I recognize a pretty face on Plenty of Fish (PoF) that I haven’t seen for a while. It’s not unusual for me to see faces disappear and reappear on PoF because I’ve been using it for over two years and people do embark on relationships that don’t work out. I’ve been there, done that too.
This returning face and I had swapped a few brief messages more than a year ago but she seemed evasive and I didn’t pursue matters because she was undecided about having children. Now on the back of discovering a hack for PoF, I’m getting more messages than ever before and while dealing with these I notice her memorable face. She seems to have moved from a town to the north of me to a town closer to the south of me. Most importantly in the process she has also decided that she doesn’t want children. Her profile is witty and she has a homely look about her that makes her seem different to the other faces on this dating site.
On a Wednesday night I write to her, commenting on a witticism in her profile and quite honestly expecting to hear back from her. After all this time and all these messages I’ve developed a feeling for when I know that I’ll get an answer. To my surprise she doesn’t answer.
Late on Friday afternoon I get a message from her, saying that she had responded on Wednesday night using her phone but then checking her PoF email on a computer she sees that her response was never sent. I find her story plausible but am also struck by her determination to be in contact with me. A little keenness on a woman’s part is always a good thing in my burgeoning dating book.
We start swapping messages and by Saturday lunchtime we’re talking on the phone. I’ve never been a fan of the so-called ‘screening call’ on the phone because I think that so much of communication is non-verbal that even a phonecall can be ambiguous. Also accents get exaggerated on a call, which might put some people off me. However, this one goes well and we seem to connect, discovering that she works in my town and that her father used to live in my apartment complex.
It also surprises me to learn that she works as a nurse in a school a couple of blocks from me. I thus think of her as The Nurse.
She tells me that when we first swapped messages on Pof that she was also in contact with a guy whom she ended up having a relationship with for a year. I ask about her now not wanting children and she says that that was always the case, but her friends had told her to put ‘undecided’. Just how much of her profile was created by this committee of well-meaning friends?
We talk for over an hour and there’s no shortage of banter, but I realize that The Nurse seems to attach a negative slant to every topic of conversation. I end the call by suggesting that we meet up one night in my town after work. She responds affirmatively and I leave it there, slightly concerned that she’s a Misery, but my curiosity is in charge.
The previous night I had met Tall Gal and tomorrow I’m meeting Cultural Allsorts, so my dating fortunes are still favourable. I’m not allowing my hopes to venture further than mild interest in The Nurse.
On Monday morning I get a text message asking if we can meet after work, at 4.30pm, to which I agree. I’m less than ecstatic, but at least its local and shouldn’t be too expensive. I’m not expecting much, it’s just unfinished business.
Could The Nurse be the One?
I walk the mile to the pub and it’s early February, so it’s chilly out. I hope that The Nurse offers to give me lift home. She’s there before me, sitting at a table for two and from the get-go I don’t like the look of her. The Nurse is a lot older than her photos; they’re at least five years old. I now think it the norm that women use old photos on their profiles, but I’ll never like it. When will this shit end?!
She’s got many wrinkles around her eyes whilst in her photos she has none. The Nurse is also gaunt and doesn’t look healthy. Despite this she has a remarkable rack, e-cup minimum, but ignoring this latter facet I’m underwhelmed. I know enough about women’s hair habits to know that she is probably largely grey under that carefully worked on, unnaturally glossy head of uniformly dark blonde hair.
I sit down at the table she has chosen and banter flows easily. I think my being relaxed makes chit-chat easy because I know that there’s no physical attraction from my side and therefore little hope of any kind of relationship. I’m treating this as a social outing now and my demeanour must put her at ease.
Exactly as I expected The Nurse attaches a negative slant to everything. She doesn’t moan but can’t help but present the negative side to any topic of conversation. The novelty of that wears off very quickly; ho-hum. She’s also a naturally highly-strung and intense person. Nevertheless her body language is positive, open and relaxed, occasionally she leans forward when talking to me. I’m sitting back in my seat and I know that I’m passive disinterested, leading proceedings by initiating topics of conversation and suggesting drinks or something to eat.
After a couple of hours of conversation it occurs to me that The Nurse is a mixture of three women whom I have dated in the past: Wild Child in appearance with a similar face and big tits, Lusty Lass in negative outlook and Pretty Teacher in intensity.
Having been on more dates than most people go on in their lives, after listening to The Nurse’s account of her upbringing, I can conclusively say that if a little girl goes through a turbulent childhood, her relationship history in adult life will be the same.
Her father was a philanderer and her own longest relationship has only lasted three years; most seemed to last less than a year. She speaks about some of her exe’s with an acidic bitterness, especially one whom she lived with for eight months of their three year relationship.
I think there must be a particular personality type that is attracted to nursing, or nursing turns women into this type. The Nurse is intense and highly strung, while the similarity in personality to The Pretty Teacher is striking. I wonder if she is OCD too?
I’ve come to expect some nervousness or guardedness in the first hour or two before a woman lets herself relax in my company, but this woman is being herself. The vast majority of people can not put on a positive, relaxed physical posture while being emotionally uncomfortable. Tonight’s date is physically at ease, so this is how she is when emotionally comfortable. No wonder she’s single again and had so many relationships. She’s what I call a Misery – she puts a negative spin on everything, chooses to share negative stories, has a generally dark atmosphere about her, it’s as if ominous rain-clouds perpetually follow her.
There is a growing collection of metaphorical red flags draping the table between us; you can’t see any wood. There isn’t any cause for optimism with her in any sense. I’m getting bored, such is my disdain for this person and, remembering the words of The English Shrink, I feel jaded by yet another disappointing date.
I decide to turn the conversation interesting over dessert. Well, interesting for me.
“Do you like spicy food?” I ask, not sure what her answer will be.
“I love spicy food. The spicier the better!”
I’m surprised, her answer tells me that she’s exciting in bed. She has a good body and nice tits, but I still have no interest in shagging her.
Like so many women on a first date, she declines having any dessert, but I decide to be naughty. I have a mouthful of the chocolatey tiramisu, she watches me slowly put the spoon in my mouth. I scoop some more up and rest my elbow on the table, extending the spoon just over halfway across the table towards her. She smiles and shakes her head, saying “No, thank you.” I ignore her words and keep my arm steady…and make sly eyes at her. She notices this and we’re at a little standoff, a clash of wills. I don’t move and we maintain eye contact without saying a word.
