Wednesday 10.30pm

I am on a date, but I don’t want to be. I want to be with HIM. The date is perfunctory: I feel guilty because I blew this guy out last week for the one I want to be with. And there are no clues with the guy sitting opposite me: the fact he is married glares like a neon sign in my brain: stay away. And he’s charming, and interesting but there is no spark.

—-

I leave him and message X. X is telling me he is too drunk to meet now and won’t be finished until 10pm. I’m in two minds about whether to hook up with him – but I want to see him. I get on a train then realise it’s not going to my stop: I get off at a station he comes through and decide to get dinner. I tell him where I am.

In the restaurant I realise how hungry I am and how I’ve not eaten much all day. Two interviews and a lot of brain action is taking its toll: as I eat I realise how tired I am. I laugh at a couple across from me- she is wasted and can barely open her eyes but shovels forkfuls of pasta into her mouth while her companion avoids her.

I finish my meal and wonder about going home. And then he asks where I am.

I wheel out of the restaurant and see him coming towards me. I’ll never forget the look on his face as long as I live: he looks so happy to see me. I break into a grin. We then have a reel around M&S for supplies – he says he’s not eaten either and we grab some cans of whisky and ginger.

—–

On the train home he takes the piss out of me. We crack open the tins and giggle. And I relax for the first time that day.

Back at his I play with the cat, reminding him to get the pizza out of his rucksack. And now I realise how drunk he is: he’s sort of dancing for me in a not very sexy way. He plays me some music and lies on the floor. And then gets up again and pulls my breasts out of my top, nuzzling and biting them. I feel so self conscious- half naked with my tits out – no reader, I don’t know why either. He pulls out his cock and strokes it. I ask him to show me how he wanks. I reach to join my hand with his and then end up with him in my mouth. I want his mouth on my cunt: god I crave it so much. But he hasn’t touched me.

I go to the loo and when I get back he’s asleep on the floor. Snoring. I feel like this is some sort of joke, and consider what I’ve done. I undress and get into bed but that doesn’t feel right either. I have to wake him up.

I half- pull, half drag him to bed. It reminds me of several other terrible exes who drank and doesn’t bode well. He starts to try and kiss me, pulling at my knickers but end up asleep on me. Something inside me chokes and dies.

I manage to push him over to his side of the bed, cursing myself.

———–

In the morning his hands are all over me. I tell him he fell asleep on me but he doesn’t say anything, just nudges my knickers down and pokes his cock between my legs. I’m dry down there and self conscious but we end up fucking in front of the mirror – me on my back head dangling over the side and him looming over me. He kneads my breasts with his hands, and pulls my hand to play with my clit. His face is screwed up in concentration as he pounds away. It looks fucking great and he soon makes me come, watching him thrust into me like that. The image in the mirror is almost better than the real thing.

I forget the events of the night before and think everything will be okay again.

3

How many threesomes start with a roast dinner? Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with gravy and all the trimmings in the pub? I’ll wager none, but here we are and that’s what she’s eating. But she’s hungover and blonde and has even bigger boobs than me, so I forgive her. He’s suggested we get together – he’s told me he’s fucked her twice; she tells me once.

I’ve ordered some fries but I didn’t expect to be chowing down before our exploits. I didn’t expect to be drinking this much either, but I realise he’s the inexperienced one, whereas we’ve both done it before.  Although I try and explain that it doesn’t mean anything; one threesome isn’t anything like another. Like a rose. Bloody rose wine.

What I like about her is her clipped accent. Her utter nonchalance. When she goes to the loo I ask him if this is actually going to happen. He tells me she is “always like this”. And I marvel at how men and women ever get into bed together.

Far too many glasses of wine for me later we are in the corner shop buying more. I’ve brought champagne which is now warm. I feel uncomfortable in a red dress and stockings and suspenders. I nearly bailed altogether; before I left the house I had a very bad feeling about this.

But I wanted to do it for him.


Back at his place he pours us more wine and we settle down on the sofa side by side. I say this, I’m quite hazy by now. Does he stand there looking at us and pull his cock out? Or does she go to change into a red basque and hold ups? Because that’s what she’s now wearing. Does she have knickers on or do I pull them aside to taste her? While I’m doing that he’s kissing her or am I straddling her kissing her first.

I remember sucking his cock with her. I remember her pussy is as smooth and juicy as it should be and I remember making him taste it, making him lick my fingers.

We move to the bedroom and this is where it gets sketchy. Reader, this is where I point out that you will recall from past form I rarely drink in the bedroom. A cheeky glass of bubbly yes. By this point I am pretty drunk. By this point he hasn’t touched me. I think she has been fingering me with those long talons. Did I suck on her DD breasts? I don’t know reader, I really don’t know.

