didn’t know whether to interpret the change in behaviour as a natural cooling-off of the honeymoon period, a busy time in his real life or the beginning of the end. He then cancelled a catch-up at short notice and I read too suspiciously into his reason that an impossible-to-get concert ticket had been waved in front of his nose.

I gave him a ‘get out of jail free’ message that I understood if he didn’t want to catch up again, a gross over-reaction that naturally surprised him. At the time I didn’t realise my mental health was out of whack and thought I was behaving logically and rationally. He had the good grace to offer a meeting the following afternoon, and he showed up unshaved, tired as all hell and in decaying work clothes as he travelled straight to the city after work the night before and came to see me straight after the next day’s work.

I managed to push the mental cloud aside, apologise for being so shrill and enjoy him without driving him away permanently. It was a close call. I’m forcing myself to be on my best and least paranoid behaviour until this phase passes.

I think I may have driven Mr OMG away and I regret this even though I thought it was what I wanted. We had a discussion filled with sad honesty: he asked why I hadn’t been in touch and I said I was only ever looking for someone casually ongoing and it looked like we’d never have that. It was easier on me to let things fade.

I added that I was in a constricting phase of despair, as he refers to his depressive periods, and he would understand the urges for isolation from those around us. We talked and he answered all my questions about his psychological background that I hadn’t dared broach before, and he gave me everything, including the nature of his affliction since late childhood and a sincere lack of care at times whether he lives or dies.

I sent him a thank you for listening text message after we finished the call, but after giving each other everything, I doubt we’ll ever be able to go back and face each other. Afterwards though, I still had urges to tell him that when he’s in a state of despair, I can pleasure and hurt him in ways that we need and would understand. I let the thoughts pass unsent.