Tech Titan gets it in the end

Does she really want me to fuck her in the arse, I kept asking myself as I arrived at Tech Titan’s house. She seemed pleased to see me as I hid behind a nervous smile. Every time I saw her I was taken aback by her size that I think most men would be intimidated by. She had made us a Sunday lunch and we engaged in small talk as we ate; she was in a very upbeat mood. Had she remembered what she wanted me to do to her? Had she forgotten or was she looking forward to it? I smiled politely as my eyes scanned her body. I remember thinking to myself, “Are you really going to fuck a woman that large…and in the arse too?”

It wasn’t long before we were sitting kissing on her sofa. I had noticed the beige soft-fabric pouch from the previous week and it was strategically positioned on the arm of the sofa opposite us. An idea came to me and I decided to couple it with my own surprise that I had brought along.

“Stand up, go into the middle of the room,” I said to Tech Titan. Without a word she complied as I reached for the bag I had brought along. I pulled a camera out, switched it on and looked up at Tech Titan, expecting her to be shocked, frowning or rushing towards me, but instead she was smiling at me. Still sitting down I put the camera on a knee and pointed it at her.

“Take your clothes off,” I said, unsure as to whether or not she would comply.

She did.

Her dress fell easily to the floor once it had cleared her bulging hips. She was wearing a matching turquoise bra and panties that I liked the look of. Without any encouragement she took the bra off, letting her f-cup breasts fall free; her flesh-coloured nipples were hard.

Tech Titan looked at me and was smiling naughtily, her cheeks were rosy and eyes shiny. I looked at her crotch, at the panties, in a silent instruction and she obeyed, pushing them down to her knees, letting them join the dress at her feet.

“Sit down over there,” I said, gesturing to the sofa opposite with my free hand. She complied.

“Spread your legs,” I commanded, to which she lay back and spread her legs as wide open as she could. I zoomed in with the camera, filling the frame with her body, her pussy in the foreground.

“Play with yourself,” I directed. Tech Titan brought a dry hand to her pussy and started rubbing her pussy, then her clit. I heard squelching sounds; she was obviously turned on by this. After a few seconds she closed her eyes and, without any coaxing from me, slid her middle finger into her pussy and then grabbed a breast to twist its nipple.

“What do you think about when you play with yourself” I asked.

“How nice it would be to have a cock in me,” she answered.

We both fell silent, letting the moment build more before I spoke again.

“Why don’t you use your vibrator?” I suggested. Tech Titan sat up, reached into the beige pouch that had a suspiciously loose draw-cord and pulled the Purple Pussy Eater out. She didn’t need to suck on it to make it wet; her pussy was dripping wet and she knew it.

She lay back, pressed the ‘on’ button and slid the Purple Pussy Eater as deeply into herself as it could go, all the while rubbing her clit with a middle finger. It wasn’t long before she was moaning in pleasure.

I decided it was time to join in and, keeping my camera in hand, I went over to her and took the vibrator out of her hand but kept it in her. Swivelling it around in her made her moan louder and she started rubbing her clit faster.

“You’ve got a nice big, fat clit,” I said, speaking my mind, revelling in the novelty of recording all this naughtiness.

“Nobody’s ever sucked my clit before. I like you sucking it,” she said.

I ignored her hint and let go of the vibe, which largely stayed in her, reached into the beige pouch and pulled out her kinky nipple clamps. She heard the sound of the chain and opened her eyes, smiling. Her nipples were crying out for the kind of attention that she enjoyed them getting. Tech Titan let off a gasp of pleasure as I let each clamp bite a nipple.

I resumed pleasuring her with the Purple Pussy Eater as she continued rubbing her clit. The camera slavishly took in this scene before me; I still thought the nipple clamps plus chain an odd sight.

“Is this what you like?” I asked, rolling the vibe around inside her.

“I’d much rather it was your big, fat cock,”she replied, catching her breath as she said it.

Again I ignored giving her what she wanted, preferring to let it build the anticipation. I let go of the vibe, which fell at an angle that must have hit her g-spot and put my free index finger in her mouth, which she diligently sucked. I think she knew where it was going. I hoped she knew its destination because her sucking it made it naughtier for me.

I pulled my finger out and gripped the Purple Pussy Eater with my dry fingers, pushing the vibe back in her…and slowly pushed the wet finger up her arse. She let out more intense moans of pleasure as she closed her eyes and rubbed her clit with more vigour.

“What’s happening to you?” I asked, pointing the camera at her face, capturing every little detail of her reaction.

“You’ve got a finger up my arse,” she replied.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes,” she said, gasping for air. “I’d much rather it was your cock in there, with my vibrator in my pussy,” she said in a low, confessional tone, almost speaking out of turn, breaking the pattern of me asking and her answering. I was surprised by what she said, largely because I hadn’t thought of it, not because I was repulsed by the idea, which I wasn’t. Her words also confirmed to me that she had been thinking about having my cock in her arse. Had she been eating lunch imagining feeling my cock sliding into her anus?

The sensation of having my finger up her arse and being able to feel the vibrator next to it was new and unusual to me, but it felt good. How would my cock in her arse with a vibrator in her pussy feel, I wondered.

By now my cock was fully erect and in need of sucking. I pulled my finger out of her arse and let go of the Purple Pussy Eater. I was still fully clothed and stood up to unzip my jeans and pull my cock out of its hideaway. Presenting my cock to Tech Titan’s face lead to an instantaneous head motion by her as she swallowed as much of me as she could, making a deep-seated sound of approval as she did so.

As Tech Titan did what she loved, I was looking at the sofa, realizing that it was too low for comfortable doggy-style sex. I had only ever envisaged fucking Tech Titan in the arse doggy-style. Just then the camera battery died; I had forgotten to recharge it since going on holiday to the Black Sea with Baltic Babe.

“Let’s go to your bedroom,” I said and Tech Titan got up in silence. Was her fantasy coming true? I helped her up and put the useless camera down. I heard the chain between her breasts clinking as she walked in front of me to the bedroom. The sound made me think of her as being my sexual slave, my plaything…my piece of fuckmeat.

I could do anything I wanted to her.

To be continued…

Tech Titan reappears – Final part

The biggest butt plug surely ever made in a luminous, neon purple. A factory in China that used to make doorstops must have slapped a plastic covering on its bestseller. I’d never seen one of those in the flesh (pun intended) before either. At its widest part it was at least two inches wide, possibly three.

How the hell did that thing fit up her arse? Tech Titan enjoyed that? Oh shit, was it meant for me?! I was too scared to ask and took charge of proceedings before it was too late for me.

“Show me how you use these things on yourself,” I said, trying to sound dominating, expertly hiding my unease while being curious as to what exactly she did to herself with this perverted little Tupperware party.

