Date #31 – Career Girl

I’m stringing my Exgf along for the sex and a need for revenge, but true love is what I’m looking for. I sign up for MatchAffinity one more time as they are offering a one-month special again. The market has refreshed and there is a lot more new faces and profiles, some of which warrant making contact with. One in particular stands out because she is (apparently) living only 6 miles from me.

I write to the half dozen profiles that interest me and the gal down the road writes back within hours, which is always a good sign. She’s in her late thirties and has beautiful blonde hair. We swap a few emails over the course of a week and then agree to meet on the afternoon of the last public holiday in August.

Her email messages indicate that she is a straightforward person and wears her heart on her sleeve. Her only photo shows a face that I find pretty enough, but not excited about. She responds very quickly to all of my messages and seems very keen to meet me, almost too keen. She tells me about her high-flying, high-powered, undoubtedly high-paying job for a major company. I think most guys would be intimidated by her status in the workplace, but not me. I think of her as Career Girl. Despite my slight discomfort about her keenness and probably being a ‘London Girl’, I’m curious about her as we seem to aspire to the same things. I have nothing to lose except a little time and a little money, but the payoff could be big; this is what a gambler would call a ‘good proposition bet’.

Could she be The One?

We meet in her town on the Monday Bank Holiday and it is a glorious Summer’s day. Clear blue skies, a pleasant temperature and the sun warming the skin with the slightest of breezes keeping everyone cool; a perfect day for a date outdoors. She’s sitting on a low stone wall alongside the clock-tower where we have agreed to meet. I am always early as I don’t like to keep anyone waiting, but she is even earlier. She’s looking down, thumbing away at her phone, oblivious to me and the world around her. She has cropped beautiful fine blonde hair and a milky white skin. Her three-quarter length khaki trousers complement her white blouse-like top and white court shoes. Dark brown sunglasses hide her eyes, but nevertheless I like what I see.

I disturb her from her texting, she stands up and comes under my nose in height. I kiss her hello on her left cheek and she turns the other cheek asking to be kissed there too, a la French style, which I find cute. She doesn’t smile as we say hello and it feels that she is a little uncomfortable as we make small talk and walk towards a nearby famous pub. I put that down to her being nervous, but I know she’ll relax when she feels safe with me. I quickly launch into a trusted topic – travel. This causes her to relax, open up and become chatty. It doesn’t take too long before I feel that I couldn’t speak for fear of interrupting her.

At the pub we’re confronted by a seething mass of people, families in particular, with screaming misbehaving kids; it’s noisy. I join the queue at the bar while Career Girl goes to find a table in the beer garden, hopefully in a quiet corner away from the annoying masses. Eventually I join her with our preferred drinks which happens to be identical ciders, which pleases me. Is it a sign of some kind?

I take my sunglasses off and she does the same. Career Girl has intriguing grey-green eyes, which I like. She isn’t the prettiest girl I’ve dated, nor the ugliest but everything else is acceptable or better. She dresses well, behaves well, speaks well; she’s a lady. It’s a good start.

We toast our drinks and conversation continues to flow easily and naturally. She tells me about her career and how it has been her number one priority in life until recently. She has had two long-term relationships that have spanned her adult life. I resist the urge to ask why they ended; it doesn’t really matter. Besides, the ultimate answer for all of us and our failed relationships is the same: we weren’t right for each other.

After an hour of fun banter, a table with an umbrella becomes available. We move over and I notice that her arms are glowing. I use this as an excuse to touch her, all in a deliberate effort to connect on a whole new level with her, i.e. physically. I like the feeling I have while being with her and it feels natural to move things up a notch. I touch the back of her biceps, which is a pretty neutral area to touch a woman, feigning concern over her being burnt by the sun. She doesn’t flinch. Her skin feels soft, smooth and cool. Our eyes connect and we share an intense moment.

Career Girl goes to buy a second round of drinks for us. I’m still not used to a woman paying for anything on a date with me. I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable with that. I am though beginning to appreciate the novelty though of being with a woman who does have her own money. It means she won’t be interested in mine, not that I have much.

After two more hours of chit-chat with the sun on my back and two ciders in my system, I’ve come to the conclusion that she’s a Good Girl and a Giver. I like how I feel being with her. I like her. I feel like kissing her.

“What colour are your eyes” I ask, wanting to make sure that my colour-blindness isn’t too far off.

“They’re a grey-green,” she says. I was right, but just then an idea comes to me.

“Really? Come closer, I want to check,” I say, not mentioning my handicap.

She leans forward and I momentarily get a view of her cleavage. She’s an a-cup, but I don’t care, I like her.

“I still can’t see, the sun’s bright. Come closer,” I coax.

Career Girl comes even closer and our noses are almost touching. She’s leaning on the table and smiling. I just need to go a forward slightly and I can kiss her. I do something else instead.

“Closer,” is all I say.

She leans into me, closes her eyes and we kiss. I didn’t move a muscle to make this happen. She’s kissing me and it feels good.

Her lips are soft and fine. Because of the cider she tastes sweet. Neither of us use our tongues and instead just slowly massage our lips into each other. After about 10 seconds she pulls a couple of inches away from me, looks deep into my eyes, smiles then sits back in her seat and lets off a breath of exhausted satisfaction.

I got a woman to kiss me; I’ve never done that before and it worked a treat. My head is swimming, I can feel chemicals racing around, it feels good. As first kisses go that was exceptional. Kissing on the lips has never been a big deal to me, but with her it feels exquisite. More please.

We continue talking as if nothing had happened. After few minutes a beautiful silence falls between us and we look at each other with hungry eyes.

“Come back here,” I say and she leans forward, but this time stops halfway across the table. A defiant act of asserting herself, this thoroughly modern professional working woman who probably has men at her work scared of her. She’s testing me and setting some boundaries; I can respect that.

I lean forward and cup her head with a hand, our lips slowly meet, she closes her eyes. Her almost platinum blonde hair feels like strands of silk in my fingers. She opens her mouth a little and we kiss for even longer than out first kiss. She lets off a little sound of satisfaction as her shoulders narrow. I always keep my eyes open when kissing a girl the first few times because I want to see what’s working and what’s not. I tease her by touching her bottom lip with my tongue, just a little prod to see how she reacts. She instantly responds by sliding her sweet tongue into my mouth and letting off a breath through her nose. I can feel my cock hardening as blood warms up in my body. I pull away and she smiles with her eyes closed.

