Rush hour

I wrote a few posts ago that every man in my contact list was hormone-happy and on the hunt. Then I realised that I say ‘yes’ just often enough to encourage the fly-by-nighters to keep trying me like a casino game that spat coins a few plays ago and may just pay out again. Damn this self awareness.

Pleasure Freak sent a text message saying he was driving through my area, he was horny and we should catch up. The jackpot span for him because at that moment I was leaving the office to attend a chore I’d been delaying and I was in an anti-establishment mood. Fix work problem versus fix Pleasure Freak? While messing about in the office is hardly new to me, I still feel a sense of obligation towards the organisation paying for the roof over my head: I opted to do both.

I borrowed a work vehicle, drove off and texted Pleasure Freak a general co-ordinate of where I thought we’d find a quiet industrial estate. During business hours. On a work day. Weirdly enough, as I was trawling the streets he found a quiet cul-de-sac adjacent a freeway off-ramp; when I pulled up alongside his car I could see vehicles whizzing past too quickly to see us and I marvelled at the deceptive privacy.

I got out of the car and looked into his passenger’s side window; he wasn’t joking when his last message said his pants were off and a hard cock was throbbing in his hand. I used my magnificent powers of observation to note that this encounter wasn’t going to be about me. We said hello and exchanged a few pleasantries while he was manhandling his cock. Pre-come was already threading like a cobweb to his belly.

He appeared to have the masturbation aspect of his enjoyment under control and I tried to add value by brushing my fingers along his balls and perineum. After not long at all, he pushed my hand away and asked for a finger inside his arse. Can do. I spat on my middle finger and slid it in, inserting as deeply as I could and working it against the upper wall of his passage.

He came and wiped his belly with take-away food serviettes. I extracted my finger and wiped my hand with take-away food serviettes.

We laughed at the convenience of take-away food serviettes.

He said we should catch up soon. I said yes, and added with intentional innocence that a hotel might be good.

I knew he’d look like a frightened squirrel after that suggestion but I felt like baiting him anyway. It was my mental reward for not receiving a physical reward.

We kissed briefly once and went our separate ways.

The end.

Thursday night’s all right, all right

It’s only taken me a couple of years to realise, but the last-minute booty calling night of the week is Thursday. The last week has been an accidental sociological experiment because I’ve been exhausted from learning a new job I think I won’t tolerate for long, managing some nasty PMT and my period and I haven’t initiated non-essential contact with people for fear of wanting to bludgeon them. Here are the results of laying low for the week.

Monday was a non-sexual chit-chat day. There was no contact except from The Bachelor to discuss a serious sports injury he incurred on the weekend that will keep him from physical activity for some time. Damn. He’s interested in visiting the bondage supply shop with me though so that might be a fun afternoon out — the trip would be better if we could have sex immediately afterwards and I might delay plans so we can incorporate both activities.

Tuesday was a quiet day of reflection. I thought about how long it’s been since I last had contact with Country Hottie (a couple of months) — I sent the last message to him and I’m leaving him well alone. The Executive also didn’t respond to my last message a few weeks ago so I assume he’s disappeared as well.

Wednesdays are usually a mixed bag. When I had someone regular like Jekyll, we’d be lining up a short-notice meeting or planning for the weekend; with my current situation the middle of the week is often quiet. Young Lion broke the trend and came crashing in with lewd messages and a new voice recording. He spoke my name a couple of times and it was touching that the message was made just for me but a tad disconcerting to think someone’s out there making customised wanking messages. Don’t say it with flowers; say it with orgasms. In all reality, it made my day to check the phone during lunch and have to stand still while listening in case I fell over from surprise and redistributing blood flow. And then step out of the sandwich queue so I could listen again.

Now, let’s see what happens on a Thursday. People’s thoughts wander from the current routine of work and already-fixed weekend plans and focus on when guaranteed sex might feature over the next few days. Someone I’ve been in touch with for months but is a three-hour drive away suddenly decided that finding a way to meet on the weekend was the best idea ever. I had too much to do to clear a whole day and didn’t feel comfortable organising hotel sex with someone I haven’t met so we delayed that idea.

