Pokemon Go is Stopping Outdoor Adventures

I’m wedged firmly between the gaming eras of Space Invaders and the Assassin’s Creed series but I somehow missed Pokemon the first time around.

However, I’ve become quite the self-proclaimed legend on Pokemon Go through necessity.

NZ and I were messing around in the back of his family transporter, parked adjacent to a sports field and walking path. The sky was a moonless black and we huddled in the bubble of his car because the air was almost freezing outside. No one else was around. No one else was silly enough to be out in the middle of winter.

We had removed our pants, keeping our tops and socks on in respect to the chilly air (or to German porn). I wriggled as far up the floor pan of the car as I could, with NZ wedging himself as best he could between my legs. His tongue and fingers started my slide into a dreamy reverie.

Lights suddenly flashed outside. I sat bolt upright, convinced we were surrounded by police.

“What the fuck is that?” I said, pleasure forgotten.

NZ unwrapped his limbs and looked out the side glass as well. Three mobile phones and dark silhouettes were moving towards us at an unescapable pace. I wondered if the owners of the glowing gadgets could see our outlines through the clouded glass. Towards the left, more blueish-white orbs of light from mobile phones bobbed in the distance. We were surrounded.

NZ pulled a blanket over our bare skin (yeah, officers, we were just having a semi-naked picnic in the back of this car). As we awaited our fates, a sedan drove into the car park and pulled up suddenly. No one got out. Thirty seconds later, it drove off again.

The holders of the mobile phones got within 10 metres of us before veering to the right and then turning vaguely towards where they came from, as if chasing invisible butterflies. They flitted away into the distance. The sedan returned a few minutes later, stopping briefly and taking off again. It returned another time before disappearing.

NZ and I discussed what might have happened. Short of looking for aliens, the best reason I came up with was that people were looking for a lost dog. That didn’t explain the stopping-and-going of the car though. NZ seemed to hope they were outdoor perverts like us, but with thicker skins. We gave up pondering and tried to return to our intended activities. I was too scatter-brained to relax and NZ’s dick went up and down like a see-saw. We finished each other off with our hands, cleaned up and vowed to get a hotel room next time.

The next night I watched the news and the lead story was about the Pokemon Go craze sweeping the country. The footage showed tribes of people roaming around at night, phones glowing in hands while capturing animated insect things. Ooh. I texted NZ with the explanation for the previous night’s happenings.

I downloaded the Pokemon Go app and learned enough to catch a few zubats and ratty critters in my neighbourhood. I haven’t returned to the car park NZ and I met in but something tells me that it was a Poke-stop and the adjacent areas were rich with rare Pokemon.

I can’t wait until the craze is over.



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.

On cocks and compliments

Just as I was leaning towards the negative in regard to a casual future with Young Lion, he sent a message complimenting my skills with my mouth and how rare it was for his cock not to be grazed with a partner’s teeth. After thanking my lucky stars it wasn’t just me who found manoeuvring his size a challenge, I did a little strut of pride around the lounge room because I have it, people, even when I think I don’t. But seriously, for me, a compliment after a sexual experience is worth ten times more than one given in the lead-up because the motivation is much purer.

As Dave said in a man’s perspective on oral sex (in my favourite new blog and hurry and write more please), “Most people probably do think that they’re amazing at it. Most of these people have also probably been with guys who will praise their partner in order to get future blow jobs. It’s a vicious cycle. One that doesn’t lead to many people advancing their blow job technique, which is unfortunate.”

I’ve never had the gumption to rate or talk up my technique with a potential partner and I truly don’t know how skilled I am. With my courage in seeking new experiences comes an equal dose of insecurity that still accompanies me on my travels. Porn is hardly a do-it-yourself guide to self improvement and I’ve never been in an F/M/F threesome to exchange handy hints on the spot with another woman (damn, because it’s a good idea come to think of it). All I know with certainty is that I enjoy sharing pleasure and I’m observant to a partner’s verbal and physical responses during exploration. My pervey side finds watching a man masturbate arousing on its own and also lets me see the places he touches — I’ve never met a man who indulges in much foreplay on himself because they tend to go straight to what works :-).

(From my side as the potential recipient, I don’t listen to any man who says he’s great at performing oral sex on women and those on the dating site who market themselves with variants of  ‘love giving oral for hours’ are sent to the blocked list. The female anatomy is a tricky and temperamental piece of equipment — even when getting myself off, what worked yesterday won’t be what I want today. Immediately before my period I crave clitoral stimulation from a vibrator and a week later I want the whole damn lot. And now. While I prefer experienced partners with a broad repertoire because I might discover something new and I enjoy several non-standard activities, it’s my responsibility to communicate rather than expect a stranger to have the road map to a new and dangerous country plotted.)