We talk for another hour and every passing minute feels better than the one before. There is a definite meeting of minds between us. She’s a smart cookie and can keep up with me in that department. I have made her laugh a few times, but not as much as I would like; our senses of humour are not quite the same. That’s an issuette to me because I think a matching sense of humour is important. It’s also now obvious to me that she fancies me somewhat more than I fancy her, but I think there will always be an imbalance between a couple in terms of who fancies who more. Do I want to have sex with her? Definitely. I sense it’ll be good, tender and sensual, but first things first. She has something on her mind too.

“I’m sorry, but I wasn’t expecting to spend so much time with you. I’m meeting friends in a little while.”

“Okay, no problem. This afternoon has been a pleasant surprise for me too.”

“I don’t suppose you’re free sometime this week?” Career Girl asks.

“I am actually. Why, what are you thinking?” Wow, she’s keen. It’s not an issue though. It’s a nice change to be with a woman who actually wants to be with me and makes that clear.

“How about dinner one night?” she says with a hopeful smile.

“I’d like that,” I say, trying to give her a reassuring smile.

I walk her back to the clock tower and we kiss some more. She wraps her arms around me in a sweet embrace and I take her body in my hands. She’s quite slender as I slowly move my hands over her back. I can just imagine being on top of her and feeling her legs wrapped around me as we make the writhing beast with two backs. She feels good in my arms and is making sounds of satisfaction as we kiss. Again I make the effort to pull away first; I want to leave her wanting more.

Career Girl smiles coyly and without another word she walks off, still smiling to herself. I stand and watch her walk down a street, a warm fuzzy feeling is covering my body. Our embrace felt damn good; I think we were both getting a little turned on.

Is there something real between us? Or was it all just the sun mixing with the alcohol in my bloodstream?

Ed Sheeran – Bloodstream

Chocolate sex – Final part

I watch in stunned curious fascination as she slowly pushes the small vibrator up her arse. Her anus stretches wider as she pushes the thicker part of the vibe deeper up her butt. She’s still breathing deeply and is keeping her eyes fixed on me. Fuck, this is hot!

During our relationship if I as much as accidentally touched her arsehole with my cock or finger, she would freak out. It was only during our last year together did I learn of her regularly taking herself off for a colonic irrigation, self-administered she hastened to add. She now knows that I’m aware of her having done anal sex with another guy. All the pretence on her part of disapproving of anything anal-related has evaporated. In her desire to win me back she must be thinking that doing novel sexual things with me will show me what I’m missing and I’ll turn into a rampant sex-crazed zombie who will mindlessly fall into her clutches…or pussy. Those immortal words of “women use sex to get what they want,” rings in my heads – the upper and lower one.

The vibe is halfway gone up her bum when she says to me, “You hold that in place for me while I use the other one.”

I don’t need retelling and I grip the base of the vibe in her arse with my index finger and thumb, wondering when I can turn it on. My Exgf takes the larger vibrator, one we had chosen together for a giggle in a sex shop in central London just before our last happy Christmas together, sucks on it and slides it up her pussy. She uses it as a regular dildo for a minute, rhythmically sliding it in and out of her slippery pussy, then switches it on with all the flashing lights, angry growling sound and increasing heat that it can muster.

She throws her head back and drifts off to her private universe populated by only what she can imagine and remember. Despite the awesome sight before me, I feel superfluous to requirements here but marvel at the fact that we never did anything like this when we were together. Seeing as she’s in a giving mindset nowadays, let’s see how far I can push things…literally.

I start applying a little pressure to the base of the small vibrator stuck up her arse and it slowly starts to move deeper, but she doesn’t object or perhaps even notice. After her explosive clitoral orgasm I guess that having these things in her are just heightening the sensation in her body.

It doesn’t take long before I have pushed the small vibe so deep in her butt that only enough of the base is sticking out for me to be able to retract it. The sight of this is mind-blowing to me while my Exgf is somewhere far away from me. In a moment of naughtiness I turn the dial on that is the bottom of the base and it instantly results in my Exgf starting to move her hips, that sign that she is getting closer to cumming.

I can only guess that it is the combined effect of a the vibrator in her arse being close to the much bigger vibrator in her pussy that leads to her cumming again, this time it’s a vaginal orgasm or might even be an assgasm, perhaps even both at the same time. Her hips are pumping up and down in the air just before she cums and I wonder if she’s going to shit the small vibe straight out her arse.

“Fuck, take it out my arse,” she gasps and I immediately comply. I don’t want to hurt her and I’m in unfamiliar territory now.

Sitting back on my haunches in front of her I watch as she yanks the bigger vibe out of her pussy, catches her breath and calms herself. She still has her legs spread and her pussy towards my face.

“Take that Mars bar out of its wrapper and put it halfway in my pussy,?” she says.

What?! Okay, but what the hell now?

The Mars bar slides easily into her and I slowly move it backwards and forwards in her, thinking that this is what she wanted. No, she has other ideas.

“I want to watch you sucking on the half sticking out before eating it,” she says.

Er, but what the fuck?!

This is no time to squabble, I say to myself and I do as she says. I’ll give her this for now, as long as I get more of what I want.

Sucking on the chocolate bar is not the worst thing I’ve done; I’m not sure what that might be, but I’m not going to think of it. This obvious phallic act must be a turn-on for her, perhaps some long-cherished fantasy that no other lover entertained. It’s this thought of other men with her that makes me stop licking and sucking the Mars bar and start eating it, piece by piece until only enough is sticking out for me to grip it. An idea comes to me and I carefully the chocolate bar out of her pussy…and feed it to her, which she does with a naughty twinkle in her eye.

Once it’s gone, she says, “Okay, now you can fuck me.”

I slide my cock into her chocolate-lined pussy and it feels different. It is a wonderful mix of her pussy juices and a gritty substance that adds a bit of friction. I guess she could feel it too and I think we both liked how it felt. We fucked in missionary position on the leather sofa that we had chosen together and struggled to get into the lounge. The sofa was a tight fit as was my cock ramming rhythmically into her. She felt good and it dawned on me that we had rarely fucked on this sofa. Her OCD would kick in and she’d complain about having to wipe it clean. As I fucked her I wondered what she would say if she saw the mess left of my fabric sofa after all the other women that I had lubricated on it.

