Monthly Archives: April 2010

Toyboy fantasy – the cute barman

The cute barman has been upping the ante recently. Our rather innocent, yet flirty IM chats of the last few months have degenerated into pretty steamy cybersex chats. He is determined to ‘have’ me and we’ve agreed that a no strings sexual encounter will be the next step. We have known one another for a few years now, as social acquaintances (he was the barman at my office local) and then Facebook friends. It is strange how something so seemingly fleeting can fuel such lustful thoughts. And then there is his age. 28! He reminded me of that last night when we were chatting. So much younger, yet so deliciously decadent.

I find myself fantasizing about him when I’m working and I have taken to listening to the Arctic Monkeys in a bid to conjure up his Northern charm. My daydreams dwell on what it will be like when we finally meet again, that first moment of eye contact across the room and the tingling butterflies, the rising sense of anticipation. We haven’t seen each other in person since our ‘chats’ became rather more. He now IMs and texts almost daily, planting little erotic images in my mind, tempting, teasing me along.

I desire him.

I long to kiss him, to taste his tongue, his scent.

I want to bury my nose in his neck, inhale and lick that spot just below his jaw and ear.

I want to touch his hand, feeling my way up his arm, under his shirt sleeve, feeling his warmth, unbuttoning his top with my other, revealing his chest.

I want to slip my hand below his shirt, tracing the outline of his ribcage, down to that soft fleshy part above the hip bone, then run my fingers inside his trousers from his side to his front so I can undo his belt and unzip his jeans.

I want him to be hard, to feel excited at the thought of what I am about to do.

I want to slip my hand inside his unzipped trousers and tease out his cock, gently, pulling his trousers down a fraction to reveal him fully.

I take him in my mouth, licking the underside of his dick as I do so, letting my lips gently brush over his shaft as I draw him in.

I press harder with my lips and tongue as I slowly move my head away again, stopping when I find that sensitive spot underneath, where the rim begins and ends.

I move my tongue along this rim, to the left, then to the right and pull his entire dick into my mouth, feeling his tip at the back of my throat.

He gasps and holds my hair, guiding me to his rhythm.

I close my eyes and just feel.

Red moist darkness.

He quickens the pace, we are rolling, lurching, falling together.

Then the moment comes when he suddenly stops, pulls back a little and then thrusts forward one more time.

I feel him deep inside my mouth. I feel the hot jets trickle down my throat. The salty sea.

I swallow him.

He falls to his knees opposite me.

We look into each other’s eyes. He is beautiful.

I am wet.

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The importance of scent

Scent. A man’s scent. A woman’s scent. It is the key.

If his scent is not right, then I do not feel aroused. It does not have to be a particular aftershave or a perfume. It is the underlying scent of the person that arouses me. Man or woman. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, tasting each delicate note in my nostrils, on my tongue and at the back of my throat, letting it fill my mind with images of what is to follow. As I write this, I can feel the warmth of his skin, the gentle touch of his fingers on my body, the dark room, the wetness. Our scents mingle and soar together. We are perfect companions.

Today I will splash a little of his aftershave on my left wrist, let it settle and then inhale. It is like a little sensual fix. I am transported every time I breathe in. I desire him. My older lover.

A poem by Baudelaire (Flowers of Evil):

Exotic Perfume

When, eyes closed, on a pleasant autumn night,

I breathe the warm scent of your breast, I see

Inviting shorelines spreading out for me

Where steady sunlight dazzles in my sight.

An idle isle, where friendly nature brings

Singular trees, fruit that is savoury,

Men who are lean and vigorous and free,

Women whose frank eyes are astonishing.

Led by your fragrance to these charming shores

I see a bay of sails and masts and oars,

Still wearied from the onslaught of the waves –

While verdant tamarind’s enchanting scent,

Filling my nostrils, swirling to the brain,

Blends in my spirit with the boatmen’s chant.

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Hotel adventures

The classic setting for an affair is of course a hotel. Over the years, I have stayed in probably 15-20 different hotels with different lovers. These were occasions when my own place was too much of a risk, or we felt like a change of scene. Taking a cab through London after a late night is usually a drive down memory lane as I whizz past the various Edwardian facades of the hotels I’ve fucked in. Outside of London my experiences are mainly tied to business trips abroad… Paris, I’ve already told you about. One of my other favourite hotel experiences was in Hamburg.