I stood squarely in front of her with a knee resting on the large footstool, my dick in one hand. Tech Titan began by sucking on a small vibrator, switching it on, spreading her legs and playing with it on her clitoris. After a minute of this she slid it inside her pussy and wiggled it about, making satisfied noises as she did so. She held it in place with one hand and with the other hand she grabbed the Dalek-looking monster vibrator and put that in her mouth to lubricate it.

Tech Titan pulled the little vibe out and placed it beside her. She seemed to have a system going here, I thought to myself, with toys moving from one side of her body to the other. She forced the massive purple vibe up her pussy and it must have been somewhat tight because she lifted her head suddenly which I took to mean she felt a little pain…and liked it. At least three-quarters of this thing disappeared into her pussy.

The Purple Pussy Eater whirred, growled and munched away at her insides. I heard occasional squelching noises. I watched as a little smile spread angelically across her face; Tech Titan was enjoying this. We never said a word. I had my dick in my hand, but knew that it was shrinking as all the blood ran to my brain while I took in this spectacle before me.

For some people power or control is the ultimate aphrodisiac, but for me it’s intimacy. Having a woman expose herself, share her deepest, darkest sexual secrets with me, is an act of trust and vulnerability – and that turns me on. It sends chemicals coursing through my brain, a fuzzy warm feeling sets in behind my ears and runs down to my spine. It’s a tingling buzz that doesn’t happen often, but when it does…I just love it. It was happening now.

Tech Titan held the Purple Pussy Eater in place and brought the nipple clamps to her cleavage. Expertly she kept the vibe working away in her as she grabbed each breast in turn and sucked on her own nipples, making them hard and erect. Then she took the end of the chain and opened the clamp before letting it take hold, almost bite, the nipple. She did the same with the other end of the chain and other nipple, simply dropping the chain onto her gently wobbling tits.

To me this was a bizarre sight, her breasts being linked with a chain that stretched across her chest. I said nothing, preferring to just enjoy the novelty of all this before me. I knew that there was more to come.

Tech Titan grabbed the small vibrator again, sucked on it and before I could clearly see what she was doing had quickly slipped it up her arse. I had never seen a woman do that before, not even in a porn movie. I was stunned; I never thought a vibe could be used like that. Clearly I had much to learn.

Then my eyes strayed over to the purple butt-plug, sitting snugly on the sofa next to her, like it was a smiling little buddha. Was she really going to shove that up her arse? Or was she just going to use it as a dildo on her pussy? We hadn’t said a word in what seemed like an eternity and I didn’t care; I was mesmerised.

As I looked at the butt plug, trying to discern its measurements and guess its weight, Tech Titan’s hand appeared over it to grab the tube of KY jelly. I was impressed by how, with one hand, she unscrewed the top, squeezed a dollop out on to the pointy head of the butt plug and spread the substance around the top half.

My cock was now totally flaccid, but in a semi-hypnotized state I held onto it with one hand as Tech Titan reached under herself and pulled the small vibrator out of her arse, dropping it to one side on my sofa. I made a mental note that these sofa covers were going into the wash the next day.

Tech Titan raised her knees and brought the butt-plug into position – she was going to put it up her arse…while having the monster vibrator in her pussy!

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I was speechless and am pretty sure that my mouth was hanging open.

She brought the top of the butt plug to her butt-hole and gently pushed just the tip into her arse, holding it there for a few seconds. Then she started rhythmically and gently rocking it backwards and forwards, all the while pushing it slightly deeper up her arse with each thrust. I noticed that her breathing was in time with her hand, with every breath out, she took a little bit more of it up her.

I watched as her butt-hole slowly and surely expanded. All the time with her other hand Tech Titan kept the Purple Pussy Eater working away in her. Was that healthy, I wondered to myself, but I wasn’t going to argue because obviously she had done this a few times before at least, so what did I know.

The sight of the widest part of the butt-plug stretching her arse open was a strange, curious scene to me. I’d never seen anything like it before and it looked unnatural to me, but then again so did most of my sexual experiences the first time they happened.

Slowly the butt-plug slid in and I watched in stunned silence as the widest part disappeared as her arse seemed to swallow it. The rim of her butt-hole shrank tight again to grip the thinner end that was part of the flat base that she was holding. As her arse swallowed the butt-plug she let out a gasp of air and made an approving sound, made eye contact with me and gave me a satisfied smile.

This was heaven for Tech Titan, that’s what her smile told me. This is what she did on lonely, horny nights. I wondered how this all came about, what road had she followed that lead to her lying naked before me, her pussy juices dripping onto my fabric sofa, nipple clamps biting tight, a huge vibrator grinding away in her pussy and an obscene butt-plug buried deep in her arse. That conversation would have to wait for another time; my erection was returning.

I got up onto the sofa, positioned my hips in front of her face and lowered my cock down towards her mouth. Tech Titan looked up at me with submissive eyes and slowly opened her mouth. I pulled my foreskin back and gently lowered the bell-end into her mouth, noticing the resemblance between how her arse swallowed the butt-plug and how her mouth swallowed my cock – both very similar.

Tech Titan let off a muffled sound of pleasure as my shaft filled her mouth. I rocked my hips backwards and forwards, slowly at first, then increasing in speed. As I did so I noticed her body tensing up; she was getting closer to cumming. I think it must have been the sensation of having all her holes filled at the same time that sent her over the edge. Tech Titan came with an almighty shudder that caused the nipple clamp’s chains to rattle – the chains that signified her servitude to being dominated, her being servant to my master, being used, being made to feel like a piece of fuckmeat. Were they symbols of a shackled life that she escaped from with sex like this?

I felt her arm move and saw her drop the Purple Pussy Eater, still buzzing and gyrating, onto the sofa, next to the small vibrator that was her foreplay toy. Tech Titan kept sucking away at my cock, swallowing as much of it as she could. She kept her eyes closed as she did so, making cute little sounds that reverberated through the chambers of my cock. Feeling a woman making sounds on my cock is one of life’s simple little pleasures for me.

Then I remembered that I might have a diseased cock, courtesy of the anal sex morning with Krazy Girl. I had to wait a few weeks more before any tests at a clinic would be conclusive. I know that strictly speaking I shouldn’t be letting her suck on my cock if I did have something nasty, but it was too late now. I know that I should have slipped a condom on, but in a spectacular failure of impulse-control, I pulled my cock out of Tech Titan’s mouth and slid my body down her rump.

Without a word I rammed my cock as deep into her pussy as I could in one forceful movement. I was now so turned on that I just had to fuck. It had been building up in me for days and like a baby alien crawling out of an astronaut’s chest, this thing in me needed life, it needed to get out of my body and nothing was going to stop it.