After a few more seconds she slowly leans forward, still looking into my eyes and puts her mouth around the spoon, closes it and gives me the kind of look with her blue eyes that I think she would if she had just taken my cock in her mouth. Slowly pulling her head back she releases the spoon and it’s clean. We keep strong eye-contact and don’t say a word. I can see she’s running her tongue around inside her mouth, savouring the taste of all that chocolate and cream, then without blinking slowly swallows, all the while maintaining strong eye-contact with me.
I love moments like that. I’ve done it with several other women and it is a turn-on for me in so many ways. First, it says that her will is weaker than mine. Second, she is prepared to submit to me. Third, it tells me that she probably has a naughty side. Fourth, it is clearly a simulation of oral sex and her doing that tells me she doesn’t mind or perhaps even enjoys doing that. I think it also stirs something inside a woman; some might get turned on.
We’re the last people left in the pub and the staff are starting to close up. “Shall we call it a night?” I ask.
“I think we’d better. I’ve got school in the morning,” she says.
I think we’re both surprised as to how long this first date has lasted. I go to the counter and settle the bill, which was £60, a lot more than I thought this evening would cost me. I go back to The Nurse and help her put her coat on.
“Aaw, you’re trying to be a gentleman,” she says with surprise.
“I’m not trying, I am,” I retort. She’s obviously not used to this kind of consideration by a man.
I escort The Nurse to her car which is parked next to another small car. There are no other cars around in the car park.
“Which of these is yours?” I ask, wondering if she’ll realize that I walked here.
“That one,” she answers, gesturing to the smaller, older one. “Look, there’s frost on the windows,” she says and gets a scraper out her car and begins cleaning her windows.
“Would you like me to do that for you?” I ask, again being the gentleman that my mother raised me to be. I’m also feeling a little surplus to requirements.
“No, I can manage,” she says. These thoroughly modern, independent English women insist on making life hard for themselves. “You really don’t need to wait around,” she chides.
“I’m not leaving until your car is running,” I respond with a smile.
Once she finishes clearing the frost she says, “Thank you for dinner. I’ll get the next one.”
I just smile and kiss her on each cheek. I don’t have the heart to say that there won’t be a next time. She obviously enjoyed the evening and wants to see me again, why spoil things now? I’d rather she fell asleep feeling good for a little while.
The Nurse gets in her car and closes the door. I watch her drive off into the black night. It’s at least -1C and I walk home.
She is a good person but not The One.
I’ve been here before, several times in fact. She is Tech Titan. She is Sweet Thing. She is Busty Blonde and Busty Czech. She is like all these woman who seemed promising while they thought I was their One. I know now that she isn’t going to be The One and that I should not go down a familiar road that leads to that dead-end of hurt and regret.
The next morning I send her my standard ‘thanks-but-no’ text message. At lunchtime she responds with “I enjoyed the evening with you too. That’s fine. Good luck.”
The thought of The Nurse and her permanent negativity makes my spine shiver. I wriggle my shoulders to shake off the feeling of yuck that threatens to enshroud me.
I disable my profile on Plenty of Fish. I now think of it as ‘Plenty of Freaks’.
Diary of Dreams – Tears of Laughter
The disappointment of The Brazilian has taken the wind out of my sales. As I write this, I’m trying to have a galia melon for breakfast, but I’m struggling to swallow it, such is my emotional state at the moment. Stupid me had high hopes for her.
A week after sending her my goodbye text message , driven by a sense of curiosity, I sent her another message. I figured I had nothing to lose and if she answered I would have more of an idea about what was going on in her head. I wasn’t hoping for a reconciliation in the way her favourite movie storylines go, but wanted to further my education about women. My message read, “I’m really curious about something: what was it that I said or did that put you off me?”
To my amazement her reply came within half an hour and it read, “Nothing much really apart from your last text!! Unfortunately then that made me think about distance, work, commitments I’m not ready to have, lifestyle and so on. Maybe we shared too much information too soon as well, but that doesn’t matter. I was very put off by your last text. And I don’t think I can deal with that at all.”
From that message I took it that she was scared and commitment was her issue. I also deduce that she wasn’t so taken by me that her fears and issues were overwhelmed. Her loss. I’ve learned that the two strongest human emotions are fear and greed. Fear has kept our species alive. Our greed has kept us evolving. In my experience when someone says ‘not ready’ it means they are being governed by their fear(s). It takes someone who taps into their greed for something – lust, intimacy, acceptance, love, whatever because it varies – to make them ignore their fear.
The Brazilian’s heart is fragile and scared. She’s in passive-defensive mode, waiting for any man to say or do one wrong thing and she’s gone. It’s an example of the Grey Knight’s First Law of Dating Physics: for every male action there is a disproportionate female over-reaction.
I am also firmly of the opinion that there was at least one other person on the scene, the person whom she was seeing on Wednesday nights far away from her home.
It occurs to me that it is two years since I went online dating. This gives me pause to remember and wonder what has happened to some of the women I’ve met, as well as the ones I wanted to meet but didn’t get to.
First, the women I did get to meet…
Tech Titan I’m still in touch with, but strictly as friends. She and her boyfriend have just got back from two weeks in the Seychelles, where he proposed to her. I’m happy for her, but he only got divorced a year ago.
Baltic Babe has married her Frenchman. LinkedIn sent me an update with her new surname, so I check out her Facebook page, but she has tightened her security settings and I garner nothing new. I find his Facebook and LinkedIn profile. Let’s just say that he has a face for radio. He must be able to lick his eyebrows. Good luck to them both.
As I sit writing about my dates with The Model, looking back over our email and text conversations, it’s now – yes, only now because I’ve had no reason to think about this – becoming apparent to me that she was dating at least one other person. There were the classic lies/excuses of being at the gym, falling asleep in front of the tv, always getting her voicemail. I was totally blind to it at the time; it was my early days of dating. Apparently all’s fair in love and war. I’m starting to understand what that means.
Krazy Gal got herself a new job then lost it three months later. She’s unemployed again and still living with her parents it seems.
I come across Delicate Flower on Plenty of Fish (PoF). She uses the same photos from when we met 2 years ago. I know that she is now 37 going on 38, but she says on her profile she’s 33. She’s also decided that she wants kids. We swap some emails, but when I suggested that we meet for coffee it seems she blocked me because the message history disappeared. I just wanted to chat with her because I enjoy her company. I wasn’t interested in sex because she is an awful lay. I leave matters there.
