Lightning Strikes Thrice

I was expecting to hear from Pretty Teacher on Saturday night as it was her turn to call; she didn’t. On Sunday morning I get the feeling that we won’t be seeing each other. It was noon on Sunday when she called; I wasn’t sure what to expect. The call started out amicably enough but quickly grew serious.

“I’ve been thinking,” she starts out, takes a breath then follows with “and I’ve decided that you’re not right for me.”

It felt like I have been hit by a bolt of lightning.

I really didn’t see this coming. In my guessing about what was bugging her I hadn’t for a moment considered that she was about to dump me. I swallow hard, collect my thoughts, latch onto a notion and begin to speak.

“Do you mind telling me why?” I ask.

“Yes, you’re just too confident,” she replies.

“Sorry, what?!” I stammer.

“You’re the most naturally confident man I’ve ever met. You ooze self-assurance,” she says.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand why that’s a problem,” I counter. Is this some lame excuse for something else that she doesn’t want to tell me about, I wonder to myself.

“I’m very close to my family and I don’t think that they’d take to you. You’re just not as humble and quiet like English men,” she answers.

I’m stunned.

“Are you serious?” I blurt out.

“Yes, absolutely. I’m off to have lunch with them now and the thought of taking you with to meet them makes me uncomfortable,” she says.

I know that she thinks the world of her family and there’s nothing wrong with that. I think it’s great that she’s so close to her family because I’ve never known what that’s like. I think it a major factor in a long-term relationship if your other half’s parents like you. My ex-wife’s parents didn’t like me because I wasn’t religious enough for them and it weighed on our marriage.

“Okay, I understand your concern. So are you saying that we have no future together because of a cultural difference?” I ask.

“I suppose putting that it way, well, the answer’s a yes, I guess,” she says.

I’m stunned again. Then my fledgling sense of paranoia kicks in, spiced up with a sense of guilt that probably helped it to the surface of my psyche. I have been wondering about something.

“Tell me, why did you call me so late on Wednesday afternoon?” I ask, suspicious that she might have seen someone herself that day and that’s the real reason we’re having this chat. If that’s the case then I’d feel a whole better about things.

“Well if you must know, I spent the entire time with my friends discussing you and what I should do about you,” she answers with a cold bluntness that I don’t like.

So Pretty Teacher and her friends sat decorating that Christmas tree while discussing me. Not one of them have even seen me, let alone spoken to me. All they had to go on was what Pretty Teacher chose to tell them, that committee of overly-protective friends. What fun they must have had. They took turns stabbing my character with their flaming tongues, while my cock was stabbing Krazy Girl. Now I’m glad I was doing the latter, so very glad.

I’m not going to ask what she got up to last night, there’s no point and I now really don’t care. We politely end the call by wishing each other well for the future.

I feel disappointed that things with Pretty Teacher have turned out like this. Not seeing her final move tells me that I still have much to learn. I sit pontificating all that I’ve just heard. I appreciate her honesty, as uncomfortable as it feels, but the truth apparently sets us free. Free to do what exactly? I feel bewildered by Pretty Teacher, but now for different reasons.

Less than an hour later my phone rings again. This time it is my Exgf. Time for a booty call? I could do with a bit of physical pampering right now. She does give a good blowie. After initial polite chit-chat it turns out that my Exgf has other ideas.

“Well, I’ve been thinking…” she begins.

Hang on, I’ve heard that somewhere else today.

“Our little arrangement has now come to an end. No more fuckbuddies, you and I, mister,” she says emphatically, as if chastising a child.

Again I feel like I’ve been struck by lightning. I also didn’t see this coming, well, not so soon and not like this.

“Huh?” is the best I can say. Classy, I know.

“Yes, we can only be friends from now on,” she states.

“What’s brought this on?” I ask, curious about her reasoning.

“Sally says that I’ve been a fool for letting you date other women while shagging me. I agree with her,” she answers.

Humph. Women advising each other about me never ends well. Are there voodoo dolls of me in the stores?

I know my Exgf, once her mind’s made up there’s no changing it. In the early days of our relationship I thought that a commendable trait but in the latter years it became a pain in the backside. I have to accept her decision, which I’m fine with because I knew our fuckbuddy days would come to an end one day. I was struggling to think of a way to engineer a soft landing to end it without there being any negative fallout for either of us. This outcome suits us both. We make small-talk and end the call amicably, agreeing to keep in touch, but only as friends.

I can’t believe that I’ve had these two conversations less than an hour apart. I sometimes get the feeling that I’m living life according to someone else’s script. What’s the chances of these two calls happening in such short order and having the same negative result for me?

Life wasn’t done with me there though.

About an hour later my phone rings again and I’m reluctant to even look to see who it is. Ah, it’s my female friend who introduced me to her friend that I shall forever more think of as The Bitch. Yes, I’ll take her call, chatting to her will cheer me up.

I tell her about my conversation with Pretty Teacher but mention nothing about my Exgf. I was expecting some sympathy and disparaging remarks directed at Pretty Teacher, you know, snide comments questioning her sanity. Nope, not what I got.

“Well, it’s not just that. You can be too much of a gentleman and English women can find that controlling or overbearing,” she says.

Too much of a gentleman?! Is that possible?

It feels like I’ve been punched in the stomach by a lightning fast blow from Mike Tyson.

I pride myself in my old-fashioned gentlemanly ways. I think it’s charming and respectful. I don’t get upset with my friend because I value her being so frank with me. The truth is sometimes a difficult pill to swallow. My friend and I discuss the issue at length and it becomes clear to me what Pretty Teacher was saying about a cultural difference.

After that third call I sit there thinking things over, trying to see matters from a different perspective, struggling to grasp a reality that I was blind to. Some things from my recent dating experiences start to make sense.

The Model disappeared suddenly, as did Miss Indecisive. Local Lady and I just didn’t hit it off, which surprised me after good build-up we had, but that happened several times with other dates. Diving Dame had made a comment about “too much chivalry”. Wild Child was an odd experience; it felt like there was barrier between us at times. Country Girl was a big disappointment after a promising start, which is also true of Krazy Girl. Deranged Dater was a truly strange date. Lusty Lass was another weirdo. Musician Gal was an even bigger disappointment; that weekend together still rankles. The Wild Animal Tickler will one day win prizes for her cookiness. The Bitch was the worst date of them all by far.

What do all of these women have in common?

They’re all English.

My worst dating experiences were all with English women. Slightly more than half my dates have been with English women and in the main have been disappointing. Why did I not notice this earlier?! Hell, my Exgf is English. To be fair, some of my best dates and experiences were with English women. Tech Titan and Sweet Thing are English. However, seen on balance, almost all my bad dates and only a small number of my positive dating experiences were with English women.

The vast majority of my best dating experiences were with women from Eastern Europe. Baltic Babe stole my heart. Fitness Freak was great fun. The Hirsute Russian looked good until I spotted the caterpillar on her top lip. The Pretty Pole and the Randy Russian were good experiences. On the negative side of the balance sheet there was only the Picky Pole.

Seen statistically, I shouldn’t bother with English women any more and should direct my efforts at women from behind the former Iron Curtain. But why is this? I think about this and I realize that cultural affinity involves ideas of gender roles. We all are imbued with expectations about important topics that make-up this constantly evolving jigsaw puzzle called ‘Life’. Eastern European women expect a man to behave as I do, by way of treating them like a lady. English women wanted to be treated as an equal, like one of the guys. Feminism took root in the UK in the 1960s and it has had its social impact. I’m from a culture where feminism was only whispered of. My mindset about women and accompanying behaviour is at odds with English women’s expectations.

