Tag Archives: cybersex

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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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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In the beginning… the first lover

Writing this blog has made me think about how it all started. Granted, I’ve never been very good at monogamy, but I tried in my twenties to be ‘good’. I may have been relatively successful, but I was pretty damn miserable.

It seemed so innocent at the time – a flirtatious IM chat here, a prolonged telephone call there. The man who was to become my first lover and who changed the way I live my life was a colleague, working in the Paris office. We had never met in person, though had worked closely for over a year. He was American, married to a French woman. The only visual reference I had of him was his security badge photo on the company intranet. He looked… well, American. Blond hair, blue eyes, cute in a preppy sort of way. And he was funny, a wry sense of humour and sexy voice to match.
One summer’s afternoon I was alone in the office. We were chatting on IM about work, then the conversation changed and suddenly we were talking about our private lives, sexual preferences, desires, fantasies. Once that line has been crossed, you know it is the point of no return. At some stage the mental foreplay will get the better of you and you will want to make it a reality. And so we did. Six months of foreplay (so to speak) later, we finally met in person.

It was in London. He was there on business with his new company. I met him at a pub near Baker Street. He was buying a round of drinks for his new team when I arrived. Despite our ‘virtual’ sex life, we had no reason to hide from others and so he introduced me, quite truthfully as a former colleague whom he was finally getting to meet in the flesh (so to speak). Most of the evening was spent as a group and when his team had finally left I took him to Winter Garden bar in the Landmark hotel for a whiskey. It was quite late, the piano jazz tinkered in the background and we were finally alone. I chose the whiskeys.

Hotel bars are always a good place for lovers to meet. Not only can you blend into the anonymity of the other guests, the knowledge of the bedrooms above adds to the anticipation of what is to follow. The bedrooms beckon. We drank our whiskeys and talked, keeping eye contact, both of us remembering the numerous IM and telephone conversations of the past months. I already knew so much about him and felt as if I had already strayed. He reached over and took my whiskey glass, setting it on the coffee table in front of us. Then drew my head towards his and we kissed for the first time. The din of the hotel bar dissipated as I closed my eyes and let his tongue explore my lips and mouth. I felt we were alone in this huge atrium, darkness all around, silence. We sat there for a long time, touching and teasing one another until I felt dizzy with expectation.

We left the bar and emerged onto the busy road outside, suddenly the spell of the atrium was broken and we walked to find a taxi for him. I was already thinking about which tube to take home. As we walked, he asked me to come back with him to his hotel room. It is funny looking back on it now. Until that moment, I had genuinely not expected to sleep with him. I was still clutching onto my belief that I was a ‘good’ girl. Cybersex, fantasizing about him, kissing, stroking was all fine, I had not crossed that line. But the actual act of sleeping with him, fucking him, well that was different. Standing there on the corner of Marylebone Road and Lisson Grove with cars speeding by and the starry night above, I made a decision that has changed me in ways I could barely begin to imagine. I looked at him and he pleaded with me. The little battle in my head raged and suddenly I just said:

“Fuck it, let’s go.”

We hailed a passing cab and drove to his hotel in Knightsbridge. My nerves kicked in as we weaved our way south, down the Edgware Road and through Hyde Park. What would he make of me? Would I disappoint him? I tried to remember all the things he’d told me about his sexual preferences on our IM chats. When we finally arrived, we went straight up to his room. It was dark, the only light was the orange glow from the street lamps outside. He opened the window to let out some of the stifling hotel air. We stood there for a long time, just kissing and trying to find a hold on the other person, our imaginations finally merging with reality. He removed his glasses and I began to unbutton his shirt as he fumbled with my belt buckle. We stripped slowly, enjoying every layer. It was so quiet. Hotel rooms often are, the carpets and heavy wallpapers muffling any sounds. I could just hear the distant hum of an air vent outside.