PoF also tells me that Angry Yank has changed her location to Greater Boston. Does that mean her visa was running out when we met?
I noticed on the national newspaper’s dating site that Musician Gal has blocked me from contacting her. I find that funny. She was recently active on the site.
I search online for Lusty Lass and can’t find her anywhere. Her Facebook page that I have seen before has disappeared. Our LinkedIn connection has been disconnected and her profile is gone. I do a Google search and find out she had declared herself bankrupt in 2010, probably because of her divorce. When we met in July 2013 she was working for a firm on the outskirts of London, but in early 2014 she had a so-called ‘condition’ set against her by her industry’s governing body that she could not work with client monies. Then latterly she had the same condition set against her but this time she was working for a firm on the opposite end of London. The new firm doesn’t have her on their website as a staff member. Doing a search on her profession’s register returns a blank. Has she been silly and lost her accreditation? She has a penchant for bringing drama into her life.
Cat Lady has acquired a second cat and from the photos she posts on Facebook is spending her evenings knitting things for the kitten.
Busty Blonde has landed her dream job and is still active on the dating site where we met. I hope she meets someone better than me.
Now for the women I didn’t get to meet, the near-misses as I now think of them. These are only some of the women whom I spent time swapping messages with but who couldn’t bring themselves to actually meet me for a date.
A New Zealander whom I was very keen to meet but disappeared when I suggested a date has updated her location on PoF as now being in Sydney, Australia. We interacted a month ago, just before I met The Brazilian.
A local lady and I struck up a great online conversation and agreed to a date. On the Saturday in question she sent me a message at 5am saying that she couldn’t bring herself to meet me that day. I see on PoF that she has changed her profile to say that she “wants to get married”. I would have met her for a date if she suggested rescheduling, but now that I know what her agenda is, I’m put off her.
Last night I was flipping through Tinder when I recognised a pretty blonde whom I had seen on my Happy Humping Ground dating site. On Tinder it shows her name and that she is 41. I find her dating profile where she claims to be 35 and looking to meet men aged 26 to 34! I guess she’s just looking for mindless sex. She’s just the sort of woman I’m visually attracted to; perhaps more proof that the look I like is the wrong sort of person for me.
I love a good, shocking surprise…a woman I noticed on one dating site reveals on another site that she is bisexual.
A lady in my town who approached me and was very keen to meet up, but ended up flaking on me an hour before we were supposed to meet in a local pub has updated her location as being in the north of the country now.
I got an approach email on PoF from someone who looked interesting. Then I noticed that she said that she does drugs on a social basis. I pointed that out to her and said that if it wasn’t for that I would have been happy to meet her for a date. I hear nothing but check her profile the next day to see that she’s changed it to “no drugs”. I write to her but the PoF system says that she has blocked me. She is now someone else’s nightmare in the making.
A woman I’ve swapped messages with in the past responds with “I’m in lurker mode.” What the fuck is that? It’s a woman playing games. There are so many of them on dating sites. They love the attention, will swap endless emails but will never agree to meet for a date. They are not emotionally ready for a relationship. They draw power from the emails, they feel better about themselves for being on a dating site, but they are not relationship material. They’re too fucked up. They eventually acquire cats and their brains are addled with toxoplasmosis. They agree to meet within 6 emails or they’re history.
I’m starting to think that flaky women are just a waste of time. The best encounters, the smoothest experiences have started well and gone well from there. Bad or broken communication is a warning sign; it’s how they operate and will do so in a relationship too.
I’ve realized something: For much of my early dating experiences I was in a mild state of delirium. The disappointment of the Exgf destabilised me, Baltic Babe knocked me over and Krazy Girl stomped me into the ground.
All these women have taken something from me. I don’t exactly know what it is, but I know I lack it. Whatever it was, I want it back. Through Busty Blonde I’m getting to see that an innocence and naiveté I had is gone. That hasn’t made me a better person, instead a more cynical one. I don’t think its that, however. I think it’s a goodness that gave me an arrogant strength is what is gone. It gave me the notion that when it came to relationships, I was better than most men. Now that I have experienced what I have, I feel like I am like other men carrying the same weariness and delusion that they do. I am no longer as special as I once was. Can I be that again, or is the best that I can hope for a different me, built on the ruins of the old? Time will tell.
For the first time ever, the thought of another first date makes my stomach turn. I’m struggling to believe that The One is out there. I’m fully aware that these are my salad days and that I should be out there, mixing and mingling, because I’ve never going to be as good looking and energetic as I am now. Yesterday I found a grey hair in a sideburn; it’s life reminding me that old age is creeping up on me. At the moment I’m just not interested in women.
Thunder is beating its drum and lightning is crackling across the sky outside my window. My window on life. I’ve spent much time looking out that window, wondering about what is and about what could be, even what should be, but the latter only causes me pain. Of course I would love to lie on my lounge floor with Her by my side, whoever Her might be, the one that I am longing to meet, longing so much that at times it hurts. I’ve never had a problem with being alone, but lately I’ve been feeling lonely. That horrible old feeling is back again, to tease and torment me.
After this short and slightly nasty experience with The Brazilian that has left a bitter taste in my mouth, I’ve come to accept that I’m destined to be alone for some time yet. I’ll see it as paying my dues, serving my apprenticeship, hoping that one day I shall be rewarded. Of course there’s no way of knowing what the future holds and it might just be a massive, echoing nothingness for me. A dried up empty husk, devoid of life and of no use to anyone – that is what my love life might hold. It’s a fate that I choose not to think too much about for fear of it depressing and then paralysing me.
My friend, you’re a tourist in the jail that is my dating life, I’m a prisoner here.
Michael Buble – Haven’t Met You Yet
I’m stunned by The Brazilian riding me like this. No woman has ever been this brazen with me before. Yes, Krazy Girl comes close on our first time, but this exceeds that encounter in terms of audacity. Is The Brazilian a slut, really horny or totally into me? Maybe all three? I feel my cock growing and as it does so she grinds down harder onto it. She’s looking me straight in the eyes as she does so, a lustful look in her eyes. Damn, she’s hot and in more ways than one. I pull her t-shirt up over her head and fling it to one side. Her breasts are squashed into a pink bra and they look amazing. She pulls her elbows in closer together that makes her tits look even bigger. That little act of extra naughtiness does something for her and she throws her head back, letting off an anguished gust of breath.
