A couple of years ago I started chatting to a guy on messenger who had a predilection for ladies underwear. Unlike so many he had spoken too before I didn’t call him nasty names when he told me, he was stunned. We still speak. We’ve never met, but that could because he lives on the other side of the continent.
Anyway, his particular fetish ‘causes him a little heart ache because it is rare that he find a lady who will stand to have a guys nose buried in her pants, especially after a day of wearing them. I have sent him a pair in the past, accompanied with a little note about what I did while wearing them. He loved it, or so he has lead me to believe.
I thought he was a rarity until recently when I met another, here in Sydney. And this one I actually met. I won’t be seeing him again though because he was very short and had a girlfriend that he failed to tell me about.
Showing posts with label History. Show all posts
Showing posts with label History. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 29
Tuesday, January 15
Modern Communications
Way back when I last dated (late eighties-mid nineties) the mobile phone and internet were in their infancy. They had been around for a while, but I didn’t have a PC at home. I was computer illiterate, I barely knew how to type. I was introduced to computers when I first started working in a office as a personal assistant and the mobile phone came a few year later.
Many years later and I live and breathe email/messenger/internet dating and you’d have to amputate a limb for me to give you my mobile.
I vaguely remember making dates in person (after meeting for the first time at random) or over the telephone. But once you’d left home there was no way to know if he’d still turn up. Now if you’ve been sat there a few minutes you just send a text, asking if he still intends to turn up Or if you are a real nerd (fyi - which I have a soft spot for), send an email via your blackberry.
There really is no reason to have a blind date anymore, because the sending of photos is so simple, often too simple. I really don’t need to see what his cock looks like before I see his face. I recently had a first meeting (with I guy I met online) where I told the guy I didn’t want any photos before and I didn’t send any. I told him what I’d be wearing and that was it. It was kinda nice, the mystery.
And of course something else new and excellent in my opinion is SMS flirting. Those short messages that say I’m still thinking about the naughty thing we did that come in at random times during the day and night, to give you a little flutter in your tummy. Now, that is a very good thing. Those flutters stop snacking.
Another use for the mobile is the booty call. That late night ‘I need a shag, buddy’ that we all feel like doing, but often don’t. I have a female acquaintance that has a code in her phone for booty calls guys. When she gets chatted up and phone numbers given to her by guys in bars (she’s tall, blonde and good looking, it happens often) she slots them into categories. Do Not Answer, Fuck Buddy and Potential Boyfriend. Maybe I’ll do the same.
How did we manage dating before mod comms?
Many years later and I live and breathe email/messenger/internet dating and you’d have to amputate a limb for me to give you my mobile.
I vaguely remember making dates in person (after meeting for the first time at random) or over the telephone. But once you’d left home there was no way to know if he’d still turn up. Now if you’ve been sat there a few minutes you just send a text, asking if he still intends to turn up Or if you are a real nerd (fyi - which I have a soft spot for), send an email via your blackberry.
There really is no reason to have a blind date anymore, because the sending of photos is so simple, often too simple. I really don’t need to see what his cock looks like before I see his face. I recently had a first meeting (with I guy I met online) where I told the guy I didn’t want any photos before and I didn’t send any. I told him what I’d be wearing and that was it. It was kinda nice, the mystery.
And of course something else new and excellent in my opinion is SMS flirting. Those short messages that say I’m still thinking about the naughty thing we did that come in at random times during the day and night, to give you a little flutter in your tummy. Now, that is a very good thing. Those flutters stop snacking.
Another use for the mobile is the booty call. That late night ‘I need a shag, buddy’ that we all feel like doing, but often don’t. I have a female acquaintance that has a code in her phone for booty calls guys. When she gets chatted up and phone numbers given to her by guys in bars (she’s tall, blonde and good looking, it happens often) she slots them into categories. Do Not Answer, Fuck Buddy and Potential Boyfriend. Maybe I’ll do the same.
How did we manage dating before mod comms?
Monday, January 14
Just for the Night
I started a new, part-time job recently (more about that later) and I was chatting with a couple of my new female colleagues about sex, as you do, and I realised that I have never had a one-night-stand.
There have been fellas that had the potential to be a one nighter, but always came back for more within a week. I’m going take this as a good and bad thing. Good because it nice to be able to say I’ve never had a one-night-stand and bad because I’ve got attached to everyone I’ve slept with which makes it harder when they don’t phone after the second bout of bed-wrestling.
