I’m going to start with my most recent experience. Fresh out of the shower, having washed off his scent from last night, it seems only appropriate to write about him. We met about two weeks ago, in a bar. I was surrounded by a number of men, all rather short and all vying for my attention. Then he arrived. He is tall, has a neat beard, brown hair and eyes. He joined in the conversation and spoke with such enthusiasm and excitement.
I love people with passion. He bought a round of drinks – something the others did not offer. We talked until gone 3am, then he left. We exchanged numbers and before I had even got home, he had texted to say how much he had enjoyed meeting and would I like to do something sometime. Before he left, I made sure he knew I was married. It is important that they know this upfront. Then, if they still show interest, I know they are a potential candidate.
So, we met two nights ago. He suggested a jazz club, a Jacques Brel inspired concert. I wore a silk shirt, skirt, stockings and high heeled boots. It is important to dress the part. Not only does it make me feel sexier, it can also be a powerful tool of persuasion. My signature is Agent Provocateur perfume. It drives men wild.
The concert was mediocre, rather triste and slow at times. We chatted between songs, shared a few cigarettes in the interval and as the night wore on his hand would linger on my shoulder as he whispered in my ear, or brush against mine when reaching for his drink. I consider these little gestures part of the foreplay. The subtle touching, the warmth of his breath as he whispers in my ear, the eye contact that lasts just that fraction too long – it heightens the anticipation.
After the concert we went to a little bar around the corner, where we talked, drank, smoked. It must have been after midnight before we first kissed. But what a kiss! I am not very practiced with beards, but his beard and lips were so soft. The lightest of touches – his kisses finding my cheeks, earlobes, lips, eyelids. As we kissed I felt that yearning, tingling sensation in my womb. It is a sensation that usually gets me into trouble. I ran my fingers through his hair, digging my nails in every now and then as we kissed, causing him to emit little groans of pleasure, his eyes closed.
In moments like that, the blood is racing, a dizziness comes over me and I feel like I am floating above the ground. When I close my eyes, I see red. An inviting dark red. I am in the moment. Nothing else matters.
After another bar, another drink and an empty packet of cigarettes, we walked to his flat. A bachelor pad – empty rooms, unpacked boxes, the two chairs in the kitchen the only place to sit. And so we stood, against the wall in his bare living room. The night quiet outside and we kissed without stopping. He unbuttoned my shirt and lifted each breast out of my bra, stroking and kissing each one in turn. I don’t think they have received that much attention in many months. It was glorious. My nipples felt erect and as his hand lifted up my skirt and found my bare thighs above my stockings, I could sense his heightened excitement. His fingers slid up and under my lace knickers. The hours of foreplay and flirting meant I was wet with anticipation. His fingers slipped in and out, driving me to distraction. But, I didn’t want to fuck him then – it was 4am and we were both pretty drunk. I wanted to savour that experience for later. He begged me to stay, but I prefer to avoid sleeping (in the actual sleeping sense) with others. I am not a nice person without sleep. So I left him.
Last night I went round to his place again, taking some bread and French cheeses for dinner. He had been at work all day and was exhausted after the previous night. I arrived, took off my coat and before we even spoke we stood in the hallway, kissing silently, he switched off the lights and we stood in the dark. I could see the windows of the other flats lit up. They could not see us in the dark. Then we backed towards the bedroom where we undressed. His body was so hot, a nice body. Simple, not complicated. I sank to my knees and took his erect cock in my mouth. I like to tease a little before taking it entirely in my mouth. I held his balls in my left hand and the base of his penis with my right as I took his cock in my mouth. He tasted quite good. Taste is an important factor (as is personal hygiene). After teasing him in this way for a while, he threw me back on the bed and grabbed a condom from his drawer.
The moment when a man first enters you is such a relief – a scratch to an itch, the feeling of letting go and sinking beneath the water’s surface, a bodily sigh of relief. And I needed to feel that yesterday. And so we fucked. Him on top, me on top, from behind until he came. And this is where I wish I were a guy. It seems so easy for you to gratify yourselves with a woman, without needing her. I need to feel mentally turned on and clitorally stimulated, as well as feeling a cock inside me. And so last night was only partially satisfying. I did not orgasm, he did not seek my clitoris. He fell asleep after climaxing.
After a brief sleep interlude, we shared the food and wine and talked. He seemed distant, perhaps that’s the German language. It doesn’t turn me on to talk in German. I prefer him when he speaks English, he is more relaxed. He was so exhausted that after eating, we went to lie down in the bed. He fell asleep. I slept briefly in his arms, then awoke, cold and without any covers to his snoring. At that point I realised there would be no more sex that night, so I got dressed, kissed him goodbye and left. As I sped through the dark streets in a taxi, I felt a sense of emptiness. My craving had not been satisfied – the need is still there. And so today, I have chosen to write, in the hope that I may come a step closer to finding what I search for.