You’d be quicker if you were paying

I ended up being convinced the following week by Young Tradesman that catching up at short notice was a good idea. I’d had a rough week and was fractious, didn’t have other plans and needed a break from some after-hours work I was doing. We agreed to meet at the same industrial estate as last time. The car park alongside one building was still pitch dark and not monitored by any form of security.

Here is where I gained more empathy for people who keeping making the same mistakes and not learning from their life’s lessons, because after 10 minutes I remembered why last time I said we didn’t do much that warranted mentioning. Hope and optimism tend to cloud and overtake memory and past experiences. I was bored shitless because it was all about him and little — apart from a probing finger a couple of times — about me.

After a few minutes of kissing and grinding into each other against the side of his car, I received the cursory explorations with his finger and I was suddenly glad I only showered and didn’t perform the entire depilation and preparation routine I mentioned a few posts ago. My return on investment would have been appalling, and even thinking in those terms made me realise I should make this a quick time rather than a good time and head home to bed.

He agreed quickly to tearing his jeans off and laying across the back seat of his car and I immersed myself in tonguing his balls and sucking his already iron-hard cock. He shifted my head lower to rim him and lifted his backside to allow me access. I truly didn’t know or remember him having such a hairy pathway from his balls to his anus. My tongue was shredded after only the second lick to try to moisten the area. I managed to tongue fuck his arse a few times before he pulled my head up to suck his cock again. I returned to my earlier ministrations and tuned in mentally to his car’s radio while I was sucking. The radio announcer’s voice was tinny and I wondered why Young Tradesman owned a nice, late-model car that was fitted with such a poor quality stereo system. I realised I was disengaging from the simple pleasure of sucking a cock and set myself the goal of finishing him off in the next three songs.

I failed in reaching that objective but I wasn’t entirely to blame. He pushed my head down a few times to see if I could take all his cock (almost, and I probably would have if I wasn’t grumpy about him being presumptuous by pushing), set me to licking his balls again and shifted to allow me another shot at his forested arse. He must have sensed I wasn’t going to return for another bout for a long time and he was dragging the experience out as long as he could. After about the fifth song I put on my dirtiest voice and said I’d really like him to come in my mouth. He tried turning a quick exchange of words into a conversation, and I replied with, “I want you to come soon in my mouth because I want your tasty come. Now.”

The most interesting part of the encounter was watching him masturbate the head of his cock in tiny jerking movements because I’ve never seen that technique before. I regretted earlier when rousing him that I said his semen tasted clean and healthy, because it didn’t. The sour spurts made me regret I was leaning forwards and had to taste too much in my front and side tastebuds before swallowing.

He put his clothes on, we kissed goodbye and I went home. 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.


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.

Another fantasy

I discovered a new industrial estate less than 10 minutes from home the other night. I wasn’t exactly out looking for sites but Young Tradesman got back in touch when he was passing through my area and trying to convince me to leave the house and join him. We didn’t do much that warrants recollection but nearly all of the warehouses and showrooms are new, lacking security cameras and I didn’t see any mobile security patrols during the time we were scouting around (no wonder we didn’t do much that warrants recollection as my mind was wandering to how I might utilise the site in future and if the territory was ‘his’ seeing as he found it). On the other side of the road opposite the empty buildings, perhaps five acres is levelled, cleared and pitch dark at night. I think it’ll be good for at least six months with the current economic malaise.

The next day I thought of a scenario I’d be interested in trying. I could be inspecting some of the developments as a site to start a business and something goes wrong with my car when I try to leave, or perhaps I’m waiting for an hour-afters appointment with a real estate agent who has just cancelled. A white delivery van (with a floorpan in the back long enough for people to lay down) pulls up … this is realistic and situationally safe because one of the existing businesses on the street has a fleet of white vans for food delivery and we wouldn’t stand out if discovered. The driver and possibly his co-driver (I keep thinking about two men at once at the moment) offer assistance but I say I live locally and will call a friend to wait with me until the tow truck arrives or whatever continues the scenario.

A struggle ensues and my captor/s drag me into the back of their van and they drive somewhere within the complex to have me as they wish. I think this time I would be subjugated quickly and embrace the principles of pleasure rather than an entrapment based on rough treatment.

