Delicate Flower and the not again – Final part

Delicate Flower goes down on my cock, taking the head in her mouth…and stops there.

Incredibly she starts doing the same goldfish-sucking-on-a-cigar routine that Teacher Gal does!

I don’t fucking believe this!

Looking closer I see that she’s struggling to deal with my cock. Her mouth can’t stretch more than it is and I guess it can’t be comfortable for her. I see also that she has bigger teeth than I had previously noticed. She stops trying to take my whole cockhead in her mouth and withdraws a little to a size which is more comfortable for her. Sadly, she continues with the ineffectual blowjob routine.

I make a mental note that Teacher Gal also has a small mouth and biggish teeth. Hmmm. Krazy Girl was also petite, but she could suck the chrome off the knob of a towbar. Teacher Gal and now Delicate Flower can’t even get their mouths around the knob.

After about a minute of this fake blowie I realize that this is a pointless exercise and is likely to result in me going soft and her feeling all defensive and shit. I need to move this show along.

“Would you like to feel my cock in your pussy?” I ask.

“I’d love to,” she says, perhaps relieved at being taken off blowjob duty.

Earlier I had put a condom next to my bed, an act of confidence in my nascent kills of seduction. Turning my back to her as I put it on is a trick I’ve stumbled across as it takes the pressure off me when fiddling with that glorified sheep’s intestine. It’s not fun having a woman watch you put a rubber on; it’s something of a passion-killer.

I turn around and see Delicate Flower is lying on her back on my bed. Her hands are raised alongside her head, her wrists displaying subconscious surrender; it’s a pose I love. She’s looking at my cock as she slowly opens her legs, showing me her pussy. Her nipples are rock hard and her breastbone is glowing. She wants me to fuck her.

We hardly know each other, she’s never even asked my surname. We’ve spent less than a day together if you count the hours. Yet she’s naked on my bed and has just spread her legs for me, inviting me to slide my cock into her cunt and to fuck her. This isn’t love, it’s lust, plain and simple. She is a good-time girl. My initial assessment of her on our first date was correct.

Getting on top of her missionary position is a good way to deal with getting my cock into her pussy. I can watch her reaction and make adjustments as necessary. I do a quick safety check by feeling her pussy with a finger and she’s still gushing wet – she badly wants to be fucked.

Like Nosferatu the Vampire overpowering a helpless female victim, like a werewolf humping a bleating sheep, that’s what I feel like as I loom over her…and fail to penetrate her.

No amount of huffing and puffing is going to make this wolf’s cock go in that pussy. After several attempts, only the tip of my cock can barely go in, her pussy is so tight. I try one last time and she winces and wriggles; that”s enough to make me recoil. We don’t say a word.

Fucking frustrating and frustrated fucking!

I dispense with the wrapper and, without speaking, I straddle Delicate Flower’s chest. I feed her my cock and she instantly starts sucking on the front half of the head. I reach back and slide a middle finger into her pussy, finding her g-spot. I look down at her and she’s in rapture. Her eyes are closed again, she’s making sounds and her wrists are either side of her head.

Sensing her getting closer to cumming I do something naughty, I push my index finger in her arse…and she barely flinches. Instead she spreads her legs further apart so that my fingers can go deeper into her holes and she keeps sucking away at the tip of my cock; she likes this. Her butthole is surprisingly moist, but that might be from her pussy juices running down. My middle finger in her pussy, my index finger in her arse is apparently called ‘The Shocker’: one in the pink, another in the stink.

I move my hand backwards and forwards, which is easier to do with two fingers in her. Her arsehole and pussy are equally tight. Given the lack of reaction it seems she’s used to having things inserted in her arse. She might even like it.

She takes hold of my cock with both her hands; I think her doing this does something for her. It doesn’t take long before she cums, again with a high-pitched squeal. Her head shoots further forward and her mouth accidentally swallows the entire head of my cock. The sound she lets off travels through the chambers of my cock and it feels good. Her orgasm subsides and she wants to drop back, but I cup her head with my other hand to keep my cockhead in her mouth. She doesn’t resist and keeps sucking, albeit badly. I keep moving my fingers backwards and forwards in her pussy and arse.

Is this what she lets total strangers do to her after they pick her up in a pub? Does she like letting them put their fingers and cocks in any of her holes? As long as their dicks are small enough? Does she like having a total stranger on top of her, ramming his cock into her little pussy? Does she like having a cock in her arse? Where does she like to feel a stranger’s hot, sticky cum?