From my travels around our great planet, I have found myself better able to make friends with men from the former English-speaking British colonies. I include the USA in that. I also provide a proviso by way of especially getting along with men from rural areas and that also applies to non-English-speaking cultures too. Now that doesn’t make me a farmboy, but rather more of an old-fashioned man, never to mistaken for a metro-sexual. It seems to me that urban men have been emasculated and that feminism has overpowered chivalry.

I say what I mean and I mean what I say. People always know where they stand with me. I’m realizing that English people find that makes them uncomfortable. They have a preference for coating everything in layers of sugar that I find sickening. I’m not brash, but I am open. I’m as tactful and diplomatic as any English person, but I have drive. That also makes some people uncomfortable. I wasn’t brought up with a post-colonial sense of guilt that holds me back. I go for what I want, but I don’t hurt anyone in the process. My English peers seem overcome with self-doubt and riven with indecision by comparison. I don’t think of myself as an alpha-male, but I have often been called as such. I think of myself as more of a go-getter. It shouldn’t surprise you to learn that I have very few male friends who are English.

Please don’t misunderstand me; I’m not bashing England. My adoptive country has been very kind to me and I am grateful for what I have experienced here. There are many commendable features about life in the UK. It’s just that it is now clear to me that English women and I have an unlikely romantic future. I might be in the wrong country to find The One. Fortunately I have London on my doorstep and it’s the most cosmopolitan city in the world. She has to be in this seething, squirming anthill of humanity.

Until I find Her, I ride alone…so fucking alone.

LESSONS LEARNED: 1) By the end of the third date it’s going well, or it’s not going to go well after that. 2) English women are not for me. 3) Women are easily influenced by their female friends. 4) Eastern European women and I are a better match. 5) It’s apparently possible to be too much of a gentleman.

Lee Clayton – I ride alone

Pretty guilty date

My quickie with Krazy Girl wasn’t as satisfying as I had hoped for, that compounds my sense of nervousness and guilt as I arrive at Pretty Teacher’s place. Will she be able to sense that I’ve been a naughty boy or is she too absorbed by whatever the hell is going on in her head?

We politely kiss hello as her front door, but all I can think of is are there are bite marks or signs of kissing on my face or neck? Have I overdone it with the deodorant or isn’t there enough? Do I look guilty?

Pretty Teacher invites me inside and she leads me to the lounge. Is this the part where she sits me done and asks me what I’ve been up to? Or is this when she has a heart-to-heart with me about whatever is bugging her?

“Look at what my friends and I did today,” she says pointing at a freshly decorated Christmas tree that occupies a window bay.

It’s only mid-November, a bit early for a tree to be going up, but I say nothing. Instead I make approving sounds and Pretty Teacher beams her delight. She seems in a better mood today. I might just get away with this.

“C’mon, lets go to my favourite Thai restaurant,” she says grabbing her jacket.

I know not to quibble as we walk to her car. She always wants to drive, even though she’s a bad driver. That might take some getting used to. It isn’t a surprise to me either that we head for the same town we’ve always gone to, even though there are several others equidistant. She does like to be in control and for things to be predictable it seems.

The banter as we drive is okay, with her telling me about her morning that became an afternoon too with her friends. I consider her tone and demeanour neutral. We drive up an empty street where the restaurant is but Pretty Teacher can’t make up her mind where to park. As if it makes any difference. Eventually she chooses a spot. Memories of Miss Indecisive come flooding back. It seems I really am getting to see similar personality types on the dating scene.

The Thai restaurant is empty and we have a choice of tables. There are times when I want to be more assertive and do the choosing and this is one of those times because, driven by my sense of guilt, I let Pretty Teacher decide where we should sit. After some umming and ahhing she chooses a table, but hardly are we seated when she says another table is better and we move there.

Conversation now dries up while we inspect the menu. I try my best to get conversation flowing, hoping that it will be like our first date again, but she’s adopted her iceberg routine again. Why am I bothering? Well, I want a relationship, not a fuckbuddy thing like I have with my Exgf and Krazy Girl. I’m hoping that things between Pretty Teacher and I flourish into a wonderful romance, that becomes a life-long lasting love.

It’s important to have dreams and goals, things that make us get up every day, things that give us pleasure, things that make life worthwhile.

Right now Pretty Teacher is not giving me any kind of pleasure. She’s sitting there staring at me, scrutinising me. Has she spotted something? Is there lipstick on my collar? Have I been rumbled?

With merciful timing a waiter arrives to take our order. Pretty Teacher can’t make up her mind about what to eat, so before she does I give the waiter my order. I usually wait for the lady to order first, but the waiter starts to look bored and I’m beginning to think that Pretty Teacher is an annoying ditherer. She might be one of those people who stands in a queue in a fast-food outlet but still don’t know what they want by the time they get to the counter.

Conversation is as dry as the Sahara until our food arrives. We sit eating in stony silence. Fuck, this is hard work. I can only guess that she has spotted something incriminating on me and now she’s deciding how to broach the subject. I can see that it is tricky for her if she has. You don’t want to accuse someone you’re dating of fucking around because you could be wrong and then unnecessary damage has been done.

Dessert is eaten in silence as well. There’s still nobody else in the restaurant and the silence is echoing off the walls. It’s starting to feel like I’m a prisoner in a holding cell waiting to hear judgement, followed by sentencing. She gets out her phone and plays some online scrabble. Or is she texting a friend her suspicion, asking what to do? What if she does confront me, accuse me? Me being me I’ll probably confess to my infidelity. I’m a terrible liar; my face was not made for poker, but more for radio.

Out of guilt I pay the bill, Pretty Teacher offers to pay her half but I dismiss her offer with a shake of my head and a smile. We walk back to her car, it’s chilly tonight so I offer her my jacket, which she declines. Once at the car I open her door for her, to which she just smiles.

As we drive out of the deserted town a drunk woman staggers out of a pub. She lurches into the road a few yards in front of us. Pretty Teacher slams on her brakes and we skid to a halt. The drunk stops, turns to us, raises an upturned hand and extends her middle finger.

Pretty Teacher goes berserk! She starts screaming and swearing at the other woman who probably can’t hear her. I’ve never heard a woman swear like that before and I’m shocked. The drunk staggers off, but Pretty Teacher keeps hurling verbal abuse after her. An angry foot hits the accelerator and we speed off in to the darkness.

Hmm, maybe she’s not as classy as I would like. She seems quick to anger and her knowledge of crude swearing would impress a battle-hardened soldier. My opinion of her takes a turn for the worse, but I can’t be too hypocritical because if she knew what I was up to hours earlier…

We sit in silence as she drives. I sense that she’s fuming to herself about the drunk, which suits me fine because it takes the invisible spotlight off me for a while. I sit thinking about what happens next. Is she hoping/needing/wanting to get physical with me once we’re at her place? I’m not really in the mood, not because I’ve just shagged Krazy Girl, but more because I’m not desirous of Pretty Teacher. Her shit behaviour and uncouth outburst has put me off her somewhat. However, if she does want to fuck then I’ll oblige, but I need to down the purple helper I have in my jacket pocket first and give it half an hour to kick in.