They on the other hand had had multiple mono-encounters which they saw as practice for when Mr. Right came along. One, a young (22) back-packer has just decided to spend the rest of her visit to Aussie celibate because she doesn’t like the number of notches on her proverbial bedpost. The other, a not so young (29) French girl has a number close to the teens and would like to increase it so she can experiment more with strangers.
How do you feel about one night stands, Good, Bad or indifferent?
And I’m curios about numbers, so put a little poll in the side bar, tick a box please.
There have been fellas that had the potential to be a one nighter, but always came back for more within a week. I’m going take this as a good and bad thing. Good because it nice to be able to say I’ve never had a one-night-stand and bad because I’ve got attached to everyone I’ve slept with which makes it harder when they don’t phone after the second bout of bed-wrestling.
They on the other hand had had multiple mono-encounters which they saw as practice for when Mr. Right came along. One, a young (22) back-packer has just decided to spend the rest of her visit to Aussie celibate because she doesn’t like the number of notches on her proverbial bedpost. The other, a not so young (29) French girl has a number close to the teens and would like to increase it so she can experiment more with strangers.
How do you feel about one night stands, Good, Bad or indifferent?
And I’m curios about numbers, so put a little poll in the side bar, tick a box please.
Thursday, December 20
The Barman
I was nineteen, he was 28, although he told me he was 25. He had a good body and a square jaw and he was nice to me. I fell for it hook, line and sinker. He chatted me up while I sat at the bar, the girlfriend I was out with was being chatted up by someone else. This was in the days before stalkers existed and mobile phones were for rich banker types, so I talked about where I lived and where I worked, and agreed I’d pop into the pub next week to say Hi.
The next day I was at work when a delivery of roses arrived at the front desk. Twelve of the deepest red roses you have seen sat on the counter on the other side of the glass division. As is usual with these things we commented and asked ‘who was the lucky person?’ When my phone rang, I jumped. They were for me, from him.
This went on for a week, gifts arrived daily. A teddy bear, a ceramic cat (I'd told him I had a cat), more flowers and a couple of other things I can’t remember. Every time a delivery guy arrived, my heart fluttered and my stomach flipped. I was suffering a severe case of butterflies. I was besotted.
The next time I saw him was in the pub…he was pleased to see me. I sat at the end of the bar with stars in my eyes all night. When he wasn’t serving he was talking to me, asking me questions. We went home to my place that night (my parents were out) and had sex. He was rough, he pulled my hair and he was big, almost too big. He pounded into me from above like I wasn’t really there, everytime. There was no other postion in his book. But still I was in lust. I knew no better.
He came back for more, we ‘dated’ for two months. He behaved like a love sick puppy when we were out together and when he met my parents. He even painted the door frames for my dad. My dad thought he was the best.
But when we were alone, he turned into a nasty piece. He was rough, he was mean and it wasn’t until I was recovering from a small operation and he still wanted sex that I finally told him to piss off. He'd had sex a lot, I mostly got held down by my hair. He wasn’t raping me, because I wanted to be there, but he didn’t care about me, I felt like I was just a hole. He told me he had a high sex drive and needed relief, so I would give him hand relief, when i was too sore. Somehow I could see this was not a healthy relationship. I'd found out he was telling me lies about his age, that he had been discharged from the Army and that his brother lived just round the corner from me.
I threw all his things that had crept into my drawers down the stairs and told him to get out. He stood there, looking up at me and started to cry. He told me he loved me. I told him I didn’t love him and he had to go. He picked up his stuff and left.
He called me for three weeks after, daily. He told me he was thinking of joining the army. He was shocked when I told him they wouldn’t have him back.
I’ll never date a abusing liar again.
The next day I was at work when a delivery of roses arrived at the front desk. Twelve of the deepest red roses you have seen sat on the counter on the other side of the glass division. As is usual with these things we commented and asked ‘who was the lucky person?’ When my phone rang, I jumped. They were for me, from him.
This went on for a week, gifts arrived daily. A teddy bear, a ceramic cat (I'd told him I had a cat), more flowers and a couple of other things I can’t remember. Every time a delivery guy arrived, my heart fluttered and my stomach flipped. I was suffering a severe case of butterflies. I was besotted.
