Not a lot to report

The problem with posting in close to real-time is there’s no backlog of material to fill the gaps when nothing’s happening.

And nothing’s happening. The Country Boy just postponed our third meeting plan in a row and I’m feeling a tad frustrated. He has been ill and working seven days a week so I’ve been Ms Understanding and Patient for a fortnight, but it’s a not a long-term part I’d like to play because the forced smile is starting to freeze on my face. My period is also due in the next few days and the window of opportunity will be closing until next week (I’m trying to be patient).

There have been some stirrings of sexual activity on the home front. The Drummer came to me a couple of weeks ago with a hard cock in hand, saying I should take my medicine. Some smutty lines and roleplays make perfect sense if each person is attuned and in the mood, but I was sitting on the couch reading a book and not contemplating men with hard cocks in their hands. I felt lazy just turning my head, opening my mouth and rubbing his perineum area but the fantasy in his head involved me taking my medicine, and a mouthful I took. I pondered the surreal moment, chugged down some water, smiled and returned to my book.

Last weekend something similar happened when he was at the dining table but I moved at the last moment so his semen spurted from my shoulder down to my mid-thigh. Rather than attempt to clean the mess on my gym gear, I elected to change clothes before heading out the door. He said to make it known when I was in the mood for reciprocation, but I’m dog tired by early evening at the moment and my libido is spending more time in the shallows than at its peak. I know that sounds inconsistent to my comments about being frustrated in being able to see the Country Boy, but in the situation with him there’s also the anticipation and risk and break-from-routine novelty that I miss and crave.

Mr OMG has been back in touch and he might have a week of home-alone time later in the month. I’ve nominated myself to help take care of him so I’ll see if he comes good on some of the words he sent that left nothing to the imagination.

Has anyone ever received a mis-fired sexual text message? I received one from Young Lion recently, telling me the voice recording I’d left him was giving him an erection while he was on the train. Heh? I wrote back and said that perhaps his message wasn’t intended for me (we haven’t communicated for months). He back-pedalled instantly and said it was me he was referring to, which wasn’t correct as I haven’t made a voice recording for anyone, ever. I had a laugh about probably killing his public transport-worthy erection with my insistence that he didn’t need to bullshit.

I have to be careful at the moment as ArmyDude and the Country Boy have the same first name. The former is receiving advice on a professional issue and the latter is the recipient of unadulterated smut — a lapse in attention could result in an awkward situation; sending policy guidance to the Country Boy would be an explainable mistake but sending unadulterated smut to ArmyDude could open a whole can of worms. Don’t drink and text and don’t be sleepy and text.

Re-grouping

Sorry, I’m continuing this deviation from my sexual diary again, but I need to tidy some loose ends before returning to the good stuff.

Self

I mentioned at Christmas that my mother was ill. All is good now and she seems healthier than prior to her illness.

I haven’t mentioned The Drummer of late, firstly because there’s been no sexual activity with him for a long time, and because I am caught in a bind about how much to write. I need to express something as my partner is part of the whole story and enables me the freedom to live this part of my life, but on the other hand he’s entitled to his privacy and I find it hard to gauge how much to tell.

We have been working through some bigger-picture issues regarding our relationship and are coming from different perspectives: he’s simpler and more open in his desire to stay together for the longer term, but I look at the last couple of years and have wondered many times if the now is still what I want in the future because we aren’t moving positively from a stagnant situation. Also, I need to seek help with how to manage living with his mental illness more effectively. I don’t know if I help or hinder his (lack of) progress and I believe a greater understanding of my role will assist. It breaks me on too many days to see him a shell of who he was. I’ve sourced a counsellor and am going to start seeing her to help gain a wiser perspective because I’m too close to the eye of the storm to see what’s outside its fury.

Things are looking positive for the job mentioned in the last post and I hope to have something finalised in the next fortnight. There will be a lot of responsibility and high targets, but the company has the discipline and processes needed to succeed, so it will be up to me to achieve with them. I hope the offer comes off as I’m excited firstly about the challenge, and secondly about the freedom to effectively be running my own business within the business. A side-benefit will be more flexibility than I currently have to pursue my sex life, so things are looking up in a big way after a couple of months of eking slivers of personal time.