Pleasure Freak suggested an outdoor activity even though the day was blindingly hot, but it had to be that afternoon because he was scheduled for a vasectomy the following morning. I had to laugh at his living life to the full attitude but suggested a sunburnt cock might be hard to explain to the surgical team. He saw a little bit of sense in that reasoning but I don’t know if he chose to wank in safety or tried the park toilet block for a stranger anyway.

The bisexual man I mentioned a while ago who lives in the city also suggested we find a park to meet in for an outside scenario. He thought a golden shower outdoors was a grand idea, however, thinking with a hard-on tends to exclude the finer details of planning like taking water, wet wipes, towels, a change of clothes and whatever else might be needed to even contemplate pissing on someone away from the luxuries of home.

Young Lion came back and we have agreed tentatively to a hotel evening in the next week or two.

Young Tradesman returned from who-knows-where with some of the friendliest messages a girl could ever want to receive and ran off when he read between the lines that I wasn’t inclined towards launching myself at him on the spot. I was bleeding and tired and couldn’t be bothered, but I learned that using the word ‘period’ in a message sends the fly-by-nighters away remarkably swiftly.

Mr OMG sent an unexpected message asking if I’d like a late-night visitor. My alarm goes off at 5am now so his proposed visit after 11pm didn’t work. And if he’s sniffing around so soon after last time I’d prefer not to be always available so I  have some equality of power (yeah, right). I have a scenario in mind for him involving the trio of oral, vaginal and anal sex that will take a couple of hours to play out, so my period and a quick raid might interfere with my plans if he wanders off again afterwards. I might start planting the seeds of the idea and see where it takes us because I think I’m starting to understand the current workings of his mind.

Friday is variable: extremely quiet at the moment but was busy with post-midnight opportunists when I was in the phases of searching for partners online.

Saturday and Sunday aren’t even worth turning the phone on for. Thank goodness for fingers and lube.

The break is about to storm

I’ve emerged from my sick bed and can speak briefly without coughing spasms and the thought of performing oral sex is starting to re-gain some allure. Somehow I evolved from no voice to rasping voice and I’m displeased about that — after three weeks, my untended pubic hair has grown unthwarted by illness yet I don’t even get a husky voice for a few days as compensation.

Young Lion has been sending obscene text messages and we have been trying to organise a day to catch up, but our timetables aren’t agreeing. He called yesterday to ask if I’d like to hear him orgasm, and I took evil delight in saying I was in a train carriage with a hundred complete strangers and would he like me to turn on the speaker phone? He scurried away and later sent an audio message.

Pleasure Freak sent a message about catching up and had forgotten all about the hotel dealbreaker (or I’ve met him at short notice in the past and he’d thought he’d try his luck with my inconsistency). I let him know that I was looking for someone more regular and he sent a “?” in response, as if I were verging on insane to not want to see him; a few days later he asked how my luck was panning out with my search and he was free if I was. I like him and his optimism but a couple of months is long enough for intent without sex, however, I feel weak sometimes when he gets in touch.

Mr OMG did a better job of trading in on my inconsistency without even trying. He called and I ignored the phone, but I called him back half an hour later. My resolve is growing! After receiving some excellent sympathy for the state of my voice, the conversation took a turn.

Mr OMG (while he was masturbating): So, we’ll have to talk more about what you said about anal sex.

Me: Huh? (my next job won’t be starting a phone sex empire)

Mr OMG: Last time you mentioned you were interested in having me inside your arse. You know, getting you all wet and excited and then sliding the head of my cock in slowly and …

Me: Who, me? I have a near-photographic memory but I don’t remember that conversation.

A few seconds passed in silence.

Me again: Ohhh, I remember now. You must’ve had me very aroused.

Me again: And I said I’d happily die trying, didn’t I?

Mr OMG: Yes, you did.

We finished the phone call without discussing when we might see each other. I didn’t mind. I’ve seen handballing videos with men’s arms up to the elbow in other men’s backsides so I know intellectually that taking him is possible, but the little voice in my head is discussing why I ask for crazy shit without considering the reality.