The thought of her watching me as I fucked other women in front of her was a turn-on for me in that moment, too much of a turn-on. I think the emotions of uncertainty that I felt before seeing her plus the novelty of the naughtiness we had just perpetrated together mixed with the sensation of her chocolate cunt to conspire to make me want to cum far sooner than what I would have liked. I pulled my cock out knowing that some pre-cum must have shot into her, but that couldn’t be helped. I quickly raise my hips towards her face and she grips my cock as it nears her chin. She starts wanking me off, I look down and see her hands around my shaft which is a strange colour from the chocolate that has mixed with her pussy juices and stuck to it. She opens her mouth and sticks out her tongue, wanting to catch some of my baby batter in her mouth, but I’m too far away and cum starts spurting out onto her wobbling tits.

I’m more interested in this sight under me than my orgasm. The latter can take care of itself, I’m more fascinated with the sight of her lustfully trying to taste my cum which is dripping out of my cock and on her breasts which she could reach with her tongue. Squirting abates and I sit upright on the sofa, facing her, looking at my deposit on her chest. With a finger she scoops some of it and puts the finger in her mouth, making a show of enjoying it. I slide a finger in her pussy, collect some of the sticky, gritty substance that is the chocolate in her and bring that to her mouth, stopping short of feeding her. She crooks her neck more and sucks on my sticky finger. Damn, that’s hot!

I don’t know why, but in that moment it dawns on me that not once did she apologize for her being dishonest with me over the course of our relationship. Not once did she say ‘sorry’ for spying on me for almost the entirety that we were together. In her world ‘sorry’ is indeed the hardest word.

Am I going to feel sorry for what I am doing to her now? I don’t think so. There is a side to me that few people seem to understand. If someone deceives, mistreats or shows me gross disrespect, I take that as a declaration of war between us. Outright war in which the gloves come off and there will only be one victor, almost always it has been me, because I am willing and able to go one step further than the next person to achieve dominance.

In this dangerous game between my Exgf and I, our victory conditions are quite different. My objective is to have as much debauched sex with her, making her submit to my every whim, be my reluctant sex slave. I’ll feel better about ‘us’ once I have humiliated her. I aim to achieve that with as little effort and cost as possible. Her objective is to win me back, for us to try and be the couple we once were. For once her intent is more noble than mine; ironic isn’t it? Fortunately I know that there is absolutely no hope of me developing positive feelings for her. My only challenge is to have this adventure end as positively as possible without her doing any damage to me. I’m not 100% sure how I’m going to do that. I reckon she’ll eventually realise that there is never going to be an ‘us’ again, or one of us meet someone new. Time will tell.

Until then I’m also not sure who’s fooling who here. We’re both pretending, but which one is the bigger pretender?

The Pretender – Foo Fighters

Chocolate sex

My Exgf and I had come to an understanding that we would see each other until one of us decided otherwise, but we were free to go on dates with other people. Another proviso was that if we slept with anyone else the other had to be told. I suggested these terms expecting her to reject them, but to my surprise she agreed. My fragmenting sense of honour dictated that I tell her of The Wanderer now that it is over. My brief dalliance with my Exgf could now end quicker than it started.

I’m horny as all hell and my heart is filled with dark, dangerous desires towards my Exgf. I’m learning that foreplay is largely turning a woman’s brain on, so I have peppered my Exgf with risque text messages over the course of the week. By the time I get to her place on Friday night (which is still half my place because of the money I have tied up in it) her answering the door in trashy high-heels, a black leather mini-skirt and a cut-off white t-shirt that hinted at her braless breasts underneath told me that she was ready to fuck.

After a bit of polite banter I feel compelled to break my news about The Wanderer, not because I want to hurt her feelings but I still feel obliged to live up to my words. My Exgf is surprised, visibly shaken but thanks me for my honesty. I think she’s a little angry too, but she isn’t saying much. I don’t know whether I should leave now but decide to take the initiative, reasoning that she was probably quite horny by the time I got here, so if I can invoke that feeling again then all might be forgiven. I’ve got nothing to lose.

I slowly walk up to her as she sits on a high stool in the kitchen. Maintaining eye contact I place a hand on her thigh and her back gives a little jolt at my touch. She’s either going to tell me to fuck off or slap me in the face. Still looking me in the eye she opens her legs slightly. Trying not to show my surprise I grip her thigh gently, release the flesh and glide my flat hand up her thigh, my hand slips under her skirt and she opens her legs more. We don’t speak as I do the same with my other hand. She opens her legs as much as she can.

Without a word between us being necessary I know exactly what she wants, what she likes. I slide a hand between her legs to feel a freshly clean-shaven vagina. She only shaves when she wants a good licking because she can feel more then. The thought of me eating her out is perhaps stronger than whatever she felt about my news of another woman. I run my middle finger down her slit and she’s dripping wet. Has the thought of another woman sucking my cock turned her on? Does the thought of me fucking another woman turn her on? In her imagination can she hear me roar as I pump cum into another woman’s pussy?

My Exgf leans back against the wall and her breathing accelerates as I stroke her clitoris. Her mouth opens slightly and her green eyes are on fire. I slide a finger into her pussy and she gasps, but keeps her back against the wall. Her pussy is a pond of feminine lust and I know that she loves being fingered. I have a theory that she enjoys it because it was her first sexual experience. As a nine year-old girl a strange old man briefly put his hand in her knickers. It was obviously a shocking and traumatic event in her life but I suspect that its legacy is that that moment is her strongest sexual feeling, her sexual anchor that in a fucked -up way turns her on. All those convoluted, conflicted feelings in her when a guy puts his hand between her legs does something for her. I can only but imagine that feeling like a helpless innocent little girl again turns her on.

With my free hand I push her flimsy t-shirt up over her breasts and take one of them in my mouth, which makes her gasp again and close her eyes. She keeps a hand on the worktop for balance as I finger her and suck on her breasts. I realise that we’re in a well-lit kitchen and it’s dark outside. If the neighbours are in their kitchen and standing in a particular spot that they can see us. (She was to tell me later that exactly that had happened.)

“Um, let’s go to the bedroom. People might see us here,” I suggest.

“No, let’s go to the lounge. I have something waiting,” she says, opening her eyes and giving me a naughty smile.

Whatever has she got in mind? Well, at least I’m correct in knowing how to read her. She never could resist a bit of fingering, but what has she got in mind? Who’s playing who here?

