The Big Weekend in London

I remembered that Sweet Thing liked the “Strictly Come Dancing” television show (hell, I had to sit and watch it with her enough times) when an email came around at work for tickets to the live show at the old Millennium Dome in London. I didn’t think twice and bought the tickets which came to almost £150 for the VIP package for the upcoming Sunday. I bought tickets to a travel show that was being held at Earl’s Court on the coming Saturday. I also bought a Groupon for a dinner and cabaret show in Knightbridge for that Saturday night. I booked us into a 4-star hotel halfway between the two venues for Saturday.

I was going to show her what my idea of fun was. I also wanted her to know that I am very comfortable with taking the lead. I didn’t want to impress her, just show her what I was capable of; the standard to which I can operate; that I am nobody’s dog-sitter.

During one of our evening phonecalls I let her know that I wasn’t exactly ecstatic about our lovemaking. I told her that a variety of positions is not a bad thing and that I would greatly appreciate more creativity to our intimacy. I did this as diplomatically as possible and, to my relief, she took it in good grace.

You may be wondering how I felt about Sweet Thing. Well, it’s complicated. I liked being with her as she was always good-natured, had a cheeky sense of humour and had a sweetness about her that charmed me. I could trust her. Trust is a very important thing for me, all brought about my experience with my ex-girlfriend – that’s a blog entry for another time.

However, on the minus side of the equation, when Sweet Thing smiled my heart sank. How do you say to someone “Don’t you think you should get your teeth fixed?” She would periodically talk about her ex-boyfriend and in anguished, angry tones. It didn’t help that he would leave her home shortly before my arrival on a Friday night. One of her favourite topics of conversation was her parent’s unhappy marriage and it quickly became tedious. I have to mention the boring McDonalds sex.

Overall, the picture was mixed and so were my feelings. Giving “us” time was not yielding quick benefits. I was struggling to decide how much time to give this relationship to blossom into what I was expecting.

As usual I arrived at Sweet Thing’s house on the Friday night, which ended in…McDonalds sex. The next morning we took doggy to the kennel for his overnight stay. As a handler led him away, he turned and looked at me. I could just see him thinking as his eyebrows duelled, “Well this sucks. I get to spend the night in this cold, concrete prison with noisy neighbours and you get to do whatever, wherever with her. There’s no justice in the world.”

We got in my red sports car and sped off to London. After checking in at the hotel we walked to the Earl’s Court exhibition centre where we spent the afternoon inspecting exhibits, attending talks and walking around the colourful stands of the tourist boards and tour operators from around the world. Sweet Thing was very taken by the whole experience. Score one point.

She was particularly interested in a camper-van that we inspected. As we got out of it she said, “Do you think we could drive in one of those down Route 66?” I said nothing and just smiled. In my heart I knew that a lot had to happen between us before that dream of hers became a reality.

Back at the hotel room Sweet Thing surprised me. She started kissing me passionately and then said, “You want something different? How about this?”

She strode over to the bed, turned her back to me, started unbuckling her jeans, looked over her shoulder at me with a naughty look in her eyes and climbed onto the bed with her knees. She pushed her jeans and panties down and fell forward, her hands submissively positioned next to her head, her platinum blonde hair covering her face.

After taking a second to get past my sense of surprise, I stepped forward, positioned myself behind her bony little backside and unzipped my jeans. I pulled my cock out and started tugging at it with one hand. My other hand I raised to my mouth and sucked on my index finger.

My lubricated finger slid easily into her pussy. She was wet already; she must have been thinking about this for some time. I knew how much she hated doggy-style because it was uncomfortable for her, so her doing this was the ultimate act of giving herself to me physically. I won’t lie to you; this pleased me and turned me on.

(I think that an inherent part of the sex act is a transference of power, usually to the man. It takes a couple in a mature relationship for the man to cede total power to the woman. Most men and women are uncomfortable for this to happen though, but for different reasons. I’ve always thought that it requires a sexually adventurous woman to always want total sexual power over a man – or just a plain man-hater.)

I slid my cock into her wet pussy and it felt tight. I heard her give off a stifled grunt but ignored it in the belief that after a few thrusts she’d loosen up. I felt my cock growing as I took in the scene before me. We’d never done it partially dressed before and never in the daytime either. Nor had we done doggy-style since our first night together. Was this a portent of better things to come? Was McDonalds sex history?

The novelty of this act got the better of me and it didn’t take me long to cum. With my full force I came inside her, my hands gripping her hips, amidst sounds of discomfort coming from her, but that couldn’t be helped.

We collapsed in a heap on the bed next to each other. Lying facing each other, with me panting, she wiped her hair away from her face to reveal a toothy grin. My cock shrivelled a little bit faster then.

“Give me a minute, then I’ll see to you,” I said.

“I’m fine, thanks. That was for you,” she said as she got up and went to the bathroom. “Besides, we’ve got to get ready for our next appointment. We’re running late as it is.”

She was right, time was against us, but dammit, the afterglow was too short. We didn’t cuddle. I wanted to give her pleasure too. Before I could say a word I heard the shower starting up.