There’s no stopping this steam-roller now; I have to fuck her. She’ll be so upset and feel rejected if I stop this scene. I hope that this doesn’t jeopardise our chances for a relationship. Oh well, got to hope for the best and make the most of this situation.
I start fiddling with the back of her bra, but she interjects.
“Let’s go to the bedroom” she says.
I love it when a woman says those words. I’m happy to do it anywhere, location doesn’t really matter to me. Sometimes the more dangerous the setting the better the fucking. No, I love those words because of the intent, the desire that resides behind them. The woman before me uttering those sacred words has dropped all her inhibitions, shelved any pretence and wants me to fuck her, usually hard and fast and almost always doggy-style.
Without ceremony or further discussion The Brazilian gets up off me, steps onto the floor, turns her back without making eye contact and strides to the bedroom across the way. I follow like a salivating trophy dog on a leash. A king-size bed dominates the room while unpacked boxes loiter on the periphery. The Brazilian drops the rest of her clothes onto the floor, depriving me of the pleasure of undressing her. Still with her back turned to me she climbs onto the bed and flops herself over onto her back.
She puts her wrists up alongside her head and slowly opens her legs, explicitly, daringly showing me her vagina, which as I had expected was groomed in…a Brazilian style, with a narrow runway strip of pubic hair covering her pussy lips and clitoris.
The Brazilian makes for a fantastic sight. Her light tan speaks of frequent visits to sunny climes that involved topless sunbathing. She’s doing that sexy biting of the bottom lip that makes my cock twitch. Her breasts are exquisite, large and sporting brown-pink nipples that are almost totally erect. Her chest is a little flushed, so she’s very turned-on. Her eyes invite me to do as I please.
I maintain that being a good lover is actually quite simple: all you need to do is pay attention. Nowadays, courtesy of my dating adventures, I also think that simply asking your lover what they would like is not the worst idea. I also get a kick out hearing a woman express her sexual desires; it’s a turn-on for me to hear a woman tell me what she wants. It’s almost always been a surprise to learn what a new lover likes and I’m learning that it’s almost always totally unpredictable.
As I undress myself, I get the naughty talk going.
“Play with yourself for me. Then tell me what you want me to do to you,” I say.
I’ve never been so blunt with a woman in such a moment before. This could be a turn-off I realize as I utter my words. The Brazilian licks a few fingers and starts rubbing her clit. Hmm, nice and obedient. I like that.
“You can do whatever you want with me,” she says with a daring look in her eyes.
That makes my cock harden even more. I’m almost totally naked now. Some women get a kick out of watching a man undress in front of them. Does she?
“Do you have any special request?” I ask. There’s always one thing in particular that a woman likes.
“Hmm, you might find out out that I like something else too,” she hints.
As I clamber onto the bed, moving slowly towards her on my hands and knees in a panther-like crawl, my mind starts racing. I wasn’t too sure what she meant, but my best guess is that she means anal sex. I decide to find out.
“Do you like having things in your arse?” I venture, knowing that this could backfire horribly, but going with the mood of the moment.
“Yes,” The Brazilian wheezes.
“Do you like having fingers in your arse?” I ask, trying to sound unperturbed as I edge closer towards her.
“Do you like having a cock in your arse?” I’m now on my elbows, her pussy close to my face. I’m going to lick her and she knows it.
“Do you like being fucked in the arse?”
“Yes,” she says, letting out a big breath, now rubbing her clit furiously.
“Do you want me to fuck you in the arse?”
I’m not too surprised to hear this. I have heard and read that Brazilian women enjoy anal sex more than any other nationality. If it hadn’t been for my anal sex experiences with Tech Titan and Krazy Girl, I would probably have been horrified, but nowadays my horizons are broader…broader than a gaping, gasping little arsehole filled with hot, sticky cum.
I say no more and start running my tongue up and down her slippery slit. She takes her hand away and returns it to next to her head. She closes her eyes, giving herself over to pleasure.
Damn, she’s a horny, sensual little thing who’s into anal sex. I didn’t see that coming. The image she projects is that of a prudish, slightly geeky, librarian next door, but in private she wants to be fucked in the arse. What goes on in her head? Maybe I’m so behind the times and don’t know that anal is mainstream for women nowadays? Stop over-thinking; get on with it!
Within a minute I’m fingering her g-spot to anguished approval, licking her clit and tweaking a nipple with my other hand. The Brazilian is keeping her eyes closed and still biting her lower lip. It isn’t long before she’s writhing uncontrollably and my fingers need co-ordinating to keep doing whatever is making her body react like this. She’s not making a sound and is seemingly deliberately holding her breath. Her body shudders twice and I think she’s just had her first orgasm, but she’s totally silent about it. Did she or didn’t she? I’m not sure.
Like a zombie in a horror movie, her eyes spring open, she frees herself from my fingers and tongue, quickly crawls onto her knees and pushes me over onto my back. Wow, where do these sudden bouts of explosive energy come from?
I know what this little sex kitten wants now, so I send my feet pointing to opposite corners at the foot of the bed. The Brazilian latches her mouth onto the top of my largely-erect cock, not bothering to pull the foreskin back while at the same time she makes herself comfortable between my legs. Her head is bouncing around on my erection and she’s constantly changing direction and angle as she feverishly goes down on me. This is impressive cock-sucking; such enthusiasm. She’s in a cocknotic state.
She slowly pulls down on my shaft and takes with it my foreskin. Still with her eyes closed she licks all around my bell-end, sliding her tongue around, over and under every contour, as if it was the creamiest ice-cream on a hot Summer’s day. Her tongue eagerly slides up and down every side of my shaft.
I realize that she’s lubricating my penis. I don’t think it’s necessary given how juicy she was a minute ago. I’m nearly fully erect and wonder if she really wants my cock in her arse. Now that she has an idea of the size of it, has she changed her mind?
“Is that cock big enough for you?” I ask coyly.
“It’ll do,” she says laughing, looking up momentarily, then biting her bottom lip and forcing herself down onto my cock again.
Wait, did I see correctly in that instant? I need to check. I need a ruse to make her look up at me again.
“You’re a good little cock-sucker,” I say and it has the desired effect. She looks up at me again for a second before continuing to suck on me.