“Wait. Sit on the stairs there,” I say, pointing to the stairs that leads to the bedrooms and bathroom above us.

She complies, seating herself on the plush carpeting that I paid for shortly before discovering her deceptions.

“Open your legs for me. Show me your pussy,” I instruct.

She complies, opening her legs as wide as she can, her knees touching the walls to either side.

“Push your top up and lean back,” I say.

She obeys, rests her elbows on the stairs next to her shoulders and smiles at me. She makes for quite a sexy sight, sitting there like that, wearing trashy fuck-me shoes, her legs wide apart, her shaved pussy on display, her large breasts hanging free, their brownish nipples large and semi-erect. When we were together she would never have indulged me like this, despite my occasionally coaxing. Now she’s willing to do anything I tell her to, but for how much longer?

I step closer to her and slide two fingers up her pussy. She lets off her usual “Ugh!” sound and throws her head back. Within seconds I’m stroking her g-spot, making that come-hither motion with my fingers and I feel that spot swelling. After about a minute I’m vigorously rubbing two fingers in her pussy against that curious fleshy spot. I’m going so fast that I’m making her tits wobble; I do love that sight. It’s too soon to make her cum though.

“Right, enough of that. Show me what you have in mind,” I say, trying to conceal any trepidation I feel, as I withdraw my sticky fingers out of her.

She pulls the pointless t-shirt over her head and leaves it on the stairs as she leads me to the lounge. On a side-table next to the massive leather sofa that dominates the room is two vibrators, one of them small and a Mars bar.

“I want to you to go down on me,” she says, slouching back on the sofa, spreading her legs, presenting her pussy to me.

“Then what?” I ask, realizing that I’m not in control of this situation any more.

“You’ll see,” is all she says as she kicks her shoes off and now decides to take her skirt off, wriggling out of it.

This kind of works for me. I like being fully clothed and having a naked woman in front of me. There’s a naughtiness to it that I like, but at the same time there’s a sweet innocence about it, even a touch of honesty.

I get down on my knees and begin my praying at the altar that is her vagina. It makes me uncomfortable to think of how many other mouths and tongues have been where mine are now. After a five year relationship, if I was to have caught anything off her I would have by now. I continue my lips service knowing, expecting that there will be some kind of pay-off for me. Having spelled out the alphabet with my tongue once I do what I know works; I slide two fingers into her pussy and play with her g-spot while licking her clit, spelling out the alphabet for a second time. I get to ‘p’ when she finally cums, arching her back, her hips shuddering followed by the almost predictable “Oh my gawd!”

She was always a slow cummer and I can count on my one hand the number of times that I made her cum vaginally with my cock. I think she had such a mental block against falling pregnant that she never allowed herself to relax enough to let that happen. I know that the majority of women only cum via the clit, but if a woman can cum from fingering (like my Exgf) then vaginal is obviously possible. So much of the sexual experience is in a woman’s head, but I never got to unlock my Exgf’s brain.

I push myself back and watch her panting, eventually she takes a big gulp of air and rejoins my reality. I think I know what’s going to happen next. During the week one of the suggestive text messages I sent her said that I wanted to see her using two vibrators on herself. Was she about to do that for me?

Without a word she spreads her legs wide open, raises her hips, takes the smaller vibrator, sucks on it and then places it at her butthole. She’s not going to do what I think she’s going to do, is she? My provocative suggestion in my mind involved her using one vibe in her pussy and the other on her clit.

To be continued…

Date #30 – The Wanderer & friends

I’m not going to go into detail with this date, other than to tell you that I think of her as The Wanderer. Yes, we had a whirlwind romance that lasted two weeks before I decided that she wasn’t right for me. She withheld information that clashed badly with my trust issues and consequently it put the brakes on my feelings for her. I tried my best to let her down gently.

Some couples have a very limited future in the romance department, but have a great future as friends. That is it how it has turned out for me and The Wanderer. She has become like the wise sister I never had or knew that I needed. We’re in contact almost every day, sometimes several times a day. We know exactly what is going on in each other’s lives. We share in each others successes and setbacks.

She knows about my writing and has read many pieces before anyone else has; I value her opinion that much. Today we give each other an intellectual outlet that few other people can. She’s a special person to me. I know that we are going to be friends for a long time. I’ve decided to not write about her because I would not want to do anything that might jeopardise our friendship.

What I gained from this experience is knowing that men and women can be friends. Ever since I first saw ‘When Harry Met Sally’ the question that the movie posed about it being impossible for men and women to be friends has bothered me. It had that effect because I knew that I was being friendly towards women whom I’d have liked to have been more than just friends with, but they only saw me as a friend.

More than twenty years on I have a deeper understanding of this issue and, as it stands, many women will feel uncomfortable by what I’m going to share.

In my twenties there was someone who occupied a secret place in my heart. Her and I had got to know each other in high school, but I knew then that I didn’t have what it took to keep her. She was out of my league, but rather than losing her I tried to be ‘friends’ with her. Even today I don’t know if she was suspicious of my attention. She was mature for her age and sophisticated (things that attracted me) so she was probably just playing it cool, perhaps just basking in the attention that I gave her. Adulthood took us in different directions, but over the years we met up a few times, for drinks, for laughs, to reminisce. It always felt like we were continuing a conversation that we had never ended. My feelings for her had not changed at all since we were teenagers. Decades have passed and now I see her differently.

Given what I know now about how a woman can’t help but behave when she’s attracted to a man, I know that the last time we saw each other she felt attracted to me. Back then I was with my Exgf who was there that night, but my ‘special friend’ was married, albeit unhappily so, which she told me about but her religious beliefs forbade divorce. Under those circumstances there was no hope for there being an ‘us’. I don’t for an instant ever think there will be an ‘us’; I have moved on emotionally.

Over the years some of my male friends have told me of their ‘special friend’, also a woman that they would liked to have been more than just friends with. I’m starting to think that every man has had someone like that in his life in his early adult years, but some still do even in later life. It’s an unrequited solitary romance that torments the man if he allows himself to think of ‘her’. The idea of a ‘special friend’ is strongest when a man is single and it reveals the true nature of why us men do this to ourselves: it gives us hope. A man without hope is a pathetic thing.