Back at her place she makes me a coffee. Shall I take the Viagra now? I decide not to because I first want some signs that she wants whoopee. Just like last time I was here we sit side by side on her sofa, but this time we stare at the Christmas tree. Pretty Teacher seems more interested in it than she is in me. We sit with empty mugs in our laps, not talking. Any minute now she’s going to say something important.

“It’s been a long day for me and I have a stonking headache. Shall we call it a night?” she eventually says.

I’m not entirely sure what the last part means because it’s ambiguous to me. Am I sleeping over or not?

“So am I sleeping over?” I ask.

“I’m afraid not,” she says with a dead-pan look on her face.

“Okay, not a problem,” I say as I get up. A sense of deja vu creeps in. Didn’t we have this conversation the last time I was here?

Pretty Teacher stands next to me as I put my jacket on. Her arms are folded. I don’t give up easily, it’s something of a character flaw I’m starting to think.

“How about you come visit me on Sunday?” I suggest.

“Okay, we can talk about it tomorrow night,” she answers.

I drive home feeling conflicted. Yet again I’m angry and frustrated at her attitude towards me. I’m also unimpressed by her outburst at the drunk; she was exhibiting quite low-class behaviour during that incident. I feel guilty and ashamed for having fucked Krazy Girl earlier in the day. That frolic has left me feeling confused because Krazy Girl might have another guy on the go herself, that’s what I’ve deduced from her bruises.

I don’t know what to make of all this.

Looking back on it now, there was no way I could have predicted what happened next.

Another guy and paranoia

I’ve never been inside Krazy Girl’s parent’s home; I’ve always been made to hide in my car around the corner. Today I get to go inside and fuck her there. I wonder where her parents are or is she now so horny that in teenager-style she wants me to fuck her while they’re in the home? The more daring the sex, the more she likes it. As I knock on the door I’m filled with feelings of shame because I know that Pretty Teacher might be trying to call me as she has promised but I’ve now switched my phone off.

Krazy Girl comes to the door and greets me like I’m a friend returning a bowl of sugar. She leads me to the kitchen and I’m shocked at how shabby this home is. All the furnishings are from the 1970s and it smells musty, like an old-age home. It’s an end-of-terrace, double-storeyed dwelling with the bedrooms upstairs. No wonder she didn’t pull up her nose the first time she saw my place.

“So where are your folks?” I ask, concerned about the obvious.

“They’re at a funeral, then they’re going to the wake afterwards, but I don’t really know when they’ll be back, so we’ll have to be quick,” she says with a pained expression on her face.

Be quick? That suits me just fine. I want to splash and dash too.

“I’m going to have a quick shower. Why don’t you go upstairs to my room? It’s the only one on the left as you get to the top,” she gestures while heading off to what I surmise is the bathroom.

I get to the landing and notice three doorways, but none of them have doors, they only have curtains that are about four inches above the floor. Did her parents really bring up three kids in this house like this? Then I remember that Krazy Girl’s brother had hung himself in one of these rooms and that she was the one to find him first. I can’t imagine how she feels about having to move back here after losing her job earlier this year. I feel sorry for her. Her tortured, twisted heart and emotionally befuddled state has some extenuating circumstances.

Walking into her room I almost stumble over cardboard boxes that look strangely familiar. Ah, I had last seen them in her place, but now they’re all stacked up here. There’s no sign of a wardrobe for her clothes, just a series of suitcases strategically placed on top of boxes. Her prize cat is sitting imperiously on top of pillows on her bed; it blinks at me. The only free floor-space leads from the bed to the doorway; it’s so cramped in here.

Krazy Girl joins me, a towel wrapped around her. She pulls that off and starts rubbing her hair dry. I stand and watch as her breasts wobble. My eyes wonder up and down her body, as if it was the first time I’ve seen it. Ridiculous considering that we got carnal less than 48 hours ago.

She tosses the towel aside and starts undressing me. When she does know what she wants it’s a very impressive sight. I like the assertive her; I find it quite sexy. She lets my clothes fall to the floor, somewhat to my annoyance because I need to put those back on later and make my way over to Pretty Teacher’s, so they need to look fresh.

As she gets me naked, I notice a couple of bruises on her thighs, not ones which indicate an accident but several deliberate acts by someone. They weren’t there on Monday. Has she been seeing another guy? We saw each other on Monday and today is Wednesday, so what did she get up to yesterday?

“Where do those bruises come from?” I ask, expecting to hear a lie.

“Oh, that’s from my gym. I tried a bit of kick-boxing,” she says after a split second of thinking.

It was the “oh” that confirms her lie to me. Whenever I knew that she was telling a lie in the past, it also began with that nonchalant “oh”. Has she been fucking some other guy and he didn’t satisfy her, that’s why she put out a booty call to me? She knew I’d satisfy her, give her what she wanted, always have, possibly might always be able to.

My mind goes into overdrive, thoughts of deceit and incessant lies fill the vacuum between my ears. I start to doubt myself. Has all the experiences of late twisted my perception of things to such an extent that I’m becoming paranoid? Perhaps, but I need to know more to make certain.

“I thought you said you had given up your gym membership because you couldn’t afford it?” I probe. The thing about lies is that one begets another.

“Oh, I got a day pass,” she answers after another second of contemplation. Day passes at gyms don’t come with sessions to kick-boxing. The little liar, I’m going to fuck her so hard. I become angry, but try my damnedest to not let it show. I decide to transmute my feelings into actions.

I don’t say another word and don’t even bother kissing her to kick things off. I just put a hand through her hair, cup the back of her head and gently pull her face down to my cock which she instantly takes in her mouth, like a good little cock-sucking slut should.

Krazy Girl sucks away on my cock while my brain continues to ricochet around inside my skull, convulsing with negative ideas at the speed of thought. What if I’m wrong and she’s telling the truth? Am I becoming paranoid about every interaction with a woman? Am I going crazy? Is Krazy Girl making me crazy?

All that women seem to do to me is fuck me around!

Pretty Teacher is fucking me around. Krazy Girl might be fucking around. Now I’m fucking around too.

I become filled with a sense of rage that makes my blood boil. All that that serves to do is to make my cock bigger and harder. I look down to see Krazy Girl is now seated on the edge of her bed and is happily sucking away on my now fully erect cock. Her eyes are closed and she has a serene look on her face. It seems she’s in a cocknotic state.

Suddenly she stops, stands up, spins around and climbs onto her bed. She assumes doggy-style position and reaches back with one hand, pulling a buttock askance, inviting me to penetrate her. Does she want both holes drilled? My rage is such that ramming my cock into her pussy is an instinctual thing to do.

Her pussy is slippery, which surprises me considering the lack of foreplay. Ah, she’s horny, probably woke up wet this morning. Maybe the sense of urgency, the danger, is a turn-on for her? She wants it hard, fast and rough, I guess. Okay, let’s find out.

I suck on one of my thumbs and slide it gently up her arse. Krazy Girl doesn’t make a sound, nor move or offer any kind of reaction to what I just did. Yep, she’s totally turned on and anything goes now.

