Date #18 – Delicate Flower

I’m a little pissed off at having to spend a long weekend by myself. Teacher Gal is away on a school trip and although we spoke a few times during the week, it still isn’t clear to me where I stand with her after our heavy petting session. She seems a little distant now. The loss of my two fuckbuddies still rankles. I was starting to think it’s a good setup having a lover while trying to find my soulmate, having my physical needs taken care of while pursuing my emotional need, the former reducing the pressure on the latter.

It’s the Monday morning of the public holiday in May of 2013 and I notice a new message on OKCupid which reads:

“Your pictures seem to indicate that you would share my love of travelling to interesting, historical places. What are you looking for on here? I’ve had enough of being single, I want someone to come home to, someone to share my life with…”

The profile of the writer floors me. Not only is she a pretty blonde, but it’s one of the best-written profiles I’ve ever read. It speaks of an intelligent, sophisticated and cultured lady; I’m intrigued. I have to meet her even though OKCupid’s algorithm only gives us a 73% match. She’s English, 35 and five foot four inches tall.

I send off a polite response and minutes later she writes back. Her emails are as articulate as her profile, so she’s genuine and hasn’t copied a profile from somewhere on the internet. I respond again, hinting at us meeting one day. She asks if I’m free later today, I say that I am and give her my phone number.

Could she be ‘The One’?

A whirlwind takes hold and a few hours later I’m standing outside Somerset House in central London, surrounded by tourists intent on seeing what this building has to offer inside. It finally feels like the first day of Spring and people are wearing sunglasses and girl’s skirts seem shorter. I’m wearing black jeans and a navy-blue shirt; no jacket required today.

After a few minutes I get that familiar feeling that someone is looking at me. I turn to my right and a vision is approaching me. One of the cutest petite blondes I’ve ever seen is looking at me with big eyes and then breaks into a smile as she nears me. It’s my date and she’s even prettier than her pictures…and very short.

On her profile she said that she was five foot four; well the four was the height of the heels she was wearing. Without her heels she might even be under five foot. I’m over six foot, so we are in serious danger of becoming the little and large show. Whenever I’ve seen guys as big as me with women as small as her, I’ve always thought it looked odd…and that she goes on top, cow-girly style. Hell, if she was supple enough I might make a propeller out of her; spread her legs, position her on my cock and spin her around. What other people call fantasies, I call plans! Once, just once…

I greet her with a polite kiss on each cheek and we both can’t stop smiling. It’s not just nervous first-date smiles, I think we like the look of each other. She’s dressed in a very cute navy-blue skirted outfit with carefully thought-out white stripes and motifs in just the right places, reminiscent of a little sailor’s uniform. The skirt stops just above the knee. She smells as good as she looks, just the right amount of something I can’t recognise but nevertheless like. (Can any man name more than five ladies’ perfumes?)

She is as sweet and delicate as a newly-bloomed flower. In my mind I dub her ‘Delicate Flower’.

We are at this venue because she wants to see a photographic exhibition. I think it’s a great way of meeting somebody and not being in a pressurised situation of having to make small-talk. We pretend to look at photos, but I can’t tell you a thing about them because I’m not really looking. I’m marvelling at the good fortune I’ve just had by way of her contacting me out of the blue. That profile of mine is working wonders, I tell myself.

I notice that Delicate Flower is constantly grinning or smiling. I am too, I think neither of us can help it. I just want to scoop her up in my arms, let her feet dangle free and kiss her like she’s never been kissed before. Patience, dammit!

Eventually we run out of photographs for us to pretend to look at. It’s a beautiful day and it’s now just after lunchtime. I notice a terrace wine bar overlooking the Thames and suggest that we have a drink. She politely accepts and we find a high table with two high chairs. Delicate Flower stops and looks at the chairs and I realize that she might have a problem getting onto the chair.

We both look around and see that this is the only free table. Do I offer to pick her up and put her on the chair? Oh, the indignity. Do we leave and find somewhere else? It’s lunchtime on a sunny public holiday, everywhere will be full.

I decide that discretion is the better part of valour and say, “I’ll go get us a bottle of wine and some glasses. How about you hold the table for us?”

Delicate Flower smiles and nods as I leave. She now has the chance to get on the chair without embarrassing herself in front of me. The devil in me wants to turn around and watch her clamber up on the chair, but I decide it isn’t worth it.

I introduce her to South African Chenin Blanc and she likes it. All the women I’ve dated do. It’s as if they can taste the sunshine, but to me it’s an elixir of truth. Enough of this wine in a woman and she’ll pretty much tell me anything I want to know.

We have a view over the Thames with a clear blue Spring sky above us. Pleasure boats are plying the river, tourist buses clog the roads as awe-struck tourists throng the streets below. It’s the perfect temperature, no hint of a breeze and I can feel the sun on my back. In front of me I have one of the prettiest women I’ve ever spoken to and she can’t stop smiling at me. For a few moments life feels perfect.

I snap out of it, catching myself before sleep-walking into another mis-matched relationship like I recently had with Krazy Girl. It was time to get down to business, to find out the salient facts about this woman, to discern if she is relationship material, to see if we want the same things from the future, to find out why she’s single. Let the games begin!

Delicate Flower tells me that she is a manager of a department in a private hospital.

“Do you enjoy it?” I ask, knowing that few people in management roles enjoy their jobs, myself included.

“Oh yes, very much. I get a kick out of making sure that patients get the best possible care in my area,” she says.

“Come off it, you get your kicks out of bossing people around,” I tease.

“Actually, no, I don’t,” she says with a frown. “I like helping people and if the best way for me to do that is by being a good manager, then so be it,” she says.

“That’s very noble of you,” I say with a smile, warding off a potential conflict situation. So, she’s a caring, giving person. Looking good.

We chat away, the bottle nears empty and eventually the alcohol and sunshine combine to heighten the feeling between us. Delicate Flower suddenly makes a surprise reference to something sexual, with a naughty grin to boot. This tells me that she’s thought about having sex with me. Game on.

