I am 19 days away from reuniting with JB. 19 days, by which time it will have been 5 months apart. Five terrible months where, as my aunt recently said, "life lost it's colour".
Being apart is not so much difficult as it is terribly dull. I occasionally feel the desire to go out dancing, but more times than not I can't think that it would be at all interesting without him. I've lazily daydreamed about going out to pick someone up to get the energy in my body dealt with, but more than that I crave a night alone with JB. There's some change that's happened here, I was sure you weren't supposed to find your partner this attractive. This consistently arousing after 18 months. But I do.
I've moved into a new phase of my sexuality. I've spent 5 months alone, so have well and truly used the time to get reacquainted with myself and with what I find arousing. My fantasies now involve bareback sex, impregnation risk and definitely, definitely JB. I have no real explanation for this, other than perhaps I've decided that I want to surrender my body to him, not in a possessive way (that couldn't be further from reality) but in a way that pays homage to the union between partners. In the way that recognises the love that passes between people who want to have children together. I love him, and I want to have children with him. More to the point, I want to practice getting pregnant with him!
It's a weird sensation. I wish he would get here!
Showing posts with label climax. Show all posts
Showing posts with label climax. Show all posts
Friday, 28 November 2014
Sunday, 24 February 2013
Delicious R Strikes Again
After our first meeting I decide to play things cool - pretty much because I'm feeling decidedly un-cool about the whole thing, and I don't want to be humiliated or rejected. I bloody like this man, and I want him, and his now-fiancee to like me as well. Agonising stuff. BE NORMAL.
I didn't hear anything from him the next day, but the day after I get a little email note saying that he had a lot of fun, and would like to meet again. The same time, next week. I'm trying to be normal, verging on distant, so he doesn't think I'm too keen. Actually what I mean is so he doesn't actually figure out how keen I really am. Keep it together woman!
I'm also totally fucking skint, and am supposed to head up to London the following week anyway. Save costs, be uber cool - let's not meet again for another two weeks. He seems genuinely disappointed! I don't know why I still find this so surprising.
So we text a few times over the next two weeks, until the day of the meet, where we decide what to do in the evening. A pub in Sarf Lahndahn was the decision. I was excited, he didn't seem to be so much. I got there about half an hour early, and he was suddenly fifteen minutes late. I was pleased to be early because it meant I had time to prepare to not be a weirdo, and get some breath mints and some cash. Nothing like being prepared for every possible eventuality to calm the nerves.
I went to a decidedly trendy bar around the corner from the agreed meeting place, and had myself a little gin and tonic, and sat there contemplating life whilst I waited. I think this was an infinitely wonderful idea, and I will try and replicate on every date where I may be a bit doolally from now on. Calm down. Smile at the bartenders. Listen to other people speaking normally. Breathe.
He turned up, we embraced. We walked to the pub. He gave me his arm to lean on and got to a lovely little place with high ceiling and a great warm atmosphere. We got a table in the corner, nice and private.
The boy barely got a word in before I pounced and thrust my lips onto his delicious, slightly beardy face. That's a tiny bit of an exaggeration, we did talk a lot beforehand. He touched my arm. We ate food, he sweetly spilled drinks all over himself. I got the impression he was a bit nervous, and then after fucking up once, he just got a bit goofy and kept doing silly things. It was so sweet. We kissed a little more, ate our delicious food, and talked. Talked talked talked. I talked about my parents, my sister, my liberal upbringing. I told him about the love affair I had with my best friend at 16, and how foolish I'd felt about it, and for how long I'd pretended it didn't happen.
He told me how he loved his lady E. It was lovely to hear. He told me about his slightly difficult relationship with his mother, and how he wasn't sure he wanted her at his wedding. He told me how he wanted to take me home and make out, but he didn't want E to feel she wasn't welcome. He said they'd spoken about it during the week, and whilst E is intellectually ok with it, she wasn't too keen on the idea of coming home to see me on my knees with R's cock in my mouth. Fair play. They didn't make a decision though, R said, because they wanted to ask me what I wanted. How fucking cool is that? Someone who actually gave a shit about my feelings! I'm a bit hooked. I haven't met E yet, although I think I would like her. But I also really like R, and I want enough time to get to know him independently first, before jumping into bed with the pair of them.