The dinner and cabaret show in Knightsbridge was excellent. The cabaret was actually a series of burlesque performers and soft-core strippers. I wasn’t expecting that, but Sweet Thing didn’t believe me. Nevertheless she seemed to enjoy the night out. Back at the hotel we were both too tired for more whoopee.

On the Sunday morning I got to make a dream come true. We got in my red sports car and drove across Tower Bridge. Since I was sixteen years old I had dreamed of driving across that famous bridge with an attractive blonde by my side. Halfway across the bridge, cognizant of the moment, I looked at her, to savour making a dream come true…and she smiled. A big, misaligned-teeth smile. Damn, so close!

Red sports car Tower Bridge


Parking at the old Millennium Dome cost £20 for four hours; this was an expensive weekend. The private box had a great view over the arena; I’m pretty sure that her previous boyfriend had never done anything like this for her. The Strictly Come Dancing show itself was mildly entertaining for me, but I could see that Sweet Thing was absolutely mesmerised by seeing the television personas in real life. I found my eyes always moving towards Denise Van Outen; if only I had someone as attractive as her by my side.

(Denise Van Outen; my kinda girl )

It was over a two hour drive to get back to her place that Sunday night…which ended in…McDonalds sex!


The Groundhog Weekends

Ever the optimist, I decided to give Sweet Thing and I some time. There were grounds for believing that a good relationship was possible, but there were flags too that, in hindsight, were a vibrant shade of red, so red that they glowed.

Sweet Thing decided to get her husky castrated the following week. I felt for the poor guy, even if he did chew my boot laces to pieces. Consequently we couldn’t go anywhere because he needed to be in a sterile environment and a dog hotel, a.k.a. a kennel, was not considered as such.

So we spent the weekend, from Friday night until Monday morning, in Sweet Thing’s house, except for when we needed to take poor old doggy for a slower-than-normal walk in the morning and just before sunset. The rest of the time was spent sitting in the lounge watching television; sport in the afternoons and movies in the evening. I actually didn’t mind this because I had been having a stressful time at work and Britain was covered in snow. Relaxing is what I needed.

Bedtime involved the now-predictable performance of my licking her clit and fingering her g-spot until she came, followed by her kissing me all over and sucking on my cock until it was rock-hard, upon which she would rub herself until she came again, followed by the customary missionary fucking until I came…every night, and only in the bedroom, with absolutely no variation. Yawn.

Fast forward to the next weekend.

Sweet Thing’s mother had been released from hospital the previous week without anything having been found by the medics. The old dear didn’t feel well enough to accept visitors but did the following weekend. Sweet Thing asked that we visit her on the Saturday; how could I say no? So, as was becoming the norm, after work on Friday I would drive for almost 2 hours to get to Sweet Thing.

I arrived in the dark, pulling into the driveway. Walking up to the front door, through open curtains, I could see Sweet Thing sitting in her lounge on her sofa in her favourite seat, watching television, probably her favourite programme that she watched at that time every Friday night. The husky was lying beside her, his paws dangling over the front edge of the sofa seat, ears erect and his eyes glued to the television screen, intently looking at the same thing as his mistress. Whatever it was that they were both so engrossed in, it must have been good because neither had noticed my headlights or heard my car door when I arrived.

I stopped for a moment to take in this scene. They didn’t know I was watching them. They seemed like an unit, two creatures not just enjoying each other’s company, but there for each other. I must have seemed like such a massive intrusion to the dog; usurping his favourite seat by Sweet Thing’s side. What was my appropriate place in this setup? Should I just assert myself and let the pieces fall where they may? Or should I adopt a more thoughtful approach? Was this the right situation for me? I couldn’t decide. Me, the high-powered professional who took several important decisions an hour every day in my working life, couldn’t decide how I felt about this woman.

I stepped up to the door and rang the bell to start the weekend. For some reason, the doorbell sounded like the one you hear at the start of each round in a boxing match. “Seconds out, let the match begin!” I heard a voice in my head say. I suspect that it was Stupid Boy.

Now it will probably come as no surprise as to how the evening ended. Yep, you guessed it – McDonalds sex. Big yawn.

The following day, after the customary pancake breakfast, we bundled tender little doggy into the back of the 4×4 and we went to meet Sweet Thing’s mother.

The mother was one of life’s neurotic women for whom every little thing was a crisis in the making and who only ever spoke in anguished terms and tones. A painful person to be around; I didn’t like her. I reckon that if I were able to give her another braincell that the two would fight.

We stayed for most of the afternoon, making polite small talk. Sweet Thing’s father gravitated toward me and we got along very well. I sensed that he was happy to have an excuse to not talk to his wife. I think that after four decades together all the goodness of their relationship had been eked out and had been replaced by an uneasy truce, with neither combatant willing or able to call it quits.

Sweet thing was who she was not because of her parents, but despite them. My admiration for her grew, now that I knew her starting point and could see how far she had come, all on her own steam. Still, that indescribable wow-factor that I expect from a relationship was missing. Yes, I trusted Sweet Thing; yes, I respected her; hell, I even admired her. However, the missing ingredient that I had identified after much soul-searching (especially while driving to her) was that I didn’t lust after her.