I wriggle my thumb around in her arse, my cock plunging into her wet pussy as she pulls the window-blind back with one hand and peers out at the street, looking for signs of her parents returning early. She is so wet that the squelching sound as I force my cock in her probably has some of her juices squirting out as my cock goes in. I don’t look down to check as I take this spectacle in. I love having my way with a woman like this, especially one as big-breasted as Krazy Girl. Her tits are swaying all over the place and I’m mesmerised by them like a puppy watching a kitten.

Her focus is entirely on the street outside, oblivious to my thumb flailing around in her arse and the tip of my cock hitting her cervix. I couldn’t be any deeper in her holes and she doesn’t mind at all. I think it’s what she wanted, to feel used, to feel degraded; it’s all in keeping with her own self-image issues.

She is just a piece of fuckmeat to meet, no longer someone to be loved or cherished. She was beyond redemption and only good for being my sex toy. She is treating me in the same way; her primary interest is my cock, plain and simple. We’re using each other and neither one cares.

The clarity of this insight makes the whole thing uncomplicated for me. It sets me free to enjoy myself, to feed my carnal needs, unencumbered by unnecessary, complicating emotions. It is pure fucking, nothing more, nothing less…and it feels good.

God, her holes feel amazing, her skin is flawless and her tits perfect. She has the face of an angel. I’m in heaven. I know that below her surface dark demons pervade, but that doesn’t matter right now.

Krazy Girl starts making sounds, so I look down and realize that she’s getting closer to cumming. With my free hand I bunch as much of her lustrous golden-blonde hair up as I can and I pull back initially gently, then forcefully. My hips go as fast as they can for as long as they can while I hold her like this, on the hook. Her shoulders start making strange movements as she cums. She lets of an unnatural sound, like an angry spirit being exorcised from her body might sound.

Her arms collapse and I have to let go of her hair. I keep fucking her pussy with my thumb up her bum while she lies slumped and panting. Shall I put my cock in her arse? I reckon she’ll let me. However, I don’t want to take too many chances with her. Again I’m in danger because I’m not wearing a condom. Anal would be going too far. Before my internal debate resolves itself I feel that I’m about to cum.

“Where do you want my cum?” I ask.

“Wherever you want. I don’t care,” she answers.

“Roll onto your back,” I instruct, pulling my appendages out of her holes.

Krazy Girl slumps over onto her side, then flattens herself out, her eyes closed and breathing heavily through her nose. I’m in an aggressive frame of mind, so I direct my cock at her face. It takes just two tugs before my cum explodes out of my cock and goes flying, most of it landing on her face. She barely flinches nor makes any kind of sound and just keeps her eyes closed. Obviously she’s used to this.

A few more tugs and I’m empty. Krazy Girl still has her eyes closed, but opens her mouth and her little tongue makes an appearance. It roams around the perimeter of her mouth, collecting whatever semen it can find before she withdraws it to swallow whatever it has found.

Only then do I notice that her cat has been sitting there watching us the whole time. I don’t think I’ll ever like or even get used to that, being watched by a pet while having sex.

“I’ll go shower again,” she says, getting up and walking off without making eye contact with me.

That was damn intense and I feel electrified. Still, this all feels so unnatural to me. Thoughts of Pretty Teacher spring up in my mind. I get dressed as quickly as I can before switching my phone on. It’s now almost four o’clock. I see that she has called, but only five minutes ago and has left a message. In a thief-like fashion while Krazy Girl showers I listen to her message in which she simply asks for me to call her back. I need to get out of here, pronto. I switch my phone off and hide it in my pocket.

“I’m sorry, but we can’t have my parents catching you here,” Krazy Girl says as she comes up the stairs.

“I understand. I’ll leave now,” I say, trying to sound as neutral as possible. This sneaking around thing doesn’t come naturally to me.

We kiss politely before I slip out the front door. As I walk to my car my inner dialogue resumes.

If she is seeing another man, then I’m ‘the bit on the side’, I’m now somebody else’s ‘other guy’. I don’t like how that makes me feel. This whole situation is all so wrong for me. If I never see Krazy Girl again it won’t bother me.

Once in my car where it is quiet I call Pretty Teacher and she apologizes for calling so much later than she had promised. I make nothing of it, largely because I’m starting to feel guilty again. We agree for me to be at hers in the next hour so that we can have an early-ish meal. I’m not too sure what to make of that. What does she have planned?

I realise that I should have showered at Krazy Girl’s to get her scent and the smell of sex off me. As a precaution, before leaving home, I had put a small can of deodorant and face wipes in my glove compartment. I get to work using them, hoping to hide my sins. I nearly gas myself in my car, such is my level of concern. Ever practical, I’ve also brought along a little purple helper, just in case I need to satisfy Pretty Teacher too. I’m not counting on that happening because everything is so uncertain with her.

One thing is for certain, I need to calm down, get my head straight and go visit Pretty Teacher. My emotions are running quite high, am I going to be able to not let anything slip about this afternoon? Will she smell it on me?

Rupert Holmes – Him

What to do a.k.a. Oh, F*CK!

I feel as guilty as hell for having fucked Krazy Girl while hoping for a relationship with Pretty Teacher, but that feeling only lasts until the evening when I speak to the latter again. I take a deep breath before phoning her; will she ask me about my day and I’ll have to lie? Her attitude on the phone is frosty, aloof and disinterested. I’m not going to demean myself by asking her what the matter is; it might seem like grovelling. The call ends with her promising to phone me on Wednesday by noon with details about our date that night.

After the call I sit there trying to figure out what is going on with her unpleasant attitude towards me. I did phone her the day after we had sex, not doing so is a big issue to a woman, so I got that right. Maybe she was expecting more from me the next time we saw each other? I know! Chocolate. I didn’t bring her chocolate. I’ve heard good things about what that stuff does to women.

If a woman is upset, throw chocolate
If a woman is upset, throw chocolate

No, that’s just silly. If she’s so easily upset by such a trivial omission then she’s not The One for me. Wait, maybe it’s not me. Of course, it could be that time of the month! Why didn’t I think of that sooner? My Exgf become a bitch from hell when she was on her period. Perhaps Pretty Teacher is PMS’ing? I can’t ask her that; that would be bad.

Girlfriend upset because of period, PMS.
Girlfriend upset because of period, PMS.

Somehow I don’t get the feeling that that’s the issue here either. There’s something else going on but I just can’t figure it out. There are so many things that could be causing her behaviour, vexing her that I don’t know where to begin.

Why could my girlfriend be upset?
Why could my girlfriend be upset?

I sometimes think I’ll never know how to keep a woman happy. I wonder if there is a formula for doing so somewhere out there that I’m just not aware of? It would be nice if someone were to be kind enough to clue me in because this women-dating-relationship thing is such hard work.

How to keep a woman happy.
How to keep a woman happy.

Perhaps there’s a book that I need to read? Women seem to put a lot of faith in these self-help, gender differences, relationship guides type of books and magazine articles. I remember my ex-wife being an avid fan of ‘Men are from Mars’ – wow, that book lead to a lot of arguments. There must be one for men to help them understand women?

Understanding women
Understanding women

Or is it simply a case of her showing me her true colours? I think everybody puts on their best behaviour in the early days of dating someone but it’s only so long before the real person comes to the fore. Is she a Misery perhaps? Is this why she’s single?

Woman shows her true colours.
Woman shows her true colours.

Maybe she’s a control freak and into mind games? Is she testing me so as to see how I deal with this situation? That’s a dangerous game to play with me. I don’t like it and I have no problem meeting women. Granted some of them are seriously messed up in their heads and use their personalities as contraceptives. I think the way to beat someone playing mind games…is to not play.

