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.

Different man, same outcome

After the lacklustre first time with The Bachelor, the opportunity arose to take someone else for a test run (and for me to continue denying that I might actually be the problem).

Purely by coincidence last weekend, the man I met a couple of months ago (successful, older, attractive devil, I probably left stains on the leather upholstery of his car, never available) got back in touch. He decided to put more effort into opening pockets of time, and I subsequently decided to put more effort into accepting that everything started well and I can have everything I want but just not when I want it. Hell, the grand vision of one semi-regular lover isn’t working out, so I’ll try to be more flexible towards a rotation of occasional flights of fancy even though being adored for a few hours and then ignored for weeks doesn’t work for me.

We agreed a night, I booked a room at a not-too-expensive-but-not-too-seedy motel and I amused myself masturbating while reading a book as I waited for him to arrive. The book was one of the most anticipated releases of the year and quite possibly the most over-wrought, unbelievable waste of lopped trees I’ve read in a long time. Shame on the publisher and author and there won’t be a film deal out of this one. I almost left the book in the hotel room but thought I might get $5 at the second-hand shop if I didn’t smear girl fluids on the pages.

I answered his knock on the door wearing nothing but a lacy bra, a white shirt and a bold stare. I stuck a finger coated in cunt juice in his mouth. He sucked my finger clean and then pushed me backwards on the bed and tongue fucked me royally. The hint of stubble on his chin scratched along my clean-shaved parts and sent electric goosebumps all over. Then the mental ghosts from last weekend returned and I knew I wasn’t going to relax into myself enough to come; as a smokescreen I sat up and suggested he remove his clothes so I could return the favour. He didn’t take long to lose his suit and I distracted myself with his cock. I should possibly be concerned at how much of my outer life I’m faking at the moment.

We fucked, firstly with him on top and later with me riding him. He’s fit but I wore him out, too. This current state of detachment is turning me into a fucking robot. I looked through the crack between the curtains and saw the sun fading and wondered how many more hours we had until I could go home and be alone.

He played with the contents of the toy bag I packed and asked me to use a vibrator on myself. He took over after a while because I was self conscious with him watching and darkness was well and truly filling the gap between the curtains. I kept reaching 95 per cent but I couldn’t sink deeply enough to find the place where oblivion was teasing. I think he started fucking me with the vibrator and I finished myself with my fingers — I nearly cried with relief that my body finally allowed me release and I apologised to him for taking so long. I was nicer and more forgiving of myself after the hormones flushed my bloodstream.

He laid back and I bent over him and sucked his cock dry. We were going to head out for a quick dinner and return for another bout, but time was about to expire on his alibi and I didn’t know if I was glad or not to be packing my bag and not returning.

I am working obscenely hard during the day on my job search and gift myself with relaxation time as a reward. But when the time comes to grant myself the moments of freedom, I feel guilty that I haven’t earned them or I’m not working hard enough or umpteen other self-defeating messages that play through my head. I may have to give up sex and dealing with people for a while as nearly all of the time the physical follows the mental for me. If my mind isn’t empty, my body will never be content.