The New Yorker – Part One

I’d never posted an ad on Craiglist before. My friends told me it was a good way to meet girls with no strings. A quick fuck, no questions asked. If you were lucky, a few repeat visits. One of my mates had a long term fuckbuddy from there. It was time for me to experiment.

I’d always met girls through friends, or at parties, but for some reason I hadn’t had any action for quite a while. I was fucking horny.
I’m a little paranoid about posting stuff online. I don’t ever use Facebook and I don’t actually see the point of it. But needs must.
I took a full length photo – they call it a selfie now – with my dick stiff as a fishing rod poking out of my boxers. I’m pretty buff as they say, I thought it would attract anyone once they saw the size. I took the mick out of some of the other ads, to get girls on my side. I sat back and waited.
I didn’t get any legit replies. I was busy with work, and one thing and another – and forgot about it.

A week went by and out of the blue I got a response. An American woman, married with children but in the city for a week on business and keen on meeting. I felt a bit weird about it but she was older than me and that spiked my interest. She told me her hotel, the room number and sent a few pictures so I knew what she looked like. We’d agreed to meet in the bar early evening and then go up to her room.

The fact she was cheating played on my mind. What did that make me? The thought of meeting a stranger for sex, once it became real was too much for me. I’d never done it before. What if she hated me? Would it be awkward? I was at least ten years younger than her…. How would she feel, kiss, taste?

Reader, I bottled it.

I went out with some mates and tried to forget about her. She was too old. I had no experience of mature women, if I’m honest, not enough experience with women at all.
As the drinks went down, my bravado increased. I couldn’t believe I’d been such a pussy. At around 11pm when the lads were piling out of the pub, I was sat in a stall in the men’s room, texting her.
She was still up of course.


I entered the hotel through the revolving doors and tried to look like I was staying there. It was easy enough to figure out. Take the lift to the eighth floor, she’d said. Turn immediate left.

I stopped outside the door, 837. Adjusted my trousers, smoothed back my hair and knocked.
The door swung open. She stood, hand on one hip, wearing a white silk dressing gown, heels, suspenders, stockings and no bra.
I couldn’t speak. She looked incredible, unreal even. Much better than her pictures. My cock stiffened in my pants.
“Don’t just stand there staring, you’ve got work to do” she drawled, and pulled me inside.