Then we headed over to another pub. Got a little cuddly in a darkened corner and chatted even more. His hand caressing up and down my thigh. The other hand reached up and touched my neck, the hair around my ears, so gently. It was so lovely that I had to pretend it wasn't happening, otherwise I would melt.
For a moment I was slightly overwhelmed and just had to bury my face in his chest. He put his arm around me, but I pulled back again before too long, for fear of weirding him out. I am so afraid of doing that - why? Can't let myself get too attached to this one, lessons must be learnt!
We finished our drinks, and decided to head out to some dark seedy corner and do terrible things to each other. More delicious kissing. More touching. I slowly undid his belt, slipped my hand in. He groaned. He fumbled for my skirt, drew it up and touched me. Went into my tights, under my knickers and slipped his finger inside me. God even thinking about it now is SO hot. Kissing him, wanting his tongue, and letting him know. I'd search his tongue out with my own, and it was heaven.
"I want you in my mouth", I whisper, and he nods. "Can I do it?" He nods again.
I get down on my knees in a dark alleyway in London and unveil his cock. It's impressive. Long and thick, tapering to a manageable size at the end. It feels so good in my mouth. He lightly grips my head and guides me back and forth, taking it as deep as I can go. I use my hand to pump him into me, alternating between softly and harder. He tastes great. He says "is it alright to come?" and I nod yes. I want him to come in my warm mouth. He groans a little, and so I keep going. He tells me he is about to come and he fills my mouth with salty come. It tastes amazing. I swallow, but keep him inside me. I lick the head once more and it is so good. I feel so rude, but it's hot.
He kisses me, not hesitating. He tells me I'm good at giving head. I tell him how nervous I get doing it. We kiss more. We chat a little more this time compared with last, we're relaxed and having fun.
He walks me back to the train.
Saturday, 26 January 2013
Paris, France
J took me to Paris last weekend. I had been looking forward to it for months. All over Christmas, almost all I could think about was going to Paris with J. It just seemed like the most romantic thing in the universe.
We left on the Friday of my first week back at work. From about 12pm that day I'd begun to feel terrible nervous and excited, almost nauseous, which is pretty unusual for me. On the train to London I felt so fucking anxious I could hardly stand it. Couldn't read. Couldn't do anything except sit there and fucking pine away, waiting to see him.
He had sent this text:
"You get 3 spanks for every minute late you are after 1730. I want to kiss you. Xxx"
When the train pulled in I felt shaky with desire. I called him, and he answered "Nine minutes late. That's 27 spankings." Once I'd heard his voice I felt ok, and as I wandered through the train station to meet him I felt positively serene. Then all of a sudden there he was. Real as fuck. It was all I could do to stand there in his embrace, and not fall to the ground and weep with relief.
As we travelled through England and then into the North of France, we talked, chatted about life, about his friend who had died, about my Christmas trip. We made it into Paris quite late, then couldn't get a taxi and took a fraught Metro journey to our hotel. He seemed distracted, but it was ok.
We made it to the room, and we kissed. He took my clothes off, I took his off. He ate me for a long time, but for some reason did that thing that T used to do, which is not listen to me saying "don't stop" and he kept on changing his pace. Fingering me too hard, and too deep. I'm being spoilt now, but it was so GD annoying that I kept being distracted. When I finally came it wasn't great, and I barely felt it.
He hadn't fucked anyone in six weeks, so he fucked the absolute shit out of me. He came quickly, had tried to slow down, then suddenly stopped and looked so intensely into my face before shooting himself into me with an anguished cry.
The next day he taped my arms together and fucked me from behind as he pushed my face into the bed. The me flipped me over and pressed his glorious weight into me from on top. My arms hurt but I loved it. I loved it when he came in me. I wanted it to be for real.
Saturday night changed everything though. He'd been a little distant in the afternoon, and as I generally let him set the tone I let myself get totally thrown and began to doubt myself. It was really my fault then for the rest of the weekend, as I couldn't feel happy unless I thought that he was. So I wasn't very talkative, felt shy.