ArmyDude has never reached orgasm from my oral sex alone — after a year of experimentation I doubt my technique sucks (apologies for the awful pun) but his sex life is limited mainly to masturbation; the sensations of a set of lips and different hands feel exquisite but don’t finish him off. M1 expected me to find what worked for him with little communication and I’d receive a spanking or paddling when I couldn’t get him to orgasm. One night he became angry and impatient and gave me some hints: how the fuck would I know that his dick needed wrapping in a handkerchief and then jiggled like a tea bag in a cup? For Jekyll, any attention was positive attention. His cock was on the smaller side and I could usually take it all in and lick his balls at the same time — he loved that visual and I enjoyed his enthusiasm and quick recovery time so we could do it all again. Country Hottie can be tricky to keep erect but filthy language works a treat although it’s hard to spew gutter talk with a full mouth. He prefers to fuck anyway, unless I am getting it wrong.

I was in Pleasure Freak’s car this afternoon (I know I said I’d lost patience but he got me at a moment I was on the road and ovulating) and I had a magical time exploring him on the back seat with his legs wrapped around my shoulders. He was so responsive and full of praise and up for anything that it was my pleasure to be let loose on his body. I don’t know him well enough to judge if his exaltations were bribes to encourage more or if his words were real but I was so turned on by the end that he fitted four fingers and the start of a fist inside me without lubricant. It doesn’t mean I’m the “ohhhh you’re such a great cocksucker” he shouted when my mouth was stuffed with his cock and he was near orgasm, but I’ll be volunteering to spend more time down there if the opportunity arises. He also had the perfect finger length to find and work my g-spot in a matter of seconds and actions often mean more than words.

Must be monster dick month

It’s hard to focus on a single theme or learning experience for this post because it can go in several directions. So I’ll just tell the story.

Young Lion, the confident, brash chap mentioned in the previous post, ramped up his campaign of attention and lustful ideas. He was like a self-generating metabolic system that every time he sent a sexually-charged message, he’d ruminate the possibilities and return with greater intensity to the point of begging to meet as his erection was about to topple him. Few things turn me off more quickly than the first whiffs of desperation and I sent him away with instructions to wank until he had calmed down. His mid-twenties supply of inexhaustible testosterone and concept that no hour on a week night was too late to meet made me hardened and protective of my own limited energy reserves — I was jealous of his youth and punished him by ignoring his pleas.

But he bounced back the following day and I was glad of the resilience that equalled his sex drive. We met a day earlier than planned as I had resigned from my job that morning and was in a possibly manic see-saw mood of being inspired by my own bravery and terrified by the potential stupidity of my decision. I know, I’ll go and distract myself to avoid reality and worry about it tomorrow!

He told me the time he was leaving the city and I nominated a suburb halfway to meet that was near a park in case we wanted to continue in his car. He asked which train line the suburb was on. Pardon? I told him he was insane because my car was far too small for any kind of shenanigans, the night was pissing rain and blowing gale force winds and our options were limited to almost nothing — let’s re-schedule. He wrote back and said he was already on a train and coming to see me.

And off I went to collect my young man from the station. He was shorter, skinnier and possessed less refined features than his profile photos indicated, but I grinned when I introduced myself because his cocksureness was accompanied with a lovely vulnerability when I saw him standing nervously with his eyes wide and a trembling smile on his lips. He also didn’t run in fright as I had forgotten to remove my glasses, hat, gloves and several layers of clothing more suited to trampling through snow than impressing strangers. I must have got something right in my current profile because — apart from the lack of availability of most I have encountered this campaign — I’ve consistently met attractive, smart and tempting men who find my oddness somewhat touching.

I led him to my car and he agreed that its diminutive dimensions made anything but driving next to impossible. I told him that exaggeration is not one of my personality traits and we hit the road because we agreed that discovering more about each other would be a good thing. I found a marina car park and we took a walk but the howling wind and salt water sprays sent us fleeing for shelter. We ended up driving along the foreshore and past sports grounds for 40 kilometres looking for a secluded space but the municipality had been diligent in locking and gating its private places. I drove to the last suburb I was prepared to scope (and with a safe train station where I planned dropping him afterwards) and I pulled up in a beachside car park.