“Has it been a while for you?” I ask brazenly.

“It’s been more than six months. It’s been a long, cold, lonely Winter,” she says with a sparkle in her eye.

Hmm, she’s just hinted that she’s horny and wouldn’t mind being fucked because it’s been a long time.

“What do you normally do when you get horny?” I ask, expecting to hear a reference to fingers, a favourite vibrator or the occasional shower head.

“Oh, I just go into a pub and sit and wait,” he says nonchalantly.

I was surprised. Was she teasing? Was she joking? The look in her eye told me that she was being serious.

“Have you done that often?” I ask.

“If I’m not in a relationship, then a couple of times a year,” she says honestly.

That Chenin Blanc is good shit.

Delicate Flower instantly went from being a possible ‘Good Girl’ to a definite ‘Good Time Girl’. A Good Girl would never go sit in a pub by herself with the intent of going home with a stranger and getting fucked.

Some people have a ‘Bucket List’ – a list of things they want to experience in life before they kick the bucket. I have recently come up with a ‘Fucket List’ – a list of sexual experiences that I want before my time is up.

Delicate Flower was now the perfect candidate for an item on my Fucket List.

To be continued…

Teacher Gal petting plus FWB disaster

I’m horny so I send a booty call text message to Tech Titan and Krazy Girl; one of them has to come off. It’s Saturday morning and last night’s date with Diving Dame has left a bad taste in my mouth. I’m standing at my train station waiting for Teacher Gal to arrive. She doesn’t know it but I’ve got quite a day planned for us. I don’t expect to bed her; she’s too much of a good girl for that to happen so soon after us meeting. I don’t want to rush things with her either, in case she’s ‘The One’.

My phone burps into life with a message from Tech Titan which reads: “Hiya. Sorry, no can do. That party I went to last weekend, well I met someone there. Our little arrangement is over for now. I’m in bed with him now. I’ll phone to discuss later. Xx

I’m stunned but pleased for her. She deserves a shot at romantic bliss as much as anyone I know. I want to keep being friends with her at least because she’s a lovely person and I like being with her as we’re always laughing.

Still holding my phone, it burps again and this time it’s a text message from Krazy Girl that reads: “No thanks. The last time we hooked up you started getting all serious on me. I’m deleting your number from my phone.

What the fuck?! It’s the abruptness that stuns me. I’m not too surprised at the rejection, only the manner. Did our last encounter warrant this? I stare at her message, shaking my head. How typically her.

My phone burps again and this time it’s Teacher Gal: “My train is about to arrive at your station.

I feel like I’m in a boxing ring, surrounded by three women simultaneously throwing punches at me. How is it that all this happens in the same minute? Do you sometimes get the feeling that you’re living life according to someone else’s script? Am I in my own ‘Truman Show’?

I spot Teacher Gal getting off the train and she’s wearing jeans, a blouse and a jacket – no sign of a hideous accessory today. This is the least frumpy I’ve seen her looking. Right, I’ve got to forget the two ex-fuckbuddys thing and devote all my care and attention to the woman I have before me.

I kiss her hello on the cheek and she smiles, almost blushing. She can be so cute. We chatter amiably about our working week as we walk back to my place. I make no mention of Diving Dame or the now ex-friends with benefits. I doubt she’d know what the term meant. She’d probably think it was some guy who owned a bakery.

My red fast car impresses her; her eyes light up. I open the passenger door and she gets in, without my saying a word. Oh good, she’s not afraid to follow my lead. I drive us (occasionally at speed) through my county to a zoo. We spend most of the day here, walking around, sharing what we know about the bored-looking animals.

After a couple of hours I spot the opportunity to indulge in some ‘kino’. I’ve been reading up online about the art of seduction, all in attempt to improve my skills with women. ‘Kino’ is the slow, steady escalation of using touch to make a woman comfortable with you physically, then to trigger her sexual desire for you so that sex is the logical and ultimate outcome.

Over the course of the day I’ve touched her elbows, then put my hand in the small of her back to guide her. Now it’s time for something with meaning. I walk slightly in front of her, look back and put my hand out for her to take. She looks at it, blinks a few times as she thinks about it, then takes my hand. Like that we walk around and I can feel her little hand becoming clammy, then decidedly sweaty, but she doesn’t let go. Teacher Gal likes holding hands; so do I. It warms my heart.

After we tire of seeing enough poor, sad creatures we leave; me with a lump in my throat. In the car we discuss animal rights and agree that zoos worldwide should be subject to minimum standards for what size enclosures should be – at least triple what animals are subjected to currently. I’ve touched on her humane side and she sees mine too. For a moment we smile knowingly at each other.

Now for what I think of as an acid-test for my prospective mate: the first time she sees my basic (shitty) apartment. I observe her face as we enter; she seems unperturbed. She tactfully makes no comment other than, “Wow, you’re neat and tidy.”

I get to work making us a risotto and while that simmers, I introduce Teacher Gal to Californication. I’m keen to see how she takes to it and I’m disappointed when she frowns disapprovingly at the nude scenes. She only laughs at the really funny bits and even then its only meekly. The less funny bits that involve clever word play and innuendo are wasted on her. I detect a mismatch in humour between us and become concerned that she might be a little prudish.

Over dinner she mentions that her right shoulder has been bothering her for a month.

“Is now a good time to tell you that I’ve done a massage course?” I say, wondering how she’ll react, not telling her it was just a one-day introductory course.

“Really?” she says, her eyes lighting up. I see the opportunity.

“I’ll give you a massage if you want, but just one condition,” I say matter-of-factly.

“What’s that?” Teacher Gal says keenly.

“That you don’t try to seduce me,” I say with a straight face.

“I’ll try not to,” she says, almost blushing.