I think The European would be perfect to make this happen but we haven’t been in contact since our roleplay. I’m not sure whether to get in touch with an outline. I could hire the transport and he said he had attractive, sane friends if ever I was interested in a multiple-partner activity. No harm in asking, I suppose. I’ll think about it.

More comebacks and an amusing disappearance

Young Tradesman issued an enthusiastic and surprising invitation considering I thought we were a once-off that didn’t go very far, but I’m struggling to garner enthusiasm for anything with only a few hours’ notice. Our planets might collide again if he gets in touch and I’m less distracted and rundown (I need time to document why life isn’t going to plan at the moment but the list keeps getting longer).

The other challenge with strictly casual arrangements I’ve been avoiding is that I grow cold and lose interest after a couple of weeks without mental interactions to feed lust and intent. If I’m home and the physical urge strikes, I take the pragmatic approach and get myself off rather than go on the hunt for someone on speed dial who might be free. Most men I’ve been in touch with — including Young Tradesman — who prefer the hunting method think I’m from a different century and that any non-sexual contact is akin to constricting their freedom. Regardless, he’ll either tire of pursuing an option that can’t be bothered showering and braving the cold, or I’ll get around to telling him myself.

I received an e-mail from Mr Chilled this morning, filled with reminiscences and asking if I’d be interested in catching up again. The practical beauty of the blog lately has been quickly being able to track whether I’ve had fun or not with those who have disappeared (big yes, judging by the endorphin-distilled essay I wrote in January) and the reality check that we met six months ago before communication with him became too much hard work. I’m not sure whether to despatch him or go back and finish what we started. For no particular reason and no regard for consistency, I’m leaning towards the positive.

I want to finish the tale of the woman I’ve mentioned a few times. We were due to meet but she hooked up with her husband’s female lover at a swingers’ party they all attended and the two women seem to have run off into the sunset together. I’m not sure how her husband feels about this. I have been dumped quicker than the proverbial hot potato but it’s all been worthwhile for the biggest belly laugh I’ve had in ages.

PS: I was starting another post that I’d had enough of Country Hottie’s lax communication (ten days or so since I asked for some final essential detail about the roleplay) and, low and behold, I just received an e-mail from him. He is free next weekend, when I will be bleeding half to death. I’ll sort it out later.


The young tradesman and I had been exchanging messages of a level more intimate and detailed than I’d normally share with someone I haven’t met. He has a sweet way of saying, “So, when are we going to fuck?” that encourages optimistic sharing. Intertwined was the re-surfacing of some unrelated personal grief that made me restless to the core and pace the streets to temper the stressful energy. The two paths met.

I was at home alone debating between going to bed and going out to meet him. Restlessness won and we met in the darkened corner of a hotel car park. I was relieved after a run of outs that we shared an instant attraction and I thought quietly: gosh, you’re fuckable. He grasped my buttock as he kissed me hello. I returned the roaming of hands up his spine, clasping his arse, feeling for his cock through the button fly of his jeans. I didn’t care for perceptions and if he thought me an intrepid ingenue or easy throwaway. He probably didn’t care either and was pleased enough to be in the hands of someone on a mission for a little while.

The beauty of the current cold weather was that people were staying home and the car park was almost deserted. The downside was that only randy idiots with no back-up plans were trying to kiss and caress while legs were shivering and teeth were rattling. I turned to my car to ditch my gloves and hat and he bent me over the roof, kissing my neck and wrangling a hand down my jeans. I thanked whoever first threaded lycra into denim for the ease of the finger working its way into my cunt. He removed and licked his wettened finger and kissed me afterwards. I was early-cycle sweet.

I can barely fit a handbag in my car, let alone a man, yet he thought his car didn’t have much room to explore further. Jekyll and I worked out most physical permutations possible in a sedan and the young tradesman’s vehicle could have hosted an orgy by comparison but he just didn’t know it. I laid him across the back seat and tore his jeans and underwear down, glad for the distraction of discovery to take my mind off residual sorrows for a while. I still don’t know if it’s using someone in order to forget, but we all have our reasons for entering into things.

He came so quietly that I didn’t realise what I thought was pre-come was the finale. I licked him as clean as I could in the darkness and as delicately as I could in not knowing his post-orgasm sensitivity. I must have missed some drops because I can smell his semen on my dark knit top but the spots haven’t dried and made themselves visible yet.

He’s the first one whose first name I don’t know. He’s in my mobile phone under his log-in name and I never thought to ask.