The next time I saw him was in the pub…he was pleased to see me. I sat at the end of the bar with stars in my eyes all night. When he wasn’t serving he was talking to me, asking me questions. We went home to my place that night (my parents were out) and had sex. He was rough, he pulled my hair and he was big, almost too big. He pounded into me from above like I wasn’t really there, everytime. There was no other postion in his book. But still I was in lust. I knew no better.
He came back for more, we ‘dated’ for two months. He behaved like a love sick puppy when we were out together and when he met my parents. He even painted the door frames for my dad. My dad thought he was the best.
But when we were alone, he turned into a nasty piece. He was rough, he was mean and it wasn’t until I was recovering from a small operation and he still wanted sex that I finally told him to piss off. He'd had sex a lot, I mostly got held down by my hair. He wasn’t raping me, because I wanted to be there, but he didn’t care about me, I felt like I was just a hole. He told me he had a high sex drive and needed relief, so I would give him hand relief, when i was too sore. Somehow I could see this was not a healthy relationship. I'd found out he was telling me lies about his age, that he had been discharged from the Army and that his brother lived just round the corner from me.
I threw all his things that had crept into my drawers down the stairs and told him to get out. He stood there, looking up at me and started to cry. He told me he loved me. I told him I didn’t love him and he had to go. He picked up his stuff and left.
He called me for three weeks after, daily. He told me he was thinking of joining the army. He was shocked when I told him they wouldn’t have him back.
I’ll never date a abusing liar again.
Wednesday, December 19
The Blue Tiger
He was my first love. I lost my virginity to him when I was 15 and he was 18.It was awkward at first, but we figured out how it was best with plenty of practice in his bed, his bathroom, the chair in his mother’s bedroom, the desk in his dorm room, my bed, on a blanket amongst the bracken in the woods behind of his house and the front and back seats of his car. I may have missed somewhere, it was a while ago and we were inventive.
I watched him marry someone else a couple of years ago. It was the hardest things I've ever done.
Wednesday, December 12
The Military Policeman
I worked in a barracks for a while as a secretary, many years ago when I was in my early twenties. There I was surrounded by men in uniform on a daily basis. I used to have lunch in the Sergeants Mess and there I got to know many very nice men and women, mostly married. On occasion there would new guys around as a lot of teaching went on and The Military Policeman was one such visitor. He would come for 5 days in a month to teach recruits about the MP’s. He was flirty, charming and just what I needed.
On his second visit he sat in the Bar with me (I also worked behind the bar of the Sergeants Mess when the regular barmaid was away) all night, just chatting. There were no other customers and we spent the whole night chatting. I was infatuated. The conversation turned to sex after about three hours and we chatted about my experience. He was older and I slightly embarrassed talking about such things. But talk about we did. When closing time came an hour later I pulled down the shutters and walked with him to his room.
We made love that night. He was gentle, I was trembling.
The next day he left.
A month later he returned for another five day and four nights. On the first night he sat in the bar and watched me while I served drinks. He walked me home and we snogged for hours outside my house with my legs wrapped around him. The second night I didn’t work. The third night I didn’t work. The fourth night I worked and he was sat at the end of the bar, watching again. About half an hour before closing he slid of his stool and disappeared. After my shift I closed the shutters as I did every other night, but with a heavy disappointment. As I was leaving the building he appeared. He was wearing all black. He was standing next to my bicycle and he said, ‘I want you to spank me.’
‘You want me to what?’ I didn’t think I had heard him right.
‘I want you to spank me.’ He repeated then continued with, ‘but I understand if you don’t want to.’
‘Well, I never have and won’t it hurt?’ I was confused. I remember the feeling coursing through my body…the excitement, the fear and the embarrassment.
‘That’s the point. I want it to. The rush of endorphins through my body is amazing.’
Before I knew it, I had said ‘Ok, I’ll give it a go, but you’ll have to tell me where to hit you.’ We were on the way to his room. The small military room had a single bed, a bedside table with lamp, a small padded chair with arms and long wall mounted chrome pole for hanging clothes. The walls were painted magnolia and all the furnishing were chrome, grey or beige. I stood by the door while he undressed and talked. When I started to undress he told me to stop. He wanted me clothed he explained, that way he would feel the fabric of my skirt rubbing his stomach. He asked me to sit on the edge of the chair with my legs spread. I had a hard time suppressing a giggle, but even then the adrenaline was rushing through my veins.