A man’s behaviour is a consequence of what he believes about himself. What he believes is driven by how he feels about his working life, his sexual prowess and his desirability to women. We are that simple. If one of the legs of that three-legged stool is short or missing, the stool doesn’t function properly. If a man feels that no woman finds him attractive, his confidence, attitude and behaviour show this. On the back of that perceived shortcoming, men seem to resort to tricking themselves into propping up their desirability by having a ‘special female friend’ whose existence in his life feeds into this need. Men easily confuse attention for attraction; this is where things get complicated.

A man labouring in this dysfunctional mindset will not dare escalate matters with his secret flame for fear of it burning out, which deep down will extinguish his primordial need to feel marketable to the opposite sex. For years, decades and a lifetime even in some cases, he will admire the object of his affection, deriving a twisted sense of satisfaction when interacting with her while essentially being deceitful and dishonest towards her. All the while she will innocently think of him as a friend and treat him as such. The surest way to spot such a man is when he’s in a group setting and his flame talks to him, then she looks away, while he keeps looking at her for a second or two afterwards as he savours the moment that she gave him some attention in public.

His self-inflicted suffering abates when a new woman enters his life and in so doing he will see his ‘special friend’ less often. Whether a man is in a relationship or not, he will always keep the idea of her safely locked away until he feels the need to stroke his treasure occasionally. All along he will watch her progress through one relationship after another, hurting a little when she’s happy with her man, hurting even more when she’s crying her eyes out, but being there for her every step of the way.

Eventually one day he realises that he can not continue like this and he will do one of two things. Sometimes he will come clean and tell her of his feelings, expecting to get shot down, prepared to never see her again, hoping against all odds that she feels the same, but knowing that this limbo is doing him no good. If he doesn’t do that, then without a word he will quietly leave her world, withdrawing from the carousel of faces that she smiles at, those of her true friends.

It is what makes a man do something like this.

Love Actually – To me you are perfect

I believe that in every woman’s circle of male friends, at least one of them is a secret admirer. They are not to be feared, but should be pitied. Their intentions are sound, their hearts are noble, their appreciation genuine, but it is still a little self-seeking on their part.

I indulged myself in this limbo for a while and because of it I was inclined to say that men and women can not be friends. It is with the advent of being ‘friends with benefits’ with Tech Titan, Krazy Girl and my Exgf that my notions of friendship towards women were softened up. The stage had been set for the arrival of The Wanderer. The younger me had always treated ex-girlfriends as history once the romantic relationship had ended, banished from my life but I guess maturity has finally caught up with me. Now I see women in various roles in my life; I am more open to the idea of being just friends with women.

I have tried a few times to become friends with my ex-wife. We were a major part of each other’s lives, essentially growing up together, but she has spurned my approaches. I think that we could be good friends but have now given up on that notion. I’m not surprised by her response (despite divorcing amicably) because it is in keeping with her all-or-nothing style of relationships, which plays out in her friendships and workplace too. It pains and disappoints me a little, but I understand and accept her choice.

Today I find myself wondering if men and women can only be friends if they have shared carnal knowledge. ‘When Harry Met Sally’ touches on this topic by saying that men will always wonder about what sex with his female friend will be like, that sex will be the barrier. I have female friends whom I have no sexual interest in, but I now also have several female friends whom I have slept with. I am inclined to say that it is easier for a man to be friends with a woman he has slept with.

That movie also made me think that men were the culprits in this conundrum and because I had my very own ‘special friend’ I accepted this to be the truth. I was wrong. I have come to learn that women can be friends with men too while secretly wanting more. In my circle of female friends there are a couple of women who I know would want to have a full-blown relationship with me. I don’t see them in that light and they are left in that painful limbo that I know so many men carry around with them. I deliberately avoid my secret admirers so as to not complicate their and my life. I wonder if every woman has a male friend whom she would want more with?

The Wanderer and I have transgressed all that and we are indeed friends, the best of friends. Online dating has delivered to me the unforeseen benefit of developing new friendships.

LESSONS LEARNED: 1) Men and woman can be true friends. It’s rare but it is possible. 2) It’s easier for me to be friends with a woman if I have slept with her.

Dion and the Belmonts – The Wanderer

Exgf & the finger lickin’ date – Final part

“I want you to suck me and I want you to finger me,” she replies with a naughty look in her eyes.

“Yeah? Then what do you want?”

“I want you to fuck me,” she says smiling, looking into the camera.


“Oh yeah and hard!”

“Which hole would you like?” I ask, toying with her, curious about just how far I can take matters, at the same time planting the idea of anal play in her head.

“The normal hole!” she says and just then the memory in the camera fills up and it switches off.

My Exgf – now fucktoy – gets up and lays herself down on my sofa with the lower half of her body resting on the large footstool in front of it. When I bought this sofa I did wonder how many naked women I would get to see sprawled on it. Not once did I imagine that my Exgf would be one of them.

She spreads her legs, presenting her pussy to me. Fair’s fair I tell myself as I get down on my knees and lick my lips, looking momentarily into her eyes before taking my mouth down to her pussy. My falling at her feet must do wonders for her psyche, I think to myself as I eat her out.

I do my usual thing of spelling out the alphabet with my tongue on her clit; it’s rare for me to get to the last three letters with other women, but the Exgf has always been a slow cummer. Even a finger in her pussy playing with her g-spot doesn’t do the trick. By now some of the women I have known in the past year have cum twice. I suspect that her having been so promiscuous before meeting me has resulted in her pussy becoming worn out and de-sensitized.

“I would love to have a vibrator in my pussy right now,” she says breathing heavily.

“Sorry, I’m fresh out of those,” I joke. I look up and around seeing what can substitute. I spot in the kitchen a large bottle of sweet chilli sauce, it’s less than half-full but it has a bulbous plastic top that might hurt her. If I take the top off…

I get up and give her a knowing smile. Her facial expression and hard nipples tell me that she’s totally turned on. I go to the kitchen, pop the top off the bottle and assess that the long neck of the bottle will do the job. As I return to her I see she’s rubbing her clit in a circular motion with one hand. Her eyes go wide as she sees the bottle, but she says nothing and keeps rubbing.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” I say in answer to her unspoken question.

Down on my knees again, she spreads her legs in tacit agreement while still rubbing her clit. I put the head of the bottle in my mouth to lubricate it and the sight of me doing this excites her because I see her raise an eyebrow. Slowly I place the top of the bottle at her pussy lips, fully expecting her to object, but none was forthcoming. This is the kinky slut that I read of in her sex diaries, the slut that let any man do anything her wanted to her.