Yes, I saw right! Her one eye has gone squint! It’s pointing towards her nose; her one sky-blue iris is almost touching the corner of her eye! Sucking my cock has made her go squint.
Let’s call that ‘cock-eyed’, shall we?
Yeah, sucking my cock has turned her into the cock-eyed Brazilian. I like that one; it’s one for the memory bank.
Aaw, look, she’s struggling to get her mouth around my cock now. Most women struggle and give up after a while once the novelty has worn off, but this little cock-eyed Brazilian is determined to keep sucking away on it.
To Be Continued…
I’m horny so I send a booty call text message to Tech Titan and Krazy Girl; one of them has to come off. It’s Saturday morning and last night’s date with Diving Dame has left a bad taste in my mouth. I’m standing at my train station waiting for Teacher Gal to arrive. She doesn’t know it but I’ve got quite a day planned for us. I don’t expect to bed her; she’s too much of a good girl for that to happen so soon after us meeting. I don’t want to rush things with her either, in case she’s ‘The One’.
My phone burps into life with a message from Tech Titan which reads: “Hiya. Sorry, no can do. That party I went to last weekend, well I met someone there. Our little arrangement is over for now. I’m in bed with him now. I’ll phone to discuss later. Xx”
I’m stunned but pleased for her. She deserves a shot at romantic bliss as much as anyone I know. I want to keep being friends with her at least because she’s a lovely person and I like being with her as we’re always laughing.
Still holding my phone, it burps again and this time it’s a text message from Krazy Girl that reads: “No thanks. The last time we hooked up you started getting all serious on me. I’m deleting your number from my phone.”
What the fuck?! It’s the abruptness that stuns me. I’m not too surprised at the rejection, only the manner. Did our last encounter warrant this? I stare at her message, shaking my head. How typically her.
My phone burps again and this time it’s Teacher Gal: “My train is about to arrive at your station.”
I feel like I’m in a boxing ring, surrounded by three women simultaneously throwing punches at me. How is it that all this happens in the same minute? Do you sometimes get the feeling that you’re living life according to someone else’s script? Am I in my own ‘Truman Show’?
I spot Teacher Gal getting off the train and she’s wearing jeans, a blouse and a jacket – no sign of a hideous accessory today. This is the least frumpy I’ve seen her looking. Right, I’ve got to forget the two ex-fuckbuddys thing and devote all my care and attention to the woman I have before me.
I kiss her hello on the cheek and she smiles, almost blushing. She can be so cute. We chatter amiably about our working week as we walk back to my place. I make no mention of Diving Dame or the now ex-friends with benefits. I doubt she’d know what the term meant. She’d probably think it was some guy who owned a bakery.
My red fast car impresses her; her eyes light up. I open the passenger door and she gets in, without my saying a word. Oh good, she’s not afraid to follow my lead. I drive us (occasionally at speed) through my county to a zoo. We spend most of the day here, walking around, sharing what we know about the bored-looking animals.
After a couple of hours I spot the opportunity to indulge in some ‘kino’. I’ve been reading up online about the art of seduction, all in attempt to improve my skills with women. ‘Kino’ is the slow, steady escalation of using touch to make a woman comfortable with you physically, then to trigger her sexual desire for you so that sex is the logical and ultimate outcome.
Over the course of the day I’ve touched her elbows, then put my hand in the small of her back to guide her. Now it’s time for something with meaning. I walk slightly in front of her, look back and put my hand out for her to take. She looks at it, blinks a few times as she thinks about it, then takes my hand. Like that we walk around and I can feel her little hand becoming clammy, then decidedly sweaty, but she doesn’t let go. Teacher Gal likes holding hands; so do I. It warms my heart.
After we tire of seeing enough poor, sad creatures we leave; me with a lump in my throat. In the car we discuss animal rights and agree that zoos worldwide should be subject to minimum standards for what size enclosures should be – at least triple what animals are subjected to currently. I’ve touched on her humane side and she sees mine too. For a moment we smile knowingly at each other.
Now for what I think of as an acid-test for my prospective mate: the first time she sees my basic (shitty) apartment. I observe her face as we enter; she seems unperturbed. She tactfully makes no comment other than, “Wow, you’re neat and tidy.”
I get to work making us a risotto and while that simmers, I introduce Teacher Gal to Californication. I’m keen to see how she takes to it and I’m disappointed when she frowns disapprovingly at the nude scenes. She only laughs at the really funny bits and even then its only meekly. The less funny bits that involve clever word play and innuendo are wasted on her. I detect a mismatch in humour between us and become concerned that she might be a little prudish.
Over dinner she mentions that her right shoulder has been bothering her for a month.
“Is now a good time to tell you that I’ve done a massage course?” I say, wondering how she’ll react, not telling her it was just a one-day introductory course.
“Really?” she says, her eyes lighting up. I see the opportunity.
“I’ll give you a massage if you want, but just one condition,” I say matter-of-factly.
“What’s that?” Teacher Gal says keenly.
“That you don’t try to seduce me,” I say with a straight face.
“I’ll try not to,” she says, almost blushing.
I lead Teacher Gal to my bedroom where she takes her blouse off but keeps her bra on. I’m finding the massage oil but steal a peek at her breasts that seem on the small side to my liking; she’s a b-cup. She lies face down on my bed and I commence massaging her lower back, just to get her used to my touch. As I work up her back I come to the point where her bra is a problem, so without a word I unclasp it and push the straps down onto her little biceps. She doesn’t make a sound and buries her head in a pillow.
Her skin is smooth and unblemished; my hands slide easily over her back and shoulders. Teacher Gal starts making involuntary approving sounds, a sign that she is relaxed and enjoying it. I feel the knots and stressed muscles give way under my touch. I work them with ever increasing force and frequency until they’re almost all gone. I start wondering what it would be like to make love to her. We haven’t spoken since we entered the room.
The massage finishes and she’s a happy, crumpled heap on my bed. I lie next to her, keeping a hand on her naked back and wonder if she can breath as her face is still buried in the pillow. I look at her hair and realize for the first time just what lovely hair she has; golden blonde and well cared for. I delicately move hairs out of her face so that she can breath a little easier and see that she has her eyes closed and is smiling. Teacher Gal looks so pretty, angelic even.