This weekend I’m meeting two of the men mentioned in the last post: the outrageous one if he has recovered from a virus, who behind the initial approach is an over-achieving, smart single man about the city and now I can’t fathom why he made contact because there are many available women outside his own door step. He’s suggested dinner and a movie which is messing with my pre-conception that he was playing a numbers game and we’d probably be a once-off event. I need to stop overthinking and just meet him for a drink — my mind is playing catastrophising tricks at the moment and making me doubt everything I do. The single man with his own place is confirmed: we have flirted mildly for a few days and I’m looking forward to meeting him, no tricks of the mind, which in my mind probably is a kind of nasty game. I think a firm spanking will help smack the suspicious paranoia out of me.


I keep writing self-indulgent drivel and posting privately. Here’s the readable version of where things are at. I’m still sick and have no brain capacity for a thoughtful title, either.

Mr OMG is as flaky as ever. We’ve been a few weeks without contact but I bumped into him at the shops last week and he was charming and overjoyed to see me. Then I didn’t hear a word after I sent a follow-up message. I keep telling myself I want him more than he wants me and I need to get over it, but I’ll distract myself with others instead.

I haven’t done a thing about finishing up with ArmyDude either. I met his wife inadvertently the other day: I was pulled up at traffic lights, looked to the side when I heard beeping and a woman in the next lane was waving at me. While I was wondering who the hell she was, ArmyDude leaned from the other side of the car and waved, too. The family that waves at me together stays together, it seems. I returned the waves and smiled and waited with knuckles clenched for the lights to turn green so I could hot-foot it in another direction.

My phone has been deathly quiet since I put Young Tradesman, Pleasure Freak and Young Lion on notice that the next catch-up will be some hotel hours. I don’t know why but this amuses me. To Young Lion’s credit, he did some homework and suggested a day and a hotel but later said he only had about a third of the cost because he was low on cash. It’s kind of sweet how reality keeps getting in the way of his no-holds-barred enthusiasm. I was going to book somewhere anyway and take him for a test run, but every acceptably dodgy place was booked and I need to be mindful of my own fiscal responsibilities at the moment. His next suggestion was to meet at the beach and he’d pound me from behind, but I’m too delicate at the moment to think about getting sand in my nether regions.

My online membership has two weeks before I’ll let it revert to unpaid member status (it doesn’t greatly affect the ability to communicate as no one replies when I initiate contact, but I’ve paid mainly as an indicator that I’m not a time waster). I re-activated my profile the other day and a few interesting types have dropped by to say hello. None are within an hour’s drive or have much intent towards ongoing situations, but two or three caught my interest out of curiosity value.

One sent an outrageous message with his phone number and I countered that he hadn’t verified I was female, let alone seen my pictures. He didn’t care because he was convinced he’d like me. Perhaps being caught in my own stresses and snot at the moment is attracting me again to full-of-life, unbreakable types whose energy I can steal or borrow temporarily. Another is built like a bronzed god, possibly thick as a plank of wood but wants to bring me soup until I’m well, take me out drinking and then rim me senseless. He might be a fun diversion. There’s another man but it turns out he lives in the same place as Country Hottie; that’s going to stay a one-man town for me so he has to go. The last at this stage is a younger single man who’s moved into his own house — we’ve had some relaxed communication and I need to sort out his sexual interests but I think we’ll have drinks next weekend when I’m human again. Oh, and an interesting man with a penis and a vagina sent a smile and I really don’t know what to do — I mean, I’ve thought of umpteen things I could do with him (seriously, spend a few minutes thinking of the combinations with a man wielding fully functional male and female genitals), but no idea whether I’m taking his approach seriously which will lead me towards what to do as far as replying.

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.

More bits of the puzzle

The Drummer asked if I had “any gentleman callers” scheduled for last weekend and I almost thankfully said no — I was more than fortunate the previous weekend, my period was almost due and his comments regarding jealousy still echoed as a reminder to be discerning. As things turn out, I said a few posts ago that I should make more female friends and since then invitations have arrived for birthdays, housewarmings and an engagement-cancellation party(!)* over the next few weeks and I’m trying to work out when I’ll have time for misbehaviour. The universe listened a little too closely to my complaints.

