So here he is after a few false starts. I can’t work him out and he can’t work me out. I decide a glass of wine and a chat before moving to the bedroom and he likes the idea. He sits on the sofa and I hand him a glass of red. Of course, he’s better looking than my rusty memory provides – it’s been over a month since he last came over.

A few pleasantries are exchanged and he asks me to sit next to him. I obey, like a good girl. I’m wearing stockings and suspenders just for him and I twirl so he can see before I plonk myself down. His hand goes on my knee and he moves mine to his crotch. His jeans are taught and I stroke gently, feeling him grow harder through the denim. It’s horny, especially as my other hand still has a glass of wine in it. But he speeds things up and unbuckles his belt – he can’t wait can he?

He pulls his jeans right down and pulls out his cock. Beautiful. I kneel between his legs and tease it with my lips and tongue. Red lipstick all over it.

—–

Upstairs he completely undresses and lies on the bed. He still hasn’t touched me. We kiss and I’m on top of him, I pull aside my knickers and ask him to touch me. I’m soaked. I try sliding up and down his cock without penetration but he grabs a condom. Okay then!

I ride him with my knickers pulled aside. I’m still wearing my cowboy boots and it feels fucking sexy. But our rhythm is off, we don’t co-ordinate and soon he loses it.

I try and suck him with the condom on – it doesn’t work so he removes it. I go hard and deep on his dick and soon he’s hard again. Back I go to ride him. Again, we almost clash in rhythm.

And the insecurities set in – stuff like –

Why doesn’t he ever touch my pussy?

Why does he want to fuck me so quick without forplay?

Why do I like him so much?

Why can’t I come?

Why can’t I let go?

How long has he got?

——

He comes, rather triumphantly in my mouth. I don’t make a habit of this at all, but I seem to have done it twice in one week.

When I stop he makes no effort to finish me off. We lie and chat for ages and then we fuck again.

The sex isn’t as great as it was the first time – for some reason it doesn’t have any spark. But it’s definitely better than the second time and he seem to have got a better vibe, he’s laughing and joking.

Before he leaves he shows me a dickpic he’s quite proud of. He’s an art director of course, he would be.

As he’s searching I tell him no woman wants to see an angry veiny postbox of a penis and it makes him laugh. I tell him I actually like ones of flaccidity – or if erect definitely with a hand included gripping it. His one is sideways on, blurred background and quite beautiful and I tell him to send it to “ratemydickpic.com”.

We also discuss just using an emoji if we are horny and want to fuck – he’s 10 minutes away for gods sake.

I look forward to receiving 😈 very soon.

Here I am, hurtling towards the west of the city again. He’s told me his room number and told me the champagne is on ice. I’ve had a terrible day and this seems to me like the best way to forget it.

This time his room is smaller – not as flashy or luxurious. We kiss and embrace and I wince a little. I don’t fancy him at all, but I can use him – right?

We quickly get our swimming gear and head down to the spa. This time the changing room is full and it dampens my excitement. I meet him in the warm pool and we head for the jacuzzi part, hoping to rekindle the excitement of last time.

But the power button isn’t working and it’s hard to fumble with each other in static water. We climb out and head for the steam room. It’s hot and sexy and we chat a little, touching each other. We head back into the pool and then back to his room.

I get him to open the champagne as I really need a drink. I guess I’m not as excited as last time when he teased me all day. I’m also at the tail end of my period so super conscious about how I might taste and feel.

As a result when he goes down on me I can’t come. But I do enjoy wrapping my legs around his neck and him burying his whole face into my most intimate parts.

And I enjoy going down on him. I’d forgotten he has a little fold of skin at the top of his penis, like an extra bit. I like feeling him hard in my mouth and him thrusting deeper down my throat. So much so that I want him inside me. I ride his cock and make him grab and lick my nipples which I love.

He comes almost straight away. We chat and drink champagne and tell each other secrets. It’s nice this bit. He’s already checked if I’m staying and nuzzles into my back saying he likes me to do that. I guess he’s lonely.

