Tag Archives: German lawyer

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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Filed under General

Manners or RIP – the German lawyer

WARNING: this post does not contain any erotic writing.

So last night’s encounter with the German lawyer was a disaster. First, he was late in calling to arrange to meet. I had just taken the first few sips of white wine and was still wearing my dressing gown after a hot bath when he finally phoned. I had already decided I was not going to go out again. It was close to 11pm, but somehow he managed to persuade me to meet him

“I’d really like to see you”, a line I find it hard to argue with.

In 10 minutes I was dressed again – black skirt, black polar neck, black boots, red lipstick and stockings. I decided to cycle so that I would have a cheap way of getting home later. On the last two occasions with the German, I have had to pay for a taxi home. It seemed like an unnecessary expense this time round. Pedaling quickly through the cool night I arrived at our rendezvous a few minutes before him. We went to a bar, where I let him buy the first round. After all, I had bought dinner on Friday night.

The next few hours were odd – he seemed to feel the need to raise the question of my marriage (slightly hypocritical given he had no qualms last week), his recent ‘devastating’ break-up, questioned why I had left in the middle of the night on Friday, etc, etc. It seems he has ‘issues’ to deal with, not least learning some bloody manners. He was sipping his drink slowly, as he’d already had a quite a few beforehand, so I was forced to buy myself another beer. In my book, he should have at least offered. We even discussed sex and what it was we liked. I told him quite clearly that without some form of clitoral stimulation I’m lost. Jokingly I said:

“You do know where the clitoris is, right?”

“The what?”

“The clitoris.” I thought he was joking.

The bar was shutting around 1:30 am and so the question arose of what happens next. We kissed again and I had that same butterfly, melting sensation. It seems to interfere with my ability to think logically. He asked me to come back to his place “Just to sleep next to each other”. I resisted, knowing full well that I was not going to endure another night of freezing my ass off with no covers, no pillow and his snoring. So I agreed to come back to his place, on the condition that if I cannot sleep he would not take it personally if I left. He agreed.

All this time, I was thinking – ok, so the first sex with someone isn’t always great. But the second time things usually take a turn for the better and it can be mind-blowing (especially after giving such explicit instructions). Let me put it this way: there was no ‘mind-blowing’ anything. I did all the blowing, reminding myself where to find my gag reflex in the process. I had a real sense of dejavu. We fucked again, he used that old chestnut about the “condom desensitizing” him and DID NOT, I repeat DID NOT make ANY effort to find my clitoris. I can only conclude that despite his Doctorate in law, he simply has no idea about female anatomy. He seemed to be fiddling about with the bit further down, near my vulva. I just didn’t have the heart to tell him.

Instead, he ended up coming over my chest, rolling over, taking all the covers and then asking me if I needed ‘something’. Yes, I needed to get the fuck out of there (and some tissues). So, I lied, said I was an insomniac and there was no way I was going to be able to fall asleep, got dressed and left. There was definitely an awkwardness in the air – both of us probably thinking “what the fuck?”. Turns out I’m away for a few weeks, then he is, so happily there is no opportunity for us to meet again until at least the end of April. Or ever again.

I left him in bed (he did not even bother to get up to show me out), jumped on my bike and cycled the 25 minutes home. About 2 minutes from home, at 4am in the morning, when not a single car was in sight, I skipped a red light, not wanting to be harassed by the usual drunks near the station, only to be PULLED OVER by the police. They took my ID, made me stand there for 10 minutes whilst they checked my details and then had the audacity to FINE me 50 for jumping the red light. As I cycled off he wished me  “a nice day anyway”.

Fuck. Fucking tossers. Fucking disaster.

RIP the German lawyer.

“The only things one never regrets are one’s mistakes.” – Oscar Wilde


Filed under flings, General, RIP

The German lawyer

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.


Filed under flings, General, RIP