ArmyDude: I was planning to end things with him in the next week but — and this is the universe again — we have been placed in the same project team at work. Oh, goody. That’s another thing the women’s magazines don’t warn about when fucking workmates: how to choose the most suitable (or least worst) time to exit without bumping into each other after the bad news is dealt. It was going to be a long project but now it’s not because I’m in charge. I don’t know what’s happened to my desire for him; logically the reasons we were together haven’t changed but my desire for him sexually has decayed to reminiscences. He is the same but I am not.

One saving grace is the constant buzzing of his mobile phone when he’s been around — I have hope he is in the early stages of another fling. He also sent me some ‘new’ full body photos that were several weeks old and I suspect they’re leftovers from a profile he’s created on another site. I hope this is the case selflessly because I wish him nothing but fulfilment, and selfishly because if another is distracting him then potential backlash for me might be minimised.

Mr OMG: Of course, he’s gone again. I already knew beforehand that the quicker we got together, the quicker he’d disappear again. I sent him a testing-the-water message a few days after we met and he didn’t reply — the message contained a question that anyone with a pulse would respond to so that was silence enough for me to keep moving on. Last time I logged into the dating site he hadn’t blocked me but had closed his new account — again. Puzzling man.

Pleasure Freak: We still haven’t met since the first time. He blusters in with big ideas such as asking if I’d like to go with him to a mixed night at a gay sauna (sure, why not?) and if I’d like to watch another man suck his cock (again, sure, why not?) but disappears after we agree tentatively to meet and sends a message the following day asking what happened. I’m not investing any more mental sweat in him.

I might be due for a dry spell. There’s a young lion about town who’s interested in being dominated and hasn’t shied away from some of my ideas (even the concept of orgasm control, which scared away some of the others who didn’t discern the difference between assertiveness and dominance — I am educating the youth of today and possibly scaring them for life). He seems to want to see if I can manage to dominate him rather than choose to gift himself and this mindset seems topsy-turvy in the way I approach sub/dom mind games, but that’s a confusing essay for another day. I do like his pluck in saying I could either dominate him or have him fuck the daylights out of me — he may need to learn that both are possible at the same time.

I’ve been in contact with someone else but we have never got around to meeting because of distance and mismatching availability, but we have become quite close for two people who haven’t met after six months. He is enthusiastically bisexual according to some interesting action shots he sends occasionally and he’s responded positively to some of my more unusual photo requests — not everyone would humour my tiny evil side by coming in his hand, transferring semen to his mouth and sending a photo.

It was my turn to return the favour and yesterday he asked for a video of me pissing. May I say that was a challenging task for a person with only two hands and without an external organ. All I will say to aspiring water sport self-photographers is to take a B vitamin the night before for improved contrast against neutral shower tiles, and kneeling while leaning backwards seems to give the best angle with the least risk of spillage on recording equipment. I also recommend having somewhere to put the camera aside with the clean hand as there’s no use getting out of the shower until the mess is washed away. He sent glowing praise though and I have gained another skill I can’t put on my resume. We might catch up in a few weeks when he returns from elsewhere because I have plans for him.

* What gift might one buy for a newly-single man? I was thinking condoms, lube and a subscription to the dating site as a joke but he is a serial monogamist and already has a new girlfriend.

Jigsaw puzzle

A few pieces need to be put in place.

ArmyDude: He is back but dropped by the office unannounced three times in the week of his return and hovered aimlessly when other people were around. I read him the riot act about taking unacceptable risks and asked for some breathing space. He agreed quickly but has sent messages daily and I need a break; he is also having serious problems at home and I’m not comfortable with his boundary management at the moment.

Country Hottie: I sent him a photo of nipple clamps attached to a place I don’t have nipples and he responded awfully quickly like Pavlov’s randy dog. We set a date to meet, he became more flaky than my current temperament would tolerate and I let rip with a message calling him a slack fucking bastard who needs letting go, among other less politely worded things, and I walked away. I felt better after clearing my air, he chose to keep hanging around for now and I’m going to be tied up and spanked a pretty shade of scarlet next weekend. I like him more now that I have acknowledged I don’t really like him.

The man with potential from a few posts ago: We agreed congenially and with a hint of regret to stop before we begin. His diary is a ferociously full beast and, with three weeks passing without a spare few unplanned hours in his schedule, I let him know that things weren’t going to work for me, much as I’d like. There is enough intent without availability in my life without adding to it.