I was very aware of the sensation of the butt-plug in her arse acting as a firm base under my shaft. Tech Titan’s pussy had always felt “unnecessarily spacious” the other times we had fucked, but this time, thanks to the thing in her arse, she felt tighter. Maybe another lover had got her into the butt-plug thing as a way of making her feel tighter. An average cock in her would have been like a straw waving around in the Royal Albert Hall.

Lying on top of her, my eyes closed, listening to her chain rattle, feeling her tits flopping against my biceps as I furiously fucked her felt good. It felt very good. This was primal lust at its best, totally devoid of affection and this Grey Knight didn’t care.

“Oh yes. That’s it. Fuck me…fuck me…please fuck me,” she said, spurring me on, not that I needed it.

Tech Titan wrapped her legs around behind me, her heels finding my butt-cheeks and she pulled me into her, in time with my thrusts. The butt-plug in her arse somehow didn’t pop out and it made her pussy feel hard at the bottom and soft elsewhere, a very novel sensation that I quickly began to enjoy. From the sounds she was making I’d say she was enjoying having my cock in her. Tech Titan loved being fucked.

It wasn’t long before my body tensed up, my balls stiffened and then shifted position as baby gravy started to head for the exit. It had been several days since my last release. My eyes showed me a galaxy of stars as my body convulsed in orgasm. My brain short-circuited and rattled around in my skull, giving me a slight headache. It was that kind of orgasm; the best kind.

I lay on top of Tech Titan for a few seconds, catching my breath and swallowing hard, totally spent but satisfied. We fucked nicely together.

“I need to get the butt-plug out now. It’s starting to hurt,” she said.

I rolled off her and watched as she extracted it, my cum was starting to ooze out and drip out of her pussy down to her butt-hole, but I don’t think she noticed or cared if she did. That purple butt-plug came out with a little popping sound. I looked to see if there was any shit on it, but I couldn’t see any. She noticed me looking at it and smiled at me.

“I was kind of hoping that you’d take me up the arse,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Okay, I’ll do that to you next time if you really want me to,” I answered smugly, thinking that she was joking.

“How about next Sunday at my place?”

LESSON LEARNED: 1) No matter how well you think you know someone, you cannot predict their sexual proclivities. 2) The anus can stretch more than I ever cared to think about.

Depeche Mode – Master & Servant

Tech Titan reappears

warning2

I was feeling a little lonely and in need of some intimacy; I was horny as all Hell. Tech Titan had been sending me friendly emails every two weeks since I had last said goodbye to her. For the first time in months I contacted her via WhatsApp, not expecting a quick response or any kind of outcome. Looking back on it now, it was a plaintive cry on my part as I sat alone in the dark of the Wilderness of Love. My feeble words were a childish pleading for attention and succour from a woman – any woman.

She replied almost instantly. It was Wintery and she was standing on an icy countryside train station platform waiting for a train to take her to a business meeting in another town. I was, as ever, bored and unstimulated by the pitiful thing called “my job”, so I was in a mischievous mood. I wanted to see what fun I could have with her via text messaging.

We went through the usual pleasantries of catching up on what each of us had been up to since we last saw each other. I made no mention of the women I had fucked. I had learned from reading material on the internet to slowly escalate the tone and nature of a conversation with a woman toward what I wanted. I had never done this before and decided that this would serve as practise. She stood to gain some stimulation out of it too, that was my self-righteous justification for doing what I knew I shouldn’t. If she felt discomfort or disapproval at any point she would either make this plain to me or would make excuses and disappear. The Grey Knight had nothing to lose.

I turned the conversation sexual and she seemed to like it. Within minutes we were swapping messages at a furious pace. With more luck than skill I got her to describe in detail her darkest fantasies, desires and sexual preferences. I added fuel to the fire by way of continually asking for details and suggesting some of my own. I soon sported a full erection while she confessed to being quite wet, wanting penetration and a “good, hard fucking”. I dared not leave my desk and walk around, my colleagues would spot my erection.

She didn’t feel the cold weather any longer, her blood had heated up too. She was now sitting in a train carriage, looking lustfully at the men around her, fantasizing about being spit-roasted and gangbanged by them, each man taking his turn and time to use any of her holes however he wished. I could almost hear her breathing and heartbeat through my phone. This was not love, but it was damn good fun.

At that moment, I felt that I could have sex with any woman who was willing. My heart was racing, my blood pumping to my boner – and love, morals or anything my mother had told me about had nothing to do with what I felt like doing. It was raw, animalistic lust that was seeking an outlet…a hole. A warm, moist, soft, feminine hole that was eager to receive my cock that was now dripping with pre-cum.

I bluntly and crudely messaged Tech Titan, “If you’re free on the weekend, why not come to mine and I’ll give you what you want.” I was aghast at my brazenness but this new territory was fun for me.

Her response: “How about 4pm on Saturday?”

Me: “Perfect. Feel free to bring all your toys. All of them.”

Her: “Ok. :)

I had no idea if she even had any toys. I just threw that in there as a cheeky act of bravado. What toys could she have, I asked myself for days afterwards.

It was a blustery dusk that Saturday when she arrived. I wasn’t too sure how this was going to go down, so in an attempt to not make her feel cheap, I had made a three-course dinner for us. I hadn’t seen her in six months but conversation flowed easily as we got comfortable with each other again. The wine helped relax her, but I think it was the two episodes of Californication that got her frisky.

Sitting on my sofa we started kissing and I could tell that she was ready to fuck. I guess the sexual tension had been building in her for days beforehand. I pulled her skirt up and slid my hand into her knickers; she silently, compliantly spread her legs. My fingers found her wetness and all those juices could have covered my hand like a glove. I kissed her while I played with her clit before sliding two fingers into her slippery pussy. As I found her g-spot she started making little noises of submissive appreciation as she kept her eyes closed.

I pushed back up onto my knees and undressed her. Jeezus, she was a big girl, but not in an off-putting way. I love the female body, no matter how large. Nevertheless, this was still unusual territory for me, getting intimate with someone that I didn’t feel an emotional connection with. She was more of a friend than anything else, but was now becoming a friend with benefits. My very first fuckbuddy. It was going to take me time to get used to that, but until then my cock needed sucking and my sac needed emptying – and I had a willing mouth and holes before me.

An idea came to me and I stood up, taking a moment to look at this naked woman sprawled on my sofa with her f-cup breasts, perfect white skin and squelching wet pussy, all there for the taking. I resisted the urge to do what an amateurish lover would do.

“Come over here and undress me,” I commanded.

She got up and started undressing me from the top down. When she got my trousers off she went down onto her knees, which is when my idea took hold. As she fumbled with my jocks and socks, I grabbed my phone and got it into camera mode. She heard the noises it made and looked up at me, a pleading look in her eyes.

