Breaking The Bachelor is a lot of fun

The Bachelor copped it last night. Our meeting wasn’t confirmed until about an hour beforehand as it’s his company’s busy time of year, but he organised a workaround and kept his word. Again, there’s been nothing but refreshing frankness and honesty in dealing with him. He barely had time to shower when I arrived and he answered the door wearing only a long t-shirt. My eyes widened and I said it was a very good idea to answer the door without pants. He stuck his tongue down my throat in response and said we had been vertical for too long.

His legs were sore and he was tired from days without a break but he found the endurance to get on all fours and go down on me. I was squirming happily as he inserted fingers in both holes and licked my clit, and he held his fingers in position when he launched up to kiss me and share my taste. We kissed a few times until he proclaimed he had to go down again (another fine idea) and returned to work between my legs. I can’t remember the last time I orgasmed clitorally with a partner but his fingers worked a treat inside me and I spasmed around them twice until I was a giggling puddle on his sheets.

I think I managed to say thank you before laying back and hoping for a quick recovery so I could jump him. He took advantage of my weakened state and stuck his cock in my mouth. I licked the long trail of pre-come and gagged somewhat contentedly as he thrust in my mouth. My lust stirred again as his legs were tiring and I positioned him on his back and rimmed him. I probably should have placed a pillow under his rear to gain some elevation as I was lying almost on my side with my legs flailing at odd angles trying to find a comfortable position, but I was having so much fun I didn’t want to interrupt the tempo. I occasionally looked up and saw his hand massaging his cock and thoughts of fucking entered my mind. He must have been thinking the same thing as he said, “I think it’s time I gave you a hard fucking.” He was full of good ideas.

When I was packing a bag before I left, I read instructions on the lube bottle that said it could be applied inside a condom. I thought now there’s something I’ve never tried and put the idea away in the back of my head, wondering curiously if the condom would stay in place. I used the opportunity to slick some lube along The Bachelor’s cock to bring him to full hardness and rolled the condom on and rode the man like an unbroken horse. I leaned forwards, sat upright, leaned back, towered over him and gripped the bed head, and bounced until my legs were crying with protest. He grabbed my hips and started thrusting from underneath and we fucked in a mis-matched, messy sweatfest that was an amazing amount of unco-ordinated fun. He was flinging sweat up at me and mine was dripping on him and our hands slid haphazardly across each other’s bodies. I haven’t a clue how long we lasted but we crashed together until neither of us could speak from exhaustion.

We agreed sensibly to a break and he flipped off the condom — it had lasted the distance admirably with lube inside but I forgot to ask if there was a difference in sensation for him. We sprawled in a heap on his bunched sheets and talked a while in the dark. He was tired and hadn’t come and I started brushing my fingertips along his inner thighs and penis to bring his erection to life again. My touches turned into firmer massaging and soft moans crept into his conversation. He took over masturbating and he responded positively when I lubed a finger and inserted it into his anus as we were kissing. As his breathing became deeper, I finger fucked him in tempo and kissed him with more intent. Unlike the frenetic bursts of activity earlier, we merged in the darkness and moved together to bring him to orgasm. It happened on an unexpectedly intimate level and we didn’t feel the need to talk after that.

He wore the t-shirt again to bid me goodbye and gave me another long kiss. It was a shame he needed to work in the morning as he had re-activated a new source of energy inside me and I reluctantly slipped into the night.

Fuck, smut, fuck

The next day The Bachelor and I had arranged to spend the afternoon together. I experienced some trepidation because our first evening of sex was less than stellar, but reminded myself that I contribute at least half towards a lacklustre or sensational time and and rocked up with my mind on the latter.

He opened the door, looked down at me with coppery-brown eyes and grasped my chin as he kissed me hello. I didn’t realise last time, but there’s an authentic directness about him personality-wise and physically that I like a lot — there have been no dramas or mis-steps in our communication and he kisses and touches impulsively, kind of like an affectionate new boyfriend for a few hours who isn’t really a boyfriend and knows the boundaries. Also, we were in his bedroom about 30 seconds after our lips parted. I like that, too.

He apologised for his messy room and I removed his clothes and tossed them around, saying a few more wouldn’t matter then. He tormented me for a while with fingers in my cunt and anus while a thumb pressed my clit and I noticed later I had left a long slash of girl juices on the navy blue sheet.

He said that I seemed to need a hard pounding. By then, I wasn’t capable of intelligent conversation beyond, “Yeah!” He was on top and I curled under him and gripped his chest with clenched fingers as he went to town inside me. I think I may have bitten him when I came but he was too gentlemanly to say anything.