Women and mind games
Women and mind games

Pretty Teacher phones me on Tuesday night and has very little to say for herself. I have to make all the effort to keep conversation going. The only thing that animates her is tomorrow’s get-together with all her friends at her place. She promises again to phone me afterwards and no later than noon. Then the conversation becomes hard work again and I can’t wait to get off the phone. It shouldn’t be this difficult.

It’s now noon on Wednesday and Pretty Teacher hasn’t called. I’m the type of person to always do as I promise and I value that in my significant other. She was so emphatic about calling by noon that I can’t help but wonder if there’s something else going on. What do I do? A sense of bewilderment stirs in me, then followed by frustration that leads to anger. I’m seething by one o’clock as I sit eating my lunch. Finally my phone comes to life.

It’s a text message…

From Krazy Girl…

I’m still so horny. Can you come over?

Holy shit!

I don’t believe this. What do I do? Time is of the essence here; I need to make a decision quickly.

I’d love to have sex with Krazy Girl again, but I want to have a proper relationship and Pretty Teacher has seemed like a good prospect. I can’t go off and fuck one woman then have dinner with another…who might be expecting sex afterwards. Or can I?

Doing that would be so wrong in my book; it reeks of infidelity. How can I start a real relationship with Pretty Teacher while fucking Krazy Girl behind her back? I’d be the most guilt-ridden non-Catholic in existence. That’s not who I am nor what I’m about. I’m a decent man imbued with a sense of decency and honour that I believe has served me well in life. I’ve never done anything like this before and under these circumstances I’m struggling to discern wrong from right here.

In my head I hear the words of my friend, Vicious Vic, who is the most amoral man I know. We’re at polar extremes in morality and thus we entertain each other. His words are, “Who’s going to know? Go’on son, have some fun!”

I can see the case for servicing Krazy Girl and then taking my chances with Pretty Teacher. The latter’s behaviour has been disappointing and there’s no reason to believe things are going to rebound and hit the heights that I hope for. I’m not saying that she deserves to have me philandering, but I also don’t deserve her attitude. At the moment my strongest feeling towards her is one of confusion, closely followed by frustration.

There is also the practical matter of sex. As a younger man I could easily have rampant sex three times a day. I remember my ex-wife complaining once in our early days by saying, “What have I got myself into?” Now I’m in my early forties and just once a day is all I need. If I exhaust myself with Krazy Girl will I be able to satisfy Pretty Teacher mere hours later? I don’t know. With my luck the Dating Gods will decree that both these women be horny on this solemn day.

If I turn down Krazy Girl I’ll probably never hear from her again. However, I wasn’t expecting her appearance today either, so there’s no telling with her, but I know it’ll end abruptly with her no matter what. The situation with Pretty Teacher is out of my control because there’s no guessing what’s going on in her head. She now feels just as unpredictable.

I mull over the pros and cons, analyse the scenarios and come up with the following. It isn’t my highest priority, but good sex with Krazy Girl is a sure thing. I’d like to keep that option open if things with Pretty Teacher peter out. Matters with the latter feel like they’re a 50/50 at the moment, things can go either way. If I don’t shag Krazy Girl she’s gone from the scene for sure, but then I’m left with a big unknown outcome with Pretty Teacher. I could lose both of them within days.

Vicious Vic wins. I decide to put my morals aside, have some fun with a certainty and take my chances with the other uncertainty. I’m going to fuck Krazy Girl and then visit Pretty Teacher, possibly shagging her too. This is new ground for me, dangerous and exciting, wrong by my former standards. I feel like such a cheat, but I’m going to do this anyway.

I text back to Krazy Girl, “I’ll be there in an hour.

How is this going to turn out?

Bryan Adams – Run To You

Urgent sex

I know she won’t be on the scene for long so I have a small window of opportunity to do as I please with her. I especially want to get video footage of me fucking her in the arse; images to complement my memories of our only anal encounter. Pretty Teacher’s bewildering attitude on our last date has left me in a tailspin where she is concerned. It feels like we’ve hit an invisible wall, so indulging in the best sex I’ve ever known is relatively guilt-free, a bit like a diet cola.

At 9am Krazy Girl is at my front door. She is very well dressed, wearing heavy make-up, as if she is going to a job interview. Is that the lie she told her parents so that she can use her father’s car so early in the morning? Probably, but it doesn’t matter, because she is here to get her holes drilled by my cock and I’m looking forward to obliging her. She is still the best fuck of my life, so I know it’s going to be good.

We greet politely, but no kiss. She comes inside as if she belongs in my home, takes her jacket off and goes to my hallway cupboard where my Winter gear is kept. She remembers well and in a very familiar fashion, as if she has done it countless times, hangs her jacket up. As she does this I’m looking at her body, noticing that she seems to have put some weight on. Her tits are going to be even bigger than before, more than an e-cup now, I think to myself. I know not to get into a serious conversation with her because all I’ll get in return is emotional vomit.

Krazy Girl starts saying something trivial as I step forward to give her one of my slow, gentle kisses that make her knees go weak and her pussy get wet. I cup her face with my hands and keep my lips on hers, as gently as I can, teasing with them, waiting for her to start using her tongue which I know is the signal that she is getting turned on.

She really is horny because it is only a matter of seconds before her slippery little tongue is in my mouth, searching for my tongue. I feel her body rise as she stands on the tips of her toes, our tongues entwining, her breathing growing faster, faster than my cock is hardening. I had almost forgotten how our kissing turned even me on, almost as much as it did her. It’s rare for kisses to have that effect on me.

I drop my hands from her face and slide them down her body, being careful not to touch her breasts. As much as she likes me playing with them, I wanted to build the anticipation in her body, even in excess of what is obvioulsy already there. She can’t have been fucked in a while, given the noises she is letting off, but I have no doubt that a horny little slut like her has been with at least one other guy after me, if not more. She needs sex more than I do; I’ve never met a woman with a sex-drive like hers.

Perhaps since me she has taken on two or more cocks at once – taking a ‘dp’ (double penetration), one cock in her pussy and another in her arse at the same time. Perhaps she had been ‘airtight’ – a ‘dp’ with a third cock in her mouth. I could just see her saying “naughty”, her code word for enjoyment, as all three cocks started cumming in all her holes at the same time. Yes, she’d enjoy that, feeling hot cum in her mouth, pussy and arse at the same time, as it started to drip out, especially out of her gaping arse. The arse that I already had once before the pleasure of fucking until she couldn’t take it any more.

Her innocent Good-Girl routine doesn’t impress me any more, I know what she’s about. I’m not labouring under any illusion that this is the start of a new romantic liaison between us; this is just sex. Frenetic, impulsive, unfettered, urgent sex. That’s all she wants and that’s all she has to offer. In her current emotional state it’s all she’s good for.

In the blink of an eye we’re in my lounge. Krazy Girl is on her haunches, her back is resting against the rear of my sofa and my cock is in her mouth. I’ve never seen a woman get my cock out and start sucking on it so quickly. Has she been thinking about this moment?

“Have you missed my cock?” I ask.

“Yes, and this time I’m not trading him in,” she says before swallowing as much of my cock as her mouth can take.

