Coming up Roses

I've been reading over these posts, and despite the deliciousness of all of them, the ones that burn are the ones about S. I don't know what it is, and I certainly don't feel the way I used to about him, but still, I guess he was a catalyst in my life for a hell of a lot of change.

We've settled into a comfortable friendship with benefits now. He has a new girlfriend, but we still see each other. I've made it clear I don't want to get involved in something that's deceptive, but he's assured me that it's sufficiently casual between them that our continued fucking is acceptable. I trust him, and trust that he'll tell me when it's not ok anymore.

A few months ago he came to the new flat to check it out. T was still at work and likely to be so for a while. We made out a little, before he undid my dress and began to caress my breasts. He sat on the sofa and I snuck in between his legs before undoing his trousers and fishing out his beautiful cock.

That's really what it is - beautiful - it's very large, long and thick, but it's pretty and definitely not a violent cock. I put my mouth around it (just!) and began to suck him off. In the early days he told me he was mad about head, and back then I was so nervous about giving it. Really worried about my teeth...but I'm more confident now, and enjoy the process more. It has to be really varied with S as he's so big and it hurts my jaw if he fucks my mouth for too long.

His hands were in my hair, gently pressing me on to him. He's shy about expressing pleasure - I think I frighten him a little - and so I'm always surprised when he comes. He fills my mouth, and it tastes so good. I swallow, and we kiss before laying back on the sofa and chat.

I'm so surprised this time, about how tender he is. I realise how much he likes me, and how different his  liking me feels. It's not a passion for me, in the way that I wanted in the beginning, but it's a gentle affection and slight surprise that he knows me. I lay back in his arms and he stroked my body, my breasts. It's was lovely.

We dressed, and T came home. It was the first time they'd met in over a year, and in that time S and I had fucked. It could have been awful. It wasn't. They laughed and hugged, and S left. I was so pleased that everything seemed to be coming out ok.

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. 

Meeting R

So I've been on the poly-friendly dating site OkCupid for a few months now. I get quite a bit of interest, but it's widely spread across the complete 'hay sexi wanna fuk?' douchebags and the very-nice-but-I'm-just-not-into-you. Well it seems to be, anyway.

But every now and then I have stumbled across someone who really made me get a bit squeaky with their excellence. R was one of them. Charming, funny, intelligent, Kiwi. I was pleased when he messaged back. He was out of town for a while, and I didn't push it. Eventually I got a message from him, and I was glad! Really glad. He invited me to a 99% party he and his partner were throwing, where your OkC 99% matches were invited. I couldn't make it, but it sounded like fun. Then I went home and it all seemed a bit like hard work. But I did like him.

We eventually met a couple of weeks ago at a bar in Soho. I was running late, trying to find a cash point and not run out of phone battery, when I saw him standing outside of the pub. He looked sweet. Tall, and be-cardiganed. He gave me a hug when he saw me and a little kiss on the cheek. Kind of blissful. We went into the pub and we ordered a drink, then faffed around looking for a seat, before heading upstairs. Conversation was easy, funny. I didn't feel that nervous.

I was almost 100% sure that he wasn't that into me though, I could instantly tell that he totally adores his partner, which was completely fine, but I've come to realise it's not much fun hanging out with someone who wishes you were someone else. It wasn't quite that bad though. He was really fun to be around. We moved on to another pub, got some food, had another drink. Sat a little closer. I remember noticing he didn't pull his leg away from me when we touched. I was happy, but it was that amount of nice where it could be going really well, or also just quite excellent friends amount of well. He obviously had to make the decision.

Then I felt his hand on my back, and the warmth spreading across me. My first thought was "holy shit, he actually likes me!!" The rest of the conversation has been totally forgotten, because the sheer surprise and excitement has wiped everything else out. I do remember him saying that right behind me, there was a couple totally making out, and had been for the last hour. "I feel awkward kissing in public, and I feel sorry for the people that have to watch" he said "Otherwise I'd totally kiss you now" to which I replied "I think you probably should. I think I would like that"

I remember his lips being soft, and large (in a good way). He looked away, shifty before saying "it's not very gentlemanly of me to suggest going out into an alleyway and making out". I laughed, and asked "Do you want to go out into an alleyway and make out?" The answer was yes, amazingly, and we got our coats and went into the cold.