We felt too lazy afterwards to head out to the bondage supply shop as we had planned, but had lunch and stopped at a local sex product franchise that stocked the usual range of smut. I experienced choice overload after viewing the first few hundred vibrators and bought a small bottle of silicone lube and a simple prostate vibrator to trial on the willing men in my life — I saw a few more expensive toys designed for the male anatomy but I’m not using the ones I have on others enough to justify adding much to the arsenal. We looped quickly around the fluffy handcuffs and German porn and headed back to his house.

The afternoon session was slower and more luxurious, presumably (I thought without the benefit of hindsight) because we had exhausted the initial surge of lust and could explore languidly. I was partially correct. I sucked his cock for an exceedingly long time and rimmed him until he was at the stage of barely being able to speak like he had me earlier. When I returned to his cock and tasted pre-come he sat up and pushed me back for my turn, but something snapped in his mind and he said he needed to piledrive me again. I ended up on all fours and from behind he almost pushed my head through the wall until he reached orgasm and collapsed in a crumpled heap like the clothes on his floor.

He stayed where he was in a seemingly relaxed state and I reclined and enjoyed doing nothing more than doing nothing. Later he tried to talk but murmured unintelligibly. I fetched him water because he looked pale but he was too weary to hold the glass. He tried to sleep but writhed about on the bed until he got up and I could hear the click-clack of a keyboard. I found him alternating between pacing in his study and typing something — he confessed he’d only had three hours’ sleep the previous night combined with a couple of dozen mixed drinks at a Christmas party and the delayed reaction had hit him like a speeding truck after his final orgasm. I wasn’t keen on hanging around uncomfortably while his hangover evolved and I dressed and headed off into the evening. He gave me a lingering but wobbly kiss goodbye and I received a text message 24 hours later saying he was finally starting to recover.

I had worn him out again, but in a much more positive way than last time.

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.

Back in the saddle (kind of)

I’ll call the single man The Bachelor for want of something more creative. Then again, the only source of food he could offer after an afternoon and evening together was perhaps some bread in the freezer he could defrost but his fridge contained pin-straight rows of many beers of the world. The Bachelor will do nicely.

We met for a drink at a beachside hotel and got along famously but there was still the flow of desire that made me want to rip the shirt off his back if I had the energy. I wouldn’t know until I tried. I returned to his place and we watched a DVD for a while, sitting a friendly distance apart and later sidling together as we returned from searching for food or toilet breaks. I adore those moments of anticipation of not having had sex but knowing rampant nudity is only a short while away.

We kissed for a long time and I followed him to his bedroom. I realised it has been some time since I have unwrapped a new lover’s outer layers and discovered the beauty underneath, but I didn’t get much of a chance as there was no mood lighting in the bachelor pad — I was working completely in the dark and hoping it wasn’t because he had a shrivelled penis or contagious skin infection he was trying to conceal (my mind is still playing nasty tricks at the most inconvenient times). I explored all over with my hands and everything seemed smooth and healthy. His cock was on the slightly smaller than average side, hard and with a handy upwards curve, like a practical Swiss Army Knife penis that could get the job done in any condition.

I think we spent too long on foreplay. He promised earlier he’d work me over with his tongue, and he did, but my mind kept zoning out into things that I didn’t really need to be thinking about and I wasn’t going to lose myself enough to reach orgasm. I swung his hindquarters around into a 69 position and made him feel very good but couldn’t get him near orgasm — he responded well with my mouth but I didn’t get far with my hands and I was running out of tricks. Sometimes solo exploration goes to plan and sometimes it doesn’t without more active feedback from the recipient.

I fucked him from on top and rode until my heart rate was about to cause the ceiling to collapse. He took over and fucked me missionary style until his energy gave out and we curled up together and talked instead.

We started round two but I saw the clock was past midnight and I have been in bed much earlier the past few weeks. I hadn’t eaten since lunchtime and I knew I needed my last dregs of energy to drive home safely. With a bruised ego, I confessed I was too sleepy to do more regardless of my desire and asked if he’d come in my mouth. He took only a minute or two; all the equipment is working and we probably need to spend more time sharing the secrets of our bodies if we meet again.

The stodgy mix of grains and dried fruit in the emergency muesli bar stored in my glovebox was the most flavoursome manna after being deprived of nutrition for more than 12 hours. Always carry water, mints, condoms and a piece of portable food. On the way home at about 1am, the second man I’ve been in contact with sent an unexpected text message regarding our plans for the following day. And that brief and disheartening story, dear friends, can wait until next time.