That remark confirms to me that earlier in the year, when we had first met, there was another man on the scene and she chose to run with him. The truth always comes out, usually at the worst opportune time and anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool. Krazy Girl is such a fool, but for the next little while, she’s my fool.

“Lie on the sofa,” she instructs.

It’s not normal in my world for a woman to take the lead in the proverbial bedroom, but with Krazy Girl I don’t mind because I’m keen and curious to know what she has planned. For a woman ten years my junior she has skills, skills that I don’t want to think about how and where she got them.

I do as I’m told while Krazy Girl stands in front me, undressing herself with an almost evil look on her face. A disturbingly demonic look in her eyes makes me wonder what she’s thinking. She strips down to a sultry black bra and panties with suspenders holding her black pantihose just above the knee. She looks stunning. She is easily the most sensual, desirable woman I have ever seen in the flesh. Yes, she’s carrying a bit more weight than six months ago when I last fucked her, but she’s still totally sexy!

“Wait, I want to film this,” I say, beginning to get up, my cock flopping out of my trousers.

“No, we’re not doing anything like that! You just lie back!” she barks.

I’m not about to get into an argument when I have all this on offer. I know what’s good for me, so I lie back. I have to forget about videoing anything; my memory will have to suffice.

Krazy Girl pulls her panties aside as she straddles me, slowly lowering her pussy onto my cock that she expertly grabs. She’s still got that strange look in her eyes, as if this is the most important thing she has ever done. Her pussy is gloriously warm and wet as she slides onto my dick. She lets off a satisfied gasp and throws her head back. Krazy Girl closes her eyes, swallows hard, then raises her head and looks me in the eye again. Slowly she starts lifting and lowering herself onto my cock, biting her lower lip painfully as she does so.

We don’t talk because we don’t need to; our bodies are doing the talking. I decide to let my fingers do the walking, so I reach up and pull her bra straps down onto her puny biceps. I let them dangle there for a moment as I take in the sight that is Krazy Girl enthralled on my cock. She was dickmatized: only interested in what my cock could do for her. Anything I said or did would be irrelevant or irritating. All she wants is my cock. It’s as simple as that.

I reach up and pull her bra-cups down, letting her perfect breasts tumble out. Cupping them with my warm hands makes Krazy Girl let off an approving sound. It is chilly November and I am unusually warm-blooded; several women have enjoyed sleeping next to me…so that they can defrost their feet.

Krazy girl starts speeding up her motion and lowers herself totally onto my crotch area. I’m still fully dressed, how is my belt and zipper not hurting her? Maybe they are and she likes it? She does have a pleasure-pain thing going on in that mixed up head of hers. She grinds her pussy down onto me, letting my cock fill her up. Again she closes her eyes in satisfaction.

A little over a week ago Pretty Teacher and I were fucking on this fabric sofa. I haven’t had a chance to wash the covers yet. Will Krazy Girl notice any hint of my cum and another woman’s pussy juices? I surreptitiously start scanning for stains on the material. What if she notices some? Is there a smell?

“Take me on the floor,” she suddenly says, getting up off me.

I have a mixed feeling of relief from the stains now becoming a non-issue while at the same time experiencing a sense of deja vu. The very first time Krazy Girl and I got intimate involved us doing it on the floor. I’m not going to quibble. Carpet burns is a small price to pay for the best lay ever.

In a split second I quickly undress and we’re on the floor making the beast with two backs. What is it about women loving having me on top of them? They must like how it feels. In Krazy Girl’s case I think it’s the yin-yang of domination followed by submission. She wants to feel all powerful at first, but then secretly wants to be overpowered. I wonder if she has rape fantasies? I’ll ask some other time, if there ever is one.

There is no better way to put this: our bodies were made for each other. She feels perfect. She looks perfect. Such a damn shame that she’s all messed up in the head and heart. We could have been so good together. I don’t think there’s enough time to fix what might never be fixable. Lusty Lass is still prattling on about her divorce five years after the fact, but her ex-husband was nowhere near as much a mean bastard as Krazy Girl’s was. Her damage might be lasting the rest of her life.

I can feel that I’m getting closer to cumming; it’s way too soon. I pull out of her and start playing with her clit and g-spot. Her eyes are wide in disbelief at what I’m making her feel. Her pussy is tight and I surmise that she hasn’t been fucked in a while. Fuckit, I have to know and I don’t care if she gets upset. I’m not counting on seeing her again after today.

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

“I saw someone briefly in July,” she answers instantly.

I don’t believe her. She likes sex too much. There’s no way she can go months without it. That’s when it dawns on me that I’m in danger again by fucking her without a condom. One of these days I’m going to pay the price for that.

Krazy Girl starts to writhe and squirm on my lounge floor. Her g-spot has swollen and her pussy is a fountain of lubricating juices. She’s getting closer to cumming. I keep making that ‘come hither’ motion with my finger on her g-spot while running two fingers up and down either side of her clitoris with my other hand. The latter move is, as I discovered earlier in the year, what slowly sends her over the edge.

There’s a series of squelching sounds before ‘squirt-squirt-squirt’ as she ejaculates into the palm of my hand that is fingering her g-spot. She lets off a mixture of a screaming orgasm, a shocked gasp and a sound of embarrassment. I’ve never had a woman have a strong squirting orgasm like that before…and it’s fabulous.

I go wash my hands in the bathroom and return to her. Krazy Girl is still sprawled on the floor, in a daze of sorts. She looks lovely lying there like that, all feminine and vulnerable..and totally fuckable. I bend over, slide my arms under her and pick her up. She instinctively throws her arms around my neck and shoulders, just like Delicate Flower did when I bedded her.

I’m getting too old for carpet burns and cleaning semen off my rugs; to the bedroom I take her. Lying on top of her, my cock buried deep in her pussy, pressing against her cervix, feels like where I belong. I do as Mother Nature intended and, I must confess, I don’t give a damn what Krazy Girl is thinking or feeling. I can’t allow myself the dangerous luxury of becoming emotionally connected to her. I’ve been down that road with her and it’s the Highway to Emotional Hell. I try to learn from my mistakes, after all, they are lessons in disguise. There really is no need to pay twice unless you like the learning part so much.

It doesn’t take too long before I have to cum. I manage to pull out just in time and feed my cock to Krazy Girl who happily swallows my load. She has never shown any resistance to swallowing my cum and I think she might even look forward to it. Does it make her feel used and powerless? Is this act an emotional release for her?

We lie cuddling without speaking for what feels like a blissful eternity before she gets up and goes to the bathroom, grabbing her handbag left in the hallway. She returns a few minutes later, all dressed with her smudged make-up rectified. Only then do I realize that it is approaching noon. Fucking time flies by.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to dash,” she says.

“If you wait a minute I’ll get dressed and walk you to your car,” I say.

“No, there’s no need. I know my way out,” she replies and leaves, pulling the front door closed behind her.

As quickly as she had arrived, devoid of pleasantries or chit-chat, she departed.

I don’t expect to hear from her again…unless her need is urgent.

Foreigner – Urgent


I switch off all my dating profiles in an act of fidelity and decency. Pretty Teacher and I are off to a great start, although I’m not convinced that having sex on our second date was the best idea. Nevertheless, it’s happened and I need to move matters forward positively. Yes, I do have some misgivings about her OCD behaviour with her phone. I’m starting to think that OCD means ‘Obviously Confused & Damaged’. Is she?