Here I was, faced with a naked man on his knees in front of me asking to spanked like a little boy.
He crawled forward and placed himself over my left knee. He was kneeing on the floor, his bare buttocks facing me. And I said, ‘Now what?’ I knew, but I needed him to ask me to strike him. I couldn’t explain it then, but now I know, I needed him to be sure he wanted this.
He asked me to spank him twelve times, first on the right, then the left and so on. He also asked that I start gently and get harder. When I had completed the twelve I saw his reddened cheeks and stroked my fingers across his skin. It was warm. He was purring. I asked if he would like some more.
‘Only if you are happy, Mistress.’
I was shocked by the title, but decided I would go with the flow. I could feel my own excitement. I did however, wonder what would be in all this for me. ‘I told you if you were a naughty boy you would be punished. You were a naughty boy so now I have you across my knee and you will stay here ‘til you cry.’ I told him.
He nodded his head. I raised my hand and brought it down hard. When I heard him whimper a while later I told him to stand before me. He was rock hard. I had never been more excited.
‘Do you think you have paid the price for being bad?’ I asked.
‘No Mistress.’
Again, I was surprised by the answer; I had expected him to say yes.
‘What else do you think needs to happen to ensure your bad behaviour doesn’t continue?’ I asked, hoping not to break the mood and hoping it was my turn.
‘Mistress, if I may be so bold as to request to feel the touch of your thighs to my face?’
I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, so I said yes. I was new to anything other missionary and me on top. I was playing the game as best I could.
He got back down onto his knees and kissed the inside of my knee, and then he licked me. He smooched the inside of my thigh with his cheek. I leaned back into the seat and sighed. It felt so good. I had no idea he was about to pull my pants down and give me my first experience of cunnilingus. It was amazing. I came in about three minutes. I had never come so fast or hard before and while I was recovering in the chair he unbuttoned my blouse and removed my bra, before carrying me to the bed. Once there he buried his face in my crotch again before I told him to ‘fuck me.’
Like any good subbie boi, he followed my instructions. Afterwards, we cuddled for ages. He asked me if I was Ok, I asked him. We were both fine.
We played many times on his visits. Mostly with me on top, but on occasion he would take control. I didn’t enjoy it as much, but it was still wonderful.
He was the man who introduced me to thing that would change my life.
On his second visit he sat in the Bar with me (I also worked behind the bar of the Sergeants Mess when the regular barmaid was away) all night, just chatting. There were no other customers and we spent the whole night chatting. I was infatuated. The conversation turned to sex after about three hours and we chatted about my experience. He was older and I slightly embarrassed talking about such things. But talk about we did. When closing time came an hour later I pulled down the shutters and walked with him to his room.
We made love that night. He was gentle, I was trembling.
The next day he left.
A month later he returned for another five day and four nights. On the first night he sat in the bar and watched me while I served drinks. He walked me home and we snogged for hours outside my house with my legs wrapped around him. The second night I didn’t work. The third night I didn’t work. The fourth night I worked and he was sat at the end of the bar, watching again. About half an hour before closing he slid of his stool and disappeared. After my shift I closed the shutters as I did every other night, but with a heavy disappointment. As I was leaving the building he appeared. He was wearing all black. He was standing next to my bicycle and he said, ‘I want you to spank me.’
‘You want me to what?’ I didn’t think I had heard him right.
‘I want you to spank me.’ He repeated then continued with, ‘but I understand if you don’t want to.’
‘Well, I never have and won’t it hurt?’ I was confused. I remember the feeling coursing through my body…the excitement, the fear and the embarrassment.
‘That’s the point. I want it to. The rush of endorphins through my body is amazing.’
Before I knew it, I had said ‘Ok, I’ll give it a go, but you’ll have to tell me where to hit you.’ We were on the way to his room. The small military room had a single bed, a bedside table with lamp, a small padded chair with arms and long wall mounted chrome pole for hanging clothes. The walls were painted magnolia and all the furnishing were chrome, grey or beige. I stood by the door while he undressed and talked. When I started to undress he told me to stop. He wanted me clothed he explained, that way he would feel the fabric of my skirt rubbing his stomach. He asked me to sit on the edge of the chair with my legs spread. I had a hard time suppressing a giggle, but even then the adrenaline was rushing through my veins.
Here I was, faced with a naked man on his knees in front of me asking to spanked like a little boy.