He took my hand, and led me up the road. We spied an alcove, almost walked passed it before he dragged me in. Dragged me under him and he pushed me up against the wall and began to kiss me. God he was a delicious kisser. Pushing up against me, touching me with his lovely hands, and kissing me in just the right not-too-much-tongue way. J is a pretty good kisser, but every now and then he gets really carried away and likes to lick my teeth. Like lick and suck my teeth. It's faintly alarming. R didn't do that, it was just blissful.

I remember him feeling my breasts through my sweater, before snaking his hands up to my throat and pressing gently on it. Talk about driving me crazy! So amazing to be a choked, just a little. "It's so hot that you're into that" he said. It was all I could do to nod, before leaning my head back and letting myself be kissed all over again.

I had a train to catch, so after spending the best part of an hour attached to his face, we had to disconnect, and he walked me to the tube station. God I like him. He's so nice.

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.

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.

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.

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 Weekend of You: Evening

We made it inside. J pushed me up against a wall, the one with no pictures on. Kissed me hard. Kept kissing me while I fumbled with his belt buckle, then his shirt. He began to unbutton my dress, but I pushed him away, and pulled the flimsy blue fabric over my head. He smiled, surprised at my lingerie, and pushed me into the lounge.

I lay back on his voluptuous sofa and J peeled off my tight jeans. More surprised smiling and my plan of impressing him through matching black lace lingerie seemed to have worked. He took it off, and threw it carelessly on the floor. J nudged my thighs apart and as I sat up briefly in mock protest he exclaimed at the soft roundness of my belly. He ran his hand over it pinchingly, and told me that he thought it was incredibly sexy. We kissed more, urgently, and my protests turned to encouranging sighs and moans. He pressed himself at my entrace and I snaked my moistened hand between him to make myself wet and ease the first heavenly thrust. He pushed inside my warmth, I felt my brow knit and the first sigh escape my lips.

You like it rough, don't you. I am now on the floor, on hands and knees, showing myself to him. He was quick to enter again, thrusting deeply into me. I arch my back and I hear him groan before he runs his hands down my back, tracing me from widened hips to slender waist, up, up my back and neck before taking hold, fingers clasped through locks of hair. Deeper and harder now, yes. Rocking my hips back to meet him I feel myself surrounding him deliciously, no room to spare. I'm pushed roughly up against the sofa, and his force surprises me. I'm hit with the realisation that he is a lot bigger than me, and could hurt me if he wanted to. He doesn't, not really, no more than I want him to. He's the first lover to discover this side of me for himself. I didn't even need to tell him. His thrusts are hard and fast now, slamming my face into the cushions. I like it, I think he comes, but can't quite tell, and soon he stops. He leads me upstairs to his white room with the colourful covers.

I find out later that when he comes, he slams himself into me and growls into my ear. A loud, unapologetic growl that is satisfying to my ears. I get to know that growl much better over the evening.

We lay in bed next to each other, slightly shocked at how much we're enjoying ourselves. Satisfaction breeds intimacy and our conversation become frank, candid. My hands can't keep away from his beautiful whiskered face. He looks back and I see the shy, delighted, naughty, interested boy in him, creeping out excitedly. Oh I do like him.

The next few hours are spent chatting, fucking, giggling. He leaves the room and I sneak his shirt on, a vast tunic on me. It doesn't smell of him. He seems to have no scent, but rather I can taste him when he kisses me. It's familiar. He likes me in his shirt and takes great pleasure in peeling it off my soft warm body several times over the course of the evening.

We try to watch a film, but in reality sit on each other, chatting and drinking champagne. I play him some music, and he plays me his favourite Beethoven symphony. I'm wrapped up in him, and gently drift off, hoping he wont notice. He does, and takes me softly back to his white room with the colourful covers and puts me to bed. He joins me soon after, and as we lay side by side I press myself into his warmth, and his arms snakes around me before holding me at the roundness of my belly.

