Tag Archives: cute barman

Toyboy fantasy – pros and cons

Last night I was home alone. I poured a glass of good Rioja, kicked back on the sofa and up pops the cute barman on IM. It has been an age since we last flirted online. I have been largely offline for logistical reasons in the past few months and so decided to indulge him.

As I have written before, he is an incredibly horny young thing. Cute, sexy, determined, bright. He ticks all the right boxes. He is also a bit of a slut and so I know that as much as I like to ‘toy’ with him, he does the same with me. Out of the blue last night he asked me if I wanted to sleep with him. Naturally I do. And I said so. He told me about how hard our little chats make him, told me to masturbate, think of him and text him once I’d licked my finger. He asked me to masturbate wearing a thong and send it to him. He asked me about waxing, told me he ‘trims’.

Now normally, all this is a huge turn on. It is all very entertaining and certainly gets me into a very wet state of mind and pussy. But equally, I find his chat so adolescent, so school boyish. Is it the younger generation (he’s 28) who are obsessed with waxing etiquette and thongs? I don’t have the heart to tell him I’m more of a pearl and lacy knicker kinda girl. I do wax when I have time, but then other lovers (i.e. older lover) prefer a non-waxed pussy.

He wants to come for a weekend, when the husband is away. I think it could be fun, but then I worry so much about all of these unwritten rules and my older body and his potential disappointment at the reality of a mid-30s married woman. I’m pretty sure the sex would be mind-blowing. But the games can be so much more fun than the reality….


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Big city, big plans

My period in exile is almost over. Next week I leave the husband at home and travel to London. Alone.

It has been so long since I had my own life, time to write, time to think, time spent with lovers. Months. Their memories distant, fading. I need to immerse myself in sensual surroundings, overdose on the intoxicating scent of my older lover, drown in the adrenalin of a new lover’s touch.

Soon. Plans have been made. The first night will be spent with my older lover.  His family away, we will have all the time in the world. The night will be ours. My days are filled with momentary pauses as my body stops what I am doing and I linger in that place where he and I are entwined, naked, warm, wet. I imagine what it will be like when I see him again. We have not spent a night together since January. The thrill of rediscovering the familiar, to inhale his delicious scent and talk, touch, laugh over dinner, happy in the knowledge that we will indulge in one another for dessert.

My wedding gift is also due and so the second night will be spent in the company of the tall guy, recently returned from his honeymoon and keen to “collect”. A swanky affair, cocktails, dinner, a posh hotel. So cliched but, oh what fun it will be. He says he’ll bring the silk blindfold. I like his sense of adventure. I can’t even remember the last time I was tied up and blindfolded. It has been far too long.

Then there is the cute barman. He wants to fuck me. To give me the “best orgasm” I’ve ever had. Promises, promises. If I’m honest, I’m excited, but also apprehensive. He is the sort of guy to lose interest once he has conquered, and so I’d prefer to flirt, tease, hint, but keep him hanging.  He can fuck any girl he wants. He’s a slut. What a delicious tease it will be.

There will be fleeting meetings with others – the horny American, and the chance of meeting someone new… A week is a long time in adultery.

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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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Perhaps there’s a thesis in that…

On my long drive across the Europe today, I had plenty of time to think. It occurred to me that the two lovers designated to my ‘RIP’ category are both Doctors. One has a doctorate in maths (the Italian), the other a doctorate in law (the German). Both speak multiple languages – 4 and 5 respectively.

Both seem to struggle with the most basic knowledge of female anatomy and sex. Could these facts somehow be related? And if so, is this a bad sign for the cute barman?

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