We spoke about his work over dinner and when I made a foolish mistake over something quite key he'd been explaining he gave me an exasperated look and a sigh. I almost burst into tears. I felt mortified, humiliated, stupid and playing out of my league. He asked if he'd upset me but it was all I could do to shake my head and deny how easily wounded I was.
Sunday was fun. We walked around the Musee D'Orsay before a walk through the Tuileries and a crepe on a Ferris wheel. Another exhibition had too long a line and he was disappointed. We then went to Champs Elysees and wandered through some shops. He likes to buy me things. We went into a store, and he bought me some delicious boots. I adore them:
We then went to an early supper at Terminus Nord. I had onion soup and lobster. He had soupe de poisson and steak. He was quiet, I was sad and frightened. He seemed cross and I didn't know why. I don't even know if he was actually cross or just distracted.
We went to catch the train and the snow had thrown the system into mayhem and there were hundreds of people queueing for the trains. We made it onto the last two seats of the earlier train (which nevertheless running 300 minutes late) but did spend a couple of hours waiting. He was so anxious that he kept marching off, trying to find a better place for us to sit. Always trying to be more efficient. Not telling me what is going off. Walking off when I was halfway through I sentence. I know he didn't hear me. He should have been listening. I want him to be the kind of lover that is listening.
I had a cry, and told him he'd upset me. He was totally shocked and oblivious and I thought I saw a flicker of him being sad that I was upset. I don't know if that's the case though.
On the ride back we chatted, sometimes it was intimate, some times it wasn't. We spoke about life, and about sex, and he said to me:
"if you follow me into the toilets I will come in your mouth"
So I did. I've NEVER done that before, but he fucked me from behind in the Eurostar toilets, and before coming he spun me around, sat me down, took off the condom and pressed his lovely cock into my mouth. He came with a sigh into my mouth for the first time, and it tasted wonderful. He was shocked that I'd done it, and frankly so was I.
We tried to find our way back home. He booked a hotel, I thought I was invited, but I wasn't. He got me off the train a stop early and left me to make my own way home. I was devastated. He had the fucking audacity to tell me he missed me and wished I was at the hotel with him. I sobbed the way home.
I need to stop letting him treat me like a fool.
We left on the Friday of my first week back at work. From about 12pm that day I'd begun to feel terrible nervous and excited, almost nauseous, which is pretty unusual for me. On the train to London I felt so fucking anxious I could hardly stand it. Couldn't read. Couldn't do anything except sit there and fucking pine away, waiting to see him.
He had sent this text:
"You get 3 spanks for every minute late you are after 1730. I want to kiss you. Xxx"
When the train pulled in I felt shaky with desire. I called him, and he answered "Nine minutes late. That's 27 spankings." Once I'd heard his voice I felt ok, and as I wandered through the train station to meet him I felt positively serene. Then all of a sudden there he was. Real as fuck. It was all I could do to stand there in his embrace, and not fall to the ground and weep with relief.
As we travelled through England and then into the North of France, we talked, chatted about life, about his friend who had died, about my Christmas trip. We made it into Paris quite late, then couldn't get a taxi and took a fraught Metro journey to our hotel. He seemed distracted, but it was ok.
 |
| The view from the Hotel |
We made it to the room, and we kissed. He took my clothes off, I took his off. He ate me for a long time, but for some reason did that thing that T used to do, which is not listen to me saying "don't stop" and he kept on changing his pace. Fingering me too hard, and too deep. I'm being spoilt now, but it was so GD annoying that I kept being distracted. When I finally came it wasn't great, and I barely felt it.
He hadn't fucked anyone in six weeks, so he fucked the absolute shit out of me. He came quickly, had tried to slow down, then suddenly stopped and looked so intensely into my face before shooting himself into me with an anguished cry.
 |
| The scene of the crime |
The next day he taped my arms together and fucked me from behind as he pushed my face into the bed. The me flipped me over and pressed his glorious weight into me from on top. My arms hurt but I loved it. I loved it when he came in me. I wanted it to be for real.