Pleasure Freak: He’s new. He sent a message. I replied that I was growing tired of attached men whose concepts of having time for flesh-and-blood pleasure were illusions and I’d leave it to him if he wanted to get in touch. He sent a nude photo instead. I sent him one from work. He sent another from his car. I enjoyed his sense of daring. We met yesterday and I was almost felled by knee-buckling attraction. He almost thankfully wasn’t quite as handsome as his face photos, but in the lovely paradox that looks don’t always equate to attraction, every girl hormone in my body started having a wild party. He is tall and dark and rangy with broad shoulders and a small arse cupped by faded jeans and emits sexuality that I really and truly want to explore. I held back and looked for clues of what was going on in his head; at one stage he touched my arm as he stood to get something from his car and the girl hormones started somersaulting and doing backflips. Later, he asked if I was keen. I paused to manage some nerves, stared in his eyes and said, “Yes, very much so if you are.”

We talked until a few minutes before he had to go and I made him late for a function because we started kissing in his car and it all felt so very, very good. He made himself even later when he said he was going to wank quickly before leaving. I asked if I could stay and perhaps help because I like watching men masturbate (especially attractive men with high sex drives who have sent nude photos and are right in front of me). He pulled down his jeans and I asked if I could touch and taste. He, of course, said yes. I wrapped my lips around the top of his deceptively thick cock and wondered how I’d manage to fit it in, even with more time and a less cramped position for devouring him. I wasn’t able to wonder long as he gave warning signs of orgasm and I let him escape from my mouth before he came up his belly. I’m trying to behave and not do too much on first meetings with those I want to see again. I am cautiously optimistic (and want his cock inside me in many different ways).

Mr OMG: Ha, now how did he sneak in? I ‘accidentally’ clicked on his profile I’ve been ignoring and he sent a smile the following day. Now I wish I hadn’t, and he hadn’t. I sat on my hands and pondered whether to re-open the not-quite-healed wound. I ended up sending a guarded message to which he was brave enough to reply and we spoke briefly on the phone last night. He is a beautiful man and the centre of a thousand fantasies but after a somewhat awkward conversation (which had to end abruptly and was left open-ended) the reality is that I’m not sure I want to see him. Months after we met the first time he is still drifting and doesn’t seem to know what he’s looking for. I think I don’t want him and I’m too surprised by that thought to believe it yet.

Forecast postscript: No, I don’t have ESP; I think tomorrow I’m going to contradict my last sentence.

The Drummer: Last week The Drummer and I were having a heart-to-heart talk about his mental health, and a side issue that caught me by surprise was his admission of jealousy towards my other life and the opportunities it affords. He is losing his masculinity and sexuality on an increasing dose of anti-depressants; he has (we have) a long and tough journey and I’ll never give up on him but this week I wanted be somewhere else, live someone else’s life and not have to be the parent, the boss, the leader, the guide, the decision maker for a partner who has lost himself. I need someone strong, too, but I look around and the only place I see that kind of help is in the mirror and I am sad.

I didn’t have a response to address his jealousy but the next day I said to him all I really want with the others is something along the lines of what I had with Jekyll, who was around but we weren’t in each other’s faces, and we could mix up the car parks and hotel rooms and go to town on each other in any way with firm boundaries. I don’t have that at the moment and my other life is not all he is perceiving it to be. The majority is just chasing and distractions and misplaced hope. I get nervous meeting new people and cynical from knowing that the intentions of most online aren’t what they appear. I get a little house crazy some weekend nights if he is working and my closest girlfriends work nightshift and a couple of other friends disappeared after I entrusted them with my other life secret. I feel lost and probably in need of more female company sometimes. Some men are mindless diversions, like the stripper, and it’s so easy that it’s not fun. If I could have anything sexually, it would be more of him as my partner, away from the grip that medications have on his sexuality, and perhaps one other to fill the urges for controlled insanity, and that would be it, but that’s not life at the moment and so I will roam with a heart equally weighted with desire and discontent, but I will stay home tonight because my eyes are red and puffy from purging this.