We turn each other on by talking about recent sexual experiences: the night before he’d gone to meet a couple in a dodgy hotel but the woman rejected him.

Soon he’s hard again and I take him in my mouth. He’s not too big and not too small so its easy to spend a lot of time with him in my mouth and very quickly he’s coming right down my throat.

Yeah. I’m about to fuck someone who is almost half my age. We’ve had phone sex, me for the first time in ages, and less willing but its fun. My god he knows exactly what to say as well. It’s like he’s lifted the words from my brain: “take my cock”. And we haven’t even met yet.

He lives about half an hour from me and has pushed for a Sunday morning meet. I’m horny as a devil and on my period so I’ve used my faithful friend the Flex and let him know. He’s cool as fuck.

I meet him in the local Starbucks for safety. I might be older than him but I play by my rules now. The queue is long and I giggle as I wait for him to collect me a Flat White. He sits opposite me and chats about his journey, his energy and keenness to meet me. I don’t even finish the coffee and take him back.

Upstairs we claw at each other and I kiss him with a hunger that surprises me. The last encounter I had was so disappointing I’m hoping for a lot more. His body is slight with hair in all the places I like – chest and stomach and beard. His eyes, goddamn his eyes are so intense.

I reach into his pants and feel his cock while he gets to work on my breasts. How is this boy so intuitive?

For some reason I’ve already decided I want to actually get into bed with him rather than fuck on top of it. Maybe its his age that makes me want to – its there like a glaring neon sign in the room HE’S YOUNGER THAN YOU but its also a massive turn on.

We climb into bed in just our underwear and he starts to kiss me again. Oh golly am I in heaven?

---

I feel like I almost don’t need to write anything else: just insert GIF’s of trains going into tunnels, waves crashing on a shore and champagne corks popping.

As I’ve mentioned previously I was despairing of the late 30’s male. The 35-38 year olds in particular who seemed to have no seduction skills, little idea of what to do with a woman’s body and come complete with drink and self esteem issues.

This guy breezes through them all, smashing all my preconceptions and making me come hard three times in a couple of hours. As soon as I ride his perfectly formed cock I’m gone within 5 minutes. He seems to know exactly how to nibble my breasts enough to send me over the edge. After deep-throating it a few times and him asking me to “take his cock” which for some reason hits all the buttons he fingers me with an intensity I’ve not felt before. He’s gentle, considerate and doesn’t make me do anything I don’t want to.

We lie chatting between rounds, he’s funny polite and totally open. He tells me he used to do drugs every weekend but is now clean, barely drinks and doesn’t even have coffee. And they say the youth is fucked – the absolute opposite dear friends.

Then he lets out the MySpace klaxon.

It’s too funny, all I can think of is “the readers will lap this up”.

---

 

As he pulls on his trousers and belts up I realise how skinny his legs are. He’s like a little indie kid, 20 years too late and my 28 year old self kicks my now old self. I’m very tempted to ask him to stay forever, but I can’t.

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:

1. headspace

2. Stretch

3. Floss

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.

He meets me at the tube stop just in case I get lost which is a lovely gesture. I freak out when I see what I think is him, luckily it isn’t.

But, his photos are four years old and he aged since then. There’s a paunch but he has dressed up at least.

We grab a quick drink in the bar and he reminds me the spa closes at 9pm.

—-

We’ve been teasing each other all day so by the time I remove my knickers and change them for the bikini they are wet. My whole crotch is throbbing. I go and pee and try not to look like a whore as I giggle in the mirror to myself.

I open the door to the spa and immediately my glasses steam up – I can’t see a thing. It’s like a damn sauna in there! I can see a woman in the “pool” which is quite small and he’s lying in a nook/bed type thing. I lose my specs and follow him into the pool.

There are jacuzzi jets , and metal bars formed to make a kind of bench in the water. I sit beside him and worry about my makeup sliding off my face in the heat, my hair frizzing up and what the fuck am I doing?

Very soon we are kissing, and I’m straddling him. I can feel his erect penis through his shorts and it gives me an immense rush. I become wanton, touching myself, touching him, devouring his mouth with mine. Another couple get in the pool so we calm down.