I lead Teacher Gal to my bedroom where she takes her blouse off but keeps her bra on. I’m finding the massage oil but steal a peek at her breasts that seem on the small side to my liking; she’s a b-cup. She lies face down on my bed and I commence massaging her lower back, just to get her used to my touch. As I work up her back I come to the point where her bra is a problem, so without a word I unclasp it and push the straps down onto her little biceps. She doesn’t make a sound and buries her head in a pillow.

Her skin is smooth and unblemished; my hands slide easily over her back and shoulders. Teacher Gal starts making involuntary approving sounds, a sign that she is relaxed and enjoying it. I feel the knots and stressed muscles give way under my touch. I work them with ever increasing force and frequency until they’re almost all gone. I start wondering what it would be like to make love to her. We haven’t spoken since we entered the room.

The massage finishes and she’s a happy, crumpled heap on my bed. I lie next to her, keeping a hand on her naked back and wonder if she can breath as her face is still buried in the pillow. I look at her hair and realize for the first time just what lovely hair she has; golden blonde and well cared for. I delicately move hairs out of her face so that she can breath a little easier and see that she has her eyes closed and is smiling. Teacher Gal looks so pretty, angelic even.

I lean over and give her a gentle kiss on a cheek. She giggles like a little girl and I lean against her, keeping my arm over her back to keep her warm. Teacher Gal makes an approving sound; she likes to be held it seems. I kiss her shoulder and her body shivers. I see goosebumps appear in places. Are her nipples getting hard, I wonder.

I kiss her cheek again, not with any agenda or outcome in mind, but purely because I want to. Giving a woman pleasure gives me pleasure. In fact, hearing and seeing a woman writhing and moaning with pleasure, or screaming as she cums, I find more emotionally satisfying than my average orgasm. Now don’t misunderstand, I’m not talking about getting a kick like a control freak would, revelling in the power. No, it’s the intimacy that does it for me. Being one-on-one, all barriers down, totally vulnerable and trusting each other and my not abusing that or disappointing her, but pleasing her, delivering on my potential as a man, living up to being the best lover that I can be and in return expecting nothing, that does it for me. I guess that makes me a giver.

Teacher Gal turns her head to face me and is smiling. I edge closer and kiss her lips as softly as I know how. In my peripheral vision I notice her bra-strap falling down, exposing a breast, but I don’t look down – only an amateur lover would do that. I lose myself in her blue-grey eyes and continue touching her lips with mine, teasing them. I hear her breathing pick up as she closes her eyes. Our lips lock tight and she surprises me by sliding her little tongue gently into my mouth. There was a time when I would have pulled away, but I’ve learned that when a woman does this, she is turned on and the way is clear to escalate matters, but slowly.

I roll onto my back and take her with me so that she’s lying on top me, all the time we’re kissing. Putting my hands on her ribcage I lift her body upwards slightly so that I can kiss her neck and throat easier. Teacher Gal lifts her head and lets me do exactly that, revelling in the sensation. I can smell her perfume and then I taste it on my tongue as I gently kiss and then lick each spot as I work my way around. I pull her bra-straps down, but she says “No, don’t”, which surprises me, but I respect her wishes.

After some more kissing, holding her ribs once more, I slide myself a little further under her, this time pushing her bra up and letting a breast fall into my mouth. I do it so quickly that she doesn’t have time to think about anything. A split second before taking her breast in my mouth I can see that her breasts are round with unusually large, dark nipples that are erect. The areola cover almost a third of each breast; I had never seen anything like it before.

Her breast fits easily into my mouth and I suck onto it gently, hearing her make a muffled sound of pleasure. I slowly twirl my tongue around her nipple repeatedly; around and around my tongues goes, speeding up ever so gently. My hands are still on her ribs and I can feel her breathing picking up; she’s loving this.

Teacher Gal spreads her knees and straddles me, her hands holding onto my headboard. Her sudden movement jerks the breast out of my mouth and I wonder if she’s had enough…or too much. Then I realize that she wants me to suck her other breast. I push the other bra-cup upwards and take the lonely breast in my mouth, again taking in a quick look at them both. They are small, but firm enough; I could get used to sucking on them. I think she could too.

Once again my tongue swirls around her erect nipple and over-sized areola, to which she makes approving seething sounds as she sucks in air through her teeth. By now I’m turned on too. I’m sporting a respectable boner and I wonder if we could or should go all the way. It would be unnatural not to, I tell myself.

More out of curiosity than anything else I slide a hand between her legs and cup her pussy through her jeans. They’re soaked! Her jeans are like a wet tea-towel.

“Okay, mister, that’s enough,” she suddenly says, pulling away from me, her boob making a popping sound as it left my mouth. Teacher Gal starts re-arranging her bra and quickly puts her blouse back on.

I’m in a state of mixed emotion. I’m pleased that I can turn her on; I’m stunned by how wet she gets, but more than anything I’m confused by why she ended our fun. My best guess is modesty. I don’t ask for fear of coming across as an insecure, needy little boy. I’m a knight now, a grey knight and Stupid Boy is history. I play it cool and say nothing.

“I’ve got to go now. It’s getting late,” she says, not making eye-contact.

It was getting late, but I knew that that wasn’t the reason for her suddenly wanting to depart. At best I had spooked her and at worst I’d ruined it between us, whatever it was that we had.

I walk her to my station, we don’t speak much other than for a few pleasantries and as her train approaches up the hill, I turn to her and say, “Are we going to get together next weekend?”, curious about what she was thinking and feeling; I needed some clarity.

“We’ll see,” is all she says, but with a smile, an enigmatic smile that adds to my confusion.

Date #17 – Diving Dame

I had written to a couple of women on MatchAffinity before getting my first response from Teacher Gal. One of the other prospects responded to me on the night of my second date with Teacher Gal, offering a trifling excuse about why she was only writing back now and suggesting a date for the coming Friday night. She’s English, 35 and living in London.