I gently push the bottle into her pussy being careful not to let any of the sauce spill into her. I’m pretty sure she knew the danger too and that probably turned her on even more. Slowly I move the bottle backwards and forwards in her as she played with her clit, her eyes fixed on the bottle. If I speeded up then the sauce would start spilling into her pussy, so I went as fast as I could without letting that happen.

Then I remembered that on the bookshelf behind me was a prize bottle of wine that I had been saving as a special occasion; this qualified but not in a sense that I could ever have imagined before this night. I pull the bottle out of her pussy and see a few drops of the sweet chilli sauce drip out of her pussy. She keeps playing with herself, like this scene was the most natural thing in the world to her.

I get the bottle of wine that has a metal screw-top and slowly slide that up her pussy. She just lets out a gasp of air while rubbing her clit. Her breathing accelerates and her breasts start to wobble; she’s getting closer to cumming. I had once seen something in a porn movie when I was a teenager and it turned me on. I have never disrespected a woman enough to even consider doing this, but tonight was the night for it.

“You use the bottle on yourself,” I instruct her.

Without a word she takes the bottle with her free hand and starts using it as a dildo on herself. I hold back and take in this site. It’s amazing to me to watch a woman using a bottle to pleasure herself. My Exgf looks me in the eye with a look that says “I can’t believe this is happening but it feels so damn good!”

I know she’s close to cumming and I have just the thing to get her over the edge. I position my midriff closer to her face, she looks up at me, I slide my cock along her cheek and as it nears her mouth, while she’s still looking into my eyes, she opens her mouth and I feed her my cock.

Her eyes and mouth shut as she makes an approving sound, yet she manages to keep rubbing her clit with one hand and using the other to manoeuvre the bottle in and out of her pussy in a rhythmic fashion. I’m impressed by her dexterity and sense of rhythm. Within seconds the bottle is shooting in and out of her pussy and it doesn’t take long for her to cum, suppressing her scream into my cock, which feels fantastic.

I take the bottle off her as she lies panting. Rolling her onto her side, I kneel on the footstool, push her nearest leg up towards her chin and slide my cock into her watery pussy. She lets out sounds of satisfaction as I start thrusting into her, all the while she keeps her eyes closed.

Fucking sideways is one of my favourite positions because I can see everything, especially bouncing breasts and I can touch everything. Even now I like watching her tits bounce around as I fuck her; it has a childish fascination for me which I don’t think will ever die. Seeing a woman’s face contort in pain or smile angelically in pleasure at the sensation of my cock filling her up is one of life’s great gifts to me.

Too great a gift sometimes, such as now, because I start to cum. Once again I’m not using a condom – me and the rubbers are mortal enemies – so I need to pull out. I do so with seconds to spare and I spray my cum over the side and onto the nearest breast of my Exgf. She always liked the feeling of cum on her skin and she scrunches up her shoulder in pleasure as she feels the sticky, smelly warmth of my ejaculate.

It isn’t long before we’re falling asleep in my bed, but we’re not touching. She didn’t like being cuddled before falling asleep whereas it’s something I crave. It’s just one of the many differences between us that made our relationship unworkable. I fall asleep with a smug satisfaction that I had got her to do all the things we’d done this night and even filmed some of it.

Revenge does indeed taste sweet.

Crowded House – Fall at your feet

Exgf & the finger lickin’ date – Part 2

“Do you like being fingered?” I ask, knowing the answer full well.

“I love it,” Exgf wheezes.

“Instead of my fingers, imagine having my cock in you,” I say, planting the idea of what we both know is eventually going to happen.

“I can’t wait,” she says, still keeping her eyes closed.

Like that we were in my car for a few minutes that felt like an intense eternity. To me sex has always been a very private thing and anybody watching me diminishes the experience for me. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had sex in public places before: a couple of times in the dunes on a beach (not pleasant as sand gets in everywhere), on the stands at a football ground at midnight (those seats were hard), in a portaloo on a building site (disgusting), in the garden of a house on a Greek island after midnight (which was nice) and in the sea. The chances of being seen were small, but the frisson of danger made it exciting.

We don’t speak as I vigorously finger Exgf and she keeps her eyes closed. If she has been celibate for a year then this must feel amazing to her. Good, I need her nice and willing for what I have in store for her. Without any any warning I pull my fingers out of her slippery wet pussy; I don’t want her cumming.

“Lets’ go inside,” I say, nodding my head towards my apartment.

We get to the top of my stairwell at roughly 11pm. She’s walking in front of me when an idea comes to me.

“Stop. Put your hands against the wall,” I say and she complies.

I’m standing two stairs lower than her and she has her back towards me. I push her rumpled skirt up over her backside and with my other hand pull her panties down to around her knees before swiftly sliding my index finger up into her pussy again. Exgf lets out a sound of surprise and spreads her legs, preventing her panties from falling to the ground.

I roll my finger around in her and I hear Exgf muffle a sound as she bites a lip. A second finger goes in and she stifles another sound. If my elderly neighbour stepped out of his front door now he’d have a heart attack. My hand holding her skirt up I lower slightly and separate her butt cheeks with two fingers. I turn my fingers in her around and am now pushing them into her pussy in a horizontal fashion. The bright lighting in the stairwell gives me a good view of her pussy with my fingers moving in it and of her tight little butthole. The butthole that one guy had fucked twice but she didn’t enjoy, or so her diaries confessed.

For about a minute I finger her like this, all the while she keeps leaning against the wall with the palms of her hands, stifling her sounds. We say nothing. Her pussy shows no signs of drying up; she’s totally turned on. Good, now for the final act.

I pull my fingers out of her, she takes a deep breath and I pull her kickers up while dropping her skirt. She’s breathing fast. I’ve got to keep this momentum going; she’ll do anything I want now.

Going inside my apartment I’m filled with all sorts of feelings, often conflicting. Damn, this is exciting but it’s wrong, yet I feel so alive. She could walk out at any second but I actually don’t care. This could turn out badly for me or very well, I have to find out because whatever happens it’ll broaden my horizons.

Earlier in the day I had loaded my stereo with a selection of music that I hoped would be in keeping with the mood should I need to switch it on. I wouldn’t want my neighbours to hear us fucking and I think it’s kind of romantic, creating an ambiance conducive to my plan. I switch it on and Crowded House starts playing, a perfect 60 beats a minute rhythm; a good fucking rhythm.