Our team was visiting the German office for a series of meetings. There were five of us staying in a five-star hotel overlooking the Alster in Hamburg. Those were the days before the recession, when companies didn’t scrimp and save on accommodation. Once again, through a series of political maneuverings, my original lover and I had managed to get ourselves on the same trip. During the flight, we tried to play the ‘we’re-just-colleagues’ roles, limiting eye contact and planning for the meetings the next day. We arrived on the evening flight, traveling directly from the airport to the hotel.We checked in, one after the other. I went first and pretended to look for something in my handbag so I could hear the room number given to original lover as he checked in. It was on a different floor altogether and so I took the lift up to my room, planning to call him when I was safely inside.

The room I had been allocated stank of smoke and so I returned to the hotel reception to ask for a new one. The keycard to the new room turned out to be next door to the room my original lover had been given. My pulse quickened and I entered the room, surveying the setting that was to become the backdrop to a night of sensual delights. It had a kingsize bed, huge bathroom with walk-in shower and an incredible view over the lake through a French balcony window. I called him and told him where I was. He said to look out of the window and he popped his head out of his room next door. Then he climbed out of his window and onto rather narrow ornamental balcony, squeezing himself under the metal awnings separating our two rooms. Inside my room, he took me in his arms and we kissed, feeling a sense of excitement at the night ahead. He told me that one of our other male colleagues* was staying in the room on the other side of his, so we would have to be doubly careful about entering and exiting each other’s rooms. Thankfully, the balcony gave an escape route if needed.

We only had a short time before we had to meet the rest of the team for drinks in the lobby bar and so he snuck back into his room and we quickly freshened up, changing into a more appropriate attire. Downstairs in the lobby a jazz pianist accompanied our cocktails. Once everyone had assembled we set off to a nearby restaurant for a relaxed dinner. As a team everyone got along very well and so the evening was full of banter and witticisms. Throughout, I kept imagining what it would be like to be alone with him in my hotel room and all the delicious things I wanted to do with him.

Finally, after many hours of eating and drinking we returned to the hotel. The three of us staying on the same floor all entered our rooms with a cheerful goodnight, doors closing behind us. I opened the balcony doors and peered out. There he was, the reflection of the lights on the water below dancing across his face. He made his way quietly to my room, the cool night air cleared my head a little. Then we were alone. The hours of build-up took their toll and we tore at each other’s clothes, stripping down to naked flesh and falling onto the bed, ready to devour. He moved his hand up and down my body, kissing me fervently, finally allowing his fingers to find my pussy. I was so wet with desire that his fingers slipped inside with ease. He teased me like this until I was on the brink of climaxing, then withdrew. We had all night together and wanted to make the most of it. I rolled him on his back and sat astride him, lowering my head to his chest and then gently kissing my way towards his cock, taking it in my mouth. Lightly at first, then with more pressure from my lips and tongue until he began to sigh with pleasure. Holding the base of his shaft and balls in my hands I licked and sucked until I could feel the sudden movement, the slight pulse that signals the start of his orgasm. I withdrew and pulled him up to his feet.

I opened the balcony doors and leant against the railings, my naked body visible to anyone who cared to look up. The thrill of being seen by a passerby, or even our colleague two doors down was exciting. Leaning forward against the railings, half my body outside, half still inside the room, I beckoned him to enter me from behind. He pushed my legs apart a little more and found my wetness with his erect cock, thrusting it inside. As he did so, he let out a loud grunt. I was conscious of the noise, but at the same time, loved the potential of being discovered. He gripped my hips and moved against me, pushing ever deeper inside. I held onto the railings, my bare breasts moving to his rhythm. The cool air made my nipples incredibly erect and I looked out over the lake as he came with a shuddering jolt. We moved inside and onto the bed again, he was out of breath. I sat above his face, feeling his short breaths calming down as he licked my pussy, letting his own juice trickle into his mouth. I leant back and felt the orgasm rising, not able to control it this time, I climaxed loudly, falling back on top of his torso as I did.

We lay together for some time, just enjoying the warmth of skin on skin. Then we moved into the bathroom and the tiled walk-in shower. We stood in the jet streams of the shower together, washing each other with a soapy lather. The sensation of such a soft lubricated touch on my skin was excrutiatingly tantalising and he pushed me against the wall, lifting my right leg and entering me again. I was conscious of the contrast between the cold hard tiles of the wall against my back and the warm water trickling down between our bodies as he gently made love to me. Our soapy bodies slipped and glided together. He took a fresh squirt of shower gel in his hand and started to rub my clitoris with it as he fucked me. I was so aroused that it took only seconds for me to come again and he held me as I almost melted to the floor. He continued to move, getting quicker, stronger and took my wet hair between his hands, pressing my head to the wall and looking into my eyes as he came, doubling over letting himself go.