He crawled forward and placed himself over my left knee. He was kneeing on the floor, his bare buttocks facing me. And I said, ‘Now what?’ I knew, but I needed him to ask me to strike him. I couldn’t explain it then, but now I know, I needed him to be sure he wanted this.
He asked me to spank him twelve times, first on the right, then the left and so on. He also asked that I start gently and get harder. When I had completed the twelve I saw his reddened cheeks and stroked my fingers across his skin. It was warm. He was purring. I asked if he would like some more.
‘Only if you are happy, Mistress.’
I was shocked by the title, but decided I would go with the flow. I could feel my own excitement. I did however, wonder what would be in all this for me. ‘I told you if you were a naughty boy you would be punished. You were a naughty boy so now I have you across my knee and you will stay here ‘til you cry.’ I told him.
He nodded his head. I raised my hand and brought it down hard. When I heard him whimper a while later I told him to stand before me. He was rock hard. I had never been more excited.
‘Do you think you have paid the price for being bad?’ I asked.
‘No Mistress.’
Again, I was surprised by the answer; I had expected him to say yes.
‘What else do you think needs to happen to ensure your bad behaviour doesn’t continue?’ I asked, hoping not to break the mood and hoping it was my turn.
‘Mistress, if I may be so bold as to request to feel the touch of your thighs to my face?’
I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, so I said yes. I was new to anything other missionary and me on top. I was playing the game as best I could.
He got back down onto his knees and kissed the inside of my knee, and then he licked me. He smooched the inside of my thigh with his cheek. I leaned back into the seat and sighed. It felt so good. I had no idea he was about to pull my pants down and give me my first experience of cunnilingus. It was amazing. I came in about three minutes. I had never come so fast or hard before and while I was recovering in the chair he unbuttoned my blouse and removed my bra, before carrying me to the bed. Once there he buried his face in my crotch again before I told him to ‘fuck me.’
Like any good subbie boi, he followed my instructions. Afterwards, we cuddled for ages. He asked me if I was Ok, I asked him. We were both fine.
We played many times on his visits. Mostly with me on top, but on occasion he would take control. I didn’t enjoy it as much, but it was still wonderful.
He was the man who introduced me to thing that would change my life.
Tuesday, November 27
The Businessman
About four years ago I met a businessman. He was married, I was married. He had two kids, I had two cats.
We had a mild dalliance; he came round a few of times and did what he does best. He went down on me … for hours. This might sound boring, but really it isn’t. We played with toys, did a little anal and I came many, many times. Being a sub/switch he is more than happy to exercise his tongue.
Then he separated from his wife for a time and I visited him. I stopped his and my visits when one day I got out of bed the day after one and couldn’t walk. I felt like I had been run over by a bus. My back ached, my arms felt like jelly, my legs were wobbly and I had a gait like John Wayne. I had been to put it frankly, been fucked raw.
When my husband asked ‘what the hell have you done to yourself?’ I had no explanation and panicked. I went with the ‘I must have slept wrong,’ excuse and tried to straighten myself up. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t love my husband anymore, but I couldn’t continue to cheat on him. I had to stop playing around while I was still married.
Over the last couple of years, The Businessman has remained in my mind and we have often just asked how each other are. Two nights ago he came online and told me he’d left his wife for good. Did I fancy getting together for some fun?
I’m seeing him tonight, and I’m going sub.
We had a mild dalliance; he came round a few of times and did what he does best. He went down on me … for hours. This might sound boring, but really it isn’t. We played with toys, did a little anal and I came many, many times. Being a sub/switch he is more than happy to exercise his tongue.
Then he separated from his wife for a time and I visited him. I stopped his and my visits when one day I got out of bed the day after one and couldn’t walk. I felt like I had been run over by a bus. My back ached, my arms felt like jelly, my legs were wobbly and I had a gait like John Wayne. I had been to put it frankly, been fucked raw.
When my husband asked ‘what the hell have you done to yourself?’ I had no explanation and panicked. I went with the ‘I must have slept wrong,’ excuse and tried to straighten myself up. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t love my husband anymore, but I couldn’t continue to cheat on him. I had to stop playing around while I was still married.
Over the last couple of years, The Businessman has remained in my mind and we have often just asked how each other are. Two nights ago he came online and told me he’d left his wife for good. Did I fancy getting together for some fun?
I’m seeing him tonight, and I’m going sub.
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