“Stand right there,” I tell her, pointing to a spot in the centre of my lounge. As Exgf does as she’s told she watches me getting my camera out that I had recharged the battery for earlier in the day. I switch it onto video and position it on the edge of a table so that it captures everything that’s going to happen next.

“What are you doing with that?” she asks with concern in her voice.

“Whatever I want,” I respond, ignoring her obvious misgivings. The less I care, the more power I have.

I step over to her and give her a sweet little kiss, hoping that it calms her nerves. Pulling away I start undressing her. She stands letting me do as I please, obviously uncertain about what to do, but perhaps she’s enjoying this, perhaps this is the sort of thing that she secretly longs for? I’ll keep doing as I please until she offers serious resistance.

Within seconds she’s standing naked before me. So far so good.

“Get on your knees,” I instruct, expecting instant compliance.

“No. You need to be naked too,” she says.

A bit of resistance but not unreasonable. I smile as she steps towards me and starts unbuttoning my shirt and then fiddles with my belt and zipper. Exgf puts her hand inside my jeans at the back, sliding her hands inside my undies and then slowly drops to the ground. With my jeans around my ankles, my cock is near her face. She takes the head of my cock in her mouth, but doesn’t suck on it, merely holds it in her mouth and slowly moves her head from side to side a few times.

Women have this thing about never having sex with a guy while he’s wearing socks. I don’t understand it and it makes me laugh, but I know what’s good for me so I always take them off myself or let my lover do so. My Exgf gets my socks off while I throw my shirt to one side. We’re now both naked and she’s on her knees, fully aware that my camera is filming her, largely in a profile shot.

She takes my cock in her mouth and starts to give me the slowest, most tender blowjob I’ve ever had in my life. It’s like she has been saving up all her cock-sucking skills and energy for this moment and it was time to let it all out. Exgf never admitted to me that she enjoyed sucking on cocks, but now there was no doubt. There is no way that a woman who didn’t enjoy having a cock in her mouth could have sucked on me the way she was. She was savouring this, enjoying this.

After four minutes of sucking on me – I can say this with precision because I’m watching the video as I write this – she stops, looks up at me with playful green eyes, slowly brings a hand up to her mouth, sucks on her middle finger, then drops that hand down between her legs, starts playing with her clit, closes her eyes and resumes sucking my cock. God, that’s hot! That finger lickin’ move while looking me in the eye is such a turn-on.

Half a minute later she brings that hand up to my face, showing me that same finger. I suck it, tasting the glucose in her sweet pussy juices, lubricating that finger some more for her while she keeps slowly sucking on my cock. She then drops her hand back down to her pussy, lets go of my dick, leans back while holding my cock with one hand, looks me in the eye and rubs her pussy, inviting me to watch, which I do.

She plays with herself for half a minute while I watch, before leaning forward, looking up at me, opening her mouth as wide as she can, then slowly swallowing my cock. The speed with her finger on her clit increases and she starts making sounds that resonate through the chambers of my penis; I like that sensation as she grunts in pleasure. My Exgf is enjoying this as much as me, but for very different reasons.

We never did anything like this when we were living together and it puzzles me that things between us had to get to this state before we have this kind of fun together. In the past she would have freaked out if I tried to use a camera during one of our sessions. Such is her desire to win me back that she is swallowing everything in addition to my cock. How long can I take advantage of this for?

For some reason she stops playing with herself, runs her tongue under my shaft and starts licking my balls. I pick the camera up and position it in front of my chest, looking down on her, filming her up close as she licks and kisses around my groin area. She looks up and notices the camera, giving off a little laugh. She seems quite at ease with being filmed like this. I wonder how many other guys have filmed her in action?

She looks into the camera with mischievous eyes before taking the camera out of my hand. Is this how and where it ends? No. She holds the camera next to her face, frequently changing camera angles as she continues to suck away on my cock. She must have done this before because she takes some perfect footage of her sucking one of my testicles into her mouth, while keeping her eyes closed. Yes, she can literally suck balls with her eyes closed and film it.

I take the camera off her and she keeps looking into the lens as she rhythmically sucks away on my cock, moving in time to the music. She closes her eyes and slowly swallows one of my testicles and lets off an approving sound. The other ball gets some tender loving care in her mouth too before her tongue finds its way behind and underneath my ball-sack. Her eyes are still closed as she flicks her tongue about on my perineum, which is an amazing sensation for a man. That soft, sensitive fleshy spot behind the balls on the way to the anus is a zone of pleasure that very few women pay attention to.

My Exgf pulls her head back, looks up at me and the camera, then says, “It’s your turn to suck me.”

“Do you want me to suck you or finger you?” I tease.

To be continued…

Exgf & the finger lickin’ date

I have deliciously naughty plans in mind for my slutty Exgf tonight. She arrives looking like an innocent little girl, wearing a skirt for once. I wonder if she’s wearing knickers; I told her not to. Her green eyes are sparkling at me and she looks quite pretty, but still not the kind of woman I’ve been enjoying fucking in the past year. This is revenge we’re talking about, so looks is irrelevant; ice-cold, slow, strangling revenge.

She’s surprised by my red sports car and I know it does things for her, perhaps even makes her juicy. Once at the Chinese restaurant on the outskirts of my town we get a table and indulge in small talk. I’m easily Passive Disinterested because I know that there is no romantic possibility between us. As with other women who like this demeanour she leans forward, inadvertently but perhaps deliberately exposing her ample cleavage. She catches me glancing, smiles, looks around the room and then shakes her breasts with a quick wiggle of her shoulders. Good, this slut is in a frisky frame of mind.

I pay for the meal just like I used to, but back then it was me being me, but tonight the vengeful me was paying. I was paying for my whore’s meal, making her in my mind a bought and paid-for receptacle for my lust. In the past I had fed her in so many ways, never suspecting that I was also feeding her twisted ego, the ego that got off on manipulating me, leading and misleading me. The sense of satisfaction I felt from being in the driving seat made the meal taste even sweeter. When she brought the chopsticks up to her mouth I could just imagine feeding her my phallus. Patience, all in good time.

It is a perfect Summer’s evening and there’s a party atmosphere in the establishment. The bustling beer garden outside beckons and I order us a bottle of chenin blanc. We find seats in an empty gazebo on an embankment that overlooks all the people about twenty yards from us. We side by side on a two-seater that swings. It’s dark and about fifty people are collected in small groups below us, they’re all engrossed in their conversations, glasses of wine and beer in hand. A floodlight is providing light on the group, their shadows fall towards us, we’re partially illuminated.

