Tag Archives: kissing


I walked into the busy restaurant, the buzz and warmth enveloping me after the slight chill of the first breath of autumn. The waitress asked if I had a reservation. I scanned the room, my eyes coming to rest on his familiar outline. He sat at the back, in a private booth and waved at me as our gazes met. I walked towards him, smiling from ear to ear, my heart feeling lighter. Buoyed by an excitement I haven’t felt for some time.

We sat opposite one another. So much unsaid, so much to say. I haven’t seen my older lover in over a year. After he left me waiting for over and hour in that pub one autumn evening last year, I told him I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t wait for him. I was angry, I called it off. We didn’t talk again.

Until a few weeks ago when, out of the blue, he sent me an email saying how he cherished our moments together. We arranged to meet. It came at the right time. I have let go of that anger, I feel content in where I am right now. I have fallen in love with my husband again. I’m doing ok.

Seeing him again, felt like that final missing piece. Another layer has been unpeeled. So many memories of our shared intimacies, his writing, my writing. Our incredible physical union. I feel at ease with him. We talked for hours, drank red wine, ate a delicious steak, reminisced, explained, touched, stroked. The waitress smiled knowingly at us as we (he) paid and left. We walked to a hotel bar opposite and ordered a nightcap. Without the table between us and the privacy of a dark corner, we sat facing one another, tracing contours through clothes, kissing, inhaling such familiar scents and getting lost in one another.

It felt good. We parted. I returned home to my husband. He returned home to his wife and children. I think we’ve agreed to see each other again. Cautiously, tenderly, delicately. It feels good.


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Caffeinated dating

He owns a cafe in trendy East London. We met at a gallery a few weeks ago. Last night we met again. I will call him the barista, though I have yet to try his coffee.

I can tell he is a player. He has that twinkle in his eyes, a disarmingly charming smile and he moves quickly. He approached me first of all, handing me his card, promising to make me any coffee I wanted ‘on the house’. He flattered me, followed me from gallery to gallery, pub to pub for the rest of the evening. We talked, openly, honestly. He told me about his girlfriend who had just found out she was pregnant. He seemed excited about it, unable to keep it a ‘secret’. I told him about my husband, about my life. He suggested we all meet up for dinner sometime. We exchanged numbers and this week arranged to meet up. But just the two of us.

Wanting to have an ‘activity’ to do together, I booked last minute tickets to a comedy show. We met in the rain outside the theatre, kissing cheeks (as friends would). I was struck by his scent – the same scent as my older lover. It triggered a deep and distant desire. We chatted over a few beers before the show started, our conversation very rapidly turned to sex. He told me about some of his sexual experiences, revealing rapidly what I had suspected – that he has a high sex drive and follows his desires. We took our seats in the theatre, but left half way through, the show not living up to expectations. We jumped in a taxi to avoid the rain and sped towards Soho.

Drinking G&Ts at various pubs and bars, we talked, looked, smiled, I blushed. There was a tension in the air, one that felt heavy and in need of release. After all the usual places had closed, we found our way to a great little underground bar. He had this uncanny way of talking to the bar staff and waitresses that made them feel at ease, giving us incredible service all night. In that underground bar, we sat close to one another, our legs touching, our hands lingering on the other’s arm, our eyes locked in a silent conversation. I felt alive. He touched my knees, letting his fingers linger between my legs, hinting at what he ‘could’ do. He is an incredibly sexual person, a predator. I recognise those traits. We were the last to leave the bar when it closed and walked arm in arm to find taxis. He stopped and took me in his arms, kissing my neck and collar bone. I could feel his erection as he pressed against me. We did not kiss, merely let our cheeks brush and inhaled one another’s scent. It was intoxicating. It reminded me of an animal sizing up the prey it has caught.

Today he has texted me a number of times. I find my mind wondering what it would be like to have sex with someone so experienced, such a predator. I suppose only time will tell. I sense a little danger, but then I love that tingle that comes with it.

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A very special birthday party

As I wash the sheets we slept in together, discard the tickets and receipts, delete all traces of the photos I took of him, I feel a calmness, a tranquility wash over me. It was a magical few days.

