He called me when I was drunk: I thought it was a good idea at the time. He sounded young, German and giggly, his nervous laugh punctuating a lot of the conversation.
God knows what I said, but the next day I seem to have suggested we meet.
And here I am now; heels, knickers, stockings, perfume. heading to a place I feel comfortable in: with the promise of sex and an overnight stay on the cards.
My heart is in my mouth at this stage: which one is he? I gaze around then look at my phone. ah, that’s him maybe? no, too old.
He arrives and I look down at a man a good foot shorter than me. And I am by no means tall. He is eye level with my breasts. It is laughable, but I don’t laugh. He stares at my lips and suggests we go to a bar nearby.
He buys us drinks, we sit and chat. Sitting on a stool, height doesn’t matter. He isn’t a bad conversationalist; we talk about work, keeping fit and make jokes about the barmans bad shirts. It is like a date.
The conversation quickly moves to sex: he’s a connoisseur of the threesome and teams up with a buddy to find women. He has called him tonight just in case I’m game. He shows me a picture – a Robert Pattinson lookalike stares back at me. And then he shows me a picture of his cock. It’s big. It hangs down, even in black and white it’s impressive.
“Yeah he has a big cock” the guy brags. “Do you like it?” I ask, excited for his response.
“I don’t do anything with it except wank, I like to watch” he giggles again.
“a girl likes to be abused by two guys, it is every woman’s fantasy!”
I disagree with his use of the word “abuse”- the second man who has found this acceptable parlance recently.
But a drop seeps through my knickers: my mind is running wild with this scenario already. I sip my wine.
He asks what crazy things I have done; I replay a greatest hits, edited of course. He is most intrigued about pegging; he doesn’t even understand gay sex. At this point I should probably have thanked him for the drink and left. But I listened to his homophobic rant for a little while longer.
He is arrogant, yet intriguing. Small in stature yet big in ego. We finish our drinks and leave and outside the bar we stop and I say “oh I don’t know which way we are going” as my feet stumble on the wet pavement. His flat is allegedly round the corner.
“Oh I’m sorry, this isn’t really working for me- you’re not my type”.
“oh okay then” I spit and luckily the revolving door is right there to revolve back through.
I walk back to the station. The heels are rubbing now and the suspender belt slipping down as it’s too big. in years gone by I would have cried, but not now. It is most definitely his loss
Later he messages me to apologise – he wasn’t feeling it and hopes I have a good night.
“That was cruel to tease me with your friends cock in the bar if you weren’t interested”. I reply.
I get home and rip off the underwear. I could masturbate, but I don’t want to. I call my mate and we laugh about small men and online dating.
I delete the app.
4 thoughts on “The City Trader”
Weird that he’s fine to throw around the idea of a MMF threesome (and carries photos of his friend’s penis) but then goes off on a rant about pegging? Odd mix of reactions there I think.
tell us about it!
i agree, i feel like maybe he said he was not interested because he sensed you were not interested…some people like to call it first. and why show his friend’s pic? i can’t
People are strange
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