I hadn’t decided anything concrete about Teacher Gal other than that I wanted to keep seeing her in the hope that something developed. This new arrival sported a lively, positive profile and just one pretty picture. If it was a scam (scams are characterised by single-photo profiles) she wouldn’t be suggesting a date. I was curious about her and decided to explore in the spirit of ‘I might always wonder’, so I answered. Over the course of the next few days we swap messages and phone numbers, agreeing to get together on the coming Friday night. I like her decisiveness.

I arrive at Baker Street Tube station and make my way past Sherlock Holmes-loving tourists. The pub we’re meeting at is across the road and I can see it’s busy. As I enter, a woman is walking out and I recognize her as my date, so I say her name. She looks at me and her eyes momentarily go wide…she fancies me.

I give her a kiss hello on a cheek, giving her the chance to smell that expensive eau de cologne that Baltic Babe introduced me to. I withdraw and she smiles at me, obviously unsure about what to say next, which is fine with me as I’m not afraid to take the lead.

“How about we order some drinks and we find a table?” I suggest calmly.

“I’ll have a gin and tonic,” she says sternly. How very English of her, I think to myself. English girls like a ‘g & t’ because it isn’t fattening and it takes many to get drunk on. It’s a sociable drink without the downsides; my date was playing safe. I notice that she doesn’t say “please”.

“I don’t suppose you fancy grabbing us a table before they’re all gone?” I ask, wondering how she’ll react to my idea.

“Okay, I see one over there,” she says, pointing to what is probably the last empty seats in this bustling pub. She walks off and I join the back of queue at the bar.

It’s May, but it’s still too cool to sit outside; a shame because it would have been quieter. I look over at her occasionally, checking her out. She’s got her compact in hand and is powdering her nose. She’s not quite as pretty as the solitary picture on her profile. She’s also flat chested; I’ve got bigger moobs. Deep down we’re all superficial. None of us are attracted to somebody’s personality at first sight. This might be a long evening for me.

Sitting down opposite her and chatting becomes a problem because of the noise level. As the patrons around us slowly get drunk they speak louder and a domino effect kicks in. I only just hear my date tell me that her favourite hobby is scuba diving. I dub her ‘Diving Dame’.

Diving Dame is softly spoken and I crane to hear her, but after a while I can’t hear a bloody thing she’s saying. I make approving sounds when appropriate and frown when she frowns. I purse my lips, feigning interest when she pauses to have a sip of her drink. I’m doing my own version of Marcel Marceau the mime artist here and she hasn’t noticed. It’s amazing how I can cue off body language alone and just occasionally say things like, “and then…” or “really?” when I guess that it would keep the conversation going. This lasts for at least half an hour. She likes the sound of her own soft, slightly high-pitched voice. Luckily she didn’t once seem to ask a question of me, but I can’t be entirely sure.

Eventually I can’t take it any more; I’m hungry and I’m getting bored, so I say loudly, “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry now. How about we go somewhere quieter for a meal?”

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting a meal tonight, but why not. I know a great place nearby. Let’s go,” she says audibly for once, downing her drink. I offer to carry her satchel that has a laptop in it, but she declines my offer, to my annoyance.

We walk for what seems like an eternity through the streets of London talking about our jobs before arriving at a wine-bar where everything is black: floor, walls, ceiling, tables, everything. Very macabre I think to myself. Does Diving Dame have a dark side to her? Is she familiar with Torture Garden? Does she strap on a lacy corset and let herself be paddled and abused in mass orgies too, a la NutSlut?

Unfortunately the place was booked out for a birthday party and we found ourselves literally standing out in the cold.

“I’m so sorry about this,” Diving Dame squeaks.

“Not your fault. I recall us walking past what looked like a good Indian restaurant. Fancy that?”

“Oh yes. Indian is my favourite,” she squeaks again.

Finally, we have something in common. I’m hoping a better environment might lead to a spark igniting some chemistry between us. Until now I’ve found her demeanour stiff, so I’m hoping a few glasses of wine will loosen her up.

The Indian restaurant is empty, just the way I like it: quiet and calm. Service will be good and kitchen staff will take their time. I flummox Diving Dame by opening the door for her and trying to help her with her seat. Chivalry doesn’t seem to sit well with her. I guess she’s one of these thoroughly modern working women who read books about women’s rights and love their ‘independence’. I bet she’s got a copy of ‘Men are from Mars…’ at her bedside.

“So, how many dates have you been on?” I ask, succumbing to my curiosity.

“This is my first,” she says with a serious look in grey-blue eyes.

“What? Your first this month, the first this year or the first since becoming single again?”

“My first ever,” Diving Dame squeaks softly.

My mouth drops open and I go ice-cold.

“Care to elaborate?” I counter with.

“Well, I met my ex-husband at university and we got married just after we graduated. I never got to go on a date,” she confides.

I’m stunned but I recover quickly.

“So when did you get divorced?” I ask the pertinent question, bracing for another shocker.

“Last year,” Diving Dame answers matter-of-factly. She’s probably on the rebound still if it’s been such a long relationship.

“And you only recently started online dating?”

“Yes, my friends have been on at me about giving it a go, so here I am,” she says less cheerily than I would have liked.

It dawns on me that I am wasting my time with Diving Dame. In her mind she’s expecting to go on several more dates after me. I’m her ice-breaker, her baptism of fire, a stepping stone on the road to her relationship rehabilitation. I feel duped and used. This date is turning into a disaster.

“So, be honest now, are you online dating more to get your friends off your back or because you want to?” I probe, not really caring for the consequences of an inappropriate question.

“It’s to appease my friends,” she says burying her nose in a glass of wine. My lessons learned about women and alcohol is reaping rewards…sour ones, but the truth nevertheless.

I’ve heard enough and I try to change the subject.

“You suggested meeting around here. So does it mean you live nearby?”

“My ex and I used to live around here. He still does. I bought myself a cottage in the countryside six months ago,” she answers.


“Oh, it’s out in Berkshire,” she says.

“On your dating profile you said you live in London,” I point out.

She says nothing. I’m starting to go off my food. Why do women insist on telling lies on their profiles?