About halfway through the bottle of wine, my Exgf tells me about her latest trip to Thailand, somewhere we’ve been together and I can see her remembering this as she tells me of places we discovered in happier times. She went with her mother this trip but her eyes tell me she wishes it was with me; I know her that well. She’s in an emotionally vulnerable state, her practised defences are down, she’ll be receptive to anything I do from now on. The alcohol is helping.

I put a hand on her thigh and she puts a hand over mine. I lean over halfway towards her and she quickly comes forward to make our lips meet. Within seconds her tongue is in my mouth and she lets off a muffled sigh. Time to escalate.

Still kissing I slide my hand down her thigh and find the hem of her skirt. I’m going to do something naughty and she’ll slap me down, but I know it’ll turn her on. I slide my hand under her skirt and slowly make my way to her crotch. I can feel that she’s wearing underwear.

“I told you to not wear knickers. Naughty girl. You deserve to be punished,” I utter in a slow, low tone. She always liked my deep voice and I’ve never spoken to her like this before, so the uncharacteristic words are bound to have an effect, perhaps even an arousing one.

“Open your legs more,” I instruct and she complies. I push her panties aside and slide a finger into her pussy.

Anybody looking in our direction would see her with her legs apart, her skirt pulled up onto her thighs and my hand between her legs, fingering her. Should I be crazy and unbutton the front of her dress, tug on her bra-cups, letting her breasts fall out for the world to see? Surely somebody must be watching us?

“Come, let’s go,” I say, pulling my finger out of her wet pussy. I lead her to my car; we don’t speak. I’ve parked in the middle of the car park, it’s next to the beer garden. People are coming and going from their cars, the area is well lit.

Like an old-fashioned gentleman I open her door for her and close it once she’s sitting comfortably. What I’m going to do next is anything but old-fashioned. I get in on my side of the car and she’s turned slightly towards me and hasn’t put her seatbelt on. She’s looking at me, her eyes are big; she’s still turned on.

Without a word I lean over, quickly push her skirt up and put a hand between her legs, feeling the meatiness of her thighs. She lets out a heavy breath and opens her legs. My fingers push her knickers aside and my index finger slides up into her pussy. We keep eye contact and her mouth opens in surprise, but I know she’s enjoying this.

My Exgf is gushing wet; she did always like to be fingered. I slide my middle finger in too and she spreads her legs even more. I start playing with her g-spot, to which she lets out a “Oh my gawd!” She puts her hands down on her skirt, holding it up and she starts breathing faster. If I keep going like this she’s going to cum, then that’ll be it for the night. Very rarely was she multi-orgasmic during our time together, despite my best efforts. Once she came, that was it, game over. I’m not going to let her cum any time soon, I’m going to make her work for it.

I pull my fingers out and say to her, “Come over here and suck my cock,” all in a manner that I’ve never used with anyone before. Is this how a John talks to his whore for the evening? I know that my Exgf ‘s never had sex in a car.

She leans over to my crotch while I quickly unzip my trousers and pull my now rock-hard cock out for her to suck on. In less than a second she latches onto the top half of my cock with her mouth and she frenetically moves her head up and down on it. She would never have done this while we were together, so it feels good to be able to get her to do it now and with such enthusiasm. After a couple of seconds she starts making approving sounds that remind me of a little girl eating ice-cream on a scorching Summer’s day.

We didn’t get to oral sex on Sunday; it was all too fast and intense. This looks and feels good. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her suck my cock with such gusto before. I decide to test her honesty, to see if her story is consistent.

“When last did you suck a cock?” I ask.

She stops for a second to answer with, “I haven’t. This one was my last one.”

“Okay, stop talking, keep sucking,” I say with my new-fond brutishness. She lets off a little snigger and does as she’s told. Good slut.

I become concerned that people might be watching us and also I sense I’m getting closer to cumming myself. No, the evening has just started; I have other ideas that need seeing to.

“Right , that’s enough for now,” I say, guiding her shoulder up with a hand and putting my cock away with my other hand. She straightens her dress and checks her look in the mirror.

“Did you enjoy doing that?” I ask.


“Do you want to do that some more? Do you want me to finger you some more?”


Without another word I start my sports car and it roars into life. I remember reading in her sex diaries that she once let a guy fuck her on their second date because she got to drive in his sports car and she liked it. She must be enjoying this, it must be so exciting for her, especially after a year-long abstinence from sex. I drive us back to my apartment complex and park in the public car park that is also well-lit. I switch the car off, press the buttons that releases our seat belts, unzip my trousers and pull my semi-erect cock out.

“Come over here and suck my cock some more,” I say. I would never have dared say or do anything like this in the past with her. How will she react?

Without any hesitation she leans over and eagerly sucks away on my cock. I’m stunned, but I like this. I don’t know whether it’s this brazenness that I like, or the public naughtiness, or the instant compliance on her part, perhaps all of it, but this feels good. She was always a good cock-sucker, but this is taking us where we’ve never been before.

She starts making those involuntary noises again, like a wild boar sniffing for truffles. She’s enjoying this, being my whore. Of course she doesn’t know that I’m thinking of her in those terms. I didn’t know that she had this degree of exhibitionism in her, just one of the things that she kept so well hidden from me.

“Okay, enough of that now. Sit back in your seat,” I say, sensing that I’m getting close to cumming. She complies and looks at me, waiting for my next instruction.

“Pull your skirt up,” I tell her.

She smiles and pulls her skirt up onto her thighs.

“No, pull it all the way up,” I command.

She pulls it up as far as she can.

“Now spread your legs open and pull your panties to one side,” I instruct.

She does so and looks at me with big eyes. Anybody in the complex looking out of their window now could see us. My Exgf doesn’t seem to care and neither do I. Taking a few seconds to commit this sight to my memory bank, I slowly lean closer to her, keeping eye-contact and put a hand on her thigh. She lets out a nervous breath filled with anticipation. I slide my hand up her silky smooth thigh and slide two fingers into her pussy.

“Ugh” she says, arching her back a bit and closing her eyes.

“Is this what you want?” I ask as I find her g-spot.

“Uh-huh,” she gasps.

To be continued…

Online dating, dates, internet dating, romance, love, sex, relationships

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