“I want you to suck my cock,” I instructed and immediately she complied, without a word, taking my bell-end into her mouth, running her tongue around it before swallowing as much of it as she could. As she went about doing what she loved to do, I used my phone to take pictures of her in action from every conceivable angle.

Here was a high-powered businesswoman, holding sway over scores of men in a male dominated industry, on her knees sucking my cock like her life depended on it…and being photographed doing so. I took dozens of pictures, my favourites being her looking at the camera with her doey eyes, licking or sucking various parts of my genitals, all the while keeping eye contact with the mechanical eye recording her.

Let me tell you something: The hottest porn you will ever see stars yourself.

Tech Titan’s jaw started to lock up and my phone’s battery died, that’s how many pictures I took.

“Lie on the sofa,” I said.

She got up and positioned herself on her back on my sofa, using the large footstool to rest her spread legs, one hand on a knee, the other touching a hip. I stood before her, aware that she was constantly staring at my cock. She probably wanted me to go down on her or wanted me to slide my cock into her and give her that “good, hard fucking” that she wrote of earlier in the week. I had other ideas.

“Show me all your toys,” I said, curious about what she had brought with.

Tech Titan leaned onto her side and grabbed her handbag, which I thought unusually large when she arrived. She reached into it and pulled out a large beige soft-fabric pouch that had bulges from what what was jammed inside. She loosened the draw-cord and tipped everything out onto the seat next to her.

A bizarre collection of vibrators, chains, assorted plastic-ware and other things I had no idea about fell noisily onto the sofa. I swallowed hard. What was all this shit?

I recognised the vibrators, one of which was purple and as large as my forearm. It looked like a Dalek from Dr Who, what with it’s ribs, lights and knobs. There was a tube of KY jelly. I made sense of what I realised were nipple clamps; I’d never seen those in real life. Ooh, kinky.

Then I saw it.

To be continued…

Date #15 – The Lost One

Hers was a profile that I had visited many times because I liked the look of her. According to OKCupid’s algorithm we were also a very high match. I had written to her before Christmas, but got no reply. It was a very pleasant surprise then when one night I got a message from her. Banter for a week via email was witty and cheeky, just the way I like it.

It was a glorious Sunday as I sat outside Tower Hill Tube station reading a newspaper, waiting for my date. After the previous day’s bore, I was really looking forward to today’s date. She seemed more lively, backed up with a bit of character.

“Hello,” a cheery voice said from my left. I turned to lock eyes with a woman that I assumed was my date. She didn’t look much like her photos. I could see the resemblance, but just how old were those photos? She was a lot more weathered in real life and the lustrous blonde hair was nowhere near as good as in her photos. Did she have a friend with Photoshop skills?

So, no, from the outset I didn’t fancy her. I think it was largely because when you’re expecting a certain look and the person doesn’t match that, the incongruence jars. However, if the person was better looking in real life then that would be a different matter, but that wasn’t the case here.

She was clad in shabby black leather everything; all that was missing was a silver ring through the nose to complete the biker chick look. Me? I was wearing smart blue jeans, crisp white shirt with a snappy grey two-buttoned blazer and shiny brown boots. It was not a great start.

Undaunted I slipped into my gentleman routine as we approached the stairs to go down to St Katharine Docks. When I offered her my arm, she politely refused. That had never happened before; I was taken aback. Things were getting worse by the minute.

Over lunch at The Dickens Inn, sitting on the balcony overlooking the marina, conversation flowed very easily – in one direction – from her to me. To my surprise (because of her mixed accent) she had been born in South Africa, but courtesy of her father’s job, had moved to a new country every few years. The pattern seemed to continue into her own life, wandering across the planet, connecting the dots that were lucrative career moves. She didn’t seem to settle anywhere for more than three before upping sticks and flitting off to somewhere else suddenly more alluring. She seemed lost about where “home” was.

In my mind I thought of her as the ‘Lost One’.

Naturally she had a chequered relationship history. Her longest relationship had lasted just two years. I wondered if all her moving about was caused by failed relationships or whether she was a commitment-phobe. She was now in her early forties. Surely in all those years one guy would have pulled out all the stops to be with her? Hmm, my primitive instincts told me that there lurked dark, strong issues within her that meant that she wasn’t relationship material.

Ka-ching!

She wasn’t a Plan A candidate – relationship ready. I remembered my new modus operandi as The Grey Knight and started wondering about Plan B: was she out to just get laid?

Actually, I didn’t care because I wasn’t physically attracted to her. She could have stripped off and sprawled herself out on the table between us, spreading her legs, I would not have stuck my cock in her. I had no desire for her. Okay, I might have fingered her g-spot and tweaked a nipple to see how quickly it got hard, but that would have been it!

It was a beautiful day and although I didn’t feel any kind of attraction for the Lost One, I didn’t want to go home either. She was good company and very talkative. She probably thought me quiet, but it was because I didn’t want to interrupt her.

Lost One and I walked over Tower Bridge and along the Southbank of the Thames. Because I didn’t fancy her, I was very relaxed and I probably came across quite differently to how I do if I fancy my date. It must have put her at ease.

The afternoon rolled on and she never stopped talking. I noticed she hardly asked me any questions about myself, but I didn’t really care. I was treating this as an opportunity to improve my conversation skills. I was paying attention to what she got most excited about, her views on men, what seemed to displease her, not by steering the conversation in any particular direction, but just letting her ramble. My education of learning to seduce a woman with words was under way.

Before I knew it we were in London’s Chinatown because hunger had come around again. Lost One wanted to introduce me to her favourite Chinese eatery which specialised in the spicier southern Chinese Szechuan cuisine. It was the most basic of diners hidden away down a dark alley with just a dingy doorway as the portal to its delights.

One of the great things about dating is that you get introduced to new places. I like broadening my horizons, but not as much as stretching a woman’s pussy. That wasn’t going to happen with this date, but I made a mental note of adding this grubby little diner to my list of unusual places for a good meal, but never for a first date.

Somehow we ended up at Tottenham Court Road Tube station, the same place where Baltic Babe and I first kissed. I think the memory of that made me turn around to face the Lost One as we stood on an escalator. It was time to try on my Grey Knight armour, to further my education. Until this moment I had experienced nothing remarkably positive on this date. Other than my initial hello kiss on her cheek when we met, there had been no physical contact between us.

She seemed puzzled by this move but I went in for the kiss before she had figured out what was going on. Our lips locked and she just froze. I gave a slow, soft kiss, the type that had made a few other women melt against me. I pulled away and the Lost One closed her eyes and seemed to lose her balance a little before I grabbed her hips to steady her.