The Country Boy

We are back on track although my suit of emotional armour is a little thicker than previously. The irony of being more detached is that something’s occurred that currently impacts on his family and work, and he should have less time for me, but is making a greater effort to meet. Perhaps we’ll both be freer at the same time in the future and we can enjoy some relatively peaceful time together. His house will also be available for a while in a month or so; I can’t maximise use of a hotel room at present so the thought of being in a house and on a bed is enticing beyond words, and even exceeds the discomfort of knowing I’ll be entering someone else’s territory. I greatly enjoy the outdoor activities we engage in, but I’m reaching a stage where more variety and less risk would be good (having said that, we were more brazen than usual last night and I’ll have to write that story up).

Others

Young Lion has been back in touch. He works not far from my temp gig and has suggested we fuck in a booth at a peep show … I don’t even know if that can be done as I’ve never been in a peep show booth. I must admit to some curiosity to the point I walked past the club one lunchtime, but it was at the end of a lane and some seedy-looking people were congregated at the entrance, so I chose not to explore it alone.

NZ and I have had some phone contact. His wife had a baby so he’s been on daddy duty. His sex drive seems quite high according to some of his messages, however, I’m squeamish because I’d feel I’m taking him away from something more important. He has a genuinely open relationship so any time away is sanctioned, but I find it funny that I’m the one with skewed perceptions and not being able to look past them.

I almost posted this without mention of Mr OMG but he texted yesterday to apologise for his behaviour and said he’d leave me alone. I decided that saying goodbye was his way of saying he didn’t really want to end contact, so I said I’d miss him and would like contact in whatever capacity it forms. He replied soon after so I was on the money with my perception, but I still have no idea of my true intention. My motive seems pure at the moment that I like him even though it’s unlike we’ll meet face-to-face again. Or, I am an idiot.

Future of the blog

Having been deprived of time and energy to spend on the things I enjoy has made me appreciate this quiet space even more. There were some moments I thought of walking away and just getting on with living the life rather than talking about it, but I’m not ready to do that yet.

I’ve been thinking about my sexual objectives for the year (it’s a damn long ride on public transport and I need to think about something), but they haven’t really changed from the things I didn’t achieve last year, such as another threesome. I have decided I’d like to find another girl to make some of the Country Boy’s fantasies come true and I’ll devote some time to that in a few months when I have time. I’d like to explore fisting more but I think the Country Boy’s hands are too thick and broad to fit me, but I’ll never know unless we try. That, too, will have to wait until things calm down as I’ll need a lot of relaxing warm-up time to make the attempt.

I intend to try some different ideas like adding photos more often, but that’s dependent on the usual issues of taking snaps that no one else sees and that can’t be linked to anyone. You should have seen me learn very quickly how to kill off geo-tag data on photos — hello, techno-gadget designers, I *don’t* want the world to know what I’m doing where.

I’m also thinking of how I can open this space up, perhaps to questions and answers (I’m too lazy to open and maintain a Formspring account, and I’ve convinced myself I won’t be asked any questions anyway). Felinus had an intriguing idea about a sex blogger-created site where questions or topics could be posted and discussed or readers’ stories contributed and told — like an open-table forum. I think it has huge potential but I’m good at starting and not finishing things so I’m not sure if I’m the right person to kick it off.

To end, I’ll probably have sex no more than 50 times for the rest of the year according to the rolling average of my posts, so I’m going to make the most of every opportunity.

And the young lion roared in the new year (quietly)

After a couple of weeks of quietness followed by prickling discontent, I found the perfect way to work the wanderlust out of my system. Just take a woman with a car, a randy man with a train ticket, a picnic blanket and a whole lot of intent.

Young Lion and I had been disagreeing about the situation of our delayed encounter. I wanted to wait until we were free for a hotel meeting and he argued that we should trawl the great outdoors one night until we found somewhere private. I ended up seeing his point of view — even though we were thwarted for 40 kilometres last time — and I packed the car with a rushed handful of regular and never-tried, extra-wide and somewhat anticipated condoms, water, a torch, beach towels and a blanket.