I soldier on and try to help the evening end as civilly as possible. It’s clear to me that we have nothing in common and I would have more chemistry with a blow-up doll.

“So where are you travelling to next?” I ask, thinking travel is always a safe topic of conversation, remembering her profile mentioning her love of travel.

“I told you in the pub all about my upcoming diving trip next week to the South Pacific. Don’t you remember? Weren’t you listening?!”

“Oh yes. Sorry, I forgot,” I lie, sheepishly. So that’s what she was squeaking on about.

Mercifully the evening comes to an end naturally. I pay for the pricey restaurant meal because I’m a gentleman idiot. I offer to escort Diving Dame to her train station but she declines my offer. I give her a peck on the cheek as we say goodbye while she clumsily shakes my hand.

The next day I get a text message from Diving Dame that reads: “Thank you for a wonderful evening. You’re quite the gentleman. I’m just not comfortable with so much chivalry. I’ll be in touch when I get back.”

I’ve never heard from her since.

I’m learning that I have a Triangle of Temptation: great personality or pretty face or big breasts and at best I only get two of those three. In this girl’s case there was none. This was the worst date of my life…so far.

Moving on…

LESSONS LEARNED: 1) I must ensure that I’m not her first date. 2) I must choose the venue where we meet so that conversation is possible 3) I must avoid single-photo profiles.

Second date with Teacher Gal

It’s a Tuesday night and I’ve driven up to Teacher Gal’s town for our second date. I’m sitting in my car waiting outside the Italian restaurant she asked to meet at. My thoughts take flight and return to the past weekend. Yes, fucking Tech Titan was fun, but doing it with Krazy Girl is amazing. The way things ended with Krazy Girl left me with a nagging, negative feeling in the centre of my chest. I know that I should have kept my mouth shut and just let things be physical between us, but Stupid Boy wanted it all, when it so obviously isn’t on offer.

I spot Teacher Gal and she’s carrying something in one hand. It’s a box from a bakery. I get out my car and meet up with her, kissing her hello on a cheek. She’s wearing a different coloured version of last week’s outfit. Once again the jacket is adorned with an over-sized accessory, this time a gaudy brooch, which again let’s her whole look down.

“I’ve brought you something,” Teacher Gal says before I get a chance to tell her that age-old lie of how nice she looks. I think I’ll always struggle to tell white lies.

I smile, take the gift out of her hand and start carefully opening it, revealing a large slice of an elaborate, multi-tiered spongecake.

“Aaw, thank you,” I say, hiding my bemusement as to why she had brought me this.

“It’s from a town in the north of England where I went hiking on the weekend. It looks incredibly sweet and remembered that you have a sweet tooth,” Teacher Gal elaborates.

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” I say, wondering just how old this cake is. So, I was in her thoughts while she was away from me? Good.

We enter the restaurant and it’s full, busy and noisy. I was hoping for a quiet romantic evening after yet another shit day at work.

“I don’t suppose you have another wing or floor?” I say to the maître d’. I can see that Teacher Gal is impressed by my taking charge of the situation. We get escorted to another floor where there are plenty of tables and nobody else. Perfect for getting to know each other better.

We choose a table and I ask her which seat she would like, then I offer to take her jacket off, put it over the back of her seat and pulled the chair out for her. She sat down as I stood behind the chair and pushed it in for her before moving over to my seat. Most other women I had done this for were perplexed and it showed that this was new to them. Teacher Gal hardly blinked an eye and it told me that she was accustomed to being treated like a lady. I am old-fashioned (I blame my mother, for many things) and enjoy being a gentleman. I don’t do it to show off or score points or anything silly like that; it’s just how I am.

Teacher Gal and I get down to talking about the old country and it is enthralling to hear her stories of African sunsets, wild animals and favourite places to have a cold drink under a hot sun. I can see that she is less reserved than on our first date, but she only really relaxes once she finishes her first glass of wine.

The evening eases away as we chat, laugh and occasionally flirt with each other. A couple of times I just look at her, say nothing at all and smile with my eyes, bite my bottom lip, which makes her look away and almost blush.

By the time we leave the main restaurant area is empty, we’ve been upstairs talking for that long. I escort Teacher Gal to her home, walking through the deserted streets of her town. We arrive at the gates of the complex where she lives and we kiss slowly and tenderly under the light of a lamppost. I don’t use my tongue, having learned to wait for her to do so, but she doesn’t. I bid her goodnight and watch her walk off; she doesn’t turn around.

As I walk back to my car, I decide it’s time to answer my acid-test question: is she a good girl or a good-time girl? Without a doubt she’s a good girl. The way is clear to consider having a serious romantic relationship with her in that regard.

There’s something else I consider: trust. After my experience with my ex-girlfriend (Exgf) I’ve started to realize that I might have a trust problem. ( )When I sit talking to a woman, most of the time I’m wondering if what she is saying is true. I believed everything that my Exgf told me, so when the truth was revealed it was a big shock. I think it’s that shock that still lingers deep in my psyche somewhere, like an unwanted fart.

Most of my previous dates failed this test, consciously or unconsciously. The strange near-misses I had with The NutSlut ( ) and Irish Eyes ( ) reminded me that I need to be careful with a woman until I knew much more about her. If at any point on the first date she let slip that she had been unfaithful in the past, then I instantly lost trust in her. Those who had confessed this to me, usually under the affluence of incohol, had been unfaithful in their twenties. Nevertheless, I believe that we all have an in-built sense of wrong and right and once a cheat, always a cheat. All that’s required is the right ingredients.

If I have any hint of doubt about my date when it comes to the trust stakes, I play safe and don’t see them again. I don’t have that concern with Teacher Gal. I think because of our similar upbringing we have an almost identical moral code; well, mine used to be like hers. The fuckbuddy arrangements has bent and twisted my moral compass, but not broken it.