1am. I'm awake, having not quite shaken off the stresses of the working week. My eyes hurt, sticking together from unremoved (but by this point certainly smudged) makeup. I creep out of bed, remove it and brush my teeth. Laying back next to him, I wonder distractedly if he will smell my face cream, whether he'll like it. He mutters I must pour you some more champagne in his sleep, and I giggle. He's dreaming about me, I like to believe. Sleep reluctantly comes again.

4:30am. The bed is empty next to me. My haziness thinks he's working, but I can't make out which room next to me he is in. I don't like being without him, and feel bereft. Tossing over whether to leave him alone or to join him, a few minutes later I rise, reaching for the door handle and seeing him at his computer. He smiles to see me, and apologises - he's still on Pacific time after a working trip away. He tenderly cuddles me, warming me and sweetly laughing at my blinkingness in the light. He makes tea, and joins me back in bed.We talk til sunrise.

The Weekend of You: Saturday

We arrived at J's house, a former worker's cottage of a nearby estate, and he led me through the garden to the back door of the house. We went inside, I de-coated and de-scarved, and perched on a chair whilst J made tea. The taxi ride to the house had been pleasant, but tentative, and I'm sure the taxi driver thought we were both completely nuts, sitting there and grinning like loons and teasing each other.

J has been calling me The White Witch of Narnia, because after speaking about it together, Cambridge had their first frost of the season. In the car he'd handed me a package, which I opened at his table. Turkish Delight.

We chatted, and grinned some more, before we re-coated and re-scarved and after thrusting a particularly unattractive hat on my head, he led me out of the house and we wandered into Cambridge city. He gave me the full tour experience, chatting confidently about writers who had lived in the villages near him, the history of the place and the reason that so many academics still revolved around this historic place.

He took me inside Cambridge, we saw King's College and Trinity. What heaven, and how marvellous to have studied there. There is a studious air there, and J is right, King's Student Bar was the only Student Bar I've ever been to where everyone is sitting around and talking about their subjects. We repaired to the cafe for a hot chocolate, and I think it was there that the first chipping away at the strangeness of my being there happened. I had to speak to T, and J called out to say hello. I liked it, it was new and a bit scary but I liked it. We confronted the nature of our meeting head on. We're both polyamorous. I'm in a 4 year relationship with T. I didn't really want to go to Cambridge to forget about that, but having said that I didn't want it to loom inauspiciously over the whole weekend. It was ok, J seemed to say. This is ok.

We then started to wander somewhat awkwardly holding hands or walking arm-in-arm. The next day I realised he was nervous and wasn't sure how much I wanted to do that, and at the time I felt the same way. He didn't seem to overly want me to hold his hand, but maybe he was just better and seeming cool and calm than I was. So I just touched him when I wanted to. It seemed to work just fine. Outside Trinity College he kissed me, and I felt my knees buckle with the arousal that come from finally being taken the way you crave.

From then on, I was hazy with desire and my only real wish was to go back to his warm cottage and have him inside me. But there was a whole lunch to get through! We shared a bottle of wine and some pasta at a well known Italian Restaurant in the city centre. We talked and talked and talked. And kissed. He told me who he was and then so did I. We talked about polyamory, and that T might go to see J's other lover. J liked that. He liked the synergy, and that we'd all come full circle. We had the kind of conversation that makes you not want to leave the table, as you know that as soon as the spell is broken it wont be the same when you come back. He told me I had the softest lips he'd ever kissed. I told him that I was so turned on I could hardly stand it. He paid, we left, I got his coat whilst he settled and he was delighted that I knew which one it was.

Back at the cottage he tried to unlock the door, but suddenly it was too much and we stood kissing on his stoop and undressing each other. His warm, wet kisses enveloping my face, his hands touching my breasts whilst I unbuttoned his coat. I stole my lips away from him to whisper open the door. We went inside.