That night we slept in my room. The next morning he scrambled across the balcony again to get dressed. We met our other colleagues for an early breakfast before heading off to the office. Everyone looked fresh. Everyone, except us.

* this male colleague also became my lover later on

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Sunday morning day dreaming

The husband lies asleep. It is Sunday morning. I’ve been awake for a while, toying with the idea of going for a run. But instead, I would rather be lying in the arms of my older lover, like that Sunday morning when we woke together after he spent the night. It has only happened once, his family had gone to the country, he had to work.

I had been out the night before with other friends, getting back around midnight, a few too many gin and tonics in me. Then the text message arrived:

“What are you doing? Can I see you?”

My heart skipped a beat. Totally unexpected. Meeting him always requires such meticulous planning – lies, excuses, working late… But here he was texting me for a spontaneous call. I replied:

“At home. Stop by.”

Even as I replied I had no idea he was free to spend the night. Half an hour later I heard his scooter pull up outside and a gentle knock on the door. It was summer and I was wearing my 50’s inspired Cath Kidston dress, hair up, red lipstick. He stood there, smiling at me. When he smiles, his eyes sparkle mischievously. I let him in and poured him a glass of wine. We sat in the garden, sipping a cool white and talking, listening to the sounds of the crickets and neighbouring houses. Then we kissed. It was like being two teenagers again – slightly awkward, yet passionate, perched on the garden bench.

I got up and took his hand, moving indoors, out of sight. We stood in the dark hallway, kissing and feeling each other’s bodies through our clothes. He told me his family were away for the weekend. That he could stay the night. I looked at him, unsure of how to assess this new terrain. Instead of talking, I took him up to the bedroom. He unzipped my dress and dropped his trousers as I undid his shirt buttons. Nighttime stillness. When we are together, it is always still. No music, no background noise, just us, breathing, touching, being.

We lay on the bed, discovering each other’s bodies as if from scratch. No rush. Just darkness. His head found my sex and he brought me to a slow, all-enveloping orgasm with his tongue. I sank into the depths of that red abyss. Gladly, happily. He felt ready to enter me. He was quite timid about penetrating me back then. Perhaps middle-aged fears of virility, I’m not sure. But when he did my whole being succumbed to him. I could feel his smooth hardness with each movement we made together. A gentle rocking at first, then increasing in speed and depth until he came to a long sigh. We lay there, arm in arm until he fell asleep. I was awake on my own, my mind racing at the thoughts of this man next to me in my bed. Until then our meetings had always been fleeting – early mornings before work, dinners, but always a curfew. Lying next to him was calming. I listened to his slow breathing. I craved him, his presence, his sleep.

Waking the next morning I felt disorientated, not sure how to behave with this new man in my bed. He was up first (alas, one of those ‘morning people’), whereas I was still full of sleep and slightly hung over. I could tell he felt different too – like he’d crossed a line. I was his first affair after 15 years of marriage. He was itching to get back home, to his duties as husband and father, to the world that he knew. He brought me a cup of coffee and I watched him dress. There was another awkward moment as we kissed goodbye and then he was gone and I returned to bed with an aspirin.

Had I known that would be the last time we would have the chance to spend a whole night together, I would have stayed awake all night, just to be with him, be conscious of him, listen to him breathe, watch him sleep. Perhaps one day we will find another little loophole in our over-committed lives. I hope so.

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The most appropriate wedding gift

One of my flings is getting married soon (the tall one). It’s a small wedding and so we are not invited, but I was thinking I’d still like to give him a wedding present. But what to give? A set of knives? Six champagne flutes? A voucher? No, I want to give him something unique, something different, not usually found on your typical wedding list. And then it hit me. A fuck.

I was chatting with him online, (our usual cybersex chat) and decided to bring up the topic of wedding presents. He’s been incredibly keen to meet up for a long time. Living in different countries has made that a little tricky and so it has been over a year since we last saw each other in person. He got engaged shortly after we last fucked. And so I was curious to see what his views on the topic of marriage and infidelity were (given he had no qualms sleeping with me). Turns out he has a refreshingly open mind about the subject.