Saturday night changed everything though. He'd been a little distant in the afternoon, and as I generally let him set the tone I let myself get totally thrown and began to doubt myself. It was really my fault then for the rest of the weekend, as I couldn't feel happy unless I thought that he was. So I wasn't very talkative, felt shy.
We spoke about his work over dinner and when I made a foolish mistake over something quite key he'd been explaining he gave me an exasperated look and a sigh. I almost burst into tears. I felt mortified, humiliated, stupid and playing out of my league. He asked if he'd upset me but it was all I could do to shake my head and deny how easily wounded I was.
We then went to an early supper at Terminus Nord. I had onion soup and lobster. He had soupe de poisson and steak. He was quiet, I was sad and frightened. He seemed cross and I didn't know why. I don't even know if he was actually cross or just distracted.
We went to catch the train and the snow had thrown the system into mayhem and there were hundreds of people queueing for the trains. We made it onto the last two seats of the earlier train (which nevertheless running 300 minutes late) but did spend a couple of hours waiting. He was so anxious that he kept marching off, trying to find a better place for us to sit. Always trying to be more efficient. Not telling me what is going off. Walking off when I was halfway through I sentence. I know he didn't hear me. He should have been listening. I want him to be the kind of lover that is listening.
I had a cry, and told him he'd upset me. He was totally shocked and oblivious and I thought I saw a flicker of him being sad that I was upset. I don't know if that's the case though.
On the ride back we chatted, sometimes it was intimate, some times it wasn't. We spoke about life, and about sex, and he said to me:
"if you follow me into the toilets I will come in your mouth"
So I did. I've NEVER done that before, but he fucked me from behind in the Eurostar toilets, and before coming he spun me around, sat me down, took off the condom and pressed his lovely cock into my mouth. He came with a sigh into my mouth for the first time, and it tasted wonderful. He was shocked that I'd done it, and frankly so was I.
We tried to find our way back home. He booked a hotel, I thought I was invited, but I wasn't. He got me off the train a stop early and left me to make my own way home. I was devastated. He had the fucking audacity to tell me he missed me and wished I was at the hotel with him. I sobbed the way home.
I need to stop letting him treat me like a fool.
Thursday, 13 December 2012
Naked as a J-Bird
J and I have spend the last two months falling in love. It's been incredible, and I feel that it really is incredible that I've met him at all. How did it even really happen? How does one actually go from meeting someone for the first time, being a little frightened of them, to loving them? Even after reflection, when I have traced the path back to that day, it seems so unlikely, so reliant on chance that I could weep from the miraculousness.
The visit before last was the one that sealed the deal. Delicious texts, slightly rude (how lovely), let to me saying I totally adore you. I wasn't meaning to say that I loved him, even though by that point I did. But he did what I'm learning is his usual trick of wonderfully seeing right to my core, to my tenderest parts, already knowing what I haven't had the courage to say. Fuck. I totally adore you also. That's got it out in the open xxx Not that it was that well hidden...was his reply. Cue heart pang and melting into the bus seat. I'm like Charles Bingley from Pride and Prejudice - not confident to be fully in love withour proper encouragement - also known as doubting Thomas. I wasn't quite sure if that meant what I thought it did. So I waited until he said it again.
I'm now on the other side of the world, back home with family for Christmas. I miss him. I keep thinking of our last day together before I left. I keep thinking of having his head between my legs and how it was the first time he brought me to climax himself, without any help from me. That's awesome.
That leads me to last night with T, who has come home with me. He was massaging my body, and I knew he wanted sex. The arousal doesn't come so quickly with me anymore. I let him massage me, but told him that it wasn't a definite green light on the sex front (bit awkward at his mother's place) but he was ok with that. He made my body feel good, easing the tension in my shoulders and the pain in my thighs, before brushing his hands against me and massaging my pussy. He did it sweepingly, and I wasn't sure if he meant to do it or not (he totally did - well played T) and then continued to do it, until I was almost weeping with desire, and longing for him to touch my clit. When he did, he brought me to orgasm within about three minutes - my fastest ever!