I look down at her pretty face, her mouth area contorted by the head of my cock in it. Her eyes are still closed and she seems almost angelic. She lets go of my cock with her hands, they fall down next to her head to rest on crumpled white pillows. She seems quite at ease with having my fingers in her pussy and arse, my swollen cock in her mouth.

Will I have much cum? I came in Teacher Gal’s mouth less than twelve hours ago. It doesn’t matter, I want to see what it looks like to cum in Delicate Flower’s face. How will she react? Should I warn her that I’m about to cum? Is she expecting me to pull out and give her a facial, spraying my sperm all over her milky-white face? Is she expecting me to drop my ammonia-enriched spunk over her little tits? Fuck that, I want to cum in her mouth. Hopefully she keeps sucking as few things are worse than suckus interruptus.

My brain latches onto the sight of her doing my sexual foible and strangely it turns me on, taking me over the edge. I watch her face as my cock pumps and squirts my cum into her mouth. She takes it all without flinching, easily drinks it, swallows it without making a sound or breaking the rhythm of her almost ineffectual attempt at a blowjob. She’s quite the little cocksucker, happily swallowing my load, of which there is a surprising amount. It probably tastes of the risotto we ate earlier; I hope she liked both.

Only when I pull my fingers out of her holes does she open her eyes. I think we’re both in a mild state of shock. That was intense.

We cuddle for a while until she says that it’s getting late. It is a Sunday night after all and we both have to work in the morning. An hour later I see her off on her train back to London. The atmosphere between us is subdued. She’s smiling meekly and I’ve been very polite and civil to her, but I think we both know that we won’t be seeing each other again.

I now know for certain that Delicate Flower and I have almost no future together in any capacity. She is very pretty and has a good heart, but we are sexually incompatible. I’m not too disappointed because I didn’t have high hopes about her.

The One – when I find her – and a fuckbuddy should both do it for me sexually.

Passion is important to me.

LESSONS LEARNED: 1) Petite girls with small mouths seem to have small pussies 2) I must stipulate a taller minimum height requirement on my dating profiles 3) Girls with small mouths and big teeth give bad blowjobs 4) When I first kiss a girl I need to use my tongue better to gauge the size of her mouth to avoid bad blowjobs.

Rod Stewart – Passion

Delicate Flower and the not again – Part 2

She’s now naked before me while I am still fully dressed. That does something for me, but I’m not going to analyse it for fear of destroying it. I’m right, her little pink nipples are like rockets ready for launch. Her bush is a neatly trimmed little minge that I’m looking forward to tasting. She has a belly-button ring that looks like a Christmas tree decoration. What sound will that make when I take her doggy style?

I lean forward and kiss the shin of a leg, still our eyes are locked. Lifting myself slowly so as not to scare her, I kiss up her leg, over the kneecap which makes her giggle and then up the middle of her thigh. Pushing myself up her body without making contact isn’t easy. All I want her to feel is the sensation of my lips on her skin. I take my time.

My slow kisses make their way up her body and I don’t go near her nipples; I wanted to build the anticipation. I kiss around the base of her breast (which was an a-cup) and move higher, up to her shoulders and back around her neck. She moves her head away, making it easier for me to get to her neck and throat and closes her eyes. She likes being kissed around the neck; her low moans tell me so.

There’s no stopping now. She wants this. Needs this. The easy little slut that I assessed her to be on our first date is on show now.

I kiss back down the other side of her body, resisting the urge to take her nipple in my mouth. If I did this properly I could whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. My focus is on giving her as much pleasure as I can. My reward will come later.

My lips come back down to the other shin, my hands gently push her legs apart and I start kissing up the inside of a leg. I notice that she’s breathing through her mouth now, occasionally swallowing hard.

Then I wonder if my cock could fit in her mouth? She is a tiny, little thing. Oh shit, can my cock fit in her pussy?

A sense of urgency mixed with concern takes hold and I speed up what I’m doing. I’ve now pushed her legs apart and her pussy is in front of my face. It’s small and perfectly formed, no loose lips flapping about. It reminds me of Baltic Babe’s tight little pussy.

I lick slowly either side of her vagina and she lets off, “Oh my god!” as I do so, but she still manages to keep her eyes closed. Thankfully her pussy doesn’t have a strong smell of urine. I didn’t exactly give her fair warning so that she could go ‘freshen up’. The overriding smell is that of sweet pussy juice.

Placing my tongue squarely on her pussy and resting it there makes her inhale and I see her stomach muscles contract. Still she keeps her eyes closed. I always keep my eyes open because I want to see what my lover likes. I also have an unusually developed photographic memory, so I can recall what I see many months or years later. Don’t ask me to do trigonometry though.