I collected him at dusk and we drove to the nearest beach car park for a scoping mission. The evening had to be the closest to perfect this summer: comfortably warm with the gentlest sea breeze, an azure ocean rippling contentedly and a huge tangerine sun saying goodbye on the horizon — of course, the fucking beach and clifftop paths were packed full of people not there for sex.

We slid somewhat treacherously down some off-the-beathen-track paths to the beach and crawled back up in the hunt for a quiet cove but our luck was out. My leg muscles were complaining but my eye muscles were compensated with the fine view of his skinny denim-clad rear as we hauled up narrow steps in single file.

On the way back to the car park I noticed through some scrubby trees a reasonably-concealed clearing to the side of the path. If we were quiet, we wouldn’t be noticed unless someone was looking for us or we attracted attention. We returned to my car and collected the bag of items, not meeting the eyes of anyone on our walk of suspicion back to the path. I’ve said in the past that I adore the moments of anticipation before the first moments of sex with a new partner, but there we were camped on a blanket in a clearing still visible by persistent light and feeling awkward between whispered small talk and swatting mosquitoes.

I thought some clothed horizontal fun would keep us occupied until nightfall and I laid on top of him and grinded my pelvis into his hardening cock. We kissed. He’s a good kisser and enjoys lip-to-lip contact, but by the end of the night I had the impression that his sexuality is cock-centric — fucking for him is king and everything else is part of the support act. He asked if I was wet and I reached inside my loose pants and inserted two fingers, withdrew them and placed them in his mouth. He closed his eyes and sucked, not enthusiastically and not out of obligation, but just sucked. We shifted positions and he went down on me for a while and he was competent but again seemed to lack real intensity.

I looked up and we agreed fervently that passersby wouldn’t notice us unless we made noise, and I lowered his pants and prepared an oral attack on the cock that nearly defeated me last time.  He laid flat on his back and I laid alongside him on my side, leaning directly over his cock and I took a long, deep breath in anticipation. His dimensions were easier to tackle this time around because of the angle and his muffled moans indicated he had his hand over his mouth to avoid groaning out loud. My jaw took longer to fatigue and I alternated longer periods of sucking with rubbing my hand up his saliva-coated cock. I heard him ask if I thought I could take the whole length in my mouth. I whispered that I could only try and dived as deeply as I could. The breadth of the head of his cock triggered my gag reflex and I tried a few times until he said it was enough. Puzzling, as I thought most men would like a gagging woman to keep trying to win a cock sucking dare, but anyway, I stopped.

It was probably a good idea to stop with hindsight as I was dripping a serious wet patch through my pants. I gave him two condoms to choose from and asked if the normal size would be would be wide enough. He took both and selected the regular Ansell, looked quizzically at the extra-wide Magnum, putting it and the empty wrapper in the pocket of his discarded jeans.

I lowered myself over his shaft, relishing the opportunity to finally ride him, but wishing we could have started with him on top with my legs in air for a pounding to truly see if he lived up to his claims. However, we’d have been far too noisy to even try. I experimented with a few variations to maximise penetration and settled on about a 45-degree angle with my hands gripping his shoulders. Everything seemed to be working for both of us until my legs started aching and sweat was running down my face so I sat upright to try a more vertical position. After no more than three strokes, an unexpected orgasm gripped me and I stopped speechlessly and quivered for a few seconds. And then rocked back and forward on that angle like a child with a new toy until another climax almost took me down. When I came around, I could hear a panicked voice asking if I was all right. I wanted to yell FUCK, YEAH! but I gasped, “Yes, more than fine, fanfuckingtastic fine, thank you.” He said he thought I was having a heart attack. I explained that I had to pause the important business of fucking to work out ( and not explain to also file away in my head) exactly how his cock elicited such a reaction. He seemed relieved but perturbed and mentioned it a couple of times in text messages the next day. They were quiet and happy orgasms that didn’t cause any extreme reactions and I can only wonder about his surprise.