I lean over and give her a gentle kiss on a cheek. She giggles like a little girl and I lean against her, keeping my arm over her back to keep her warm. Teacher Gal makes an approving sound; she likes to be held it seems. I kiss her shoulder and her body shivers. I see goosebumps appear in places. Are her nipples getting hard, I wonder.
I kiss her cheek again, not with any agenda or outcome in mind, but purely because I want to. Giving a woman pleasure gives me pleasure. In fact, hearing and seeing a woman writhing and moaning with pleasure, or screaming as she cums, I find more emotionally satisfying than my average orgasm. Now don’t misunderstand, I’m not talking about getting a kick like a control freak would, revelling in the power. No, it’s the intimacy that does it for me. Being one-on-one, all barriers down, totally vulnerable and trusting each other and my not abusing that or disappointing her, but pleasing her, delivering on my potential as a man, living up to being the best lover that I can be and in return expecting nothing, that does it for me. I guess that makes me a giver.
Teacher Gal turns her head to face me and is smiling. I edge closer and kiss her lips as softly as I know how. In my peripheral vision I notice her bra-strap falling down, exposing a breast, but I don’t look down – only an amateur lover would do that. I lose myself in her blue-grey eyes and continue touching her lips with mine, teasing them. I hear her breathing pick up as she closes her eyes. Our lips lock tight and she surprises me by sliding her little tongue gently into my mouth. There was a time when I would have pulled away, but I’ve learned that when a woman does this, she is turned on and the way is clear to escalate matters, but slowly.
I roll onto my back and take her with me so that she’s lying on top me, all the time we’re kissing. Putting my hands on her ribcage I lift her body upwards slightly so that I can kiss her neck and throat easier. Teacher Gal lifts her head and lets me do exactly that, revelling in the sensation. I can smell her perfume and then I taste it on my tongue as I gently kiss and then lick each spot as I work my way around. I pull her bra-straps down, but she says “No, don’t”, which surprises me, but I respect her wishes.
After some more kissing, holding her ribs once more, I slide myself a little further under her, this time pushing her bra up and letting a breast fall into my mouth. I do it so quickly that she doesn’t have time to think about anything. A split second before taking her breast in my mouth I can see that her breasts are round with unusually large, dark nipples that are erect. The areola cover almost a third of each breast; I had never seen anything like it before.
Her breast fits easily into my mouth and I suck onto it gently, hearing her make a muffled sound of pleasure. I slowly twirl my tongue around her nipple repeatedly; around and around my tongues goes, speeding up ever so gently. My hands are still on her ribs and I can feel her breathing picking up; she’s loving this.
Teacher Gal spreads her knees and straddles me, her hands holding onto my headboard. Her sudden movement jerks the breast out of my mouth and I wonder if she’s had enough…or too much. Then I realize that she wants me to suck her other breast. I push the other bra-cup upwards and take the lonely breast in my mouth, again taking in a quick look at them both. They are small, but firm enough; I could get used to sucking on them. I think she could too.
Once again my tongue swirls around her erect nipple and over-sized areola, to which she makes approving seething sounds as she sucks in air through her teeth. By now I’m turned on too. I’m sporting a respectable boner and I wonder if we could or should go all the way. It would be unnatural not to, I tell myself.
More out of curiosity than anything else I slide a hand between her legs and cup her pussy through her jeans. They’re soaked! Her jeans are like a wet tea-towel.
“Okay, mister, that’s enough,” she suddenly says, pulling away from me, her boob making a popping sound as it left my mouth. Teacher Gal starts re-arranging her bra and quickly puts her blouse back on.
I’m in a state of mixed emotion. I’m pleased that I can turn her on; I’m stunned by how wet she gets, but more than anything I’m confused by why she ended our fun. My best guess is modesty. I don’t ask for fear of coming across as an insecure, needy little boy. I’m a knight now, a grey knight and Stupid Boy is history. I play it cool and say nothing.
“I’ve got to go now. It’s getting late,” she says, not making eye-contact.
It was getting late, but I knew that that wasn’t the reason for her suddenly wanting to depart. At best I had spooked her and at worst I’d ruined it between us, whatever it was that we had.
I walk her to my station, we don’t speak much other than for a few pleasantries and as her train approaches up the hill, I turn to her and say, “Are we going to get together next weekend?”, curious about what she was thinking and feeling; I needed some clarity.
“We’ll see,” is all she says, but with a smile, an enigmatic smile that adds to my confusion.
Tech Titan and I fucked until midnight, ending in me cumming in her pussy, sans condom. I only made her cum twice in this session before the strains of the working week dictated that we sleep. As I drifted off my thoughts were of Krazy Girl arriving within hours.
It felt like a brief nap before I awoke to find Tech Titan staring and smiling at me.
“You’re so cute when you sleep,” she said.
Ignoring the creepy factor, my brain latched onto the very real prospect of her wanting early morning whoopee. I didn’t want to, I wanted to save my energy for Krazy Girl because I knew I’d be needing it. I said nothing to Tech Titan and just smiled, mawkishly.
“Sorry baby, but I need to jump in the shower and hit the road. I’ve got to get to the other side of London before lunchtime for a big family and friends get-together,” she said, to my great relief. She mistook my smile for the lustful kind, the facial version of prodding a woman in the back with my cock first thing in the morning hoping that it gets her frisky.
I got to work in the kitchen making breakfast ensuring that it was all ready by the time Tech Titan was out of the shower, thereby squashing any chances of her wanting spontaneous sex. The smell of food, especially bacon, would make a big girl like her forget all about sex – that was my reasoning.
It worked and an hour later I said goodbye to her, then I spun around on my heels and rushed back into my apartment to start removing all traces of Tech Titan’s presence. I started in the bathroom, wiping down the walls to remove any long golden-blonde hair; emptying the waste bin of stuff she had thrown away; hiding at the bottom of the laundry basket the towel she had used.
Meticulously I worked my way through the apartment, looking for and removing any signs of there having been a woman in my home. I even washed all the dishes and dried them by hand, putting them away in the cupboards. I was thorough. Why? I did so just in case Krazy Girl was considering a reconciliation.
Would I “take her back” if she asked?
In a heartbeat.
I was impressed with my level of chicanery; I didn’t know that I was capable of being like this. I guess being with my Exgf had taught me more than I had realised. My conscience had barely started to plague me and the air freshener had just settled when Krazy Girl rang my door bell. I opened the door, not really sure how to play the first few minutes of this encounter.