I run the rough top of my tongue up the centre of her pussy which is gushing wet. She lets out a deep-throated “Oh!” while I congratulate myself on having done such a good job of turning her on. Her clit is a small nubby one but I hope that I can flesh it out some more. I look either side of her hips and see that she is clenching the seat cushions on the edge of the sofa.

Running the rough top and then the smooth underside of my tongue up and down her slit takes her into a blissnotic state. Delicate Flower’s body relaxes and after a few minutes of this I move onto focussing on her clit, which remains small and doesn’t change much. I notice that her body is starting to tense up again; her hands tighten their grip on the sofa.

Sucking onto her clit yields little noticeable response. Only Krazy Girl has a smaller clit, I remark to myself. I deem it time to take this home for her, so I slide an index ginger into her pussy. Well, I try. My index finger goes only slightly more than halfway in before she wriggles and says , “Ow!”

Her pussy is tiny! Oh fuck, not again!

If my finger can barely squeeze in there then there’s no hope of my cock getting in there!

Hers is the smallest vagina I have ever encountered. I don’t believe this. It’s ri-dick-ulous!

I feel deflated.

What do I have to do to get a good fuck? Krazy Girl come back…please.

I can’t stop now, she’ll be insulted and perhaps slightly angry. I just have to make the best of this situation. Hopefully she gives the best blowjob I’ve ever experienced. I wonder if she’s into anal?

Licking and sucking her clit keeps her pussy juices flowing, so I turn my finger in her pussy upwards and find her g-spot, which is surprisingly large, but I guess it’s because I’ve turned her on well enough for it to have swollen on its own accord. I run the tip of my finger back and forth over her g-spot and she arches her back and let’s out a guttural sound before relaxing and looking at me with big eyes.

“What the hell is that you’re doing?” she says, speaking with a sore throat.

“That’s your g-spot. Has anybody ever played with it before?” I ask.

“No,” she says, her eyes still wide.

“Lie back and relax then. You’re going to enjoy this,” I say, confident in my ability that is based on her ignorance.

Delicate Flower does as she is told, resuming her position with eyes closed. So here I am, fully clothed, a petite little woman is naked on my sofa, her legs spread wide open for me and I’m fingering her g-spot and licking her clit. I’m enjoying the novelty of my successful seduction, but I’m uneasy at the prospect of trying to have full-blown sex with her. My cock is just too thick and long for her pussy; it’s never going to fit and if some of it does, it’ll be painful for her. I don’t want to hurt her.

Yes, I know that women pop babies out of their pussies, but it’s only during childbirth that a woman’s body secretes all sorts of chemicals that allows that to happen. The rest of the time the average vagina is four inches long and can stretch up to double that. I can live with that, but I don’t think that Delicate Flower comes anywhere near that statistic. I don’t know any stats to do with thickness, but that’s the real problem with my cock – it’s apparently on the thick side. The urban slang term for a cock like mine is “a coke can”. I’m not bragging and it’s not a blessing, it’s starting to feel like a curse.

It doesn’t take long for Delicate Flower to cum. She lets off a muffled high-pitched squeal and sits halfway upright, her hands clenching the sofa like never before, still keeping her eyes closed. I keep fingering her g-spot as she cums and that makes it last longer. After almost ten seconds she relaxes and slumps back into the sofa, breathing heavily. Her throat is going to be even more sore after that.

I want to cuddle her, but the sofa doesn’t seem appropriate, so I stand up and pick her up. She’s lifeless but weighs nothing to me as I hold her like a doll in my arms. She opens her eyes and puts her arms around my neck as I lift her off the sofa and carry her down the passageway to my bedroom. She rests her head on my shoulder and that feels good. It’s so primordial, a caveman carrying his woman off to his cave, a prize to be ravished, but it feels so damn satisfying.

Approaching the edge of my bed, I slowly lower her onto my duvet and she closes her eyes. I get undressed and lie down next to her, kind of spooning her, putting a leg over her thighs and an arm over her midriff, all of which is easy to do given how small she is. I hope I’m not too heavy. Her breathing slowly subsides to normality while I keep her warm with my bodyheat. After a few minutes of lying there like that she finally speaks.

“Wow! I’ve never experienced anything like that before,” she says with a rasping voice.

I say nothing and just smile. Where have I heard those words before? I revel in the afterglow, not sure where I want to take things, fearing a repeat of coital failure like I had with Teacher Gal. It’s embarrassing and I know that it’s the likeliest scenario with Delicate Flower.

“Is there something you would like me to do for you?” she asks.

I think about and decide that there’s no going back and only one way to find out if my fears are groundless.