The economist arrived around midnight in a taxi, having barely made his plane. Cancelled trains and delays in getting to the airport had threatened to ruin his secret birthday treat. I saw his taxi from the window and my heart skipped a beat as I recognised him stepping out. He rang the doorbell and I buzzed him up, watching him climb the stairs to my flat and felt a rush of joy. The last time I had seen him was after our shared lunch some weeks ago. The whole concept of him taking time off work to travel to see me, of spending his birthday with me here, had seemed so surreal for so long. We kissed passionately as the late dinner I was preparing for him bubbled on the stove. He looked tired, yet happy. I love those long, lingering kisses – the type you experimented with at school, when kissing was as far as you would go. It is incredible how erotic something so simple, so innocent can be.

We shared some wine and ate our midnight snack. He told me about his week, his travels, his work. We kissed, touched, embraced and moved to the bed with our wine glasses. I took my time unbuttoning his shirt and his jeans, enjoying the feeling of his warm skin and firm torso. I am mildly obsessed with his body. I could spend hours looking at him, tracing my finger along every bone, muscle, crevasse. He has a beautiful, uncomplicated body. I feel so terribly clumsy when I lie next to him. He pushed my legs apart and began to stroke my pussy with his fingers and tongue. Delicately, timidly at first, but feeling my body responding to his touch, he increased the pressure and speed, pushing his fingers deep inside me. Some men’s fingers are just the right length to touch my g-spot without even trying. The economist has the right fingers. As soon as he slipped them inside, I could feel the deep buzz, the flip, the leap of my cunt as he touched me inside and out. I let my mind go, tossed aside all the thoughts that keep me on the brink and felt the tide of orgasm wash over me. It was a much-needed, much-desired, much-craved orgasm. We fucked until 3am when we finally succumbed to sleep. I lay there, conscious of his body next to mine. I listened to his fast deep breathing, could feel his heartbeat through the mattress. He is a furious sleeper, he sleeps with such concentration, such dedication.

We woke early the next day – a day of work for both of us. He put his arm around me and I could feel his erect cock against my ass. I reached back and began to masturbate him. He pushed me face down onto the bed and entered me from behind. I loved the rawness of it, the feeling of being fucked whilst still half asleep. We shared breakfast in a cafe before I went to work. All day, my mind was distracted by thoughts of our night together. He had also told me over dinner that he has been seeing someone. I knew about her, I know who she is. It made me feel slightly sick to hear of their dates together. I was surprised at my reaction. Of course I have always known he will date other women, in fact I have encouraged him to do so. But it was difficult to accept nevertheless.

We met at the flat in the evening. It felt strangely normal to open the door and find him there, working at his laptop. He was exhausted from his run and so dinner was a simple, local affair. As midnight struck and it was officially his birthday, I bought him a special birthday drink in a little bar on the way home. We were slightly drunk and weaved our way home and to bed.

I had been thinking about how to make his 40th birthday a very special and memorable one. When the alarm went off, I got up and made coffee, placing a little chocolate truffle with a birthday candle on the tray with the cups and grabbing his present from the cupboard where I had been hiding it. He had a business call to make first thing and so I left him in bed to make the call. Freshly showered and feeling incredibly horny, I took a leather belt and silk scarf from my wardrobe. He had finished the call and was still lying naked under the covers. I sat astride him, taking his hands and tying them above his head with the belt. Then I gently tied the silk scarf over his eyes. I wanted to give him a birthday blow job he wouldn’t forget. Using a feather I touched his body delicately, brushing it over his stomach, hips and thighs, licking and nibbling at his nipples. I let my mouth wander down his body and teased his erect cock, letting him feel my lips clasp him again and again, but not allowing him to climax. He was so quiet, so relaxed and happy to be tied up, blindfolded, teased. I watched his timid smile as I took his balls in my mouth. He was so beautiful to look at. He was craving release and I took him in my mouth once again, sliding it in and out with a constant rhythm and pressure that made him even harder and finally allowed him the climax he had been searching for. I swallowed the hot jets. We lay naked, side by side and I cut him free of his ties.

