He looks like Bradley Cooper. That’s all we can think of as we sit across from him with a drink. The eyes and the nose are exactly the same and they sparkle and flash as he tells me his filthiest experiences.
He’s wearing a shirt, possibly denim with chest hair poking out of the top. His shoulders are square and he looks buff, in shape. It’s all a little too good to be true. How old is he again? Thirty-something.
As we trip out to his flat, he asks me something about doms. I tell him I’m a switch and we high five. Is this for real?
We walk down the high road and turn off behind a Sainsbury’s. There’s a small entrance and a flight of stairs leading up. He unlocks a door and peers through the window. Nobody. His guests are still out.
He leads me into a kitchen lounge area , sort of 90’s vibe with a glass top table and a terrible generic print of boats in Thailand. I notice a state of the art hoover and ask if it’s any good. He tells me it’s stopped charging. And then I catch eyes on another one behind the sofa.
I ask for a glass of water and he hands it to me. And then kisses me. I’m pushed against the arm of the sofa and it feels nice to be wanted again.
We move to the bedroom. He’s got a full length mirror opposite the bed (oi oi) and the bed is a high one. I wrestle with my boots, he pulls my tights off and immediately goes to kiss and lick my pussy.
Is this for real? I notice another hoover in the corner – ah well at least he’s clean?
He slowly pulls down my knickers and I giggle. And off he goes. Except he doesn’t. I don’t really feel very much until his fingers start to open me up and my juices flow. He waggles his fingers inside me and I feel my juices flow, and writhe with pleasure. I reach down for his cock and take a lick. His pubic hair is soft and downy, his frame is actually tiny. He is very slim and small – how did I not notice this?
Soon he is pumping his entire groin into my mouth which is more than I bargained for. But totally hot.
He slips on a condom and we start to fuck. I’m not really sure what his technique is : let’s call it the hammer. He grits his teeth, okay imagine a small Bradley Cooper gritting his teeth, and pumps for England. I can’t get purchase – I can’t even really feel anything. Jesus.
And he’s popped out…but he can’t tell and keeps pumping. I’m beginning to wonder if all his Lothario stories are codswallop.
I flip him back inside and continue to try and make things work. Very soon I realise he ain’t hard at all.
This is the third guy in a month who’s had this trouble. Booze? Drugs? Me? It’s got me wondering. What happened to the guys who fuck all night. Is this an epidemic amongst 30 year old men? Should I be submitting this data for a study?
We lie side by side and I notice a printed A4 sheet on the wall:
I ask what it is. He tells me it’s a reminder and that he’s not doing so well on any of them. I wonder what his recovery programme is for.
I try sucking him but it’s pointless. I hate the taste of a condom but I’ve got to show willing. We chat about this and that and after a while he’s hard again.
I mount him and ready myself to be in control this time. But he literally hammers me from below. It’s so wrong it’s almost right. I ask him if he finds it’s a turn on that his guests might come back while we’re in flagrante- he says no “you haven’t seen them”… so I don’t let on that I am hugely.
I’m also finding recently that my wonderful breasts are ignored. I hate to swing them into someone’s view on purpose but hey, shoot me – I did. He gets the clue and clutches them.
And again within about 5 minutes he’s lost it again.
This kid is blaming it on smoking 10 cigarettes 2 days previous.
As I pull on my tights, the front door clicks and he leaps up. I guess it’s bad timing as he now has to smuggle me out like a hooker. He whispers me to wait and goes to investigate.
I survey the items on his chest of drawers- a scouring pad, Glade and a bottle of Hendricks. Almost a serial killer.
He comes back in and beckons for me to follow him. I’m expecting him to leave me to get down the stairs myself but he’s walking with me back down the main road. I’m confused – are we carrying on at mine?
He walks me to the bus stop – 7 mins – and tell him not to wait. But wait he does. It’s freezing and I have nothing more to say.
I’m absolutely puzzled by this boy. So it’s a relief when the bus comes and I get on it.