“I would love it if you were to kiss me all over,” I say as positively as I can.

We uncouple and Delicate Flower sets about kissing my face, neck, chest and belly. Her perfect golden blonde hair caresses my skin and it turns me on, that and the sensation of her lips kissing my skin. My cock starts to grow as she kisses around my groin area and she notices this. She stops, positions herself between my legs and takes my cock in her little hand. The look on her face tells me that she’s thinking as she looks at it, inspecting it, but I can’t be sure what her thoughts and feelings are. What is she going to do?

To be continued…

Delicate Flower and the not again

How am I going to seduce her? That’s what’s going through my mind as I rush around my apartment. Nobody cleans a home quicker than a man expecting a woman, especially when the previous woman only left an hour earlier! I do the best I can before showering, the latter being equally important because apparently women can smell another woman on a man. I call it ‘that just shagged aroma’ and I like it, but today it might cause trouble.

As I walk passed the same four taxi drivers at my train station who had seen me an hour earlier with Teacher Gal, they give me a quizzical look. Delicate Flower’s train arrives and she spots me as she gets off. God, she’s small; I might break her. I stoop down and kiss her hello on her cheeks which makes her smile. She’s wearing a white dress with floral motifs and she’s showing off her perfectly sculpted, smoothly-shaven legs. She’s very attractive; I wonder what her pussy tastes like.

One of the taxi drivers gives me an approving nod plus smile while the three others stare with big eyes as we walk passed them. I smile to myself. Is this really my life? Two hours earlier another woman was gratefully swallowing my load and now I have this little beauty by my side? Maybe there is a god after all.

Back at my place all that Delicate Flower says of it is, “It’s such a bachelor’s pad,” to which we both laugh. Good, she’s not taken aback or horrified, but not that I really care because I don’t have any long-term hopes with her, just some fun and see how long it lasts or what it leads to.

I get to work making a risotto with her leaning against the kitchen door, her hands behind her back, her pert little breasts pointing out at me. We talk and I pour wine. That’s step one of my seduction plan; get some alcohol in her to lower her inhibitions.

After a little more cooking, at an opportune moment I step over to her and give her one of my slow, soft kisses that seem to befuddle women. She closes her eyes as we kiss and I pull away first, teasing her, making her want more. Only our lips touched. She bats her eyelids furiously, trying to regain her composure, almost slouching against the door. That’s step two; introduce a physical idea in her head, get her wanting something more from me.

Risotto takes time to simmer so I suggest that I introduce her to Californication. We sit side by side on my sofa and I coax her to sit against me, claiming that the picture is better from that angle. Our shoulders and thighs touch as we sit watching the first two episodes. That’s step three; getting her used to touching me.

She laughs at the right times and especially at the naughty bits. Good, this is helping to introduce a subtle sexual dynamic to what she’s experiencing. At the end of the second episode I lean over and kiss her. She turns to face me, putting a hand on my chest and we kiss for several minutes. I can sense that she’s getting turned on; her sounds are becoming more audible and her kisses more urgent. That’s step four; get her turned on a little, leave her wanting more.

The timer in the kitchen goes off and I say, “I guess I was saved by the bell,” to which she gives a naughty smile. My research on the internet tells me that reversing the age-old man chasing woman idea has the effect on a woman of arousing her. As we eat lunch we chat happily and she starts telling me more about her childhood.

“My parents are Mormons and so are all my sisters and brothers, even today. It was a suffocating upbringing in that I wasn’t allowed all the things other children had. It was so hard to go off to school with normal children and then go home to my parent’s way of life. We didn’t have television or a telephone. I hated my childhood so I rebelled the first chance I got,” she says.

I understand her so much better now, but it still didn’t change the fact that I can’t have a loving relationship with her. One of her rebellious acts is unacceptable to me so I can never love her because I don’t respect her. I’m intent on seeing through my plan of finding out if we could be friends with benefits.

We end up back on my sofa watching more Californication which she absolutely loves. Periodically I kiss her, keeping the sexual engine in her running, slowly working her up into a lustful state. She complains of back pain so seeing my opportunity I say, “Is now a good time to tell you that I’ve done a course in massage? Would you like a massage?”

The critical moment has arrived. Have I done enough to make her comfortable being partly undressed around me? Is she turned on enough to want to fuck?

“I’d love that,” she says without hesitation.

Game on!

“Okay, turn facing away from me,” I say to which she complies. I unzip the back of her dress and push the bit around her shoulders forward and down, exposing her back. Delicate Flower turns her head to one side, one blue eye looking at me. I’m not sure if she’s surprised because she was expecting me to massage her through her clothes or if she is wanting to say something.