I wonder whether I'm chilling out more on the orgasm front, and just riding the pleasure plains. Maybe letting go? Maybe somehow finding it easier to fantasise? I'm not sure, but T seemed delighted, and fuck it, so was I!! We finished off with him fucking me from behind and we watched ourselves in an enormous mirror. Hot. I wasn't wearing my glasses so my body was in delightful soft focus (for once), and I what I saw I definitely couldn't criticise! It was joyful.
The visit before last was the one that sealed the deal. Delicious texts, slightly rude (how lovely), let to me saying I totally adore you. I wasn't meaning to say that I loved him, even though by that point I did. But he did what I'm learning is his usual trick of wonderfully seeing right to my core, to my tenderest parts, already knowing what I haven't had the courage to say. Fuck. I totally adore you also. That's got it out in the open xxx Not that it was that well hidden...was his reply. Cue heart pang and melting into the bus seat. I'm like Charles Bingley from Pride and Prejudice - not confident to be fully in love withour proper encouragement - also known as doubting Thomas. I wasn't quite sure if that meant what I thought it did. So I waited until he said it again.
I'm now on the other side of the world, back home with family for Christmas. I miss him. I keep thinking of our last day together before I left. I keep thinking of having his head between my legs and how it was the first time he brought me to climax himself, without any help from me. That's awesome.
That leads me to last night with T, who has come home with me. He was massaging my body, and I knew he wanted sex. The arousal doesn't come so quickly with me anymore. I let him massage me, but told him that it wasn't a definite green light on the sex front (bit awkward at his mother's place) but he was ok with that. He made my body feel good, easing the tension in my shoulders and the pain in my thighs, before brushing his hands against me and massaging my pussy. He did it sweepingly, and I wasn't sure if he meant to do it or not (he totally did - well played T) and then continued to do it, until I was almost weeping with desire, and longing for him to touch my clit. When he did, he brought me to orgasm within about three minutes - my fastest ever!
I wonder whether I'm chilling out more on the orgasm front, and just riding the pleasure plains. Maybe letting go? Maybe somehow finding it easier to fantasise? I'm not sure, but T seemed delighted, and fuck it, so was I!! We finished off with him fucking me from behind and we watched ourselves in an enormous mirror. Hot. I wasn't wearing my glasses so my body was in delightful soft focus (for once), and I what I saw I definitely couldn't criticise! It was joyful.
Saturday, 28 April 2012
Well Hello M
So out of the blue last week I got a text from M - he had his phone turned off for three weeks because of problems with his ex-girlfriend. It’s a completely bullshit excuse but I was glad to hear from him and I didn’t feel like calling him on it, so I let it slide.
He was heading back to town for a night and asked me if I wanted to get together. Luckily I’ve been on holiday this week and so I was able to spend part of Wednesday day with him, and I cleared it with T so I could stay the night at M’s place. I was so happy to be going - really excited to see him again. I was out shopping in the morning with T’s sister (she doesn’t know the, um, status of our relationship) and M rang so I had to do a coy thing and be dying on the inside from happiness but on the outside seem like I was just having a normal conversation.
I got home just after lunch and M got into town at half two. We decided to meet at four, so I had a frantic de-hairing session and a calming bath to get my proverbial shit together. The texts from M got more frequent and I suddenly got the impression that he was fucking excited to see me too. My heart sang, but kind of in that confused way where I am happy for the attention now, but confused as to why it’s so intense now when for the last month I’ve not heard anything? Heard so little that I believed that it was over between us. I hate to think that his proximity to pussy increases the likelihood of getting attention from him. I hate to think that.
He met me out the front of his house, wearing his lovely cuddly grey hoodie. Happiness at seeing the hoodie again, more grey and cuddly than I remembered it.
We went to his room and he put his hand around my neck and pulled me to him, kissing me hard and giving me the love shakes. We lay down on his bed, and he undressed me, kissing me, and he dove between my thighs and started tasting me. I covered my eyes and let him eat me - it’s hard for me to let go and not be scared about someone having their face really rather close to my cunt. It felt good, no actually it felt pretty great, and I felt the fucking cosmic pleasure of having M eating me out. M! He Of The Distant Nature was licking my cunt and putting his fingers inside me. It was great. I took over after a while because my desire to cum was pretty great. I couldn’t get it together though, and after cramp set it I stopped forcing it.