“Oh, hello,” she said before confidently taking a stride forward, barely giving me chance to say a word or open the door properly. I gave her a peck on a cheek and watched her glide imperiously past me carrying a few bags of what looked like groceries. Did she bring her toys?
“I thought we could make a stir-fry tonight, so I went and bought everything we need,” she said as she handed the bags to me, then took her jacket off and opened the hallway cupboard for Winter gear where she hung it up.
It was as if nothing had ever gone wrong between us. It was as if we were naturally resuming from where and when things were at their best between us. I was stunned, confused and pleased, all at the same time. Krazy Girl was fucking crazy…and a crazy fuck.
I decided to play along, open to see where this would lead as it seemed as if Krazy Girl might be working to a plan. For several hours we played happy couple, quaffing good South African wine that I had chilled earlier during my sanitizing rampage, watching episodes of Californication while sitting side by side, but without touching.
The latter point didn’t bother me, because I sensed that it was building the sexual tension between us. I caught her making sideways glances at me and we both just smiled. I caught her glances because I was checking her out too. Oh lordy, Krazy Girl was a perfect female specimen in my world. Even from under her thick sweater I could hear her perfect e-cup breasts calling my name.
We made dinner and once again I was struck by how well we worked together in the kitchen. I told her that I needed the loo and went to the bedroom to down my solitary Viagra before going to flush the toilet. Returning to the lounge I dimmed the lights and we took our time eating dinner, smiling coyly at each other, making polite small talk. The tension was building
Sitting comfortably again on my sofa – this time I made our thigh touch – we watched ’9 ½ Weeks’, a movie she had heard of but never seen. (Indicative of our 10-year age-gap.) I deliberately chose this knowing that it would put her “in the mood”. I spent most of the movie wondering what she was feeling about me, planning on what to do next when we got physical…and wondering if the Viagra was going kick in. My cock was a little sore from pounding Tech Titan less than 24 hours earlier.
“I need to go freshen up,” she said with a telling smile as the movie ended. I knew what that meant.
Krazy Girl returned, immediately straddled me and began kissing me. This felt just like our first time and I knew where it was leading. Any unease I felt was not driven by the thought of predictable sex, or having to wash and dry my sofa covers again; no, I was afraid that she might smell Tech Titan somewhere on the sofa.
I wrapped my arms around her body and stood up, then in a quick movement scooped her up into my arms with her throwing her wrists around my neck and smiling at me. I think some women like feeling like a little girl in their man’s arms. I carried her off to my bedroom where freshly changed bedding awaited her nostrils.
Some passionate kissing on my bed was the catalyst for the Viagra kicking in. A rock hard erection that just wasn’t going to disappear led to Krazy Girl bouncing off it with her mouth and pussy in creative, energetic ways that pleased and entertained me. She wasn’t smart enough to have memorised the Kama Sutra, but she was enough of a natural fucker to try out most of the positions as a matter of course.
The thing about using a little purple pill is that I don’t feel like I’ll be anywhere near cumming for hours. When it started getting late and she started getting sore, I went on the offensive. I manhandled her into doggy-style position and rammed my cock into her. She was totally turned on by this stage and liked it rough. Krazy Girl got wetter again as I did what I wanted with her; she liked being dominated.
I wanted to fuck her in the arse, to punish her for how she had made me feel a month ago, to show her who was the boss. As I pulled my cock out of her pussy, carefully positioning it in the centre of her butthole, just before pushing it in, she said, “Please no, your cock is too big.”
As much as she had hurt my feelings, it didn’t give me the right to hurt her body. I took a deep breath and slid my cock that half an inch lower and it slipped so easily back into her pussy.
I resumed pulling her hair back, fucking her cunt as hard and as fast as I could and then sucked my thumb before pushing it into her arse, as deep as it could go. She was ‘on the hook’.
“Oh God, yes, fuck me. Fuck me!” she seethed through clenched teeth.
Deep down inside me I knew that I was unlikely to be seeing her again, so I made this last for as long as I could. Sadly there was eventually only so much my body could take of this repetitive motion, as much as she and I wanted it to last forever, I just had to cum.
This time I had the self-control to pull out just before my juices exploded into her pussy. I didn’t want to get her pregnant. I stood behind her and gave my dick a few tugs with my non-anal hand before that hot, smelly, sticky, white stuff shot out of my bell-end and sprayed all over her back. She remained motionless as my cum fanned over a large part of her back. I took this sight in, knowing I might never see it again.
This physically perfect creature was on her knees with her hands flat on my bed. Her magnificent breasts hung and moved ever so slightly as she breathed, still somewhat heavily from the fucking she had just enjoyed. Her natural golden blonde hair now fell forward, revealing the nape of her neck, that area I love to kiss, lick and then gently bite. I ran the fingernails of my clean hand down one side of her spine, which made her shiver and arch her back; I noticed her mouth open. My hand got to her buttocks and I pulled a cheek sideways. I looked down at her holes; both were still open and gaping, ready for more penetration.
I was all fucked out and I let go of her. She slumped onto her side, as she did so I watched her breasts move; how I loved them. I was going to miss them. I watched as my baby batter started submitting to gravity and slide down her back. If I hadn’t fucked Tech Titan less than 24 hours earlier my cum would have been thicker. I would have preferred to watch my cum dripping out of this pussy or arse; that would have been naughtier and far more satisfying.
Krazy Girl was still breathing through her mouth, her eyes closed. She seemed exhausted; we had finally worn each other out. This had been one of the best fucks of my life because I knew I had to make the most of it. The Viagra helped.
A satisfied smile crept across her pretty face. It was such a shame that she was so messed up inside. She could have been ‘The One’. So close, yet so far.
After the past day, this Grey Knight was starting to learn and enjoy the principles of lust…
Enigma – Principles of Lust
“I’m horny,” is all her text message said. Krazy Girl wanted a good fucking, that’s what I read into it. Her timing was terrible. I had just met someone the previous night who aroused my romantic curiosity (Teacher Gal) and had Tech Titan as a fuckbuddy from the previous weekend. What more could I want? Some more of the best sex of my life with Krazy Girl, is what I thought. For a brief moment I wondered if she was putting out feelers having had a change of heart about me, but my rational side won, convincing me that she was just too fucked up emotionally from her divorce to be ‘The One’.