Teacher Gal’s decency and elegant femininity is what is good in my world. She’s more like the kind of woman whom I can trust and respect, the type to share my life with. Just being with her helps me to forget about the recent horror show with Krazy Girl and the sweet, but unsustainable friends with benefits arrangement with Tech Titan.

This is more like it. This is what I want.

LESSON LEARNED: 1) Wine relaxes women, usually to my advantage.

That cold morning after

I’m woken by the sensation of Krazy Girl nuzzling into my chest, the top of her head bumping my chin. Lying on my side it seems as if she is trying to get inside me, to hide from the storms that rage in her life, to feel a safety missing from her troubled soul. I put an arm around her, hold her close, feel her delicate breath on my chest hairs and smell her fine, jasmine-scented hair.

I so badly want somebody to love; at times it hurts. It’s this intimacy that I can’t live without. I know we’re supposed to be thoroughly modern friends with benefits – fuckbuddies – but it’s love that I want and need. I allow myself to revel in the perfect sensation of Krazy Girl. For a brief moment I am in heaven, but my brain switches on and the mirage is gone.

“You’re like a human radiator,” she murmurs. She isn’t the first woman to say this to me. I smile and kiss her forehead.

“And you’re so close to being my perfect woman,” I blurt out, still slightly ensconced in my self-induced melancholic euphoria.

“Don’t go getting all serious on me. It’s too early for that,” she says through half a mouth, the other half stuck to my chest.

“I’m sorry, was that my heart speaking?” I joke.

“You were doing so well, now you’ve spoilt it,” she chides. I don’t take her seriously.

“C’mon, you’ve got to admit, we’re fantastic together,” I say, realizing that I haven’t thought this through and now anything can happen.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Krazy Girl snaps. She gets out of bed, suddenly coming to life and goes to the bathroom.

I hear the shower starting up, so I just lie in bed, closing my eyes in the hope that it enhances the smell of her that is in the bedding. I could spend the day in bed with her, not making love, but just holding her, caressing her, kissing her, listening to the sounds she makes as my lips slowly melt the ice that smothers her heart.

“Right, I’ve got to get going. Having brunch with the olds,” she says, lying through her teeth, jerking me out of my daydream.

I was expecting to make her breakfast, so her abrupt departure surprises me, but this was Krazy Girl, anything can happen. I should know by now. I go cold and feel hollow inside.

The energy between us is flat as I walk her to her father’s car. There is no birdsong in the gloom of this Spring morning. We are the only things moving as the rest of the world holds its breath.

“I’ll be in touch,” she says with lifeless eyes just before slamming the car door shut. I know what that means.

I stand with my hands in my jeans as I watch her drive off. The up-turned collar from my jacket props my chin up and my shoulders are drooping. I can feel neighbour’s eyes on me, pitying me. I stand alone outside, wishing that it would rain on me, washing away my feelings for her. Every time I interact with her, I want her more…every time.

LESSONS LEARNED: 1) Some things are just not meant to be, no matter how much I want them to be. 2) The one who cares more, hurts more. 3) If you have feelings for your fuckbuddy, you’re going to get hurt.

Britney Spears – Everytime

Krazy Girl cum back

Tech Titan and I fucked until midnight, ending in me cumming in her pussy, sans condom. I only made her cum twice in this session before the strains of the working week dictated that we sleep. As I drifted off my thoughts were of Krazy Girl arriving within hours.

It felt like a brief nap before I awoke to find Tech Titan staring and smiling at me.

“You’re so cute when you sleep,” she said.

Ignoring the creepy factor, my brain latched onto the very real prospect of her wanting early morning whoopee. I didn’t want to, I wanted to save my energy for Krazy Girl because I knew I’d be needing it. I said nothing to Tech Titan and just smiled, mawkishly.

“Sorry baby, but I need to jump in the shower and hit the road. I’ve got to get to the other side of London before lunchtime for a big family and friends get-together,” she said, to my great relief. She mistook my smile for the lustful kind, the facial version of prodding a woman in the back with my cock first thing in the morning hoping that it gets her frisky.

I got to work in the kitchen making breakfast ensuring that it was all ready by the time Tech Titan was out of the shower, thereby squashing any chances of her wanting spontaneous sex. The smell of food, especially bacon, would make a big girl like her forget all about sex – that was my reasoning.

It worked and an hour later I said goodbye to her, then I spun around on my heels and rushed back into my apartment to start removing all traces of Tech Titan’s presence. I started in the bathroom, wiping down the walls to remove any long golden-blonde hair; emptying the waste bin of stuff she had thrown away; hiding at the bottom of the laundry basket the towel she had used.

Meticulously I worked my way through the apartment, looking for and removing any signs of there having been a woman in my home. I even washed all the dishes and dried them by hand, putting them away in the cupboards. I was thorough. Why? I did so just in case Krazy Girl was considering a reconciliation.

Would I “take her back” if she asked?

In a heartbeat.

I was impressed with my level of chicanery; I didn’t know that I was capable of being like this. I guess being with my Exgf had taught me more than I had realised. My conscience had barely started to plague me and the air freshener had just settled when Krazy Girl rang my door bell. I opened the door, not really sure how to play the first few minutes of this encounter.

“Oh, hello,” she said before confidently taking a stride forward, barely giving me chance to say a word or open the door properly. I gave her a peck on a cheek and watched her glide imperiously past me carrying a few bags of what looked like groceries. Did she bring her toys?

“I thought we could make a stir-fry tonight, so I went and bought everything we need,” she said as she handed the bags to me, then took her jacket off and opened the hallway cupboard for Winter gear where she hung it up.

It was as if nothing had ever gone wrong between us. It was as if we were naturally resuming from where and when things were at their best between us. I was stunned, confused and pleased, all at the same time. Krazy Girl was fucking crazy…and a crazy fuck.

I decided to play along, open to see where this would lead as it seemed as if Krazy Girl might be working to a plan. For several hours we played happy couple, quaffing good South African wine that I had chilled earlier during my sanitizing rampage, watching episodes of Californication while sitting side by side, but without touching.