I had heard of a relationship phenomenon whereby an initial lack of physical attraction was eventually overcome by a growing together on other fronts. I think this is called a “grower”. I had decided to give us time to “grow”. How much time to give was anybody’s guess. This was entirely uncharted relationship territory for me.

The Saturday evening and most of the Sunday was spent sitting around her house, watching mediocre fare on television. Each night ended with – surprise! – McDonalds sex.

Now we fast forward to the next weekend…

The Thursday was Valentine’s Day, so I arrived at her front door a night earlier than was becoming the routine. We stayed in as there were no decent restaurants for an hour’s drive in any direction and Sweet Thing made us a great meal. We swapped presents; I got her a golden rose and she got me a bottle of Hermes Terra, the latter’s scent she liked. Of course the moment I unwrapped it I thought of Baltic Babe and the day she introduced me to it.  ( )

Now this might surprise you, but the night ended with McDonalds sex.

The Friday morning, after the usual pancake breakfast, I drove to work and it seemed to take forever in the morning traffic. Heaven forbid that we should ever live together, there was no way I could do that drive twice a day.

Upon my return that Friday night I had the deja vu experience of looking in through the lounge window to see Sweet Thing and her companion sitting in exactly the same way in exactly the same spots as the previous week. I found such routine mind-numbing and even a little soul-destroying. I was going to have to embark on a campaign of getting her to come to me more often and for us to start doing more things together instead of just sitting watching television. I also had to start convincing her to try new things sexually, I was becoming bored in the bedroom…and she would only do it in the bedroom.

That night, after another evening of intensive tv-watching, we didn’t have sex as I made the excuse of being tired from all the driving (which was true) but in truth I just couldn’t get excited about another session of McDonalds sex.

The next day Sweet Thing had her last game of the season for her ladies soccer team. I wanted to go watch, but she asked that I stay home to look after the dog. I was taken aback by this request and she took my silence to be agreement. In her mind it must have been a given that I would go along with her plan because she dashed out of the house before I got a chance to collect my thoughts and get over the shock of being turned into a dog-sitter in such a presumptuous manner.

So while she was running around a field filled with lesbians, I spent most of the day sitting watching television…while the husky perched himself on another seat that faced me and he stared at me the entire time.

It’s a good thing that I have a broad sense of humour that allowed me to laugh at this situation otherwise the younger, angrier me would have got in my car and driven off, never to return. This was not the kind of relationship that I wanted. It was becoming very boring, very quickly.

To break the tedium I decided to make myself useful and got to work in the kitchen making a risotto. It was while we were sitting eating it later that I realized my mistake. Sweet Thing had not only got me to be her dog sitter while she was out having fun, but I had rewarded her with a home-cooked meal too. All that was missing was me wearing an apron. I had set a very dangerous precedent.

I think that every new relationship goes through an initial phase in which the participants engage in bouts of testing each other’s wills so as to arrive at a balance of power. In every partnership there is a senior partner and women want to know where they stand. They also want to know if their man has what it takes to be the senior partner, so they test him. It’s all very subtle and mostly unconscious, but this weekend was one of those tests and I had failed to assert my manliness, to be the senior partner.

I resolved to make amends…

The Sunday – Fate decrees that I meet the father

Sweet Thing and I were woken on the Sunday morning by her phone ringing. It was her father, who had no idea where his daughter was or that she was in a hotel room bed with a man she had met a few weeks earlier. He told her that her mother had just been taken to hospital by an ambulance.

Apparently mother had a history of angina attacks brought on by stress. Sweet Thing’s father said that she would be kept in hospital overnight for observation. Mother had asked for there to be no visitors; an unusual request which hinted at an unusual person. Naturally the mood between me and Sweet Thing changed and I knew that my plans for the day were ruined. Sweet Thing didn’t say it, but I knew that she wanted to be with her father.

Nature and society doesn’t equip men for being the survivor if their other half is no longer there. There is an unspoken understanding that the man passes away first and the woman is left behind. That belief system comes crashing down if it’s the other way around. Old men living by themselves seem to plod along, each day a silent struggle, hidden away behind a proud veneer. That realization had rattled Sweet Thing’s father.

I wasn’t upset but only disappointed to have to cancel my plans for the day; they could wait for another time. We sped through the snowy streets of London, heading for the countryside where her childhood home and anxious father were.

Trafalgar Square under snow.
Trafalgar Square under snow. Sweet Thing was sitting next to me when I took this photo. We were heading for her parent’s home.

When I met him he struck me as a kind old man in the midst of a crisis. Nevertheless I liked him because I got a friendly vibe off him. I left the two of them to discuss the obvious family matter while I surveyed Sweet Thing’s environment that was instrumental in her formative years. She had earlier told me that this as the only home that she knew before leaving to go to university.