She seemed shocked by what had just happened. She struggled to make eye contact with me and brought a shaky hand up to her mouth. It was as if I had forced her to her knees, taken my cock out and repeatedly slapped her across the face with it. I was becoming used to my kisses having an effect on a woman, but this strong negative reaction was unprecedented. I was at a loss to understand what she was thinking and feeling.

Was she about to cry? My God, it looked like she was about to burst into tears. What the fuck?!

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Uhm,” was all she said, nodding her head but not making eye contact, looking down, keeping three fingers to her mouth. Just then we came to the bottom of the escalator and I had to turn around.

A little later we were standing outside King’s Cross station waiting for a bus to take her home. Lost One didn’t seem to know where to look and conversation had pretty much died. When her bus arrived I kissed her goodbye on a cheek and she gave me a quizzical look that I didn’t understand.

Well, that was a fine mess, I thought to myself.

I was the consummate gentleman with her. Some would say that stealing a kiss was naughty, but nowadays women expect that on first dates. If the guy doesn’t try to kiss her, she then wonders if he fancies her. Well, that’s what my research on dating forums had told me. I believe everything I read on the internet, don’t you?

On my way home I got a text message from Lost One that said, “Thank you for a lovely day. I find you so easy to talk to. If you’re amenable, I’d like to see you again.”

I was surprised, but felt no desire to ever see her again. Lost One was never going to see the condom I had tucked away in my wallet, the lesson I had learned the previous day.

I had no idea how my behaviour that day would have consequences in my near future…

LESSONS LEARNED: 1) I must relax more and let my date do the talking. 2) Kisses are powerful things to a woman. 3) I can’t predict the effect of my kisses. Georgy Porgy kissed the girls and made them cry.

Toto – Georgy Porgy

Date #14 – The Confused Cutie

I spotted a cute face on MatchAffinity, I favourited her and overnight she had done the same thing, which I took as a “come-on” sign. Women are modest like that and will rarely approach a man first, for fear of seeming desperate or easy as well as not having to deal with the icy cold sting of rejection if the man doesn’t respond – that privilege is reserved for men. I wrote to her and after a few emails we agreed to meet.

She was house-hunting in my region and I suggested meeting at the same pub where I had first met Sweet Thing. I got there early so I sat in my car until she arrived and I recognized her as she drove in.

She was shorter and more portly than what I was expecting, but had a very pretty face, had at least c-cups, bright blue eyes and perfect blonde hair. I liked the look of her and she reciprocated by making the involuntary eye gesture women make when they fancy a man. None of us are attracted to someone’s personality at first sight.

Pleasantries aside we sit down to a very good lunch with wine. After a while conversation just didn’t flow. She seemed preoccupied and her answers to any questions were very short. I know how to make conversation, how to put a woman at ease in my company, but she was just hard work. Then it started to all come out; I think the alcohol helped.

It turned out that she was still married and had walked out of her marital home only two months previously. She was from the North of England and had moved to the South of England. After a long, unrewarding marriage one day she decided to cut her losses, packed what she could in her car and hit the road, heading South, with nowhere to go to. En route she made a plan and ended up sharing a house near London with a male friend of a female friend.

With a little bit of coaxing she confided that her and the flatmate had fucked a few times. She claimed to want something a little bit more serious than just a fuckbuddy, which was why she was on a dating site.

“So what kind of relationship are you looking for?” I asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” is all she said after a few seconds of contemplation.

In my mind I christened her ‘Confused Cutie’.

I took stock of her: she was still wearing her wedding rings and another guy’s cum was dripping out of her. Not exactly Plan A (relationship) material, was she? It was time to invoke Plan B: to see if she was just looking for some fun. Did she just want to be someone’s piece of fuckmeat for a while? My romantic heart closed to her and my childish alter ego, Stupid Boy, materialised from nowhere, invisibly stroking my cock under the table.

Looking outside I thought of taking her for a walk in the woods that started across the road. How long would it take before Confused Cutie found herself leaning over a fallen tree, her legs spread with blouse and bra pushed up under her armpits, her milky white breasts swaying as I thumped my cock into her tight little pussy? At the same time I’m trying not to trip over her knickers with a wet spot that clung to an ankle…

I realized that I wasn’t packing rubber, so the daydream would have to wait for another time. What other people call fantasies, I call plans. I decided to pursue a subtler course with no outcome in mind.

In my high school we had a school psychologist. We were all told that he was a ‘guidance teacher’. His role was to help troubled teenagers, prepare kids for adult life by teaching practical life-skills and getting the boys mentally ready for the rigours of military service. He met with each class once a week for an hour to teach us things like how to write a resume, how to behave at a job interview, how to open and operate a bank account, practical things that young adults need to know about. Once he made all the girls carry a small pocket of potatoes everywhere for a week and at the end of it he told the girls that they now had an idea of what handling a baby was like.

One lesson was about love and relationships. He put us through a short questionnaire that showed how we all differed when it came to important life matters. He said that a good partner for each of us would give the same or similar answer as we did to three aspects of life. I decided to put my date through this questionnaire, not just to make conversation or get to know her better, but honestly to alleviate the boredom that I felt.

“You’re in a Magical Forest and you have to follow a path with dense tress either side of it. You can only go forwards and little bit either side of the path, but never backwards. You’re going to encounter three scenes and you have to tell me your instinctual reaction to each scene, your immediate gut reaction, as quickly as you can. Don’t worry, there’s no right or wrong answer. Got it?”

“Yes,” she said, apprehensively which is a totally normal reaction.

“The first scene is you’re walking along the path and you come face to face with a wolf. He’s snarling, the spit is flying and he’s about to attack you. Quick, tell me what you’d do!”

“Uh, I’d climb a tree” Confused Cutie said.

“Okay, you climb a tree and after a while the wolf gets bored and wanders off. He’s never to be seen again, you’re perfectly safe and you follow the path once more. It brings you out at a clearing dominated by a waterfall. The top of the waterfall is high above you and a plunge-pool is at your feet. It’s a pleasantly warm day and the water looks inviting. Tell me what you’d do,” I said.

“Uhm, I’d bend down and feel the water with my hand,” she responds.

“You wouldn’t go for a swim?” I coax.

“No. I don’t know what’s in the water or how deep it is or where it all goes,” Confused Cutie elaborates.

“Okay, you touch the water and get back on the path. It leads you to the final scene which is a house in a clearing. The house is made of your favourite sweets and treats, all the things you can’t resist eating. There’s a door and window, but no signs of life. Tell me, do you eat anything off of the house or try to go inside?”

“I look at the house but won’t eat anything because it might be poisoned. I might try and look through the window to see what’s inside, but I won’t knock on the door. Right, so what’s this all about?”