The heavenly thing was feeling the pressure of his body on mine again. To feel how he was different to T, and just to see his lovely face again, and hear his lovely accent. I had missed him, my body had missed him, and it felt joyful to be right there next to him, surrounding him with myself and being with him.
We talked more frankly than we had last time, and it was refreshing. The nature of our relationship lends itself to intensity I guess. I think that’s quite common. We went to a deli and bought antipasti bits and strawberries and ate them while watching The Meaning of Life. I lay between his legs and the love shakes came when his kissed the top of my head. Which he did quite a lot. I took a picture of him and I have looked at it a lot in the last few days. He’s smiling, and I remember seeing the smile come across his face as I lined up the shot. It’s a pose, but a lovely one and that’s the M I think of, when I remember him.
We slept by each other in the night, and I woke him up for a 4am fuck. He kept saying ‘this is the first time we’ve slept together’. I slept terribly - I tend to in unfamiliar beds - but it was kind of ok, because I was conscious of the loveliness of having him right there.
In the morning he wore his usual face but said a couple of times that he didn’t want to go. It was an insight - I suddenly felt that that is the way M is. Not really one for wearing his heart on his sleeve, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a heart. But maybe I am making excuses.
He’s gone again now, and the wrench is awful. I’m not actually sure if I will ever get better at the goodbyes. I don’t know if feeling this ghastly is worth it. I know that it’s not going to last forever and I know he plans to move far far away. The missing him is exquisite.
He was heading back to town for a night and asked me if I wanted to get together. Luckily I’ve been on holiday this week and so I was able to spend part of Wednesday day with him, and I cleared it with T so I could stay the night at M’s place. I was so happy to be going - really excited to see him again. I was out shopping in the morning with T’s sister (she doesn’t know the, um, status of our relationship) and M rang so I had to do a coy thing and be dying on the inside from happiness but on the outside seem like I was just having a normal conversation.
I got home just after lunch and M got into town at half two. We decided to meet at four, so I had a frantic de-hairing session and a calming bath to get my proverbial shit together. The texts from M got more frequent and I suddenly got the impression that he was fucking excited to see me too. My heart sang, but kind of in that confused way where I am happy for the attention now, but confused as to why it’s so intense now when for the last month I’ve not heard anything? Heard so little that I believed that it was over between us. I hate to think that his proximity to pussy increases the likelihood of getting attention from him. I hate to think that.
He met me out the front of his house, wearing his lovely cuddly grey hoodie. Happiness at seeing the hoodie again, more grey and cuddly than I remembered it.
We went to his room and he put his hand around my neck and pulled me to him, kissing me hard and giving me the love shakes. We lay down on his bed, and he undressed me, kissing me, and he dove between my thighs and started tasting me. I covered my eyes and let him eat me - it’s hard for me to let go and not be scared about someone having their face really rather close to my cunt. It felt good, no actually it felt pretty great, and I felt the fucking cosmic pleasure of having M eating me out. M! He Of The Distant Nature was licking my cunt and putting his fingers inside me. It was great. I took over after a while because my desire to cum was pretty great. I couldn’t get it together though, and after cramp set it I stopped forcing it.
The heavenly thing was feeling the pressure of his body on mine again. To feel how he was different to T, and just to see his lovely face again, and hear his lovely accent. I had missed him, my body had missed him, and it felt joyful to be right there next to him, surrounding him with myself and being with him.
We talked more frankly than we had last time, and it was refreshing. The nature of our relationship lends itself to intensity I guess. I think that’s quite common. We went to a deli and bought antipasti bits and strawberries and ate them while watching The Meaning of Life. I lay between his legs and the love shakes came when his kissed the top of my head. Which he did quite a lot. I took a picture of him and I have looked at it a lot in the last few days. He’s smiling, and I remember seeing the smile come across his face as I lined up the shot. It’s a pose, but a lovely one and that’s the M I think of, when I remember him.
We slept by each other in the night, and I woke him up for a 4am fuck. He kept saying ‘this is the first time we’ve slept together’. I slept terribly - I tend to in unfamiliar beds - but it was kind of ok, because I was conscious of the loveliness of having him right there.