Then I see it.

The biggest tattoo I’ve ever seen covering the lower half of her back. It’s a massive sunflower in blue ink, very ornately done. I don’t like tattoos, I wasn’t expecting this and it shocks me. I think tattoos are a desecration of the human body. (I didn’t know about the high correlation between tattoos and mental illness.) Putting my palms together and fanning my fingers out would just about meet the width of her tattoo and I have big hands and she is petite. If I fuck her doggy style I’ll have to keep my eyes closed.

It dawns on me that Delicate Flower has her own flower imprinted on her skin.

“Wow! What a surprise. It’s very well done,” is the best that I can blurt out. She smiles.

I unclasp her bra and push the straps down her shoulders, my fingers caressing her skin as I do so. In response she tilts her head upwards. She enjoyed that. Is her pussy getting wet?

I take my time in giving her a back massage. There’s no rush and I’m treating it as part of our foreplay. I can’t see them, but I can just imagine her nipples being very hard and erect.

Running my hands over the tattoo was not pleasant for me. It felt unnatural and slightly disgusting to me. I didn’t spend much time on her lower back, so a disproportionate effort went into her neck and shoulders because I know that that will relax her.

It’s time to make my move. If there is resistance then we wouldn’t be going any further. If she likes it, then we’re going all the way.

I lean forward and kiss the back of her neck. She lets off a sound of profound satisfaction as she exhales. My cock is as good as in her pussy; just a matter of time now.

Kissing her neck and shoulders yields more sounds of pleasure that she can’t hold back. She’s keeping her eyes closed and I can see that she is in the throes of bliss. I move her head from one side to the other as I slowly land soft kisses all over her neck and shoulders. I can do whatever I want to now.

I stand up, kneel in front of the footstool, take her by her ankles and point them towards me. Delicate Flower opens her eyes, no doubt startled by my man-handling her, but says nothing. I pull her dress and knickers off, casually tossing them to one side while maintaining eye-contact with her. Neither of us say a word.

To be continued…

Nobody isfaster

Teacher Gal and twice awkward

I’ve screwed myself. I’m seeing Teacher Gal on Saturday followed by Delicate Flower on Sunday, but I’ve just realised that Teacher Gal is likely to sleep over at my place on the Saturday night. Sunday is going to be awkward. I meet Teacher Gal at King’s Cross on Saturday at noon and she’s wearing an over-sized hideous flower again. Now I’m no snappy dresser, but I don’t go around looking like a clown. I think every man needs to find his woman suitably attired. Struggling to find tactful words I say nothing and lead her to our destination, Stables Market at Camden Town. Yes, the same place I had been with Delicate Flower the previous weekend; it’s familiar and I didn’t see that much because my focus was more on my date.

We spend the afternoon walking around and Teacher Gal loves the place for its artistic flair above all else. I love it for the variety of food; you name it and that cuisine is there. We snack on small dishes that we buy from stalls and I notice that Teacher Gal doesn’t like her food as spicy as me. (In the fullness of time I will learn the significance of this.)

It was also time for the ‘best friend test’.

Teacher Gal had arranged for us to meet her best friend and husband at a concert by a South African pop group called ‘Freshly Ground’. We meet the friends at a pavement café and I’m immediately struck by how attractive her best friend is; very pretty, golden blonde hair and just enough cushion for the pushin’ – just my type. In truth I find the friend more attractive than Teacher Gal. Something in my psyche stirs and tells me that Teacher Gal is not as attractive as I would like, that I’m selling myself short and I feel conflicted and guilty about all this.

The husband is ten years younger than the best friend and he almost immediately becomes defensive. Because of my size and looks men generally tend to be defensive around me, so I think nothing of it. (Men are like dogs: there’s an implicit pecking order in the pack with the biggest dog being the top dog.) We sit and make small talk over coffee and pastries before joining the queue at the venue across the street. The two women chatter away, but the husband and I barely make eye contact. Then I realize that he is the shortest of the four of us and the youngest.

Inside the venue we share a private booth with a table on a balcony overlooking the lively masses below. Teacher Gal is by my side and the married couple sit opposite us. The music starts and conversation becomes difficult, but the best friend makes a determined effort to talk to me throughout the concert. I notice that the husband has become a deaf mute. At one point Teacher Gal makes a disapproving face when her friend talks to me an umpteenth time.