The latter point didn’t bother me, because I sensed that it was building the sexual tension between us. I caught her making sideways glances at me and we both just smiled. I caught her glances because I was checking her out too. Oh lordy, Krazy Girl was a perfect female specimen in my world. Even from under her thick sweater I could hear her perfect e-cup breasts calling my name.

We made dinner and once again I was struck by how well we worked together in the kitchen. I told her that I needed the loo and went to the bedroom to down my solitary Viagra before going to flush the toilet. Returning to the lounge I dimmed the lights and we took our time eating dinner, smiling coyly at each other, making polite small talk. The tension was building

Sitting comfortably again on my sofa – this time I made our thigh touch – we watched ’9 ½ Weeks’, a movie she had heard of but never seen. (Indicative of our 10-year age-gap.) I deliberately chose this knowing that it would put her “in the mood”. I spent most of the movie wondering what she was feeling about me, planning on what to do next when we got physical…and wondering if the Viagra was going kick in. My cock was a little sore from pounding Tech Titan less than 24 hours earlier.

“I need to go freshen up,” she said with a telling smile as the movie ended. I knew what that meant.

Krazy Girl returned, immediately straddled me and began kissing me. This felt just like our first time and I knew where it was leading. Any unease I felt was not driven by the thought of predictable sex, or having to wash and dry my sofa covers again; no, I was afraid that she might smell Tech Titan somewhere on the sofa.

I wrapped my arms around her body and stood up, then in a quick movement scooped her up into my arms with her throwing her wrists around my neck and smiling at me. I think some women like feeling like a little girl in their man’s arms. I carried her off to my bedroom where freshly changed bedding awaited her nostrils.

Some passionate kissing on my bed was the catalyst for the Viagra kicking in. A rock hard erection that just wasn’t going to disappear led to Krazy Girl bouncing off it with her mouth and pussy in creative, energetic ways that pleased and entertained me. She wasn’t smart enough to have memorised the Kama Sutra, but she was enough of a natural fucker to try out most of the positions as a matter of course.

The thing about using a little purple pill is that I don’t feel like I’ll be anywhere near cumming for hours. When it started getting late and she started getting sore, I went on the offensive. I manhandled her into doggy-style position and rammed my cock into her. She was totally turned on by this stage and liked it rough. Krazy Girl got wetter again as I did what I wanted with her; she liked being dominated.

I wanted to fuck her in the arse, to punish her for how she had made me feel a month ago, to show her who was the boss. As I pulled my cock out of her pussy, carefully positioning it in the centre of her butthole, just before pushing it in, she said, “Please no, your cock is too big.”

As much as she had hurt my feelings, it didn’t give me the right to hurt her body. I took a deep breath and slid my cock that half an inch lower and it slipped so easily back into her pussy.

I resumed pulling her hair back, fucking her cunt as hard and as fast as I could and then sucked my thumb before pushing it into her arse, as deep as it could go. She was ‘on the hook’.

“Oh God, yes, fuck me. Fuck me!” she seethed through clenched teeth.

Deep down inside me I knew that I was unlikely to be seeing her again, so I made this last for as long as I could. Sadly there was eventually only so much my body could take of this repetitive motion, as much as she and I wanted it to last forever, I just had to cum.

This time I had the self-control to pull out just before my juices exploded into her pussy. I didn’t want to get her pregnant. I stood behind her and gave my dick a few tugs with my non-anal hand before that hot, smelly, sticky, white stuff shot out of my bell-end and sprayed all over her back. She remained motionless as my cum fanned over a large part of her back. I took this sight in, knowing I might never see it again.

This physically perfect creature was on her knees with her hands flat on my bed. Her magnificent breasts hung and moved ever so slightly as she breathed, still somewhat heavily from the fucking she had just enjoyed. Her natural golden blonde hair now fell forward, revealing the nape of her neck, that area I love to kiss, lick and then gently bite. I ran the fingernails of my clean hand down one side of her spine, which made her shiver and arch her back; I noticed her mouth open. My hand got to her buttocks and I pulled a cheek sideways. I looked down at her holes; both were still open and gaping, ready for more penetration.

I was all fucked out and I let go of her. She slumped onto her side, as she did so I watched her breasts move; how I loved them. I was going to miss them. I watched as my baby batter started submitting to gravity and slide down her back. If I hadn’t fucked Tech Titan less than 24 hours earlier my cum would have been thicker. I would have preferred to watch my cum dripping out of this pussy or arse; that would have been naughtier and far more satisfying.

Krazy Girl was still breathing through her mouth, her eyes closed. She seemed exhausted; we had finally worn each other out. This had been one of the best fucks of my life because I knew I had to make the most of it. The Viagra helped.

A satisfied smile crept across her pretty face. It was such a shame that she was so messed up inside. She could have been ‘The One’. So close, yet so far.

After the past day, this Grey Knight was starting to learn and enjoy the principles of lust…

Enigma – Principles of Lust

Horny, horny, horny

“I’m horny,” is all her text message said. Krazy Girl wanted a good fucking, that’s what I read into it. Her timing was terrible. I had just met someone the previous night who aroused my romantic curiosity (Teacher Gal) and had Tech Titan as a fuckbuddy from the previous weekend. What more could I want? Some more of the best sex of my life with Krazy Girl, is what I thought. For a brief moment I wondered if she was putting out feelers having had a change of heart about me, but my rational side won, convincing me that she was just too fucked up emotionally from her divorce to be ‘The One’.

Teacher Gal and I had a chat the night after our first date and we agreed to get together the following Tuesday after work again. The upcoming weekend was I totally free, and I knew I would be horny as always. Choking the monkey is no fun compared to the soft, warm loveliness that is a sex-starved woman.

“Come and get it Saturday night,” was my crude text reply to Krazy Girl. I didn’t really expect her to pitch, let alone respond, so when all I got was a stony silence for days afterwards I thought nothing of it.