It was a museum piece from the 1960s and very dusty. I guess that made it no different from most old people’s homes. Their body’s have evolved from breathing oxygen to inhaling dust. I’m convinced that as we get older our sense of smell deteriorates too because of that popular musty smell that accompanies the dust.

Sweet Thing made soothing small talk to calm her father down and ensured that there was enough food (largely ready-prepared) in the fridge for at least another two days. It must be an older generation thing in which men couldn’t feed themselves. Or was it a devious plot by down-trodden women from a bygone generation to silently enslave their men?

We watched a game of football on television to keep the old man company for a while and, truth be told, for it to stop snowing so that the drive back to Sweet Thing’s house would be safer.

After we said or goodbyes, as we were driving away, she said, “My parents have never been happily married. My mother gets stressed out by every little thing that my father does. I don’t know what her bloody problem is. This isn’t the first time she’s done this.”

During the drive back to her place, through horizons of snow, I couldn’t help but ask at an opportune time about her last relationship. Her forthrightness surprised and pleased me.

“Oh, him. Well we were together for five years and we lived together for most of it. He was ten years older than me and had a child from a previous relationship. Most of his jobs involved him working night-shift, so we hardly saw each other, usually only on weekends. He would see his kid every weekend, who would sometimes sleep over in the spare bedroom.”

“So are you saying that by day he slept while you worked in the office next door to the bedroom?”

“Yip. It wasn’t easy, but we got used to it. That is until towards the end.”

“I can imagine,” I said, expecting the topic to end there, but I was in luck.

“Because he smoked, I eventually took up smoking. I was sitting at my back door one day having a puff and wondered why I was smoking. I realised that I was doing a lot of things because of him. We had had sex only three times in the previous year and he owed me a lot of money.”

Oh jeez, the revelations just kept on coming.

First, she had therefore only recently given up smoking. The side-effects of that had yet to settle down. Second, she was sex-starved and thirdly, she was a soft touch. That guy had it so good. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was fooling around behind her back. Then I remembered that he came around every Friday night to pay her off and collect some of his detritus.

I said nothing.

Instead I chose to move the conversation on to something more positive and probably more important.

“So what’s your idea of a great relationship? I mean, what’s your idea of your ideal lifestyle?”

Sweet Thing about it for a moment and then said, “I would love nothing more than to be able to go off on a Saturday to go play soccer in my ladies league and to have someone home to look after doggy.”

I friggin’ kid you not. Those were her exact words!

From then on I started referring to myself as her ‘Potential Future Dog Sitter’ when joking with her, but never laughing myself.

Back at her place we found ourselves snowed in and I couldn’t leave as the roads were just too dangerous that late at night. Thus I spent the night, but because of her concern for her mother and father, I knew that sex was off the menu. I didn’t even mention it, nor try my luck. In truth I wasn’t feeling frisky; my mind was pre-occupied. Only one head can hold sway at any time and that night it was the upper one.

We fell asleep spooning, with her holding my hand up to her chest, making approving sounds as she fell asleep…and me lying behind her, blinking, my brain whirring away trying to make sense of her world and my place in it.

On the Monday morning she made pancakes and I set off to work, slowly making my way through icy country roads until I got on to a motorway. All the way I was thinking about the situation with her, especially the latest batch of revelations that didn’t sit too well with me.

I should have bailed then, shouldn’t I?

Stupid Boy said no.

Doing so might have been the right thing to do and would have been like the opening lines from this song:

Bruce Springsteen – Hungry Heart

Running wild with Sweet Thing in London

On the Saturday morning, while she was making pancakes for breakfast, I told Sweet Thing of my surprise; I had booked us into a fancy hotel in London near Tower Bridge for that night. Her initial reaction was one of delight, but it was instantly followed up by a look of shock.

“Oh no! I need to do something about doggy. He can’t come with us and he can’t stay here alone,” she said.

In that instant the dog became a human child in my mind. He needed almost the same amount of consideration and routine; walkies, foodies, shitties. All that was missing was the acidic verbal that some children are capable of. We both looked at him as he sat on his haunches, ears alert, panting at the smell of breakfast, seemingly knowing that we were talking about him because his eyes darted between ours.

“I haven’t booked him into the kennel. What am I going to do? We can’t just leave him here,” she said with a hint of panic in her voice.

“I’m sorry, but I only understand now how much notice you need because of doggy. Can’t a friend or neighbour come by to check on him and feed him while we’re away for the night?” I half asked, half suggested while trying to sound apologetic. Was this dog going to become a problem in our relationship?

“Good idea. I’ll see if the neighbour across the way can oblige,” Sweet Thing said as she quickly got dressed for the snowy conditions and disappeared out the front door.

I looked at the dog and he glared at me, as if to say, “How dare you take her away from me! She’s mine, all mine!”

Sweet Thing came back just as the man versus canine staring contest was becoming stale.

“Yes, the neighbour will come see to him. Shall we get our stuff and go?” she said excitedly.

With our dirty weekend kit collected, we agreed to go to London in her SUV because there was at least a foot of snow and my little car wouldn’t even get out the driveway. I turned to grab my boots from the top of the dog’s cage when I noticed something; the laces were shorter.