This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done but it’s so good I can’t stop. I love the water and being in it with someone who wants to fuck my brains out is too much. As I snog his face off I try and remember if I’ve ever fucked in the water and I come up with NO.

He grabs at one of my breasts in the bikini, I grab his dick through his shorts. I really want to fuck him, despite the fact he looks about ten years older and fatter than me.

—–

Of course we can’t stay in there forever. He’s been a total gent and not even pulled my bikini off.

We slip back to his room on the same floor in our fluffy robes and he opens the door. It’s a huge room, champagne on ice. He’s made an effort.

I take off the bikini and he shows me where to hang it. We go over to the bed with our drinks and he parts my robe.

Oh yes he says.

I close my eyes and think of England.

We meet after work on a Thursday, I take him to a hidden cocktail place where you enter through the fridge.

It’s a bad idea as he doesn’t drink cocktails and slates the beer on offer. The waitress can probably tell and gives me sympathetic eyes, presuming we are on a date.

As we sit opposite each other it’s hard to tell if he’s into me. I’m not that into him but I expect I’ll still leap into bed with him. He has too many stories about work, he’s not really asking me anything. We leave early and he takes the commute home with me.

At the bus stop I pinch his cigarette- I figure if he’s going to taste of it I may as well too. It’s better than I remember.

On the bus he grabs my leg, we’re delayed in traffic and I’m frustrated.

—-

I remember the feel of his shirt, silky and expensive – a Ralph Lauren. It’s awkward and I wish I was drunker or hotter or anything. His beard is surprisingly soft and I enjoy kissing him. He’s good with his tongue and fingers but doesn’t make me weep with joy.

We try a few positions and I’ve already forgotten what he felt like. I end up sucking his cock more than riding him. He comes with a roar and I am unsatisfied, we try again but he has to stop.

He’s already told me about 8 times he has an early meeting. We probably spent more time chatting than fucking.

It’s Saturday and a series of his messages comes through, less than a week after we’ve met.

If you’re a female reader you will know the drill – I’m horny, my cock needs sucking etc etc. All expecting you to drop everything and run.

Ok so the thought it tempting, but I’ve already messed up on my life admin today and am behind schedule to get into town. So I politely decline, tell him I’m free the next day – but with a feeling of disappointment that he’s even turned into that kind of guy. Being wanted is one thing, but at his convenience only is kinda sleazy.

On the bus my pussy throbs with want and lust. Fuck.

---

Scroll forward to Sunday afternoon, I feel bad about making excuses to leave my friend and go home but I want to see if he bites. But I also want to try and play it cool.

I send a casual message seeing if he still wants to hook up. The answer is non-committal, typical. I pace up and down, have a bath, fiddle with my hair and redo my makeup. I even decide to cook dinner and forget about him. I start a boxset, and 10 minutes in my phone beeps.

Half an hour later we are clutching at each other again in the hallway. I tell him to follow me upstairs, this time with no drink its different. I can smell he’s been cooking, I can feel the wool of his jumper. We paw at each other and all our clothes are taken off. He lies on the bed and moans as I replace his cock in my mouth. He doesn’t touch me at all. I don’t even touch myself.

He asks for a condom and I climb onto his cock. He’s neither large or small, a perfect fit even. He smells incredible and I keep complimenting him as I’m fucking him. something isn’t quite right though – maybe something to do with us both having inhibitions now which were masked by alcohol last time around. Perhaps something to do with him not making any effort of foreplay.

Either way, he comes pretty quickly with very loud roars and I’m still not sated. We lie together and he tells me to lean into him and embraces me. It’s quite lovely.

---

I can’t stay away from his cock, I want it in my hand and my mouth. I keep playing and he keeps talking and I just get the sense that he isn’t happy. He says he’s stressed. I ask him if I can fuck him again and we switch position a few times. It’s going well and I’m almost about to come when he climbs off and apologises, saying he’s in his own head too much.

I get the feeling he has a lot going on, so trying to make him laugh seems like the answer. I succeed of course. I guess that is my pleasure and ego sated.