“Well, each of the scenes is a metaphor for something significant in life. The wolf is a cross-cultural symbol for problems. The vast majority of people do what you did and climb a tree.”

“So what does it mean?” Confused Cutie asked.

“It means that the vast majority of people seek shelter from their problems.” I didn’t want to point out that she had just run away from her married home.

“What do you do?”

“Me? I attack the wolf. I either kill it or it runs away. That’s just me for you,” I say with a smile.

“So what does that mean?” she asks, now very interested in this little game.

“It means I tackle my problems. Very few people do.”

“And the waterfall?”

“Ah, well that’s a metaphor for love. It shows what a person’s attitude towards love is,” I tell her.

“And my response shows what?”

“It shows that you have a very cautious approach to love. You need to know for certain before you commit to anything,” I explain. Once again it’s the most common answer given.

“Yes, I would agree with that. What’s your answer?”

“I take my clothes off and jump in,” I tell her.

“Which shows that you aren’t afraid of love, but can be reckless with it,” she pronounces proudly.

“You got it. Very good. You’re not just a pretty face,” I flatter which makes her smile. She’s very pretty when she smiles.

“And the final scene, the house?” Confused Cutie asks.

“That’s a complicated one. The house is about a person’s approach to life. There’s two parts to it. The temptations indicate degree of self-control and zest for life. The door and window show how curious and respectful someone is about life and other people,” I explain.

“So what does my answers tell you about me?” she asks cautiously.

“You observe life and are slightly curious about it. That’s the most common answer and approach in all my years of asking people about this,” I say. In my mind I know that the vast majority of people do exactly the same thing as her, voyeuristic as they watch life go by, which makes them and her boring to me.

“What do you do at the house?” she asks.

“I have an incredibly sweet tooth, so I eat so much of the house that I can inside it,” I tell her.

“Which says what about you?”

“It says says that I have such a zest for and curiosity about life that I get to understand things in a way that most people don’t. However, it says that I find it easier to ask for forgiveness than permission because I tend to do what I want, not always what I should” I confess, now not giving a damn about what she thought of me.

“Interesting,” is all she said.

As you can see, Confused Cutie and I were badly mismatched.

We moved outside into the unseasonally warm sun, slowly sipping our drinks, trying to make small-talk. There was no chemistry between us and we were just both going through the motions. Conversation was difficult at times as she closed her eyes and tilted her head to sun herself. This was going well. Not.

I was thinking of how to end this disaster when she said, “Right, it’s time for me to go. I have another house viewing in an hour.”

I walked Confused Cutie to her car and we stood beside it, not knowing what to say, so Stupid Boy took charge and I leaned in to kiss her, expecting a slap or a cheek being presented. I didn’t care what happened, I was practising being naughty, trying on my new Grey Knight armour. Stupid Boy was becoming Grey Knight.

To my surprise I got a very lusty full-mouth kiss with a probing tongue that shot out after just a few seconds. Confused Cutie was certainly a passionate kisser. You can tell a lot from a kiss; she was a horny little wench.

She let go of me, gave a satisfied smile and said, “It was great to meet you. I’ll be in touch,” and then she got in her car and drove off.

I had learned that in England “I’ll be in touch” actually meant “fuckoff and die”.

The Days of the Grey Knight were not off to a good start, but it mattered not a jot as I had another date lined up for the next day…

LESSON LEARNED: Always carry a condom. It gives me options.

Something died

I was sitting alone at home on a rainy Sunday night, staring blankly at my television, my thoughts racing in circles trying to understand what had happened with Krazy Girl and all the other women I had met in the previous 10 months. I was trying to make sense of it all when an unusual chill came over me, unlike any other I had felt before. It was coming from behind me.

A giant invisible hand gripped me, picked me up with ease and dropped me into the Arctic Ocean that had appeared out of nowhere. Everything became cold and dark. Natural buoyancy and the vice-like grip of the icy water propelled me to the surface. Thunder and lightning raged overhead in the pitch-black night sky as a vicious wind swept up the waves. Pieces of jagged ice sped past me, carried by a strong current as bigger, dangerous icebergs were threatening to crash into me. I started swimming towards a flatter sheet of floating ice; I knew I only had a few minutes to survive the freezing water. My clothes were becoming heavy and were betraying me, trying to take me under, into the dark, lonely depths below where nothing and nobody mattered.

Between the booms of thunder I could hear voices, chattering voices, women’s voices. I couldn’t see where they were, but their high-pitched sounds were becoming louder.

“Help me!” I shouted out, in a pathetic attempt to be heard above the roar of the storm.

“Hahaha. Hahahaha,” the women’s voices answered, laughing at me, in a cacophony of mockery and scorn.

I tried clambering up the sharp sides of the sheet of ice, pulling myself up as forcefully as I could, but I was struggling. Hypothermia was setting in, my muscles weren’t working as they should; my clothes felt like a dead weight pulling me back into the black waters that yearned to be my grave. With the last of my strength I pulled myself up over the edge, as I did so there was a strange snapping sound. It felt like a piece of me had broken free from inside my chest, morphed out of my ribs and slipped into the eager waters so quickly that I couldn’t see what it was. It was gone forever, whatever it was.

I woke up realizing that my single glass of wine had put me to sleep. Or had it?

Something inside me had indeed snapped and then died.

Months of unrewarding, demanding dating had taken its toll and I was now angry. I was angry at women, all women. I was angry at women because of their seemingly endless messing me around. I was angry at their insatiable need for silly fucking games.

I was angry about all those many pointless nights I spent swapping messages with dozens of women on dating sites that never led to a date because they just couldn’t bring themselves to meet in person. They preferred hiding behind a screen, basking themselves in male attention without having to give or do anything in return. How women had jerked my chain and wasted my time. I was sick of it.

Why couldn’t they just be happy to be with me? Why couldn’t they just accept that I’m a good guy with a lot to offer? Why must they dwell on their past to the extent that they sabotage their present and future and embroil me in that? Why do they treat me with suspicion when there is no reason for it?

Why couldn’t they just want to hold hands as we walked? Why couldn’t they be happy to spend a lazy Sunday afternoon telling each other stories that made us laugh? Why couldn’t it be simple instead of all so complicated? Why couldn’t they be happy and just be looking to add to their happiness?! Why did they have to be so messed up? Why couldn’t they just be normal?! Why couldn’t they be more like me?

Tech Titan was unbearably clingy. Baltic Babe wanted a glorified sperm-donor. Demolition Debbie was still married. The Model was deranged. Miss Indecisive was a serial dater, a female player I suspect. Potty Mouth disgusted me. The Hirsute Russian made me cringe. The German Shrink bored me. Quiet Katie nearly left me in a coma. Sweet Thing wanted me as a slave and dog-sitter in her home. Irish Eyes had her bloody games. NutSlut was an attention-seeking, approval-craving unpaid whore. Krazy Gal, well who the hell knew what she wanted?