He pushed me onto the bed and climbed on top. I could feel his cock erect brushing dangerously close to my sex. The rush of nervous excitement washed over me and I felt almost exhausted before we had even begun. I let him touch my body, my face, my neck, my arms, breasts, stomach and thighs. His body was lean and long. I liked it. We were about the same height and so our limbs intertwined in a natural way. Our six months of build up had left both of us ravenous and we devoured one another, tasting and soaking up the scents as we went. He was circumcised. It was the firs time I had seen a circumcised cock before and how beautiful it was. I took it in my mouth and explored its full length and girth with my tongue. When I could not wait anymore, he thrust it into me. I was so wet with desire for him. It felt like time had been suspended, I was so aware of every inch of him inside me, could feel the shaft and ridge of his penis moving in and out, its delicate softness, yet at the same time its hard-core. We fucked for what seemed like an eternity. The novelty of feeling this alien, yet familiar body inside mine gave me an excruciating pleasure. He came inside me and brought me to orgasm with his beautiful long fingers. We lay there in the stillness breathing deeply, the cool September air sending a chill over our sweaty bodies and finally fell asleep.

I remember waking up to the sound of the birds singing and the orange glow had been replaced by the grey blue light of a London dawn. He slept deeply. I got dressed and left. Exiting the hotel I had no idea where I actually was. So I walked and walked along empty streets. To this day, I am still not sure which hotel it was. The dawn brought with it a freshness I so desired. My head was clear, I smiled to myself as I sat in a cafe and sipped a strong black coffee. My life was about to change forever.

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Hot baths and the ultimate relief

A hot bath, with candlelight, a glass of wine and some gentle music is the perfect way to unwind after, what seems like days of pent up sexual frustration. Last night I indulged in just that. A cybersex chat with the cute barman had got me so turned on that there was only one thing left to do…

A hot bath, with candlelight, a glass of wine and a lover is even better.

One night, not too long ago, as the evenings turned cold and the leaves changed to a golden hue, my older lover stopped by for dinner. At the time, I was staying in a fancy house in London. I was looking after a friend’s place and had the five floored town house to myself. I had prepared a sensual selection of foods, bought some chilled white wine, showered and put on my black Boss shirt dress, stockings and heels. The doorbell rang and I opened the door to a frozen older lover, holding his scooter helmet.

I love that first kiss, when he comes in from the cold, his cheeks chilled and the scent of the autumn night in his hair. The grey pallor of his face gave away his tiredness. He has such a busy life, the job, the family, me. He took off his jacket and placed it with his helmet on the hallway floor. We stood there for a moment, just kissing and stroking each other’s hair. He admitted that he was exhausted and asked if he could have a shower to freshen up. I poured him a glass of wine and suggested he have a hot bath instead. We walked up the three flights of stairs to the master bathroom. I turned on the taps and ran him a steamy, lavender scented bath. Sitting on a stool with my glass of wine I watched him undress.

I like the sense of power you have when the other person is naked before you and you remain fully dressed. Just watching, enjoying the rising anticipation of what is to follow. He stepped into the steaming bath and I handed him his wine. We chatted for a few minutes and then I couldn’t resist it any longer.

“Fuck it, I’m joining you” I said as I stripped in front of him.

The bath was enormous, designed with two people in mind. He moved to one end as I stepped into the hot water and sat down, legs bent and knees slightly apart. We sipped our wine as we talked and he told me about his day. All the while, my mind was imagining his head between my legs. I could feel my cunt getting moist.

He placed his glass down and slowly moved towards me on his hands and knees. I could feel his torso and legs brush against my shins as he came closer. The water lapped at my breasts. He took my glass, put it aside, then cupped one breast in his hand, kissing and circling my nipple with his tongue. I ran my fingers through his hair and down his back, pulling him closer. I could feel his erect cock against my leg. Every brush of his body against mine only served to heighten my sense of anticipation and desire.