This is getting awkward. The husband is unimpressed by his wife’s interest in me and now Teacher Gal is getting irritated too. I think the friend is just being friendly, but a younger, immature man’s insecurities have been riled. I’m not sure if Teacher Gal is jealous, protective or feeling bad for the husband. It’s none of my making. I try to defuse the situation by making small talk with the now-grumpy hubby, but he’s not interested. What can I do? I buy us a round of drinks; it makes no difference.

The lead singer of Freshly Ground is a five foot tall Xhosa woman who has the voice of an angel. One of their songs, “I’d like”, has words that I find topical. The words are how I want to feel about somebody, but sadly neither of the women I’m seeing this weekend invoke this kind of feeling in me. Deep down I know that this is the case, but ever the foolish optimist I’m hoping, hoping that somehow, somewhere something would happen to make it so.

After the concert we need to catch the same train home, but while waiting for it, the two ladies go to the toilets. I look at grumpy hubby and smile, to which he wanders off to go stand further down the platform. If he wants to play games with me, he’ll lose. I remain on my spot until the ladies return. Teacher Gal immediately comes up to me and holds my hand. The friend spots her husband and seems unsure about what to do. I can see the confusion in her eyes about what to do. She decides to go stand with her husband.

Teacher Gal leans against me and I wrap my arms around her. The train arrives and we end up sitting in a booth with four seats. We are all tired and conversation is minimal. I whisper into Teacher Gal’s ear, “Would you like to spend the night with me?” to which she makes an approving sound. Now my brain starts racing, calculating the likelihood of us successfully making the beast with two backs.

We cuddle up in my bed and we agree that we’re both too tired for whoopee. We lie facing each other, our legs and arms entwined with me trying to keep her warm. We talk softly about the events of the day and evening.

“Your best friend is very friendly,” I say.

“Perhaps too much so. I’d forgotten that she has a thing for tall, dark, South African men. Her previous relationship lasted ten years with a guy who looks similar to you. He was even from the same city as you. She thought he was The One,” Teacher Gal says.

It all made sense now. Grumpy hubby must have been going through hell all night. Poor little ginger boy.

The next morning I wake up and Teacher Gal is already awake and staring at me with her beautiful sky-blue eyes. Without much talking we proceed to make love. Well, we tried.

No amount of orgasms and simultaneous g-spot clit-licking was going to make her pussy big enough for my cock. I had made her cum twice when I begin to realize that we are woefully sexually incompatible. Sure she was having fun, but I wasn’t. My cock couldn’t get into her pussy, she gives a rubbish blowjob and even though anal isn’t my thing, I won’t even ask her about that. Out of desperation I did try stinky-pinky on her earlier but she baulked, so I know what the answer will be. This is getting awkward.

It’s getting late and I must get Teacher Gal out of my place. I need to clean it to remove all traces of another woman before Delicate Flower arrives. I get up to get dressed and look back at Teacher Gal in my bed. She looks so sweet and alluring lying there, the duvet covering her lower half, her nipples still erect, showing me that she’s still turned on.

I’m frustrated again, but want some satisfaction off her. I stride to her side of the bed, my shins against the mattress, my cock dangling down over her. Will she take my hint and suck it?

Teacher Gal gathers the pillows under her head, then in a bizarre fashion, curls herself up into the foetus position, knees raised, arms over her breasts, closes her eyes and takes my cock in her mouth. The foetal position thing puzzles me but I focus on the sight of her doing her goldfish sucking a cigar routine. That’s never going to do anything for me, so I let my mind wander and I latch onto the idea, the wonderful notion of what it might be like to have sex with her best-friend.

I start fantasizing about what I would like to do with her friend, what I would like to have her friend do to me…and all the while have her husband watch us. Hell, in my fantasy he’s videoing it all, occasionally suggesting things for us to do. They can watch the video together whenever one of them is frisky for however long their doomed marriage will last.

After a couple of minutes of this fantasy I sense that I’m close to cumming. Teacher Gal has never said whether she likes to feel a cock cumming in her mouth nor whether she swallows. I think it’s only fair and decent to give her a warning.

“I’m getting closer to cumming. Do you want me to cum in your mouth?” I ask, expecting a negative reaction.

Instead she says nothing but continues her repetitive motion without breaking rhythm. I take that as a ‘yes’.

“Do you like to swallow cum? I want you to swallow mine,” I say, expecting some kind of reaction but instead get nothing. Again I take that as a ‘yes’. The surprise of this turns me on more, driving me to the edge. I close my eyes and imagine it’s her friend sucking me off while her husband watches.

Seconds later several days worth of cum explodes out of my cock into Teacher Gal’s mouth. Momentarily she chokes as she swallows my load but dutifully returns to sucking the rest of my man milk out of me. It feels good despite her looking odd in the foetus position.