In the morning he wore his usual face but said a couple of times that he didn’t want to go. It was an insight - I suddenly felt that that is the way M is. Not really one for wearing his heart on his sleeve, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a heart. But maybe I am making excuses.
He’s gone again now, and the wrench is awful. I’m not actually sure if I will ever get better at the goodbyes. I don’t know if feeling this ghastly is worth it. I know that it’s not going to last forever and I know he plans to move far far away. The missing him is exquisite.
Wednesday, 21 March 2012
G, 2008
I met G in a gay bar in my home city. I’d worked late with some pals and my sister, and after the shindig had been and gone we wanted to carry on into the night. This bar was famed in our city for it’s debauchery - mud wrestling and lady lovin’ abounded here. I’d never had any luck there before; one disadvantage of being a femininely dressed bisexual woman is that people assume that you’re there for support rather than as a punter. It could be worse, I suppose.
That night I could have cared less though, and it may have been the wine that made me feel powerful, or the liberation of having cut all my long brown hair off a few weeks earlier. My body started buzzing. It was electric. I danced and danced with my sister on the lit up floor, until we couldn’t breathe and our lips were dry and parched. So many people. We went outside to the rooftop bar.
We immediately saw our friend V, and older guy in our industry who hadn’t really made it much of a secret that he wanted to slip me one. It had been sort of weird between us, and I found him so unattractive that the thought of fucking him took on a majorly kinky not-sure-if-I’m-prepared-to-actually-live-this-fantasy quality that I was still working out. He bought us bubbly drinks, and we all chatted and then we watched him start to really drink. It was eye opening.
Then I saw G. He was standing talking to what I later found out to be his very pretty blonde friend. He was French, and fucking gorgeous. I don’t know how we started talking, but we did, and I remember finding out he was French and just losing my shit. I’m utterly obsessed with France and the fact that he was just so goddamn good looking made me instantly moist up. His English was at the stage where I could work out what he was saying, but not without some effort. He was making my skin vibrate so eventually I straight up asked him if he wanted to come home with me. He was concerned that his English meant he had misunderstood me, but I reassured him - yes, I really was inviting him home to fuck my brains out. He said yes, but that he needed to take his friend home first.
I ran to my sister and told her (totally excitedly) that I was going to get sex! The look on her face went from unbelieving delight to a bit of shock and she said ‘I think I’m going to stay at Mum’s’. Good idea.
My sister left ad all of a sudden I felt a fool, and convinced that G had taken the opportunity to swiftly escape me. I was losing hope swiftly when he reappeared and told me to get my coat stat (obviously not exactly in those words). We took a taxi to mine and I remember his hot mouth bursting all over my lips. It was incredible. We both stumbled up my carpeted stairs and fell onto my bed. As he stood before me I took his tshirt off to reveal a muscular and incredibly tanned body. He came towards me and his skin was so hot it was as if he burned his imprint onto my body. I can still feel it. He took off my black singlet and deftly (miraculously, even) removed all my other clothes without me really realising.
He turned to me and asked me what I did for a living. ‘I’m a student’ I said and he nodded. ‘Do you want to know what I do?’ he asked. Sure. Why not. ‘I am porn star’.
Now I am pretty open minded but I was completely not expecting that answer and I’m sure the shock registered on my face because after a few seconds he laughed, shook his head and told me he was joking. ‘My cock is not big enough’. Imagine a naked man in front of you saying that with a French accent. EXACTLY. Hilarious. ‘I am osteopath.’ Three little words that actually could not have delighted me more. I love being touched and have relatively constant back problems, so it was ideal that after he fucked my back up by fucking me hard from behind, he could readjust me and give me a rub down! What’s not to like?
He bent me over the side of my bed, and pushed the head of himself inside me. That achingly pleasurable first entrance. Christ. I had a full bush at this point and he seemed to quite like it, perhaps a European thing? Embarrassingly, I don’t remember much else of the sex part, other than I enjoyed it but didn’t climax. I do remember being particularly vocal as my sister wasn’t there though...