I knew that things were just sexual with Tech Titan and now Krazy Girl, so continuing to look for and meet someone I could have a romantic relationship with felt like the practical thing to do. Fucking other women while starting to date someone new without sleeping with them – is it some sort of crime? I didn’t know any more, but doing so seemed very logical.

In fact, it seemed to have the benefit of taking any kind of sexual pressure out of the first couple of dates when meeting someone new. With my high sex-drive I knew that I ran the risk of coming across as a lecherous fuckwit if a woman caught me staring blankly at her mammaries because I hadn’t recently been pacified.

(My mother is getting on in years and is starting to contemplate her mortality. In a recent brain spasm of brutal honesty she said of my father, “Jeezus, that man was insatiable.” Nothing prepares you in life for a moment like that, but it does explain my lustful ways. Apparently other men think of sex every 7 seconds; I think they’re retards. I digress…)

On the Friday afternoon at work I indulged in one of my favourite things to do when chained to my desk: swap naughty text messages with Tech Titan. Somehow I was a natural at turning her on with my words and ideas. I teased and verbally pleased her until home-time. Once home I swapped lame-by-comparison conventional text messages with Teacher Gal who was playing cards with friends that night.

My flow of messages with Teacher Gal was interrupted by a message from Tech Titan. “You’ve got me all fired up. Can I come to yours? Now?”

“Yes, come to me. Slip a vibe up yourself as you drive to me. I want you ready when you get here,” I texted back, laughing to myself, thinking she’d never do that. Yep, I was horny too. She wouldn’t drive over to me with the Purple Pussy Eater in her, would she? Would she? I left it at that and returned to texting Teacher Gal, feeling a little guilty about what I was doing.

A couple of minutes later my flow of messages with Teacher Gal was interrupted by a message from Krazy Girl. “I’m coming around at 4pm tomorrow.”

Oh shit! I’d forgotten all about her, thinking I would never hear from her again.

Tech Titan would probably want to fuck all night and again in the morning. Krazy Girl would then be arriving a few hours later in the afternoon. I was in a slight state of panic, not because of the morality, practicality or novelty of the situation, but because I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to perform with my favourite nymphomaniac, Krazy Girl. Hey, I have my priorities straight! These women were counting on me to please them.

It amazes me how my brain works. When under pressure it must be the adrenaline which poops the bunny out of the hat. I remembered that I had an unused Viagra from a Valentine’s Day stunt I had pulled for my Exgf a few years back. I had bought a white naval aviator’s uniform, the type Richard Gere wore in ‘An Officer and a Gentleman’ and spent a day watching YouTube learning how to do a male striptease. As part of the frivolity of the evening I experimented with a Viagra. I fucked her for seven hours straight; eventually she begged me to cum because she wanted to sleep. I had bought a spare Viagra and now had a reason to use it. Imaginary crisis averted.

My doorbell rang and I bid Teacher Gal goodbye. In a moment of inspiration I grabbed my camera and switched it onto video. I began filming as I opened my door to find Tech Titan standing there, smiling at me. I kept the camera trained on her as she came inside, giggling as she did so. We greeted each other with a kiss and moved onto the lounge.

“Did you use the Purple Pussy Eater on yourself as you drove over?” I asked.

“No,” she said with a naughty grin.

“Yeah, I didn’t think you would,” I said smugly.

“I only used the small one,” she retorted. I swallowed hard.

“Undress me,” I said in a coldly commanding tone of voice. Speaking like that seemed to do things for her.

Tech Titan gave off a guffaw, smiled mischievously at me and then proceeded to take off my clothes. As she did so I kept the camera focussed on her, getting her used to it being so directly in her face. Once starkers, I slouched down on my sofa while Tech Titan stood smiling at me, her chubby little cheeks very rosy, waiting for her next command.

“Take your clothes off,” I said.

She instantly complied, tossing her clothes piece by piece nonchalantly onto a nearby chair. It wasn’t long before she was naked too, her nipples erect.

“Get on your knees where you are,” I ordered, constantly keeping the camera on her.

Without a word or sound Tech Titan complied. I could get used to such subservience.

“Walk on your knees over to me,” was my next instruction. As she did so the lens captured her belly and breasts wobbling with every move. I lay back and opened my legs as she neared me.

“Now what would you like me to do? This perhaps?” she asked, speaking almost out of turn in our little game of domination, as she lifted my cock up and started sucking on it.

Tech Titan loved giving head; she seemed content to do so for hours. I think it is inherent in her nature to want to please people. In that way we were a good match because I was of the same outlook. It was such a shame that her having committed my sexual foible made it impossible for me to ever think of her as ‘The One’.

“Were you imagining doing this on your drive over? Have you been looking forward to having my cock in your mouth?” I asked naughtily.

“Oh, you have no idea,” she gasped, momentarily taking my cock out of her mouth to speak without making eye-contact then resuming eagerly sucking away on me.

It occurred to me that I might be starting a little private video collection before I found ‘The One’, so I decided to add a commentary to the video. I said her name, where she was from as a child, where she lived now, what she did as a job and what she loved doing sexually. Tech Titan laughed about my doing this. She had such a sweet nature. (Whenever I’ve subsequently watched that video it comes across as a cute, naughty touch.)

She kept sucking and licking my cock and balls until the memory card on my camera filled up. I put it down on a nearby coffee table, got up and positioned myself behind her, getting down on my knees and then sliding my cock into her incredibly wet pussy.

“Do you want me to fuck you in the arse again?” I asked, thrusting deep into her vagina, thinking I knew the answer.

“Yes and no. Yes because I like it, but no because I’m still sore from the last time. You’ve got a big cock,” she answered, her fingers sinking into the sofa, desperately trying to find something to hold onto that just wasn’t there.

I was relieved to hear that because a part of me was wanting to conserve my energy for the wild sexual creature that I call Krazy Girl.

Why were we all just so fucking horny…horny, horny, horny?

Mousse T – Horny

Way too big

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