It was that last one who really hurt me, the one who did the most damage, because I had got my hopes up.

I had always adored women. I still think that the most amazing creature on our planet is the female human. She is designed for and capable of a multitude of roles, yet still so delicate and sensitive, despite the versatility. I had always thought that women have a far harder time in life than men do. Most men embarrass me because of their weakness. Mother Nature has even decreed a cruel irony in that women tend to spend their last years alone and struggling. Was it because they could cope with it? After my father died when I was thirteen my mother was a single mother, so I know the hardship and even today my heart (what’s left of it) still goes out to the single mothers of the world. I read somewhere that, if a man treats a woman like a queen, it shows that he was raised by one. My mother had raised me to treat every woman like a queen. I revered women, so much so that I had put every single woman up on a high pedestal. They could do no wrong in my world.

I had always thought that the sweetest thing in the world was little girls between the ages of two and four. I couldn’t agree more with Charles Aznavour: ‘Thank heaven for little girls’. To me they are all just so cute, with their big eyes, abundant enthusiasm, their sense of adventure, even their wilful ways. It always made me smile to see a little girl dressed in a chequered skirt, cream cardigan and pig-tails running along, laughing, with an ice-cream in her hand.

Sadly, somewhere along in their development these little girls all seem to fall into the clutches of a Miss Haversham; they become spiteful and mean to boys, determined to play games with them. They develop the mindset and skills that reduce men into mere playthings for them. Men are there to be toyed with, to be accommodated while it suited her, to be played off against another guy (publicly or secretly, it didn’t really matter) and then to be belittled and rejected when the time was right. Little girls grow into young women devoid of respect for men, even before they have life experience of men. Women seemed to think that men don’t have feelings.

The so-called fairer sex were anything but fair to me. The more respect I gave them, the less they appreciated me. My manners and consideration were being mistaken for weakness. Is it possible that I was “too nice”? All those nights of dates where I was the consummate gentleman, pulling back restaurant chairs, opening doors, offering my jacket, making polite conversation, paying for everything. Where did it get me? Fucking nowhere.

A sense of outrage had been accumulating and it finally came out in me. My ex-wife and ex-girlfriend had both deceived me. You don’t deceive somebody you love. Therefore they didn’t really love me; I felt like a fool because of it. Nobody likes feeling like a fool and especially not me. Years of harbouring memories of their deceit seeped to the surface. That mixed with my feelings about my previous dates and an overwhelming sense of frustration bubbled over in my psyche.

I concluded that the nice guy that I am had gotten me nowhere with women. They didn’t seem to value me. Instead, they seemed to want to take advantage of me, to use me. They didn’t want to give me anything, they only wanted to take.

The thing in me that had died was respect for women.

I decided that it was time that I changed my ways and started playing women at their own game.

I harboured out-dated, unrealistic notions about the true nature of women and these ideas were hurting me. You see, I had lived life in reverse order compared to most people. I got into a serious, committed relationship at the age of twenty that lasted until my mid-thirties. I didn’t have that crazy exploration phase that most people have in their twenties. I didn’t go bed-hopping and heart-breaking when I was young. I had skipped all that and consequently I lacked experience and skills when it came to women.

I resolved to improve my skills with women to such an extent that people who knew me would start accusing me of being a player. Yes, that much-maligned male aberration would become a velvety cape that I would slip on when it suited me and I wouldn’t give a damn. No woman would ever again outsmart me, abuse me or hurt me; I was going to make sure of that.

There’s a great line from Californication (for the aficionado it’s season 1, episode 3, minute 5:55) in which Hank says, “A girl knows within seconds whether she wants to fuck, marry or kill a guy” and I think it’s true. I had to stop assuming that the woman in front of me wanted the same things as me. Some of them, perhaps most of them, just wanted to get laid. I hadn’t bothered to find out. All along I had been leaning towards the “marry” angle, a long-term relationship, not just a quick forgettable fumble in the dark to stave off loneliness. The latter was never appealing to me, but perhaps it was time to explore that side of life. Instead of trying to direct the currents of the dating ocean, going with the flow was much easier and who knows what it might lead to?

My father’s advice about there being only two types of women, “Good Girls and Good-Time Girls”, became more poignant. If my date was the latter, I would give her what she wanted and a lot more than she bargained for.

I made a conscious decision that, if I didn’t deem the woman in front of me to be a Good Girl, to be relationship material (I call that Plan A), I would revert to Plan B – to see if she just wanted to get laid, and if she did, to see how much fun I could have with her. It would become a game to see how long it took before I could have my way with her; consequences be damned.

The night of the iceberg dream was the night the idea of all women being a ‘nice girl’ died in my mind, along with the ‘nice guy’ my parents had raised me to be. My White Knight mindset had not served me well and had in fact got me into trouble in the past and it was causing me trouble now by way of unfulfilled expectations – that of finding my queen, The One, and living happily ever after. They were proving to be unrealistic expectations given the environment I found myself in, this crazy online dating scene.

It was now time for me, a whole new me: a leaner, meaner, more selfish me. No more White Knight in shining armour only offering the best of intentions, but instead a Grey Knight, much less shiny and white. A knight still capable of being a White Knight if the reason was there, but now more intent on indulging himself in the sins of the flesh.

Yes, I was going to dive headlong into a sea of pointless pussy. Would I learn to swim or would I drown? I didn’t care.

Either way, no more Mr Fucking Nice Guy…more like Mr Nice Guy Fucking…

Sinnerman by Nina Simone

The ex-girlfriend – Final part

The night times were the worst.

At night, when it became too much for me, I would say to her I was going to shower. I would stand in the shower and silently cry my eyes out, sobbing so heavily that I could feel my shoulders heaving. My throat hurt from suppressing my sounds, the sounds that my body begged to release. Sometimes I would curl up in the shower and lie there as the water washed my tears away. When I came out she would sometimes comment on how red my eyes were and I would blame it on a new shampoo. I never wanted her to see me cry; she didn’t deserve that luxury.

I remember many nights lying in the same bed, our backs to each other when once we would spoon blissfully. I didn’t want to touch her. Once I knew for sure that she was asleep, I couldn’t help but cry myself to sleep. I lost 20% of my weight in three months; it’s not a diet I can recommend.

We tried to make love a few times, but it just wasn’t the same. I developed problems in maintaining an erection; obviously psychosomatic. I couldn’t help but think of all the things I had read and now knew about her. My head would become filled with images of what she had done to other guys and what she had let other guys do to her and it filled me with revulsion. My previous desire for her had been replaced by disgust. Our sex life, previously fantastic, slowly died and withered, like a forgotten grape on the vine.