As he leaves he says ” See you again if you play your cards right”

I answer back straight away: I’m playing the joker”.

 

 

 

We grapple in the hallway of my house, I’ve already told him I’m not wearing a bra so he’s very quick to slip down the shoulders of my lace body and grab my breasts. I think he puts them in his mouth and then does a comedy motorboat.

(This bit is hazy as I’ve already had three glasses of wine)

I’ve made him laugh in the pub by asking after the first glass if he has to be drunk to fuck.

(In my head this is a perfectly legitimate question to ask for someone who has been married to and dated several serial alcoholics. Later, he tells me it’s the sexiest thing I said)

He says no.

I then ask if he wants to fuck me.

He says yes.

(I know right? This is the new – I’ve just watched “I’m so Pretty”and I’m feeling empowered- me)

Back at the house I get some more wine – I don’t need it but he has asked. This triggers alarm bells but it’s something to do to stop mauling each other. An appetiser except liquid. I sit astride him for a bit on the sofa in the lounge but it’s all going a bit quick and I take it upstairs.

He’s a really good kisser. My lips are still sore from his stubble but god he can kiss. Just the right angle, pressure and pace. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been kissed so well. My pussy twitches. A lot.

Upstairs clothes are removed. Again, it’s a little hazy but soon there is complete nakedness and his cock is in my mouth. It’s a good one reader, it’s making all the right moves and is so clean I could eat my dinner off it. He’s groaning a lot and watching me suck him, I’m trying to finger my own pussy at the same time. He asks for a condom and off we go.

I feel a bit like a puppy for a change – I can’t get the right position and we clash and bash each other about as unrhythmically as some bad jazz.

As it’s been a while for me I try not to overthink it all too much, and go with it. His hands are all over me which is enough. A body unseen, unadmired, uncaressed is worthless.

I can tell he’s lost his erection – the drink and the time probably contributing. Luckily my mouth brings him back to life and we manoeuvre into a position again.

Like dancers learning the choreography we move this time in unison – our song melodic this time. Nothing jars.

I’m on top and I feel like I’ve come. I make all the right noises but it feels a bit hollow, like I haven’t had a full one. It does feel amazing though, like a release of four months worth of frustration. He groans and asks me to suck him again.

There is very little reciprocal oral from him: at one point he roughly fingers me and wets them before entering but that’s as far as he goes. I wonder if my new full bush has put him off.

4 condoms, a white and red bottle of wine, an Uber eats delivery at midnight later and I’m riding him again. He keeps telling me to slow down and it’s about the hottest thing in the world. I’m barely moving crouched on top of him but it feels ridiculously good as I’m almost eating his face off.

This time I come hard, and loudly. But not as loud as him about 2 minutes later. Two very long drawn out groans and then he sheepishly gives me the full condom and asks where to put it.

——

He leaves at around 1.30am. I have to retrieve his clothes for him. I mercilessly take the piss out of him for wearing a jumper with a fake shirt collar.

He’s done exactly what he needed to do: broken my drought in a really enjoyable way with very little fallout.

But I’m still hungry for more.

The more observant amongst you will have noticed there hasn’t been an update since June. We feigned absence due to holiday which is only partly true.

We normally write the blog in real time and report back on encounters as an exorcism, a way of cementing a fuck indelibly somewhere to remember.

Sometimes the fuck has a few episodes, sometimes we keep some detail back, sometimes we lose interest.

We’ve never felt it necessary to explain ourselves but disappointing readers of four years weighs heavy.

Lately there have been only whimpers in the basic sense. Sobs of frustration. Curses at how stupid we have been. And as the blog was always a means of getting things out of the system – please indulge us this one time.

He was wrong from the start. But we were hooked from the moment he put his lips on our pussy in a snowstorm. And the worst thing is, the sex wasn’t even very good.

But your mind can play tricks on you and invent an entire relationship from small incidents.

And now we are in a mess. Not crying, because our heart is too hard and we are too tired.

Our identity is, and has always been linked to who and how often we are fucking.

So when you aren’t fucking anyone, who the fuck are you?