His hand traced a line from my mouth, down my neck to my breast and then beneath the water towards my sex. Under water you feel every touch ten times more. It is as if your nerve endings are raw and exposed. As his fingers reached my cunt, all I wanted was for him to penetrate me. He moved his fingers delicately over my clitoris, discovering the smoother wetness below. Water is a ‘thin’ wet. A wet cunt in water feels velvety smooth in comparison. He slid his finger inside me, first one, then two. I yielded, arching my body towards his. My womb suddenly feeling like the center of the world. I closed my eyes and leant my head back, slipping down further into the water.  He moved so gently, yet with the pressure I needed to feel the wave of my first orgasm rising.

Just before it consumed me, he moved his hand away and thrust his hard cock inside me. The sheer joy of feeling him, deep inside me, thrusting ever further, ever closer, is a sensation so hard to describe. We were floating, swimming together. The room, London, it all faded away and it was just us joined in a union so sensual and with such a natural rhythm. My sex enveloping his, our bodies touching above and below the water, waves subsuming us as we moved together. We made love for an eternity, climaxing together, our bodily fluids mingling with the bubbles.

After the bath we shared the food and wine I had prepared, talking until his curfew approached. Before he left I led him once more to the top of the house and we made love for a second time before he dressed and walked to his scooter in the cold night air.

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RIP – the Italian

It started just over a year ago, on an Easyjet flight to Italy. I had been up late the night before, a visit from older lover followed by a drinking session with three male friends, including the horny American. Needless to say, I was tired and hung over . All I could think about was getting on the plane and sleeping for the duration of the flight. I spotted a free seat in the first row and asked the guy sitting in the aisle seat if it was taken. He offered it to me and helped put my case and coat in the overhead locker.

He started talking to me and I had that sinking feeling. You know the one, when all you want to do is put your ipod on and close your eyes. Instead, to be polite I talked to him and it turned out to be one of the best flights I have ever taken. We talked about everything – life, being married, living in different countries, history, music, art. At one point he asked me to take off my glasses and strangely I did, blushing as I did so. Later he told me he had gotten an erection at this point. He gave me his business card and a hand-written note. I have kept that note. It reads:

Hope you can forgive my (unexpected for myself as much) verbosity. The only way to hope for your forgiveness is hoping you will consider as an option, next time you are passing alone or in company, through London, my flat at the Angel is a place to stay.

He has a rather floral way of expressing himself in English. I can only assume this is because he is Italian. I learned to love his unique expressions, particularly in the IM chats we had after our first meeting. They began innocently enough, though I think we both knew there was something else spurring us on. Within a few weeks, the conversations took a sexually explicit tone. I wish I’d saved some of them as he came up with some hilarious phrases – one was “my balls are like two dried prunes”. Perhaps that sounds better in Italian.

So, then we met again. I took the train to Pisa to meet him for lunch. It was raining cats and dogs. He picked me up at the station and we drove to a little cafe. From the beginning, everything was always such a rush with him. He offered to drive me home after he had finished work, so I spent the afternoon walking in the rain. I was fascinated by him. An engineer, he had been in the navy, directed an orchestra, had a PhD in mathematics and played the piano. I’m a sucker for a renaissance man. We kissed in his car, the rain pounding on the windscreen. It reminded me of that scene from “Un homme et une femme” when they are driving in the rain and he keeps looking over at her as he drives.

So that was the beginning. I went to see his band rehearse, taking photographs of them for their website and when the others had all left gave him a blow job in the dark studio. After that, I moved to a different country and we kept in touch via SMS and IM. The first time we fucked was in London. I met him for dinner and then we went back to his apartment. I suppose the first experience with someone usually gives you an inclination. He was rough, preferring to fuck me from behind, pulling my hair as he did it. Sometimes I like that, the carnal nature of it. So, I didn’t toss him aside initially, instead I decided he just needed a little more time and effort.

Then out of the blue he asked me if I would go to the Outer Hebrides with him. That was last May. I thought why the hell not. And so I flew to London, then to Stornoway. We spent two days there, driving around the islands, staying in a B&B. At night we fucked. Sex improved and he made me come. Though I found his need for verbal commentary rather distracting. It was a magical trip and one I will remember forever.