Now she is licking my pussy while he fucks her from behind. Yet again it is the hottest thing I’ve seen. The concentration on his face, her moans as her face is squashed into my cunt. It seems to last forever, or until we get uncomfortable. I want him to fuck me now, but it doesn’t seem to happen. Instead I have a strap-on and am fucking her as she’s spread eagle on the bed, she’s loving it. He’s behind me and I don’t know what he’s doing. Is he tonguing me or spanking me? Is he doing anything?

Somehow we move positions because  I’m spanking her from behind. Quite hard. She isn’t telling me to stop. I don’t know what happens next but suddenly he is dressed and muttering something about feeding a neighbour’s cat.


I lie back on the bed with her and we giggle about the afternoon. She asks if I want her to fuck me with the strapon. Sadly for you dear reader I don’t think this happened. He comes back and thinks we are laughing about him. We aren’t.

What I do know is that once she’s left he starts arguing with me. I’m crying and I don’t understand what he’s talking about. Something about me giving him dirty looks. I don’t ever argue with people and I don’t understand: because the things he’s saying I’ve said are alien to me. Did I become some drunken monster in a few hours? Or did he and is projecting onto me? I have my hands on his thighs, clinging onto someone I don’t understand. I’m in love with him and he has me all wrong. Reader, of all people you know, don’t you?

He goes to the loo and I find my phone, the dildos, my bag and my knickers. Somehow we’ve been arguing for an hour. I fumble to order an Uber which arrives so quickly I fly out of there and don’t say goodbye.

 

 

Sunday night, Monday morning

I met him once, five years ago. We had one date, after I went to see him do stand up and found out his show wasn’t the truth. Yes, I’m gullible.

We meet this time and instantly I’m quite shocked at his appearance. Think Kayvan Novak. He looks VERY good. We have a quick drink and then move on elsewhere. He’s easy to talk to and more wine flows. We compare sexual experiences, like critics discussing the finer points of a meal: he has the better stories.

Somehow, sometime late we are boarding a train to his. I have work in the morning but I really don’t care.


 

His apartment is all on one level, there are no animals for me to fall over and it is tidy. He has a collection of Star Wars figures on display and of course I gravitate towards it. We have another drink as we both pull figures out of the bag and name them…”Lobot”, “Hammerhead”, “Leia Bespin” – it is one of the strangest precursors to sex I’ve had. And then we go to the bedroom.

I straddle him, kissing him hard. And it begins. It doesn’t end really – a glorious melange of cock sucking, pussy licking and fucking. Yes, he has an amazing cock. Yes, I can’t leave it alone, working my tongue around it every way I can. I ride his face, I come. He fucks me, I come again. We break for a rollup, me brazenly smoking naked out of the window. And we continue. He runs out of condoms – he’s so damn hard the whole time. We have an awkward conversation about the fact neither of us have fucked without condoms for a while so that should be fine. It feels so good and so wrong. How it ends I don’t know. The sex is the best I’ve had in a long time – relentless and ridiculously good.

I wake up feeling like death and he finds me Nurofen. I do a walk of shame from somewhere in Croydon, babes.

Poom

Saturday afternoon on a week where I already have two notches on my bedpost. Yes, I’m greedy. Insatiable. But sometimes when it comes together like this, I can’t turn it down. Like buses.
We stalk around each other like animals, and then he grabs me, kissing my neck and holding my chin. He pulls off my trousers and sticks his finger slowly inside me. And then his lips, soon he’s pulling my legs wide apart and eating me. This is his passion; his forte. I don’t even need to touch his cock.
We shift to a 69 and I whimper as his beard brushes my pussy lips. I swallow down his cock whole and he jumps, pushing his length further down my throat. He can’t take too much of that so I stop and gasp for breath while he slurps greedily.
He pushes his cock inside, teasing me and bashing it against my cunt. It always drives me wild. He puts a finger in my mouth and pushes his cock inside. We know it’s naughty but it feels so damn good.
I pull out a condom and he positions it on his beautiful cock. I climb on top, we don’t even need to talk about positions – he knows what I like and this is always it.
I can normally only come on top, that or being fingered, or from a tongue. I think I’ve already come twice – its difficult to keep track with N.
I’ve known him for over a year and we seem to have hit our groove. We’ve only fucked around 12 times but those have never been hit and run. He taught me once again that I was attractive and I could lose myself in sexual pleasure and not feel guilty about it. We tried to organise a threesome once but he got scared – and I love him for that. It was utterly selfish to want the two men I enjoy fucking the most to ravish me together.
We come within seconds of each other and afterwards he tells me a story about a woman on a canal boat who he fucked last summer. We’d been talking about guys who come too quick and that was the only time he did. He describes sitting in the boat with the windows open, people walking past. He doesn’t like fucking outside but he felt like he was. And came straight away.
(He tells the story better than I have)
As soon as he leaves I want more.

