Hello, where have Canadian men been hiding from me for so long? I met the man I described in the last post as an angel-faced, slightly nerdy sex maniac, and realised delightedly we hadn’t spoken on the phone when he said it was lovely to meet me. I may change my ambivalence about phone sex if we ever speak late at night, and if he doesn’t turn into an ongoing situation I may develop a very strong liking for calling Canadian phone sex lines instead.
He arrived first at the park (where Mr OMG and I have met a couple of times and I did a paranoia-driven scan to make sure he wasn’t in the area — or perhaps it was a wish-driven scan that he was there and my fantasy mind imagined an impromptu threesome being an amazingly good idea) but the coast was clear and I saw my new prospect eyeing me from atop a picnic bench. I couldn’t get a read on his first impression because I wasn’t wearing my glasses, but when I was close enough to check him out I was hoping like hell he liked me because he was drop-dead gorgeous. Tallish, an envy-inducing combination of fair hair and olive skin, eyes the same green as mine and radiating good health but with a soft belly pressing against his polo shirt that indicated the good life over the disciplined life. It seemed to suit him though, and he needed an imperfection to temper my awe. I sat next to him thinking, “You’re joking, aren’t you? How on earth did such a well-adjusted, polite, handsome sex maniac end up on the sleazy web site?”
We talked and I listened to his problems handling women falling for him regardless of his frankness about wanting only casual interactions, but I also empathised somewhat with the single women who had sampled him and found that if some is good then more would be better. It was too early in our conversation for me to say outright that I simply just wanted to fuck him for as long as it lasted and walk away smiling when our time is done, but I must’ve come across as safe within my relationship situation and he said he wanted to kiss me. I agreed in record time.
He has full lips, though not to the extent of mine, and our explorations were lush and with plenty of warm real estate to roam with lips and tongue. He kissed more slowly and deeply than I’ve been used to but we sorted out a pleasurable middle ground.
Dusk was falling and we broke to find somewhere more private to shed some clothes in his car. I don’t know which god of lust was smiling down on us, but while the car park was busy because of a function at the sports pavilion, the gate to about 50 acres of parkland had been left unlocked. We drove through excitedly like we had been given the key to the city and found a small clearing behind a copse of trees. Traffic hummed in the distance but the boundaries were well planted and no other soul was around. Life was good. We laughed about an escape plan if the gate had been locked behind us and I hoped we wouldn’t need one as I don’t carry wire cutters and a chainsaw in the car (I hadn’t confessed to him how well I knew the park).
He flipped open the back of his wagon, sat on the tailgate and I stood before him as he removed my bra and t-shirt and worked on my hardening nipples with his mouth. I remove only essential clothes if there’s a risk of being discovered but it was a treat to bask half-naked in the lazy summer air. I took off his shirt and we got to know each other better with our hands. His body was warm but his cool hands raised goosebumps along my spine and in circles around my buttocks when he shifted my jeans down.
He suggested moving to a more horizontal position inside and I clambered in and helped myself to removing his shorts and underwear. His entire body language was still relaxed except for his cock, which was strained hard and glistening at the tip with pre-come. I asked if I could explore and he said yes. He was clean and healthy tasting but I didn’t suck for long as he already said his endurance would be limited after not wanking for a couple of days. I am starting to wish delightful men would masturbate before meeting so I could enjoy them more fully.
I settled back against a rolled blanket and he fingered me and worked my g-spot. I was wet and could smell myself becoming more fragrant in the confined space of the car. We became too aroused to wait longer and I demonstrated my appalling co-ordination skills when I’m shaking with lust and couldn’t get the condom on. He helped, thankfully, as it seemed to be insideout regardless of which way I had the damn thing. We shifted limbs to negotiate a suitable position inside the car and there wasn’t much room for more than having him on top. I held his cock between my legs and noticed he had softened with my delay and penetration was awkward, but he hardened again quickly and came within barely a dozen strokes.
We laid around for a while and realised a couple of hours had flown. We both needed to rise early for work and had hoped but not expected to have sex at the first meeting. We apologised to each other for seeming rushed afterwards as we scrambled into our clothes but agreed to meet again soon.
I felt invigorated when I smelled traces of him on my clothes after I returned home. Although I seem to be more adapted these days with partners transiting in and out of my life regularly, I’d be joyous if he became ongoing. He seems to have had many lovers but limited experience outside the vanilla realm, and I left with a gentle, “I have ropes” as we parted. I’d also like to test his claim about having a quick recovery time.