Sweet Thing had asked me to put my wet boots on top of his cage and I made a point of making sure that the laces didn’t dangle into his cage. Somehow he had contrived to get at the laces and had eaten half of them. Her and I laughed about it, but when I looked at him as he sat nonchalantly watching us, I swear that his eyes smiled at me.

Seeing the English countryside covered in a foot of what looked like icing sugar was magical. What was equally remarkable to me was the fact that I was being driven around by a woman in a large 4×4; that had never happened to me before. It felt novel and strange. I’m old-fashioned when it comes to gender roles; I blame it on my mother. She raised me to be a 1950s gentleman and I don’t know any other way. In the almost fifteen years with my ex-wife, I can count on one hand the number of times that she drove me anywhere. I’m not a misogynist, on the contrary, I just think that the man should almost always drive simply because it’s the gentlemanly thing to do.

In all the years that I had lived in London I had never seen so much snow on its streets. I really wish I could have checked the weather forecast for the weekend, but I booked the hotel on the Monday night. My imaginary plans for the weekend included catching the new cableway over the Thames, dinner near Trafalgar Square, walking along the Southbank, having breakfast at St Katharine’s Docks and maybe catching a West End show. None of that could happen in these snowy conditions. Little did I know that Fate had other ideas too.

After we had checked in to the swanky hotel, which impressed Sweet Thing, we had no choice but to go for a walk. There was no point in lying around in the hotel room. We made our way down to St Katharine’s Docks and I introduced Sweet Thing to the Dickens Inn, making no mention of having taken other dates there too. We shared a pizza and a bottle of wine which would have been so much better to enjoy on a warm Summer’s day.

It was sleeting on and off, but we braved the elements and went for a walk along the Southbank. When we needed to we took shelter in crowded coffee shops and sipped over-priced, low-quality coffee with the bemused tourists. Their tourist brochures didn’t show pictures of London under snow.

Sweet Thing and I had no problems in making conversation. We got along very well and had a similar outlook on most things. If I were to write out a list of similarities and differences between us, the former would dwarf the latter. On paper we were an excellent match and I enjoyed her company. Just one problem; I didn’t fancy her. Every time she smiled my heart sank; her bad teeth killed any attraction. I know it’s easily dismissed as me being shallow, but it matters to me that I like the look of the person that I’m with.

This discrepancy was bothering me. During the week I spoke to a colleague about it. He was a ladies man and had far more experience than me in such matters. I showed him a picture of her and his response was, “Hmm, she’s a five, you’re an eight. It’ll never work.” I asked him to elaborate and he said, “She’ll always feel threatened by better looking women. You’ll eventually wonder why you settled for someone you didn’t fancy.” I wasn’t sure what to make of his insights, but my asking someone about this showed just how much I was bothered by this issue.

Because Sweet Thing was on the skinny side she felt the cold more than me. I’m very warm blooded and am something of a human radiator. I kept checking with her that she was okay as we walked along the Southbank when eventually she confessed to having had enough. We went back to the hotel where its indoor heated swimming pool thawed her out. She made for quite an attractive sight in her skimpy little bikini, but when she smiled…

Back in our hotel room we lazed on the bed, a little footsore but content. Match of the Day came on and it was a pleasant surprise when Sweet Thing told me that she was also a Liverpool fan. What’s the chances of that? Our similarities just kept on coming.

It was an unspoken given fact that we were going to make love that night. There is something about sex in a hotel room that adds a frisson of naughtiness to proceedings. Would the unfamiliar environment cause her to cut loose a little and try new positions at least?


Sweet Thing liked only a few things and in a particular sequence too. Every time I tried to switch things up or try something new, I met with resistance. She liked me sucking her clit and rubbing her g-spot until she came. Then after an interval she would only suck my cock until it was hard and then she would ride me cowgirl, rubbing her clit along my shaft until she came again. Only then was she comfortable with me putting my cock in her pussy. She only wanted me to fuck her missionary style, but liked it when I came inside her.

I was starting to think of this as McDonalds sex. You know what you’re going to get and it’s the same every time; never better or worse than the previous time.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been keen on signing up for a lifetime of mediocre sex.


The snowy Friday

Early on the Monday morning Sweet Thing sent me a picture of her husky dog sitting proudly in the snow. He was a magnificent creature, sitting eminently in his natural domain. I called her that night because I wanted to clear the air between us as we hadn’t really said much about our sexual encounter. She seemed excited and pleased to hear from me, so I assumed she was fine with what had happened.

I think that she was relieved to hear from me again, afraid that I would vanish now that we had slept together. Her fears were misplaced, but we didn’t speak about it. I just knew that calling her meant a lot to her.

We made plans for me going to her on the Friday night, but this time I had a surprise in store for her. I felt inclined to see where things could lead with her, bad teeth or not.

Over the course of the week we spoke a few times and still swapped a few text messages afterwards.