Teacher Gal and I had a chat the night after our first date and we agreed to get together the following Tuesday after work again. The upcoming weekend was I totally free, and I knew I would be horny as always. Choking the monkey is no fun compared to the soft, warm loveliness that is a sex-starved woman.
“Come and get it Saturday night,” was my crude text reply to Krazy Girl. I didn’t really expect her to pitch, let alone respond, so when all I got was a stony silence for days afterwards I thought nothing of it.
I knew that things were just sexual with Tech Titan and now Krazy Girl, so continuing to look for and meet someone I could have a romantic relationship with felt like the practical thing to do. Fucking other women while starting to date someone new without sleeping with them – is it some sort of crime? I didn’t know any more, but doing so seemed very logical.
In fact, it seemed to have the benefit of taking any kind of sexual pressure out of the first couple of dates when meeting someone new. With my high sex-drive I knew that I ran the risk of coming across as a lecherous fuckwit if a woman caught me staring blankly at her mammaries because I hadn’t recently been pacified.
(My mother is getting on in years and is starting to contemplate her mortality. In a recent brain spasm of brutal honesty she said of my father, “Jeezus, that man was insatiable.” Nothing prepares you in life for a moment like that, but it does explain my lustful ways. Apparently other men think of sex every 7 seconds; I think they’re retards. I digress…)
On the Friday afternoon at work I indulged in one of my favourite things to do when chained to my desk: swap naughty text messages with Tech Titan. Somehow I was a natural at turning her on with my words and ideas. I teased and verbally pleased her until home-time. Once home I swapped lame-by-comparison conventional text messages with Teacher Gal who was playing cards with friends that night.
My flow of messages with Teacher Gal was interrupted by a message from Tech Titan. “You’ve got me all fired up. Can I come to yours? Now?”
“Yes, come to me. Slip a vibe up yourself as you drive to me. I want you ready when you get here,” I texted back, laughing to myself, thinking she’d never do that. Yep, I was horny too. She wouldn’t drive over to me with the Purple Pussy Eater in her, would she? Would she? I left it at that and returned to texting Teacher Gal, feeling a little guilty about what I was doing.
A couple of minutes later my flow of messages with Teacher Gal was interrupted by a message from Krazy Girl. “I’m coming around at 4pm tomorrow.”
Oh shit! I’d forgotten all about her, thinking I would never hear from her again.
Tech Titan would probably want to fuck all night and again in the morning. Krazy Girl would then be arriving a few hours later in the afternoon. I was in a slight state of panic, not because of the morality, practicality or novelty of the situation, but because I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to perform with my favourite nymphomaniac, Krazy Girl. Hey, I have my priorities straight! These women were counting on me to please them.
It amazes me how my brain works. When under pressure it must be the adrenaline which poops the bunny out of the hat. I remembered that I had an unused Viagra from a Valentine’s Day stunt I had pulled for my Exgf a few years back. I had bought a white naval aviator’s uniform, the type Richard Gere wore in ‘An Officer and a Gentleman’ and spent a day watching YouTube learning how to do a male striptease. As part of the frivolity of the evening I experimented with a Viagra. I fucked her for seven hours straight; eventually she begged me to cum because she wanted to sleep. I had bought a spare Viagra and now had a reason to use it. Imaginary crisis averted.
My doorbell rang and I bid Teacher Gal goodbye. In a moment of inspiration I grabbed my camera and switched it onto video. I began filming as I opened my door to find Tech Titan standing there, smiling at me. I kept the camera trained on her as she came inside, giggling as she did so. We greeted each other with a kiss and moved onto the lounge.
“Did you use the Purple Pussy Eater on yourself as you drove over?” I asked.
“No,” she said with a naughty grin.
“Yeah, I didn’t think you would,” I said smugly.
“I only used the small one,” she retorted. I swallowed hard.
“Undress me,” I said in a coldly commanding tone of voice. Speaking like that seemed to do things for her.
Tech Titan gave off a guffaw, smiled mischievously at me and then proceeded to take off my clothes. As she did so I kept the camera focussed on her, getting her used to it being so directly in her face. Once starkers, I slouched down on my sofa while Tech Titan stood smiling at me, her chubby little cheeks very rosy, waiting for her next command.
“Take your clothes off,” I said.
She instantly complied, tossing her clothes piece by piece nonchalantly onto a nearby chair. It wasn’t long before she was naked too, her nipples erect.
“Get on your knees where you are,” I ordered, constantly keeping the camera on her.
Without a word or sound Tech Titan complied. I could get used to such subservience.
“Walk on your knees over to me,” was my next instruction. As she did so the lens captured her belly and breasts wobbling with every move. I lay back and opened my legs as she neared me.
“Now what would you like me to do? This perhaps?” she asked, speaking almost out of turn in our little game of domination, as she lifted my cock up and started sucking on it.
Tech Titan loved giving head; she seemed content to do so for hours. I think it is inherent in her nature to want to please people. In that way we were a good match because I was of the same outlook. It was such a shame that her having committed my sexual foible made it impossible for me to ever think of her as ‘The One’.
“Were you imagining doing this on your drive over? Have you been looking forward to having my cock in your mouth?” I asked naughtily.
“Oh, you have no idea,” she gasped, momentarily taking my cock out of her mouth to speak without making eye-contact then resuming eagerly sucking away on me.
It occurred to me that I might be starting a little private video collection before I found ‘The One’, so I decided to add a commentary to the video. I said her name, where she was from as a child, where she lived now, what she did as a job and what she loved doing sexually. Tech Titan laughed about my doing this. She had such a sweet nature. (Whenever I’ve subsequently watched that video it comes across as a cute, naughty touch.)
She kept sucking and licking my cock and balls until the memory card on my camera filled up. I put it down on a nearby coffee table, got up and positioned myself behind her, getting down on my knees and then sliding my cock into her incredibly wet pussy.
“Do you want me to fuck you in the arse again?” I asked, thrusting deep into her vagina, thinking I knew the answer.
“Yes and no. Yes because I like it, but no because I’m still sore from the last time. You’ve got a big cock,” she answered, her fingers sinking into the sofa, desperately trying to find something to hold onto that just wasn’t there.
I was relieved to hear that because a part of me was wanting to conserve my energy for the wild sexual creature that I call Krazy Girl.
Why were we all just so fucking horny…horny, horny, horny?
Mousse T – Horny