We spent the day walking around the city, sharing breakfast, looking at some beautiful paintings, lying in the grass allowing the sun to warm our winter-pale skins. We found a quiet little restaurant for a late lunch, sitting outside, sipping cool white wine and enjoying that first day of spring when your body begins to awaken from the long winter months. I took him for ice cream, walking along the river and ending up in a rooftop bar where we watched the sun set over the city, sipping our cocktails. Light-headed and slightly drunk, we headed towards the restaurant I had booked for dinner, stopping to ride a merry-go-round on the way. I wanted him to let go, to feel free and happy. All day, I had taken photos of him and looking at them now, I love his laughter lines and the yellow hue of the merry-go-round. He looks so happy. Dinner was an intimate affair, followed by a club and some live jazz. It had been such a perfect day. As we walked home, he received a text message from his ex wishing him a happy birthday. He took it badly and I wish I could have erased that moment, to not let it cast a shadow over our time together.

We fell into bed, sleeping late the next day. We spent almost the entire day lying naked in bed, chatting, listening to music, behaving like adolescent students. It was decadent. We dressed an hour before his taxi arrived and shared a late lunch in a local cafe. I can’t quite describe my feelings. Tender is perhaps the best word. I wanted to keep him, to look after him, to protect him. It was a quiet hour, both of us aware that our secret sanctuary of the last few days was coming to an end. We kissed tenderly again, in the same spot where we had stood only three nights previously. So much left unsaid. He is back in London now, attending a birthday party Moriarty has organised for him tonight. I know that she will be there to toast him and I wrestle with how that makes me feel.


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Tied up on conference calls

I like flying.  No matter how often I fly, I still get that little buzz, the thrill of a new city, a few hours to think, reflect on recent events. And here I sit, on a plane somewhere above Europe, reflecting on the events and experiences of the past few days.

A short while ago, I touched down in London and made my way to the economist’s apartment. He had arranged to work from home, so we could meet alone and ‘catch up’ properly, following last weekend’s titillations. Queuing at passport control, I received a message from him to say his flatmate was at home and suggesting ways in which I could be smuggled into his room without her noticing.  I texted him from the station and he met me at his front door. She was in the shower and so we walked quickly and quietly up the stairs to his bedroom.

He was on a work conference call. His laptop had the sound turned up so we could kiss and he could still listen in.  He sat down at his desk and checked that his microphone was on mute. On the plane journey over, I had been thinking about what I might do with him. I removed his shoes, one by one, kneeling in front of him. Then stood to take off his sweater and t-shirt, kissing his neck as I did so. My red lipstick left beautiful delicate prints on his milky white skin. I kissed my way down his torso, unfastening his belt and unzipping his trousers. Pulling his remaining clothing from his body, I pushed him back in his chair and knelt in front of him. He was already very erect and I took him in my mouth, holding his balls in one hand and grasping the base of his cock with the other, I let him glide in and out of my mouth, pressing my tongue against the rim of his tip and using my lips to squeeze him, tease him.  He sat back in his chair, closed his eyes and let go. All the while, the conference call droned on in the background. His climax was swift. He shuddered as his hot cum hit the back of my throat.

We moved to the bed and I partially undressed, lying next to him under the covers. He stroked my arms, neck and thighs. I could feel that wonderful tingle of anticipation. But, until the call was over, he was not able to fully focus as he was expecting to answer some questions on a given topic. I grabbed my long black leather belt hanging on the back of his chair and straddled his naked body. Keeping eye contact and kissing him gently, I took hold of his wrists, forcing them above his head, Tenderly, I wrapped the soft leather around his hands, pulling it tight to secure them together and finishing it with a double-knot. I could see the curiosity tinged with slight anxiety in his eyes.  I sat on his chest, admiring my handy work and began to run my fingers gently up and down his torso, moving them lower and lower.  There was a hunger in his eyes that I recognised only too well. Kissing and licking my way down his body, I stood up and looked down at him, lying naked, tied up and hungry.  I retrieved a sketchbook and pencil from my bag and sat a few feet away from him on the bed and began to draw. Now, drawing someone like this is not only a feast for the eyes, but also a test of endurance. Each pencil stroke, every longing look is a form of foreplay for me. It is like admiring a feast before the toast. A form of ritual, of giving thanks for what you are about to receive.