We kissed a while and with the frustration of the sexually curtailed I cursed the lack of space, the weather, being convinced to be so rash tonight, why the fuck did I quit my job without a plan? the lack of facilities — what on earth do gay men do for beats around here? I told him to remove his pants and he slid them around his ankles, waiting a few moments so I could fully absorb the view of his pristinely white, body-hugging trunks. He said previously he was gifted in that department and I took his comment lightly — I did the numbers and convinced myself that I would have seen more erect penises than he and I’d be the judge of that.

I could only approach his groin sideways with the driver’s side door open and my legs and backside hanging unglamorously out of the car. And this is when I learned that he wasn’t prone to exaggeration either. At a guess I’d say he had the thickest shaft I’ve encountered in real life or the movies. His cock was wider rather than tall and my mouth was angled from the side and taller rather than wide and I had a hell of a time fitting much in. He pushed my head a little and I stopped him as my lips were so stretched I feared my teeth were exposed. I alternated between masturbating him, trying to suck his cock and licking his shaft and balls. To relieve jaw ache I asked him to masturbate and come in my mouth and he obliged. His physical gift was less sweet on the inside and he spurted jets of hot, thin, sour fluid that scrunched my face and made me beg for a one-swallow finish.

I drove him to the station and we kissed goodbye on the cheeks. He avoided my lips as my mouth was scented with his semen. To be frank, I understood as I gobbled a handful of mints as soon as he left.

Before we parted, I indulged my curiosity and asked if he lived at home. Of course he did. I withheld the urge to ask if his parents would worry about his whereabouts so late on a week night.

I don’t know what’s next. He said it was my turn to organise the next meeting (did I not do enough for this one?) and I can’t decide whether to start corrupting him or walk away because there’s too much effort and logistics involved. He’s verging on being too narrow minded in several activities he won’t consider but interesting that he was curious about attending a BDSM club. I am potentially unemployed soon and won’t have the discretionary budget for a hotel room and I’m also wary of the battery acid that came out of his cock. I know, I’ll avoid reality and worry about it tomorrow.

The European

We exchanged a few messages and I liked his frankness. I was working from home after an appointment and had the call of the wild and he was able to leave work early to submit to his. Sometime between agreeing a time and meeting we had outlined a scenario where he would follow me in a park in broad daylight, force me against a tree and have me perform oral sex on him.

I’ve never touched anyone I haven’t met or seen previously but my comfort and arousal levels were high enough to convince myself it was a good idea. I even chose the park.

I arrived early to scan a suitable site but the copse of trees I had in mind was surrounded by barriers and tradesmen. I walked to the public toilet and thought I glimpsed someone outside who matched his description, but we agreed if I saw him I’d pretend I hadn’t. I looked quickly away and knew it was him on one level but the little voice in my head said, “Well, how are you going to get out of this if it’s not him?” When I looked again he was gone and I start wondering if my sense of adventure was masking lunacy.

I left and strode with fake confidence along a gravel path; within a minute I heard footsteps crunching behind me. It took every ounce of discipline to not turn and check it was him even although rationally I knew it had to be. I had one of my seemingly regular thoughts that I loathe being so nervous but I’m equally fascinated by how things might turn out.

Too many people were walking dogs and I deviated from the path towards some isolated mature trees. I worried about people seeing I was being pursued by a male across the grass but no one appeared to notice — I’ll save that observation in self protection if I’m ever being pursued in real life. I was close to a tree to the side and started fumbling in my handbag as a ploy for him to grab me when I was vulnerable, however, a landscaping truck drove past at the wrong moment and I had to keep moving.

From behind he texted ‘toilet’ and I looped towards the starting point. He emerged from nowhere when I put my hand on the door and he pushed me inside, sweeping the air from my lungs in surprise at his stealth. I curled into a ball and pushed him back into the door to hold him there until he remembered to turn the bloody latch.

He pushed me against the painted brick wall so I couldn’t see his face and ran one hand up and down my spine as the other held me firm. His hands roamed and I formed the impression his fantasy focused more on submission than aggression — unlike the roleplay with Country Hottie — as he tongued my ear and neck. He scrunched my hair in front of my eyes and placed me on my knees on the dirty concrete floor. He lifted his shirt and I gave myself a silent high-five because his chest was firm and shaved smooth.

He murmured in a mix of English and his native tongue as he dropped his trousers and underpants and guided my head towards his groin. Again, manicured and easy to navigate with my mouth but unsettling that I had views of bodyparts but not the facial features that identify a person (and I was aroused by what I had seen and frustrated because I wanted to be more involved).