Wednesday night:

Her: I wish u were her with me in bed, cuddling up – it’s freezing! Night night xx

Me: I’d love to wrap my arms around you, spoon with you and keep you warm all night. XX

Her: Wow! What a lovely thought. Friday can’t come soon enough. XX

Thursday night:

Her: I think you should come over tonight just in 🙂

Me: After just 1 night with me and you’re addicted?

Her: Lol. Just like being with you xx

On the Friday morning it was snowing heavily and everybody at my work was told to go home for fear of being snowed in. It took me over three hours of crawling along treacherous motorways and slippery country roads to get to Sweet Thing. I wasn’t sure if she would be worth the effort; my feelings for her still weren’t clear to me.

Nevertheless, I was pleased to see her happy, smiley face with glowing blue eyes. We kissed “hello” and I embraced her. I remember thinking that her profile photos gave such a wrong impression of her body; she was very slim and trim.

There was a village green nearby where children and their parents were playing in the snow with their dogs and Sweet Thing wanted to join in. Of course the husky had to come with and I got the honour of holding his leash as he eagerly pulled at it as he was instinctively driven to do as we trudged through the snow.

It was strange seeing Sweet Thing running around in the snow, chasing her dog when it was safe to unleash him. She certainly was lively; a forty year-old going on fourteen.

After a while a friend of hers joined us; a very butch friend with manly features and a high-pitched squeaky girly voice. She was called Michelle, but asked to be called “Mich”. If it wasn’t for the voice I would have thought “Mich” to be a mid-twenties man.

Sweet Thing and her friend behaved like kids, throwing snowballs at each other, taking turns chasing and rugby tackling each other, the dog running amok amongst them. It was totally in keeping with her personality, i.e. sweet. Watching her having fun brought to mind the following song:

The Temper Trap – Sweet Disposition

I joined in with the frolicking, but to a lesser extent. I was curious to observe the dynamic between Sweet Thing and Mich. I have very poor gaydar, but Mich filled the screen. Was there a side to Sweet Thing that I was unaware of? She had told me that almost all of the players in her soccer team were lesbians.

A car pulled up and very attractive petite, blonde got out and came up to us. I liked the look of her; she was just my type. Sweet Thing said, “Phil, this is Elaine, Mich’s other half.”

I smiled politely and we shook hands, exchanged pleasantries with me being silently incredulous at my poor gaydar. Elaine had the look that I liked and I would never have thought her to be a lesbian. How many other lesbians have I liked the look of?

Just for the record, I’m totally straight, as hetero as it gets. However, I am not anti-homosexual. I live and let live. No gay person has ever done anything bad to me. I don’t see the point in carrying around a negative feeling that does me no good. Behaving ugly towards a stranger because of an idea in your head seems silly to me.

The three friends had a chat about getting together sometime for dinner, their eyes all simultaneously glancing my way at one point as they made their plan. Elaine and Mich departed and Sweet Thing and I, plus doggy, went back “home”. There we had a late lunch and chatted, largely in an attempt to get to know each other better. I think we both felt that having had sex without knowing more about each other was premature, but neither of us said so. We got comfortable on the sofa in front on the television, like an old married couple. Snow silently, ceaselessly drifted down on the world, adding what looked like a coating of caster sugar to everything and doggy periodically tried to squeeze between us.

We showered separately because her shower could only just accommodate me, so as much as I enjoy showering with my woman, it just wasn’t going to happen with Sweet Thing in her home. It had been in the back of my mind for most of the day what our second night together would be like. This time we were both expecting to make love, so what would she do differently? Would she be more assertive and tell me what she liked and wanted? Would she bring some toys out? Would she be more aggressive?

The answer was: nothing. It was almost exactly the same as our first time, except this time Sweet Thing said “no” when I tried to roll her over for doggy style, citing her discomfort in that position. Initially I took it as compliment that what we had done as our first time was good enough for her, but I did wonder if she wanted it this way every time? That would be too boring for me – variety is the spice of life.


Easing into Sweet Thing on a Sunday morning – Final part

“Do you want my cum?” I asked, checking that she was okay with me cumming inside her, expecting her to say that I should pull out.

“Go for it,” she said, which first surprised and then pleased me.

That was all I needed to hear and the head of my cock started swelling. This was the point of no return. A team of harnessed wild horses were not going to get my cock out of her pussy now. My cock was ramming into her like the wheels on a steam locomotive drive relentlessly onwards when at full speed, over and over again. Her arms and legs held on tight to my body.

I felt my stomach muscles clench firm and my body’s energy shifted, collected and focussed on my cock which felt huge. Sweet Thing let out a little whimper as she clung on to me. A pulse of something started to move through my cock; it was my sperm loading the chamber from where it was unstoppably going to erupt.

“Aargh!” I roared as I felt my cock spurt out load after load of cum. Hot, sticky, smelly cum pumped into her pussy, easily flooding it as she murmured approval. Muscles I never knew I had clenched and then released after a few intense seconds.

My body relaxed and returned to its normal equilibrium. My erection started to subside, but I didn’t pull out. I could feel my semi-erect cock swimming in warm cum that slipped and oozed around it as I enjoyed the sensation of being like that with her.