He lay quite still, smiling as I sketched him. All the while, the people on the conference call continued their tedious discussion, unaware that he had not contributed any comment for some time.  As the call was reaching its end, he leant over his laptop, hands bound and hit the mute button again so he could say his part. I watched his earnest face as he tried to sound serious, business like. All the while, I ran my fingers over his body. Finally, people said their goodbyes and he hung up.

Now it was my turn. I gently untied his hands and let him push me back, parting my legs and burying his head between them. I was wet. The previous hour had been an exercise in patience, endurance, wetness. He flicked his tongue artfully across my clit, using his fingers to tease me into submission. It did not take long for the orgasm I had been craving for weeks and weeks to grip my being. Conscious of his flatmate in the room below, I kept my gasps and sobs low, burying my head in the pillow to dampen the sounds. He was incredibly hard again and entered me before the final waves of orgasm had subsided. We fucked and fucked. His body was so hot, his face focused. We came together a second time and then collapsed, catching our breath.

A door slammed shut below. His flatmate had left the apartment. We were able to chat, listen to music and I sketched him again sitting naked at his laptop. His face looked so beautifully calm, content, happy. He told me about some possible dates with other women he had lined up. I listened and was somewhat surprised at a little twinge of jealousy when he told me. I told him how I felt and realised that when he does meet someone, our little shared moments together would be gone forever. I don’t think he is someone who can cheat. And so, a sadness hit me and the desire to keep him tied up, locked away. I want to draw him, to capture that essence of him, of us, of those little shared moments. Only I will know what the true meaning of those drawings is.

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Without words

Given I woke up in a terribly horny state this morning and I haven’t been able to shake it, I will succumb to it instead. I’ve spent the day fantasizing about my teacher. He is Russian and speaks no English. He’s tall, silver hair and has beautiful long fingers. He talks to me through an interpreter, but when he talks to me we maintain eye contact. Sometimes I think eyes can say so much more.

I wonder whether he could read the hunger in my eyes, sense my desire to kiss him, the urge explore his body. We smiled at one another frequently during the course of the afternoon, our hands touching as he passed me a pencil and notebook. I wonder what it would be like to seduce him, neither of us being able to communicate verbally. We would have to rely on touch, taste and eye contact alone. It would be a silence not experienced before. No talking, just touching. All other senses would be heightened, there would need to be a level of intimacy that can so often be masked by small talk.

And so I suppose in my mind I have already set myself the challenge to seduce him. Let’s see if he can read me as well as he can teach me.

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Schedules – Dinner date

Having left the tall guy in his hotel room, I spent a day walking around London in the rain, hiding in galleries and cafes and watching a film in the afternoon. I was conscious of his scent still lingering on my body and desperately wanted to shower and change. But, I was meeting the economist for drinks and dinner and so applied fresh lipstick and perfume in the ladies powder room of a department store before choosing a bar to meet him in.

It was a rather typical overpriced bar in Mayfair. I found a secluded corner and ordered a champagne cocktail, texting him the name of the bar. He arrived a few minutes later, wearing a crisp white shirt and dark blue suit. He looked sexy. His athletic physique was complimented by his smart attire. It was the first time I had seen him in something other than jeans and a sweater. And all I wanted to do was throw him on the floor and ravage him. Instead, I sat with my legs crossed and smiled mischievously at him. We drank the cocktails and chatted about the events of the last few days. He had had a stressful week at work and was being sent to New York the following week. After the drink we moved to the restaurant and ordered some food. Dinner was early, as he had to meet some friends later, a blind date. We ate, our knees touching under the table and he slowly began to relax into his usual self. There is something about his face that fascinates me. I love his chiselled jaw and cheekbones, the laughter lines around his eyes and the little protruding rivulet veins on his temples. He is shy, I think. Shy and reserved and so a double turn on for me. The restaurant was now filled with the usual Friday night post-work crowd and we both agreed it was a dreadful crowd. Wanting to escape the crush, we decided to go to the river and find a quieter bar with a different scene.