His back and my knees were starting to ache and we changed roles. A new kind of physical heaven opened when he entered me in the missionary style and I suddenly vowed never to care if he’s ambivalent about foreplay and oral sex because I’d stumble a hundred rocky cliff faces to have him inside me from on top again. I wished we were in a hotel room where we could spread out and have him fuck me until I was seeing stars but I was more than content judging by the feelings smashing around my body.

He was correct in his earlier claims about endurance and we again switched to me being on top because he was getting carpet burns on his knees. I fucked him until my legs were about to give way and had to take a rest. He was close to coming and I resumed sucking his cock until he came as quietly as he could in my mouth. I remembered to collect and swallow quickly to minimise the aftertaste — his semen tasted as rank as last time.

We chatted quietly and stared at the stars for a while (the ants had gone away and we could lay down in peace) until we realised the hour and I had to get him to the station. We collected our things by the light of our mobile phones as I had forgotten the torch in my earlier rush. When we reached the car park, we did another walk of suspicion as two youngsters had parked their car thoughtlessly close to mine and were staring at us impatiently as we put the gear away. I’d have hurried if they had the sense to leave personal space but instead chose to take my sweet time packing.

I dropped Young Lion off and noticed later he had kept the extra-wide condom without mention. He had sifted through his pockets on the way out when he thought he had lost his wallet and couldn’t have missed its presence. I’d have happily offered it to him if he’d asked, and given him a few more to play with. Oh well. It was almost a fitting ending to a wonderful but slightly weird magical mystery night.


Bad timing x 2

I was going to meet City Boy last weekend to enact his golden shower scenario, but of the three days I said I was free for an excursion, he waited until the morning of the first day to ask if I was coming around and then let me know he was working the other two days so it was our only opportunity. I’m too far away for last-minute interactions and I was still lounging about in bed. He has gone away for a few days and returns to a casual job where his shifts are allocated at short notice, so it may be some time before we catch up. With the benefit of frustrated hindsight I should have dragged myself out and got in the car, but it was my week off work and I was feeling too relaxed and lethargic in the heat to rush about anywhere.

Young Lion has been so ardent and inadvertently funny in his communication that I have been spending time looking for an outdoor venue in which to finally have a brief bout of sex until our schedules agree to a hotel evening. The train timetables are also on reduced holiday services and it’s hard for him to get around in the evenings — yet another lesson learned about chasing young things who live with their parents and don’t drive. I found a possible venue and called him to confirm he was still free one evening, but spurred by new Christmas pornography he had already masturbated four times that day and wasn’t up for moving from his bedroom, let alone meeting for sex with a real person.  He’s gone away as well for a few days and I keep changing my mind between letting him go before we really start or making more of an effort to pounce him. Even when I’m grumpy at his lack of foresight, his gung-ho attitude is energising and I’ll try to be patient for the right opportunity to go for a test ride.

I haven’t been on the dating side for about three months and I was thinking of re-activating my account but I joined a new gym a few weeks ago and the scales and mirrors told an unpleasant story. I need to devote more energy to lowering my bodyfat percentage and probably looking for another new job before chasing new partners. The Drummer said spending more hours training might wear me out and tame my sex drive, but I shook my head and said the more energy I exhaust, the more I produce and the results will likely be scary. It’s my birthday in four months and I’m thinking about planning a month of mayhem to celebrate. I’ll see.

It’s the last day of the year and I’m not enticed by any of the options on offer so I might escape the heat and stay home. Last new year’s eve I got to spend some time with Urban Vagabond and the previous year I joined M1 late in the night, so I’ve been most fortunate the past couple of years. I live quite straightforwardly without religion and some other major anniversaries as signposts of a year so I tend to live as the days pass. This year, however, has been marked with chronic pain and sadness at the start and frustration and anger at the end, so I’ll have to write about and purge 2009 soon [edited: I drafted a post and it’s too self absorbed for release so I’ll focus on my goals for the coming year when the time comes]. I also have an urge to write about the most humiliating dating experience that I haven’t mentioned here, so I need to put the pen to paper about him. So I hope you enjoy whatever you do tonight and wish you good health every day.


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.

Update

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.

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.

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.