So, when I suggested a night in a hotel together either before or after their wedding, he jumped at it. Ok, so it isn’t really a present his new wife gets to enjoy, but I then I don’t really know her. Any present I would give him would be one more suited to his tastes anyway. In perhaps a slightly perverse way I would rather ‘give’ him his wedding present after they get married. Just to see if he is all talk, or whether in fact, he would quite happily break his vows within weeks of making them.

So here’s a question for you, how long did you remain faithful after taking your vows? I know my answer. Not sure I’m quite ready to share that one yet….

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Hitchcock inspired

Rear window‘. One of my all time favourite films. If you haven’t seen it yet, watch it and luxuriate in the beautiful Grace Kelly, the dashing James Stewart and the heat of a New York summer. I watched it again recently and it reminded me of my own lover-in-a-cast experience. You would think that having a leg in a cast would hamper a man’s sexual appetite. I found it to be quite the opposite…

I suppose given the nature of his work, it was hardly surprising that the gardener injured himself on the job. He ended up in a full leg cast as the summer was starting. The timing was bad. I had just taken him as a lover and was excited by his strength and fit body. Within a few weeks, my hunk of a gardener was bed ridden and limping around on crutches. It wasn’t quite the image I had had in mind when getting involved with him. Nevertheless, his new invalid status meant he could not drive and so, feeling rather sorry for him, I offered our sofa bed for him to sleep on for a few weeks until he was in a better state.

He would spend the days lying naked (bar a pair of shorts) in the living room. I would go about my daily business, returning in the evenings and making supper for us both. He would hobble over to the large mahogany dining table, balancing his crutches against it, propping his leg up on another chair. The heat of the day did not subside at night and so he remained topless for dinner. I found myself looking at his body as we ate, feeling that prickle, that sense of desire and lust awakening. I touched his other (good) leg, moving my fingers up his inner thigh, finding a way under his shorts towards his crotch. His erection became visible and so I placed my other hand on top of his cock, rubbing it gently. He placed his fork down on the table and closed his eyes, enjoying the sensations.

I got up from my chair and knelt in front of him, pulling his shorts down far enough to expose his erection. Taking him in my mouth as far as he would go, I began to give him a blow job. Perhaps it is the Florence Nightingale in me, but I thought he needed a little bit of pleasure after all that pain. His breathing changed and he began to gasp. I looked up at him and he started to tear at my dress, desperate to see my breasts. I stood up, slowly and took a step back. Then unbuttoned the fastening on my dress, button by button as he watched. His eyes sparkled and I could read the same lust in his face that I was feeling.

As my dress dropped to the floor revealing my pink satin bra and knickers, he reached for his crutches and tried to get up. I helped him stand and he held onto the back of a chair as he slipped one of my breasts out of my bra and kissed it, suckling and fumbling for the clasp. When it pinged open and my bra fell from my shoulders, he could not contain himself anymore. The gardener lurched forward and pushed me, face forward over the dining table. I could feel the cool shiny surface against my breasts and his hardness against my ass as he leaned over me. He steadied himself, balancing on his good leg and then pulled down my knickers. I felt him find my hole with his fingers and then thrust his cock into me. It was my turn to gasp. Pushing myself up a little, so our bodies were touching, we fucked. He had a surprising amount of energy given his invalid status. He pounded and pounded, my hips hitting the edge of the table as he did so. When he lost his balance a little we changed positions, I climbed on top of the table, lying back with my legs open and cunt close to the edge so he could enter me again and balance against my legs. I could feel him deep inside me, the table was just the right height. We were both sweaty from the exertion and heat and I began to slip on the mahogany surface. It felt so lustful, so raw, so untethered. As he brought me to climax, I held onto the edge of the table so that force of our bodies colliding was increased. He came shortly after me, panting and sweating as he collapsed, bent over me.

Those weeks were intense – hours of heated sex, standing, sitting, lying on the dining table or sofa bed. My hips were black and blue from being pounded against the table edge and I got a thrill from inviting friends around for dinner, knowing that only ten minutes before they had arrived I had been fucked on the same table at which we ate. He was remarkably versatile given his cast. It was like having a personal sex slave at home… He couldn’t leave and so we made the most of our nights together I’m not sure if it helped or hampered his recuperation, but what a great way to be bed ridden!

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German lawyer – would you?

So the German lawyer has been in touch again. He would ‘love to meet’. After my last experience I happily re-categorised him under ‘RIP‘ lovers. On the one hand, our first encounter was incredibly sexy – plenty of kissing, touching, fondling. But then on the other hand, two attempts at actual fucking later and he had yet to locate my clitoris.

I’m curious, what would you do? Third time lucky?


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