Teacher Gal stops her version of a blowie and drops her knees, straightens her body out and gives me a yearning look that I don’t understand. Right now all I want is to get her on the road because I need to get my place ready for my next visitor who might be ending up in my bed too.

“Sorry, sweetie, but I have plans to meet some friends today in a couple of hours. Can I make you a coffee and toast before you go?” I ask, lying through my teeth, hoping that she isn’t offended nor suspects anything. It works.

Less than an hour later I’m walking her to my train station. The only other people around are four chatting taxi drivers who give us an accusative look. I wait with her for her train, making small-talk and give her a kiss goodbye just before she boards it.

I turn on my heels and start running back to my place, passing the bemused taxi drivers.

What am I going to do about you? That’s what I ask myself as I run but realize that I have to think about that another time.

In less than an hour Delicate Flower is arriving…

Freshly Ground – I’d like

I’d like to call you sometime
I’d like you to need me one time.

What would you do if you knew the truth?
What would you do if I told you the story of my life?
Would you find me overly familiar towards you?
Would you call me crude, fling me aside to the birds?

What do I do with all these feelings warming me up inside?
What do I do with all these precious hours dreaming of you at night?
Would you recognise it’s a need I’ve been fighting for so long?
Would you recognise it’s a hunger only you can fill?

Because I’d like to call you sometime.
Oh, I would like to call you.

I’d like to call you sometime
I’d like you to need me one time.

Delicate Flower shocks me

In my mind I’m still battling with the disastrous sexcapade with Teacher Gal of a few hours earlier as I’m standing outside Camden Town Tube station waiting for Delicate Flower. I tell myself to snap out of it, I can think about it on the train home and now need to focus on Delicate Flower. Where do I want take things with her? What are the possible outcomes with her?

As much as I fancy her and she appeals to my protective instincts, her having committed my sexual foible makes it impossible for me to fully respect her. There is no way that I can love her; it’s just not going to happen. I know this about me; we all have our non-negotiables.

When I read in my Exgf’s diaries of her having committed my foible, I should have known then. I decided to persevere, to see if I could get over it. I struggled and eventually sought help in the form of a psychologist. She told me that fifteen years of cognitive behaviour therapy might work, but it isn’t guaranteed. Her simple suggestion was to rather find and be with someone who hasn’t done what I find so unacceptable. She gave me a crutch that I shall have to lean on for the rest of my life.

( )

Before I have a chance to make sense of my thoughts and emotions, Delicate Flower is standing in front of me. I’m so deeply lost in my own little world that I don’t see her walking up to me. She’s wearing black leather boots, dark jeans and a black leather jacket with loads of silver paraphernalia. Where have I seen this Goth biker-chick look before?

I bend down and give her a kiss on each cheek which makes her smile, almost to the point of blushing. Today her heels are shorter and she barely comes up to my shoulder in height. Doesn’t she find this odd, or does she like it?

It’s a beautiful Spring day and the sun is warming us all; it feels good on my back. We make our way through the crowds of tourists that have come to load up on tacky souvenirs that they’ll hide away when back home. Delicate Flower’s bouncy demeanour and ready smile dilute my troubled memories of the previous twenty four hours.

I lead us to Stables Market where the best of the world’s ethnic handicrafts have made their way to London. Disused stables once housing draught horses that pulled barges along canals have been tastefully converted into shops selling what seems like everything that can be made from fabric or leather. Delicate Flower is in her element and the retail therapy-seeker in her comes out. I saunter along, watching her in action, learning what I can about what appeals to her, how she makes decisions, seeing how she interacts with the shopkeepers. She’s picky, thorough and courteous; just like me.

What she doesn’t know is that I have made a booking with a restaurant, with a Groupon voucher in my pocket. When it was time for lunch, I said, “Come with me. I have a surprise for you,” which made her eyes light up. I led her to a swanky South African restaurant that had spent a million Pounds on the décor of Zulu-inspired statues, friezes, seating and lighting. Almost all the food is authentic South African cuisine of various wildlife. I had checked her profile during the week to see if she was vegetarian and thankfully she isn’t.

Shaka Zulu
Shaka Zulu

It was while we enjoying our main courses of ostrich and zebra steaks that our easy banter became interesting and somewhat serious.

“So, I’m curious about something. What was it about my profile that made you write to me?” I ask, expecting her to mention a clever line or reveal a liking for one of my carefully-chosen and tested photos.

“I haven’t read your profile,” she answers.

“Sorry, what?!” I exclaim.

“You dated my best friend last month and she suggested that I get in touch with you,” she says.