I couldn’t remember when last I had cum so hard and so thoroughly. My encounters with Tech Titan and Baltic Babe were nowhere near as good.

After a few seconds of indulging myself I pulled out and rolled over to lie alongside her. I wrapped my arms around her to make her feel safe. As I cuddled her, Sweet Thing nuzzled her head against my chest and made approving sounds. I love it when a woman rests a dainty little hand on my chest.

For me lying in the afterglow is a wonderful part of sex. All the intensity has subsided and, if you’re both satisfied, there is a mutual calmness to be enjoyed. What words there are usually come in subdued tones that sooth the soul. Nothing and nobody else exists; it’s just her and I and it feels good. If I pleased my lover, when I look her in the eye, I can’t help but give a faint smile because I like to think that she now feels closer to me. It’s a pity that this unspoken connection between us is so fleeting. If I could make the afterglow last all day, I’d be in heaven.

After what seemed like an insufficient eternity Sweet Thing said, “I’m getting hungry. How about you?”

We showered and got dressed separately. We were both smiling a little sheepishly because I don’t think either of us expected that I would be there for breakfast. I caught up with her downstairs as she stood making pancakes. Her dog was patiently, but attentively sitting by her side, his ears erect and licking his lips.

“Ah, pancakes! I haven’t had those in years,” I said approvingly.

“Really? I have them for breakfast every morning,” she replied.

I can’t understand how some people can eat the same thing every day. I love variety and spontaneity. Life to me is all about the freedom to enjoy everything that is on offer, hence my having a problem with routine.

“I need to get some food out of the garage for a hungry doggy,” Sweet Thing said, walking off and entering the adjoining garage. Not having anything better to do and somewhat inquisitive, I followed Sweet Thing and stood in the doorway behind her as she filled a bowl with dried dog pellets that was stored in a large plastic bin.

In the centre of the garage was a pile of boxes, several suitcases and a professional drum kit that filled the space, nearly touching the ceiling, making it impossible for a car to use the garage.

“What’s all this?” I asked, knowing that I was being rude, but my curiosity got the better of me.

“That’s all my exe’s stuff. He moved out at the end of October and doesn’t have anywhere to put it yet,” she said.

Her ex-boyfriend had only moved out a little more than two months ago?!

I swallowed my shock, mixed with concern and asked, “So when’s he going to collect all this?”

“Well, he owes me a lot of money, so he’s only going to get pieces of it as he pays me off. That drum kit will be the last item he’ll get back,” she said.

I appreciated her honesty, but was taken aback by the recency of his departure. Was she on the rebound? Sweet Thing wasn’t done with the bombshells though.

“He comes around every Friday afternoon to pay me what he can. He takes a box or two each visit.”

So now the ex-boyfriend still comes around every week?!

This arrangement seemed wholly unhealthy from a relationship break-up point of view. Was she over him if she kept having to confront him every Friday night? Was I running the risk of being a rebound fling?

I said nothing of my discomfort and concern as we shared breakfast. Sweet Thing had a lunchtime game of soccer to get to, so I left, intent on seeing her again but unsure of what to think of what I had discovered about her very recent break-up. It felt like I was lying in the emotional equivalent of the wet patch; someone else’s wet patch.

When I got home I sent her the following text message:

Just got in…Thanks for everything. I enjoyed every minute of our time together. If you enjoyed it half as much as me, then I’m glad 🙂 I’ll try to call you tomorrow night. Don’t tell the girls too many tales about me…:0 xxx

I didn’t know what to make of this situation; I was out of my depth. Surely she must have been on the rebound? I didn’t have all the facts and decided to not jump to conclusions. I needed more information and resolved to give her some time to reveal her true hand. I also couldn’t be hypocritical because not a day went by without my thinking of Baltic Babe.

I was learning that, when it came to matters of the heart, things are very rarely as they seem. Compared to me, women always seemed to have a lot more going on behind the scenes. I felt like a simpleton in the land of genii.

Easing into Sweet Thing on a Sunday morning

The next morning we woke and were lying in pretty much the same position in which we had fallen asleep. It was the sound of the dog battering his cage that woke us.

“He needs to be taken for a walk. I’ll be back in a little while,” Sweet Thing said as she got out of bed and got dressed. We hardly made eye-contact and there was no good morning kiss as she hurried down the stairs.

I was left alone in a strange bed with just my thoughts and feelings for company. More than anything I focussed on the fact that I hadn’t penetrated her with my cock. It felt a bit wrong and incomplete not to have done so. I thought satisfaction was in order, but I didn’t have a condom.

Before I could arrive at a conclusion in my head, Sweet Thing came scampering up the stairs and said, “There’s half a foot of snow on everything, so no walkies today. I let him out in the back yard and he’s in his element, running around like a lunatic.”

“So where’s he now?” I asked as I watched her getting undressed again.

“He’s still out there. He’ll let himself in and then close the door behind him. I trained him to do that,” Sweet Thing said as she clambered in to bed beside me, snuggling close to feel the heat of my body, her icy feet thawing against my shins.