He pulled down my pants and forced me on all fours. I saw a condom wrapper fall to the floor and became fearful that he hadn’t read the message saying I had my period and penetration wasn’t on the menu. I squeaked with pain as he tried to enter my arse a few times and he stopped and patted my back gently. I whispered for him to please come in my mouth and he masturbated a few moments and finished where I asked. He turned away as he dressed and told me to stay where I was until he had gone.

When he left, I ran to lock the door and stop a few minutes to regain my composure. Oddly, he sent a message asking if I’d like to join him at a cafe to ‘meet’. I said yes and he already had a cold drink waiting for me because he imagined I would be as overheated as he. Another considerate attacker.

He was an interesting, street-smart verging on world-weary, attractive man. He didn’t tell me until later he’d driven 90 minutes to make the scenario happen as it had been on his mind a while. We talked and he gave me blunt advice on my profile and how to weed out nutters (I ignored some of his wisdom which bodes suitably for the next post) and he offered his services for a threesome or moresome if I desired in the future. We went our respective ways and I returned home a messy-haired, smiling pixie.

It was exhilarating at the time but the next day felt like old memories slipping through my fingers that were never real.

Picnic in the car park

I re-activated my profile last week with a sense of caution from the nightmarish previous campaign and optimism that the next Mr Perfect-for-Adventure is waiting to be discovered. I made clearer my intent for a lover; neither a quick fuck nor another partner but something lustful and enlivening in the middle.

The beautiful men 15 years younger were very active — as a challenge I presume — but don’t comprehend they are reminders of my denial about ageing and that my energy for these games will expire long before theirs. Most of the others were the AnyTown AnyDatingSite individuals who shouldn’t be allowed to operate computers under the influence of an erection. Oh, and Mr OMG is back online and appearing in my search results as a lesson that I don’t always get what I want. But …

I met the first interesting one last night after some communication that just felt good. Half a dozen years older, classically handsome features with liquid brown eyes, dark hair and a hint of devil in his sexuality. He contemplated and spoke in the intelligent and considered manner of a senior executive but whispered that he wants to eat me alive. He’s not local and not available often but I think we’ll be able to sort something irregular out.

His car has buttery leather upholstery. I know this because after dinner he went down on me as I lounged across the back seat. The favour was returned most happily.

The treble — fail, finished, ?

I’m concerned about my current level of detachment or self respect or whatever’s driving my choices lately.

I met the pierced man (may as well call him Pierce) at a park adjacent a busy road. I wasn’t attracted to him physically but he was there, I was there, a picnic bench in a protected cove was over there and his skilled kissing tipped the scales towards staying.

He was a large man with a small cock shaped like a rounded triangle, like an elongated Dalek from Doctor Who, but with a massive handful of testicles. I don’t know what Mother Nature was thinking. It was bitterly cold but we left a small mess behind on the wooden bench when his fingers found my g-spot. We switched places and afterwards he was keen to talk and hug. I could picture him as a family man, playing with shiny-haired kids and a family-sized dog in a park and giving flowers unexpectedly to his wife, because that’s what he should be working towards instead of evening distractions without a future. I had to go. He sent a nice text message when I got home to make sure I arrived safely. I felt heavy with emptiness inside.

Number of times I questioned my moral compass: one

Number of times I corrected myself that my moral compass is fine but it’s my something else and I don’t know, perhaps my motivation: several

Number of times I thought, wow, people do this in beats, gay saunas, orgies and swingers’ parties all the time but, no, not for me: one

Number of times I thought sucking a cock with piercings on the underside was potentially hazardous to my dental health: six

Number of times sucking his cock higher in my mouth to avoid damage to lower teeth causing gagging: four

Number of times I thought what the fuck am I doing here? too many

Number of strokes with my lips until he came: 138

I never count when I’m excited.


The young tradesman and I had been exchanging messages of a level more intimate and detailed than I’d normally share with someone I haven’t met. He has a sweet way of saying, “So, when are we going to fuck?” that encourages optimistic sharing. Intertwined was the re-surfacing of some unrelated personal grief that made me restless to the core and pace the streets to temper the stressful energy. The two paths met.

I was at home alone debating between going to bed and going out to meet him. Restlessness won and we met in the darkened corner of a hotel car park. I was relieved after a run of outs that we shared an instant attraction and I thought quietly: gosh, you’re fuckable. He grasped my buttock as he kissed me hello. I returned the roaming of hands up his spine, clasping his arse, feeling for his cock through the button fly of his jeans. I didn’t care for perceptions and if he thought me an intrepid ingenue or easy throwaway. He probably didn’t care either and was pleased enough to be in the hands of someone on a mission for a little while.