Since then, we have met in London a number of times – usually for dinner and then ending up at his place or mine. And last week we met in Scotland again. This time for three days. And that spelled the end of our affair (though I haven’t told him). I think it was a combination of lack of sleep, his incessant talking and my PMT. The first night in the hotel, we fucked. He was rough again, gratifying only himself, not using the condom I had given him and then falling asleep. He snored all night long, stealing the covers, hogging the bed, so I lay awake until 5am. I had a lot of time to think and worked myself into a fury at his behaviour. It was made worse the next day when he said the previous evening had been “magical, perfect”. For him maybe. I had already decided to end the affair before he awoke the next day. I just had to get through two more days with him and that would be it.

The bad sex, coupled with calls to his wife, work colleagues and terrible driving have resulted in my first “RIP lover”.  There were some good times, but I am searching for sexual fulfillment. He just didn’t measure up and life’s too short to teach him the basics.

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The roll call

OK, so let me give you a list of the lovers, flings and flirts so far. I like to give them pseudonyms to help describe them. This is not necessarily in chronological order, that will become clear in later posts. Some are still ‘active’ relationships, others just wonderful memories. I will detail each one in separate posts. Post Script: As I write, I realise that I cannot remember them all. I will continue to update this list as and when I remember them 🙂

Lovers

  • The first one – it started with a flirtatious IM chat. He was married and based in the Paris office, we had cybersex over a number of months and then we met in person…
  • The original lover – we met at work. We fucked on our first night. Then we did it again and again. It was an incredibly hot summer. He would cook for me and I think I fell in love with him. Then his wife gave birth and his time ran out.
  • The gardener – we met in a bar. He was a gardener (single) and had an incredible body. We had a summer of fucking. Even his leg in a cast did not stop us from trying every position in the book.
  • The older lover – he is married with three children. We met at work. Sex with him is the most sensual and fulfilling experience I have had. I crave him, his scent, his touch.
  • The Italian – we met on an Easyjet flight. He is married. We talked all the way, exchanged numbers. Our IMs became sexually explicit, we met in person and the affair started. We have had two secret trips to Scotland together. Despite his intellect, he does not satisfy on the sexual front.
  • The economist – we met in a crazy drunken haze, he is single and delicious. Our affair is very secret, we hide it from mutual friends. He is my muse.

Flings

  • The horny American – we met in an evening class. He was single and made me laugh. We would go for drinks after the class, one thing led to another and he came back to mine. Sex with him was so carnal, I loved it.
  • Eton boy – I find him fascinating, a mystery. He keeps himself to himself. Physically so opposite. There was the one night stand and now he dates my friend. But he continues to fascinate.
  • The French-American duo – my first threesome. What more can I say?
  • The German lawyer – we met in a bar. We went on a date. We fucked. Still work in progress.
  • The tall one – we met at work. We had a few nights of kissing, fondling. Then he came to visit me abroad. We had a one night stand. He couldn’t get it up, so he fucked me with a dildo instead. He’s getting married, but still carries a flame for me.
  • The guilty Catholic – a funny guy, made me laugh. Outrageous flirt and one night we did it. The sex was quite aggressive, not great and then he was overcome with his Catholic guilt.

Flirts

  • The lecherous boss – he was my boss. We went to Paris on business, he came onto me. We had a few dinners, kisses, then he fingered me in the office, late one night. He had stalker qualities and I moved on. He hasn’t given up yet.
  • The Irish pixie – we met in a bar, some kissing and petting was involved. I know he wants to fuck me, but he is too risky.
  • The strange South African – we met at an exhibition. There was a connection, a sparkle, a kiss. Then he came to visit me abroad and it changed. He was strange and ever so slightly scary.
  • The female friend – it was my own fault. One too many whiskeys and I said I liked her. There was a kiss and much ‘serious’ talk. She fell in love and I did my best to avoid another kiss.
  • The cute barman – he works in a bar and is a PhD student. We met and flirted. Now we talk on FB – he tells me things about himself, I listen. He’s a male slut, so will remain a flirt. If anything were to happen between us, the challenge would be gone.

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