Tuesday’s Whimper

I’ve just come off my period and am ripe for some intimacy. My preferred partner is not available (let’s skim over the fact he hasn’t been for some months now) so I go with the next nearest, one who actually booty-whatsapped me the previous week but I was busy.
The arrangement is simple: we agree a time, he tells me he may be a little later. I change out of the days underwear and choose a simple lacy one-piece. Slick myself with lube just in case.
He arrives and takes his shoes off, goes straight upstairs. I hug him, his bulk is comforting to me after a week of no human contact.
I remember he won’t go down on him so I don’t pleasure him at all. We kiss and he fingers me gently, then building to a slamming finger fuck. I can hear I’m wet, and then he says it. I pass him a condom and he mounts me.
He isn’t the largest guy in my roster, in fact he is the smallest. And I don’t have much time to enjoy that as within 4 strokes he has shot his load and pulls out.
It’s hard not to be angry. He doesn’t pay any attention to my wanting pussy and demands a cup of tea.In the past the post-coital chats have been fun, but this one last two hours. During which he manages to freak me out, insult me and erase his name from my black book forever.

Overnight: stage two

His place is fashionably messy but stylish and feels comforting, unlike most lairs it doesn’t smell terrible. I meet his cat straight away and inwardly laugh at the last boy’s cat I met in the middle of the night that scared me to death.

The pizza is the main event – he has a chicken one and I have pepperoni. For some reason he eats most of mine. Two slices and I’m done, I am tired and want to be in bed with him.

He lounges on the sofa and I can’t work what he wants. I ask him and massage his crotch. He makes some excuse about wanting a shower but I go right ahead and unbelt his trousers.

His beautiful cock is hard and flinches as my lips envelop the end. He moans. I’m so aware of the pizza on the sofa beside us and reminded of the scene in one of the Belle De Jour books where she sleeps with a doctor after gorging on pizza, deep throats him and then ends up throwing up. I think they continue fucking anyway. It used to be one of my go-to wank materials. The book is long gone, but the incongruity of a blow job and a Tops Pepperoni still amuses me.

I slowly massage and lick at his balls, and concentrate at the job in hand. I’ve sucked a lot of cocks, but this is my current favourite. Number one in the Cock Chart, a new entry sliding in above the rest. There is something about his soft skin, the shape, the size – it’s not huge but it is perfectly formed.  And then the scent. Maybe it is a fetish, the smell of cock. I love how, after playing with someone you can’t really get the smell off. A dirty secret reminder to yourself of what you’ve been doing. I imagine the scent of pussy is just as delicious on your fingers.

As I continue my endeavours he twitches on the couch and opens his legs wider. And I can smell him so strongly. I can smell the day’s sweat and cock and ass. And it doesn’t make me retch. Am I weird?

We are both drunk and as a result there will be no sex. I’ve almost forgotten I’m on my period. I don’t know if he remembers. We stumble into bed and fall asleep with his cat at our feet.


In the morning I wake too early and we nuzzle into each other. I enjoy the comfort of someone else’s bed, a glorious victory of “staying at his” and having to do the walk of shame in the morning in yesterday’s knickers.

Overnight : Stage one

We’ve already met once this week and tonight was the planned version. A private view of an artist I don’t know but a gallery I do. I know he loves art because I’ve stalked his Instagram.

I arrive first and grab a beer. The work is beautiful: stark and unsettling, full of emotion. The gallery is quiet, unusual and plenty of opportunity to watch the behind the scenes film. He messages me to say he’s on his way.

I try to work out the best place to be – not in the first area, nervously looking for him. Not in the darkened area where he might miss me. And then I notice one of the guys who works there – he’s had all his hair cut off from Kurt Cobain length to well, a crew cut. We chat for a bit about the show. And then he arrives.

I introduce them, knowing he’ll like him. All the guys that work here are hot in a grunge style. It’s amazing I’ve never hit on any of them but my friend owns the place.

I know upstairs they have more artworks from other artists who aren’t on show. I ask if we can see and he leads us up there. As we pace around looking at the pieces I watch him. He knows his stuff, he’s enjoying this exclusive sneak peek behind the scenes. We joke and banter about buying two of everything. One of the other assistants bring us more beer.

It is the perfect date. And later in the pub he squeezes my thighs and tells me he kept watching me and then he asks me to his.


It is the first time I have been to a guy’s house in years. And it feels like achievement unlocked.

But first pizza: neither of us have eaten. And when we get off the train I grab his hand. And he doesn’t pull it away.