“Clever doggy or clever mummy?” I asked rhetorically.

“Ooh, you’re so nice and warm,” she said, pulling herself against me.

Why do so many women have such cold feet?

“I know a good way of warming you up,” I said suggestively.

“What’s that?” she said, before catching my innuendo.

“I’m not going to tell you, I’m going to show you,” I said, rolling over her and onto my elbows, taking half the duvet with me.

“Do you have a condom?” Sweet Thing asked.

“No, but I was recently checked,” I answered, knowing that I had been with one woman since the test. “I don’t suppose you have any condoms?” I asked, not hoping that they would fit me if she did.

“No, I don’t, but I do have a coil fitted,” she said.

I took that as a green light to proceed. Naughty, dangerous, irresponsible and somewhat wrong…I know, I know. Tech Titan seemed like a sensible girl and Baltic Babe was ultra-cautious, so I thought my health to be safe. I was the one taking the risk, because I didn’t know where Sweet Thing had been, but she too seemed a sensible girl. In that moment it seemed a risk worth taking.

Foreplay was a repeat of the first time I made her cum the previous night, i.e. clit suck with g-spot rub. Yes, giving a woman an orgasm counts as foreplay in my book. With me, the lady always cums first.

Now I had her pussy juices around my mouth and on two of my fingers while sporting a massive erection; I wasn’t going to stop there. I slid forward and she parted her legs; I pulled my foreskin back and positioned the tip of my cock at the opening to her pussy. Sweet Thing was still panting from her orgasm and her eyes were wide, willing me to stick it in her. I could sense that she wanted to feel my cock in her.

The problem with my cock isn’t its above-average length, it’s the fact that it is so thick that makes women nervous. I think most women fantasize about being fucked by a longer, fatter cock than what they’re used to, but when it’s in front of their eyes, it doesn’t seem that much fun any more. As they struggle to get their mouth around it, surely they can’t help thinking, “Oh my god! What’s this going to do to my pussy? Surely it’s going to hurt?”

I leaned onto an elbow and with my free hand held my cock’s shaft and gently forced my hips forward, feeling her little pussy lips part easily. My eyes were on Sweet Thing’s face, looking and waiting for the first sign of discomfort as I slid my cock into her. I went in slowly and as my cock plunged deeper into her tight pussy, her mouth opened in a silent scream, her eyes going wide, an empty breath giving way to swallowing of air.

I pulled back about an inch, all the while keeping my eyes on her face. I wasn’t going to pull out, but I was going to be as gentle as I could. I didn’t want to go too slowly because then I ran the risk of this turning into a twisted biology experiment and then my cock would go flaccid as all the blood rushed to my brain instead of to my penis.

My hips drove forward slowly again and her mouth closed as she gulped again. I pushed my cock ever deeper until it was in as deep as I liked. Leaning on my other elbow, but still maintaining eye-contact, I started rocking my cock backwards and forwards in her, in metronome style.

There’s something about looking your lover in the eye as you fuck her, as your cock moves around inside her, as you feel her body submit to you. I like the unfettered rawness of it, that visual lock. All borders and boundaries are gone. If the eyes are indeed the window to the soul, then you are seeing each other clearly. As a man you have so much of the power because you are physically stronger, but it’s how you use that power that defines you as a lover. If you’re a caring, tender lover, then using your power in a self-controlled, restrained fashion has a positive effect on the woman under you. It shows that you respect her, have her experience in mind and not just your own. That consideration binds the two of you closer emotionally.

I had never seen or felt a coil before. Should I have been able to feel it if my cock totally filled her vaginal cavity? I didn’t think of that at the time. I had other things on my mind.

Switching positions seemed in order, so I withdrew and I coaxed her onto her knees. Doggy style is one of my favourite positions because it feels more free and I tend to cum very hard like that. I gently and slowly slid my cock back into Sweet Thing; she plunged her head down on to the pillow under her and let out a breath of air.

Carefully I started rocking my hips; her pussy felt good – tight. I put my hands on her hips and marvelled at the sight before me. Her skin was so white and her frame so slender.

There is no way I could know this, but do other men’s cock’s behave the same way that mind does? Just before I cum, the head swells up and it feels like its going to explode. What it obviously does explode with is my baby batter. In the few seconds before I climax, a woman notices this increase in size and they seem to like it. Is that normal? I don’t know.

I could feel that warm, comfortable sensation spreading out from my abdomen that is the first sign that I’m getting closer to cumming. It starts in my stomach and radiates upwards, towards my brain and when it gets there, my stomach muscles start to contract and my cock hardens even more.

“It’s starting to get uncomfortable. You’re pressing against my cervix. Can we try another position?” she said, killing the moment.

I pulled out and she rolled over on to her back, spreading her legs and biting her bottom lip. We resumed missionary position and I loved it when she wrapped her arms and legs around me. I was careful to rest my weight on my elbows because she had such a delicate frame and I didn’t want to hurt her.

That warm feeling returned and when my buttcheeks clenched on their own I knew it wasn’t long before I would be cumming.

To be continued…