Around this time, I was starting to realise that even great sex for me was often sans-climax. I just couldn’t seem to get there when someone else was present. After he came, clenching my ass as he shot, he actually did give me a rub down. A full blown, full body massage. It was gorgeous. Afterwards I gave him a beer (!) and we chatted about France, about our families and about our lives. He tried to teach me some French and when we slept he pulled me closer to him and held me there all night.
In the morning, I walked him to the bus stop and he left. It wasn’t until afterwards that I realised how stupid I had been not to get his details. I never saw him again.
That night I could have cared less though, and it may have been the wine that made me feel powerful, or the liberation of having cut all my long brown hair off a few weeks earlier. My body started buzzing. It was electric. I danced and danced with my sister on the lit up floor, until we couldn’t breathe and our lips were dry and parched. So many people. We went outside to the rooftop bar.
We immediately saw our friend V, and older guy in our industry who hadn’t really made it much of a secret that he wanted to slip me one. It had been sort of weird between us, and I found him so unattractive that the thought of fucking him took on a majorly kinky not-sure-if-I’m-prepared-to-actually-live-this-fantasy quality that I was still working out. He bought us bubbly drinks, and we all chatted and then we watched him start to really drink. It was eye opening.
Then I saw G. He was standing talking to what I later found out to be his very pretty blonde friend. He was French, and fucking gorgeous. I don’t know how we started talking, but we did, and I remember finding out he was French and just losing my shit. I’m utterly obsessed with France and the fact that he was just so goddamn good looking made me instantly moist up. His English was at the stage where I could work out what he was saying, but not without some effort. He was making my skin vibrate so eventually I straight up asked him if he wanted to come home with me. He was concerned that his English meant he had misunderstood me, but I reassured him - yes, I really was inviting him home to fuck my brains out. He said yes, but that he needed to take his friend home first.
I ran to my sister and told her (totally excitedly) that I was going to get sex! The look on her face went from unbelieving delight to a bit of shock and she said ‘I think I’m going to stay at Mum’s’. Good idea.
My sister left ad all of a sudden I felt a fool, and convinced that G had taken the opportunity to swiftly escape me. I was losing hope swiftly when he reappeared and told me to get my coat stat (obviously not exactly in those words). We took a taxi to mine and I remember his hot mouth bursting all over my lips. It was incredible. We both stumbled up my carpeted stairs and fell onto my bed. As he stood before me I took his tshirt off to reveal a muscular and incredibly tanned body. He came towards me and his skin was so hot it was as if he burned his imprint onto my body. I can still feel it. He took off my black singlet and deftly (miraculously, even) removed all my other clothes without me really realising.
He turned to me and asked me what I did for a living. ‘I’m a student’ I said and he nodded. ‘Do you want to know what I do?’ he asked. Sure. Why not. ‘I am porn star’.
Now I am pretty open minded but I was completely not expecting that answer and I’m sure the shock registered on my face because after a few seconds he laughed, shook his head and told me he was joking. ‘My cock is not big enough’. Imagine a naked man in front of you saying that with a French accent. EXACTLY. Hilarious. ‘I am osteopath.’ Three little words that actually could not have delighted me more. I love being touched and have relatively constant back problems, so it was ideal that after he fucked my back up by fucking me hard from behind, he could readjust me and give me a rub down! What’s not to like?
He bent me over the side of my bed, and pushed the head of himself inside me. That achingly pleasurable first entrance. Christ. I had a full bush at this point and he seemed to quite like it, perhaps a European thing? Embarrassingly, I don’t remember much else of the sex part, other than I enjoyed it but didn’t climax. I do remember being particularly vocal as my sister wasn’t there though...
Around this time, I was starting to realise that even great sex for me was often sans-climax. I just couldn’t seem to get there when someone else was present. After he came, clenching my ass as he shot, he actually did give me a rub down. A full blown, full body massage. It was gorgeous. Afterwards I gave him a beer (!) and we chatted about France, about our families and about our lives. He tried to teach me some French and when we slept he pulled me closer to him and held me there all night.
In the morning, I walked him to the bus stop and he left. It wasn’t until afterwards that I realised how stupid I had been not to get his details. I never saw him again.
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