“Who is your best friend?” I ask, with my brain racing.

Delicate Flower mentions a name and I realize that it’s the Lost One she’s referring to.

( )

I’m getting referrals now?! Is this a good or bad thing? Nevertheless, this surprise takes me aback and my face must show it because Delicate Flower laughs at my reaction and looks pleased with herself.

Oh, so you like to play games, huh? Okay, let’s play. An idea comes to me.

We finish our lunch and I hand over the Groupon voucher to the waiter in front of Delicate Flower, checking for a reaction, trying to see if she’s bothered by this – she’s not. So, she’s not about the money.

Walking around the rest of the market could have taken up the rest of the day, but a downpour made us take shelter in a coffee shop. I use this as an opportunity to put my idea into action.

“So, in an ideal world, what would your perfect man look like?” I ask after we’re well into our coffees and pastries.

“Well, he’s tall, dark and handsome. Isn’t that what all girls want? Isn’t it obvious?” she answers with a naughty twinkle in her eye.

“What does he do for a job?” I ask, ignoring her slight compliment.

“He doesn’t sit in an office. He works with his hands. Something like being a baker. There’s something sexy about a man who uses his hands all day long,” she says.

“What kind of hobbies does he have?” I ask, confident in my belief that she’s thinking that my questions are about our compatibility.

“He’s into his sports and is quite active. I think he cycles. Those tight shorts do it for me,” she says with a little laugh.

I ask a few more inane questions like this and once I feel that I have what I need, I change the topic of conversation and she forgets about it. We talk about all sorts of other things and at one point we’re talking about Lost One. Delicate Flower goes too far in discussing her friend, slipping into malicious gossip (I might have helped steer matters in that direction) and tells me that Lost One has also committed my sexual foible. My stomach turns, but I give myself an invisible pat on the back for having not sensed any potential with her.

It’s getting dark and I realize that I’ve left it too late to engineer my going home with her on this date. I guess it’s the price I pay for not being better prepared, but the previous night with Teacher Gal has really thrown me. I would love to go home with Delicate Flower to have sex with her; my instincts tell me it will be good. However, flirting was minimal today and there was no sexual banter. We haven’t even kissed today.

Before I can come up with a way forward Delicate Flower says, “It’s been fun again, but I need to catch a bus home now.”

I walk her to a nearby bus terminus and wait with her until her bus arrives. As it pulls up, I say to her, “would you like to come visit me next weekend and I’ll cook for you?” expecting her to decline, citing being busy or something like that because this date was pretty uneventful to me.

“I’d love that,” she says with a smile before standing on tippy toes and giving me a kiss on a cheek, then climbing into the bus.

On my train home I decide that I want to find out what she’s like in bed. When she comes to my place next weekend I’m going to try to seduce her. Before that happens, I’m going to have my other fun with her.

I set up a fake OKCupid profile and via Google images I find a suitable picture of her ideal man. I write the profile up to include all the information that she gave me while we spent hours sitting in the coffee shop. I pretend to be a cycling-mad baker. I know what her answers are to OKCupid’s questions from my real profile, so it isn’t difficult for my fake persona to become one of her highest matches. Then I send her a message introducing myself. It takes only a couple of hours before she writes back.

When I next see her I’ll tell her about this; let’s see if she laughs. As we sit swapping messages, I get cocky. I phone her while messaging her on the website. She answers and we have one conversation on the phone, while we have another conversation via email, but she doesn’t know that she’s actually writing to me.

“So what are you doing right now?” I ask a little ways into the conversation, hearing her keyboard in action.

“Oh, I’m just watching television,” she replies as I read her latest message to me.

My fake persona messages her suggesting that “we” get together for a date this coming Sunday. She types back that she has “plans for Sunday”, which pleases me.

We talk on the phone about the practicalities of her getting to my place, all the while swapping emails that I am now steering in a distinctly sexual direction, seeing how she would handle this. She bites and offers to send the fake me photos of sketches that her sister did of her posing nude. I provide an email address and she sends a couple of tasteful images that turn me on. It didn’t take her long to send those; she must keep them handy.

I now decide to end the phonecall, but continue the now naughty chat via the website. I push matters too far when I ask her for real photos of her nude as at that point she stops responding.

Her indulging a total stranger, a fake one that happened to be me, to that extent reinforces my belief that she is a Good-Time Girl. My Good Girl would never do something like that.

She’s dishonest, deceitful and sexually loose. Any qualms I had about just using her for sex are now gone. I feel it’s okay for me to do as I wish with her.

Alan Parsons Project – Games people play