We arrange to meet the following Saturday, first to watch a game of rugby in a pub, then to partake in a Guy Fawkes fireworks evening. Our banter on the phone each night is positive, upbeat and fun. I think that she’s a thoroughly good person, is someone I can trust and thus far all the signs are that we can be good together.

It’s the first Saturday in November and it’s a blustery one as I arrive at Pretty Teacher’s apartment complex. She summons me upstairs and I’m enthused by her wanting me to see her home. Her place is a two-bedroomed apartment that is very tastefully furnished. One bedroom is her office where she prepares her lessons and other teacherly stuff. Her bedroom has an enormous double bed in it. Will I be spending the night in it? I think it’s safe to assume so.

Again she insists that we go in her car to the same historic market town that we went to last weekend. Is repetition part of OCD behaviour? We find a bustling pub where we watch the game together, albeit sitting largely in silence, hardly talking to each other. I put this down to noisy environment we’re in. She struggles to sit still, is constantly fidgeting and I wonder if she also has ADHD. While I ponder this she grabs her phone and plays a round of online scrabble. At half-time I buy us hamburgers and drinks, which we eat in silence, barely making eye contact. I try to make conversation but her responses are curt to the point of rudeness.

My mind races, trying to figure out what’s going on here. We’ve spoken on the phone every night since Sunday, taking turns to call each other without having articulated plans to do so. I took that as a very good sign. Have I said something that has upset her? I’m not going to ask directly, but will rather let this date play out, let her show me her hand in her own sweet time. I’ll just be me, positive, light and fun. I’ve never been one for letting other people decide my mood.

It’s now early November so it’s gets dark early. The rugby game finishes, which England won against Australia, something that should make rugby-mad Pretty Teacher ecstatically happy, but instead she is still sombre. Is it perhaps because I didn’t gush about her home? I was impressed with it and said so, was that not good enough? What’s bugging her?

We make our way over to the stately home for the fireworks display. It’s blowing a gale and I won’t be surprised if the event is called off on health and safety grounds. On the phone the previous night we’d agreed that extra layers of clothing will be needed, so tonight we stand in a side-street near the venue getting changed into warmer gear that we’ve brought along. So, we both plan ahead and can stick to a plan. This is good, I can have a relationship with someone like that.

The wind is howling and it’s cold, damn cold. With my frame I dwarf her, so I offer to act as a windbreak, which she accepts. As we walk around looking at the stalls selling unspeakable plastic rubbish from China at ridiculous prices, I make an effort at all times to keep myself between Pretty Teacher and the wind. To warm us up I buy hot food and drinks which we consume in silence. Conversation is hard to come by, despite my best efforts. What the hell is going on in her head?

I’ve felt this feeling before, a feeling of confusion and of being scrutinized then rejected. I felt it with Country Girl and Musician Gal. In fact this whole experience so far is a replay of those encounters by way of it starting off with fireworks then quickly petering out. I’m starting to notice patterns here with certain types of women exhibiting types of behaviour that I now think of Hot-Cold. It was the same with Krazy Girl too.

I feel like just walking away because I’m starting to think that this is going nowhere. However, there could be a myriad of reasons for her offish behaviour, so I’m going to give her the benefit of the doubt. I also think she might be nervous about us having sex again. It could be anything; I won’t blow my chances by being impetuous. I’ll play it cool, be patient, be myself and let her come to me, physically and emotionally.

The fireworks display doesn’t last long and it’s a bit of a disappointment, just like this date so far. We go back to Pretty Teacher’s car and drive back to her place in silence. I’ve decided that she’s nervous about us having sex again and me spending the night. Maybe it’s all too fast for her? Maybe she’s such a Good Girl that what we did last Sunday is far beyond the realms of her dating or relationship experience.

Back at her place she invites me inside, but a part of me was wondering if she’d make some pithy excuse and I’d be going home alone. She makes me a coffee and we end up sitting side by side on her sofa…in silence and barely making eye contact. This reminds me of the time when I sat with Baltic Babe and all her confessions came out. Is the same about to happen?

“I’m sorry, but it’s late and I’m very tired,” she says, looking me in the eye with a strange look.

I’m not a hundred percent sure what she’s telling me, so I try to clarify with a question, a direct one which I try to put across as tactfully as I can.

“So does that mean I’m sleeping over or not?” I ask.

“Not, I’m afraid,” she replies with an apologetic expression on her face.

What the fuck is going on here?! That’s what I want to say, but I decide to be more dignified.

“Okay, not a problem,” is all I say.

I’m a bit surprised by this, I think about being even more direct and ask her what she’s thinking and feeling, but that would make me seem needy, something that is always a big no-no in any woman’s dating rulebook. We sit in silence staring into our nearly empty mugs of coffee.

I decide to act with dignity, so I get up, return the mug to the kitchen and make my way to the hallway to get my boots and jacket. Pretty Teacher is already there waiting for me, my jacket in her hands. I just smile as I put it on, trying to display some valour.

“I’ll give you a call tomorrow,” I say to her.

“Okay,” is all she says.

We kiss half-heartedly and I go downstairs to my car. On my drive home I’m absolutely fuming. What have I said or done, or NOT said or done to deserve this attitude from her?!

The next day I’ve calmed down to a simmer, telling myself all sorts of convenient lies to excuse Pretty Teacher’s actions and inactions. I tell myself that she just wants to take it slow, something I’m okay with. Then later in the evening I phone her as I had promised and the conversation is almost icy. Her answers are short and she asks no questions of her own. It feels like she doesn’t want to talk to me, wants me to get off the phone…wants me to fuck off and die. Then she surprises me.

“I’m off on Wednesday. Why don’t we go out for dinner? I’ll call you after lunchtime to finalise details as I’m seeing my friends for lunch,” she suddenly says.

This catches me totally off-guard. I agree to her idea and we say goodbye. I lie on my bed, phone in hand, feeling flummoxed by her frustrating, contradictory words and actions. One minute I’m being ignored, the next I’m in demand. I don’t appreciate being treated like this. I start to feel angry. I’m tired of women jerking me around like I’m a monkey on the end of a chain.

At 11PM my phone burps and I assume it’s Pretty Teacher, texting me a goodnight message, perhaps even an apology. I can’t believe my eyes when I look at my phone. It’s a message from Krazy Girl.

I’m horny!

I’m astounded. I haven’t seen her in almost three months. The last contact I had with Krazy Girl was when I wished her a happy birthday six weeks ago. Things have felt done and dusted between us since we last saw each other. I was never expecting to hear from her again. I feel a little bit excited, while also feeling confused, wary and very surprised.

I take a moment to think about things. I think about Pretty Teacher and how it feels like she’s just put me on an emotional roller-coaster. I don’t deserve what she’s doing to me. I think about my Exgf and my pledge to tell her if I’ve slept with anybody else, but remember her leading me on a merry dance for five years. She had the best of me, now she can have the worst of me. I think about the fantastic sex I’ve had with Krazy Girl. I send her a reply.

Be at mine tomorrow at 9am.

Katy Perry – Firework

Second date shenanigans – Final part

Licking Pretty Teacher’s clit while fingering her g-spot leads to an explosive orgasm, the type that gives a woman a headache afterwards. I lie next to her while her panting subsides, cuddling her as normality returns. I just say nothing, happy that I’ve pleased her. Eventually she clears her throat and speaks.