Taking the tube to Charing Cross, we walked down to the river and across the bridge. We held hands and kissed in dark side streets, both of us conscious of bumping into someone we might know. He took me to a little underground bar in Waterloo. This was a different crowd – more my kind of thing. We drank beer from bottles and sat opposite one another at a tiny table, our knees touching. We were overdressed for our new venue, but it didn’t matter. I could look at him in peace and quiet, etching each line, wrinkle and expression into my memory. Meeting a lover for an evening, when you both know you will not be able to share a bed brings with it a delightful simplicity and innocence. We both knew those shared beers would be our last before he left to meet other friends and I would return to my bed alone. That hour felt like a whole evening together. We flirted, touched, laughed, drank, tucked away in a basement behind Waterloo. It was perfect.

As we walked to the station, he stopped and pulled me towards him, taking my face in his hands and kissing me passionately. Through our coats, I could sense his erection and he pulled me tight whispering that he wished he could come home with me. I smiled and stroked his hair. We both knew he couldn’t get out of his ‘blind date’ with a friend of a friend. The irony of taking a single man as a lover: he still has dates with other women. I told him he would have a great time and may even like the girl he was being set up with. We agreed to meet on Sunday instead. We parted at the station, both of us desiring the other’s body. I crave him, desperately.

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Interesting insights – a night at home

Last night I saw the economist. We met in an anonymous pub near his office where we chatted briefly over a couple of drinks. As his flatmate (yes, he has a flatmate at the age of 39!) was still away for xmas, we agreed to seize the opportunity and traveled by tube to his less-than-salubrious part of town. We walked arm in arm to his flat. I felt safe with him.

The light in his stairwell was broken and so I had to hold onto his shoulder as we climbed the to his apartment. He let us in and turned on the heating. The flat was minimalist, bare walls, leather sofas, huge TV. A true bachelor pad. He took me on the grand tour, ending it in his bedroom. I removed his clothes, one by one, keeping eye contact. When he went to lift my cashmere sweater, I pushed his cold hands back and threw him on the bed naked. Fully clothed, I sat astride him and examined his nakedness. We had said very little since entering the flat. The polite chit-chat of the pub now far away. We both knew why we had met that night. We both needed a release.

Enjoying the feeling of power, being the one on top of him and still wearing all my garments, I knelt lower and took him in my mouth. I could sense he just needed to let go and lose himself in sex. His relatively recent breakup has left him lost. I know how that feels and how sex with a relative stranger can help. Seeing his spartan flat and talking to him about his ex made me want to take him in my arms and stroke his hair, to love him unconditionally, even if only for that night. It is not that I feel sorry for him, that would be patronising. I just sense his deep melancholy and I wish I could help release him from that. He came in my mouth relatively quickly. I had warmed up by then and stripped, lying naked next to him, letting him hold my breasts and tug at my nipples. He was so gentle with me. I felt both close and very removed from his bed. He moved his head down, pushing my legs apart and began to lick and suck my pussy. It was a delicate sensation, timid even. Then he found his rhythm and I felt the tide rise within. When he could sense I was close to coming, he inserted two fingers into my cunt and touched that sensitive spot whilst continuing to lap at my clitoris. I came shudderingly, the heat rushed through me and he didn’t stop until the aftershocks had ceased. We lay naked under the covers breathing heavily. It had been a craving we had fixed.

We chatted naked in bed for a good half hour. His eyes occasionally showed his sadness and I began to realise that I was the first woman he had slept with in his bed since she had left him. I lay on my stomach, propping my head up on the pillow and looked at him intently. He ran his fingers up and down my spine. Silence. We were there together, quietly. His hand traced the hollow down towards my rear and slipped further down, finding my wetness. He pushed his fingers inside me and began to slip them in and out very gently whilst massaging my clit with his thumb. I let my head rest on the pillow and enjoyed the sensation of him touching me like this. Then he mounted me from behind and slipped his cock inside me, fucking me as I lay quite still. I could feel his balls beat against my clit each time he slid in and out. He was in control now and I let him be.

We ate a late dinner together and shared a bottle of wine. When it was time for me to go, he walked me to find a cab. He is sweet. He is a bit of a mystery. So gentle, calm, yet also unhinged in some ways. Perhaps I sense a similarity between us – a double life, a feeling of being lost, of wondering what the point is, of not really knowing what to do with this life that we have. I am not sure. But, seeing him in his home gave me a different perspective on him. I like him. I just wish I could have stayed and let him sleep in my arms.

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