The beauty of the current cold weather was that people were staying home and the car park was almost deserted. The downside was that only randy idiots with no back-up plans were trying to kiss and caress while legs were shivering and teeth were rattling. I turned to my car to ditch my gloves and hat and he bent me over the roof, kissing my neck and wrangling a hand down my jeans. I thanked whoever first threaded lycra into denim for the ease of the finger working its way into my cunt. He removed and licked his wettened finger and kissed me afterwards. I was early-cycle sweet.

I can barely fit a handbag in my car, let alone a man, yet he thought his car didn’t have much room to explore further. Jekyll and I worked out most physical permutations possible in a sedan and the young tradesman’s vehicle could have hosted an orgy by comparison but he just didn’t know it. I laid him across the back seat and tore his jeans and underwear down, glad for the distraction of discovery to take my mind off residual sorrows for a while. I still don’t know if it’s using someone in order to forget, but we all have our reasons for entering into things.

He came so quietly that I didn’t realise what I thought was pre-come was the finale. I licked him as clean as I could in the darkness and as delicately as I could in not knowing his post-orgasm sensitivity. I must have missed some drops because I can smell his semen on my dark knit top but the spots haven’t dried and made themselves visible yet.

He’s the first one whose first name I don’t know. He’s in my mobile phone under his log-in name and I never thought to ask.


I received a message from ArmyDude saying he was free the following morning if I wanted to drop by and ‘borrow some books’. I organised a time and let The Drummer know I’d be out doing a house call when he returned home from a late shift.

ArmyDude had already selected a couple of titles in order to maximise lustful opportunity time. I had my period and wasn’t inclined towards managing the logistics, so I dropped his jeans, sucked his cock and tongued his balls with a level of intentional deliberation and care that was making him impatient. He smelled clean and soapy and had shaved off recently and I was in no rush. Still, I was in and out in less than half an hour, keeping the alibi legitimate and giving us a pleasant start to the day.

I returned home and The Drummer asked if I’d had a good time with ArmyDude. I said I was bleeding so I sucked dick and did some shopping and got petrol and washed the car on the way home; he didn’t hear a word after I said “sucked dick” and ten minutes later he was in front of the computer watching porn and nursing a hard-on. I rubbed his balls as he masturbated and he said, “Here, have your second load for the day.” I didn’t have a chance to object or laugh at his porny dialogue as he was joyous at taking a short time to reach orgasm (he’s changing anti-depressants and can take up to 45 minutes to finish a simple wank). I guess that was a win/win of sorts.

The same afternoon Country Hottie asked if I was free next weekend — I’m not sure I’ll hear from him after I suggested his communication needed work after he disappeared last time he was in touch. The young tradesman I mentioned earlier seems keen for anything, anywhere, anytime and the pierced man is back in touch (he wants to know if I’m up to being fucked anally — he has several ball-ended studs in his shaft and I’m somewhat curious in a masochistic, death wish kind of way). I don’t understand why this all happens at once.


ArmyDude walked past my office and in a surge of happy hormones I felt compelled to tell him a true story, complete with blushes and bumbles as I dug myself into a bigger hole of confession. The previous night I was home alone, feeling distracted and I went to bed early to masturbate. I woke the next morning with a start, trying frantically to remember what I had forgotten on my mental to-do list the night before. Feed animals, feed self, wash dishes, take bins out, all done, shit, just why is there a vibrator resting on the sheet next to my body and how come there’s an open bottle of lube that has leaked a big sticky hole on the bed cover? I had fallen asleep before fixing myself up. Ah, that would be what I had forgotten to do.

ArmyDude was staring at me at that stage like I was a nutter but wouldn’t let me wriggle out of the rest of the story.

What happened next was I thought I’d quickly rectify the situation before getting out of bed. However, I took ages to come between focusing on the task and scanning the time ticking past get-up o’clock, should-be-in-the-shower-by-now o’clock and why-haven’t-you-had-your-breakfast-yet o’clock. My brain was subsequently fluffy after reaching orgasm and I was laughably late for work and still endorphin-shiny when ArmyDude walked past.

Fifteen minutes later we were locked in a storeroom we haven’t used for months and his tongue was between my legs. I have a semi-circle of pink bite marks on my hand from trying to muffle my noises.

He came with a frenetic thrust down my throat after only a few minutes. I didn’t think my story was that arousing but something got him going.