“Wow. Nobody’s ever done anything like that before,” she says, her eyes still wide.

“Good,” is all I say.

“What would you like me to do for you?” she asks.

I love it when a woman says those words to me. It signifies so much, such as her being a caring, sharing type and imbued with a sense of fairness. It also hints at perhaps even being totally submissive to me now.

“I would absolutely love it if you were to undress me and kiss me all over,” is my answer.

Pretty Teacher goes about undressing me, taking her time too. I’m in no hurry and enjoy watching her, looking at her naked. There’s something momentous about seeing a new lover naked for the first time. Each woman is different and I appreciate that. I love the female form, with its nuances, softness and clever design. I love the way women move, especially if they are naturally elegant and graceful. Pretty Teacher has a girlish femininity about her that I like.

She starts kissing me around my face and slowly makes her way down my body, arriving at my waist where she had left my underpants on. Her kisses have had the time-honoured effect on me of causing an erection. It’s not my fullest, biggest boner, but it’s almost there.

Pretty Teacher is on her knees on the carpet before me, I’m lying back on the sofa. She slowly pulls my underwear off while she keeps her eyes glued to my genital region. As my cock is revealed I see her eyes go bigger. Even as she dispenses with the undies she still keeps her eyes on my cock. It’s as if she hasn’t ever seen one before. I wonder how many cocks she has played with?

Taking my shaft in one hand she just looks at my cock, taking in every detail. This is most unusual behaviour because no other woman has looked at it for so long. They usually take a second to have a good look then get to doing whatever the situation requires. Not Pretty Teacher though. She tries to hold it erect and grip it so that her thumb touches a finger on the other side, but she can’t. Then she lowers that hand to the base of the shaft and puts her other hand around the top half of the shaft. I’m starting to feel like a frog in a biology lab.

She expertly pulls my foreskin back, slowly puts my cock in her mouth and sucks gently and carefully on it. Pretty Teacher is happy to take her time with my cock in her mouth. She closes her eyes and lowers her head on to my dick, visibly savouring the feeling of it sliding in to and filling her mouth. She stops with her mouth almost full and, with her eyes still closed, sucks onto my cock with increasing force, holding everything still for a few moments. It feels good, very good. She releases the pressure and begins rocking her head up and down, at a very gentle, steady, considered pace. This is the slowest, most tender cock-sucking I have ever felt. She is clearly enjoying what she was doing.

“Do you like doing that?” I can’t help but ask, feeling a little foolish for doing so.

“Uh-huh” was all the sound she makes, without opening her eyes nor breaking the rhythm.

Keeping her eyes closed, she slowly, deliberately goes down on to my cock as deep as her mouth can take it, holds that position for a few seconds, then slowly draws her head up to the tip of my cock. All the while she maintains a steady suction around my shaft and swollen head. She pulls her lips around my head and brings them together in a kiss. She opens her eyes, looks at my cock for a few seconds, then closes her eyes again and runs her tongue up and down my shaft, as slowly as she can. It is as if she was worshipping my cock with her mouth. It is wonderful to see and feel. I never expected her to be like this.

“Oh yes! Finally, a woman who loves to suck cock” I say to myself, half in surprise, half in relief. I could be with her just for these kind of blowjobs. There’s a very real chance that I could cum soon, which is way too soon in the scheme of things, so it’s time to change position.

“Let’s swap angles,” I say, carefully guiding her mouth away from my cock by gently pushing back on her shoulders.

I stand up and gesture towards the sofa, to which she gets up, crawls onto the sofa, lies back and spreads her legs open for me, inviting me to fuck her, which is exactly what I have in mind. I position myself on top of her, my arms by her sides and slowly thrust my cock up into her pussy. My dick skids into her vagina, stopping briefly at a point of resistance before progressing on toward the next moment of resistance. This happens four times until I’m totally in her. I slowly move my hips backwards and forwards and after a minute she’s very wet and slippery.

Her hands lay either side of her head, my forearms were now underneath her knees, which I had now raised towards her face. If she lifted her fingers slightly she could touch her toes. That was the position I had bent her into as I rammed my cock into her. With every deep thrust into her pussy, she lets out an involuntary gasp of air. Our eyes are locked on each other, her face relaxed and showing contentment. She was enjoying this and doesn’t say a word. Her pussy feels quite tight and I surmise that it had been a while since she had been fucked.

Is this what she was wanting first and foremost? Was it her horny point of the month? Is this why she made no attempt to leave, because she was hoping for this? These were the thoughts that came into my mind as I mechanically and animalistically fucked her in that position for a few minutes. We didn’t speak and she closed her eyes, totally submissive and obviously content.

I enjoy watching a woman’s breast heave and wobble like a molded jelly when I repeatedly force my cock in to her pussy. There is something about watching the nipple move, like a boat on the crest of a wave, helpless and having no choice but to go along with the greater force under it, moving it. Watching the breast return to its original position and shape, only for the motion to be repeated, is fun. Each time the breast resumes its position it flies upwards towards her face and then can’t help but fall back to it’s starting point. The bigger a girl’s breasts, the more I enjoy the sight. If large, the breast heads towards her belly, then tries to spring back to its starting point. This flexing and stretching is probably a major contributor to a large pair of breasts going saggy in later life.

Pretty Teacher’s breasts are a B-cup at best, but they are of a good density, shape and not saggy at all. They were small, but good. She looked so pretty, lying there with her eyes closed and a happy little smile on her face. Knowing that I was pleasing her warmed my heart…and probably sent a little extra blood to my cock. I was getting closer to cumming; it’s decision time and I almost always let the woman decide because it’s usually a surprise what their preference is.

“Where do you want my cum?” I ask.

“I want to swallow your cum,” she replies which, like I was expecting, surprises me.

She certainly has an oral fixation going on, I muse to myself as we swap positions again. I’m on my back on the sofa while she straddles me diagonally across the large footstool that so many other women have balanced themselves on. I watch Pretty Teacher pull her blonde hair back behind her ears, tidying up before going down. She quickly takes my cock in her mouth and starts rhythmically moving her head up and down on it. She close her eyes and just keeps going, as if it is the most important thing she has ever done. Her enthusiasm for oral sex is amazing, it’s as if it is the thing that she craves the most.

By now most other women would be complaining that their jaw hurts, but not Pretty Teacher. Oh no, she keeps going like a machine doing what it is designed to do. I watch as her head bobs up and down on my cock, but it’s her bouncy little titties that catch my eye. They’re like cheerleaders spurring her on, moving in time with her, nipples erect and very red. I wonder how she likes the taste of her own pussy juices? I do think of the strangest things at times like this.

Seconds later my man juices gallop out of their starting gate and speed up the track towards the winning post, Pretty Teacher’s mouth. My cum squirts into her mouth but you’d never know it from her actions because she just keeps on going. She lets off a sound of satisfaction as my cum stops flowing and she slows down her speed. Slowly her mouth draws back to the top of my cock, again she kisses the top of it before finally letting go.

Pretty Teacher slumps down on the sofa next to me and I wrap my arms around her.

“I’m looking forward to getting to know you,” I said, speaking from the head and heart at the same time for once.

She smiles and nuzzles up against me, saying nothing.

I don’t know if what we just did was the right thing to do, but one thing is for certain, I could become addicted to her oral skills.

Robert Palmer – Addicted To Love