Month: May 2016

Putin

I have had very poor luck with RSVP. And by poor I mean no interest from anyone ever. Well, a couple of 20-something immigrants in western Sydney but they don’t count because 20, geographically unrealistic and grammar.

Even when I overhauled the profile I wasn’t getting approached.

And then there was Putin. I’d seen his profile before but something had stopped me “sending a kiss” (gag). This time I did and he was back to me like lightening.

I liked him, he was a bit older (early 50s), a surfer and lived relatively nearby.

Suave is the best way to describe his initial contact, let’s cook and sip vino next week, let’s be sexy and stylish and get a sexy black dress ready – you get the drift.

And then I started to realise Putin was all about the detail. What will you be wearing under the lbd, where does your lbd finish, make sure you’re nice and smooth all over, and then this: I want my handsome manhood to feel all three of your sweet spots.

HANDSOME MANHOOD.

I should have pulled out (geddit) then and there.

THEN – because of course it gets better – the fantasty setting begins: “Let’s not say a word, just lock eyes, sip a glass of champagne, then I ease into your arse as I play with your clit, when I am all the way in just before I blow I say, hello :)”

Here I’m going to say it, what the FUCK is with guys and arse sex? We’ve established I like it but certainly not first cab off the rank. It makes me feel incredibly vulnerable and close to the person doing it so I’d much prefer there to be some connection and trust established first. Yes, I have come to this realisation during recent proclivities.

The sexting continues in the lead-up to our ‘date’. He wants pictures of my toes, he talks about “the narrative”, writing our own lines, entering each other’s chapters (!) and over and over about setting up the scene when we meet. “Tell me the plan in your words as you know it.” So much talk of lubing up my arse and me doing a douche. And then it starts getting weird. (As if any of this was not already on the weird radar.) He wants me to.walk.him.through. how I do the douche. What.the.actual.fuck?

At one stage he tells me he loves detail. I let him know I would never have guessed…

And then there was this: “When you need to go to the ladies, before we speak when you are here, u will grab my hand, I will show u the ladies, pull your panties down, u will pee then I will wipe u, then pull your panties up… you will kiss me softly and give me a gentle hug, then we will go back to sipping vino with candles.”

ALARM BELLS ALARM BELLS ALARM BELLS

I go ahead with it (of course I do) but I do not go to the bathroom. In fact I am determined not to need to go to the bathroom all night.

The scenario plays out exactly as we had rehashed (over and over again) and look, it is actually really hot.

We talk politics and sip wine, he is incredibly articulate but I struggle to get a word in edgeways.

More (anal) sex.

Dinner – he made me dinner. It was delicious. We sit outside, drink more wine and he keeps talking.

By this time I am so busting I think I might have a bladder explosion. I confess I need to pee and he tells me he’s going to let me get away with it this time but next time he will wipe me. Jesus.

More (anal) sex.

I go home.

He texted me the next morning to see how I was and that’s been it.

Putin is no more.

And I can pee in peace.

mtc

RD

 

 

 

The American

“Oh my God you’re bleeding, like, a LOT.”
Poor Mr USA’s cock looked like it had butchered me.
Ten days early. TEN DAYS EARLY.

Mr USA and I connected on OCK. For him it was my boobs (of course) and my short hair (a rare man indeed). For me it was just *something* about his profile and the fact he was a yank. I have a thing for a US accent.
We texted over a couple of days and even spoke on the phone, a first for me with an OKC connection. He sounded lovely. We talked about what he was doing while he was here, I gave him some suggestions, we eased into gentle speak about how attractive he found me and how hot my hair was (it is) and how much we were looking forward to meeting each other.
If I ever lose the exhilaration of that initial contact then it’s time to pull out.
We meet at his hotel and the plan is to go out and listen to some live music. I feverishly research this as I haven’t gone out to listen to live music since about 1994.
But there’s some drama with his hotel reservations and he comes downstairs on the phone talking to some customer service person as well as front desk. I was kind of expecting a passionate first kiss but it’s a quick soft peck and then I’m just sort of left standing while he goes off and deals with whatever the problem is.
I’m onto The Posse saying alarm bells were ringing (I wasn’t convinced about his shoewear either) but I hold the course.
I’d bought a bottle of Veuve for us to share, for when we got back to his room or whenever. We go back to his room, he’s still on the phone. I can feel my vagina drying up. I pour champagne and take several deep gulps.
His room has a view so I pretend to care about that while wondering what the fuck I am doing. Eventually he motions for me to come and sit next to him on the bed. We “touch” if that makes sense, I’m rubbing his leg, he my arms.
His still talking to this ridiculous customer service person and he pulls me on top of him. It’s pretty hot groping someone’s cock and licking their ear while they try to keep it together on a phone call.
Finally he hangs up and we’re underway.
What followed was amazing. Fantastic. Exquisite. There was hot and heavy action and then cooling off to chat about stuff, rinse and repeat.
One thing I am taking from this whole experience is how great sex is in your 40s. It can be intense, sexy, funny, awkward, intimate, wonderful all in a number of minutes. It’s intoxicating.
He knew his way around the female form. Very well.
Things are at their peak, I’ve come twice and he’s about to when he looks down and sees dark patches. Fucking blood everywhere. Carnage.
There’s showering and apologies and mortification on my part. I check my calendar and report back that yes, it is 10 days early*.
It doesn’t end the evening. While internally I’m smarting a little that he didn’t actually ask if I was OK (granted he was resoundingly covered in blood not just on his condom-coated cock) it set off a couple of hours of really hot intimacy. His hair obsession had us spooning, him licking and kissing the back of my neck, my ears, my hair. Then more of my hair, OMG is he trying to eat my hair?
He kept asking if I’d let him shave my head. I laughed it off. He asked again. Um no.
We kiss, and talk, and spoon and sleep, I wake early – 4:30, kiss him (how divine is kissing) and leave back into a city damp from overnight rains.
He leaves in a few days later.
Mtc
RD

* Wasn’t my period. A sex injury? Break-through bleeding? Who knows, it was gone the next day.