How much time do you give to trying to resurrect a relationship? Well, you don’t; you start a new one. We tried our damnedest at doing normal couple things: playing tennis, bike rides, walks, parties, visiting friends, weekends away, etc. However, the new relationship just wasn’t working and neither of us were happy. The shock of it all had left me numb inside, unwilling and unable to trust her again. Suspicion between us simmered, but never boiled over.

This was a terrible time for her too; I was aware of that. She was outraged and horrified that I had read her diaries. What bothered her the most was that her charade had come to an abrupt end and now she felt vulnerable. She was having to live with the thing that she seemed to fear the most, the thing she had least control over: the truth.

Not a day went by in which I didn’t think of ending it for good. One of the reasons that I didn’t was that we were both unemployed, but I had savings from better days that we were living off. My father had left my mother and I in the lurch when he died; all he left us was alone. I swore to myself that I would never do that to anybody, that I would be a better man than him. I decided to delay a final decision about us until she had a job, which she eventually found. Until then I just kept giving “us” time, in the hope that things would get better.

I went to visit my best friend one day and left my phone at home. While I was at my friend’s, his phone rang while I was sitting next to him. He looked at it and said, “Curious. You’re phoning me.” I went ice-cold, thought quickly and said, “Do me a favour and answer it,” which he did, mentioning his name. The person on the other side ended the call. Only one person had access to my phone. I went home in a rage and confronted her.

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at? You obviously guessed the password on my phone and were phoning people on my call log. Why?”

“His number didn’t have a name next to it. I was suspicious because I’m afraid you’re going to leave me,” is all she said. She was anxiously picking at the skin on a thumb, her sign of stress. I was so weary of all this. The pleading and terror in her eyes made me leave it there. Was I misguided?

I decided to play her at her own game, to see if my faith was misplaced – I put spyware on her computer. Doing so was out of character for me, but nobody else was looking out for my interests. I very quickly learned that she had siphoned a big amount of money out of a business that her and I had run along with two other friends who were our full partners. We were living off my savings while she sat on a nice fat bank balance, never touching it. I also read her emails – yes, I did – and over the course of our relationship she had maintained contact with a small group of ex-boyfriends and she had been swapping naughty, flirtatious messages with them and discussed me, not always in glowing terms. I also found out that one of her male friends (an ex-fuckbuddy) and her used to get together a couple of times a year for a restaurant meal, with each of them telling their significant other that they were on a “work outing”. He had a child with his long-term partner, while she had…me…hook, line and sinker.

So when she got her new job and then had to spend a night away on a training course, a “work outing”, I became suspicious. I made a point of calling her at 9pm that night she was away and we had a brief chat; I could hear restaurant noise which in itself indicated nothing. When she came home the next night she told me that she had been asleep by 10pm. When she went to shower I saw that she had left her phone out and it hadn’t auto-locked yet, so I grabbed it. I looked at the phone log and saw that there was one number that had she had been swapping calls with over the course of the previous night, with her last phoning that number just after 11pm. I stood there with her phone in my hand, tempted to call that number to hear who answered. Would it be a man? I decided not to. Doing so would have been like pouring oil on a raging inferno, while at the time I was pissing on it in an attempt to extinguish it. I know that I should have called, but I couldn’t take any more deceit.

My soul was becoming as poisoned as hers and I didn’t like it. Sharing my life with her was coming at the price of my morals and ethics becoming compromised. Being with her was resulting in my being dragged into a world that I didn’t belong in, a world of darkness that surely must have been a highway to hell and I was in the fast lane. I said nothing to her of my discoveries and inside knowledge.

The coup de grace came just a few days afterwards, five months after Xmas, when she shot off her loose, acidic mouth in a pub (totally sober, we hadn’t even ordered drinks yet) and we got thrown out. In that fracas it dawned on me that the right person for me would never behave the way that she did. I’m all for backing up your other half, but there are limits.; she was totally in the wrong. After all the stress and drama of the preceding months, this was how she repaid my loyalty? My stupid, blind, unthinking loyalty. That final public humiliation was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

I decided to cut my losses and do one of the hardest things I had ever done in my life – to walk away from the person that I thought I would spend the rest of my life with. I made a conscious decision to harden my heart; it wasn’t easy. I packed up as much as my little car could carry and made a few trips to my best friend’s place. On my final trip, as I was leaving, I turned to her as she stood there like a little rag-doll, her arms lifeless by her side, her eyes unblinking, her face sullen.

I said, “Goodbye my friend, goodbye my lover, goodbye my everything.”

She didn’t say a word. She couldn’t. Her bottom lip started to tremble and tiny tears collected in her dark eyes. Her English reserve dictated that she control her emotions. The silence between us filled the doorway as we took one last look at each other…I turned and walked away.

There is a rich irony in the fact that her undoing was invading my privacy, because it led to me invading hers and discovering the truth about her. I am not proud of having done so, but I am glad that I did. It made me wise up and set me free. I realised that she did not deserve my forgiveness, but I did deserve peace.

The passing of time allowed contemplation and reflection that made me realize that she never trusted me totally, even though I had done nothing to warrant any distrust. If she didn’t totally trust me, then she didn’t totally love me.

When my love for someone dies – as has happened twice in my life so far – a little piece of me dies too. That invisible part of me doesn’t leave my body. No, instead it meets and becomes one with the memories of that person, like a small piece of charcoal that once was a great flame, now reduced to a grey, lifeless husk of little value. I think of these cinders as being in the rough shape of a heart that only I can feel. I know that I am destined to carry them with me until my last breath, but until that fateful day, when I am most lonely, I can feel those pieces of charcoal rubbing up against each other, inside me, next to my heart.

I wrote my ex-girlfriend a poem, a goodbye poem, that I never ever found the reason or opportunity to give to her.

The goodbye poem

Our memories forever etched in my heart
Are not just of the final days that tore us apart.

They are of those nights of endless fun
Those days of us frolicking in the sun.

For us life was never a question of if we could
We’re both strong, so it was when we would.

I thought – finally – we’d be together forever
But now all the good has left our endeavour.

The time had come to bid you farewell
There was going to be no end to our hell.

It feels like everything I experienced with you was a lie
You understand that I have no choice but to say goodbye.

Six weeks later I met Baltic Babe. She was like a breath of fresh air.

Yes, I was on the rebound.

Of course I didn’t think that at the time, but hindsight is a wonderful thing that so easily reveals our foolishness.

This song captures in word-perfect fashion what I went through in those last six months with my ex-girlfriend…feel free to take the time to read the lyrics.

James Morrison ft Nelly Furtado – Broken strings

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