Tag Archives: the tall guy

Schedules – Breakfast meeting

I’m exhausted. The first week of 2011 has proved to be a packed schedule. I wonder if this is the sign of things to come. It started with a rendezvous with the economist, followed by drinks with the lecherous ex boss, then dinner and drinks with the tall guy, culminating in yesterday – breakfast with the tall guy and dinner with the economist.  And yet, still no date arranged with my older lover. I am hoping we manage to meet next week. No one else brings me to climax quite like him. However, all in all, six orgasms in four days with two men ain’t half bad.

When he told me he was in town on business, I knew it was necessary to meet him again. The tall guy is someone I’ve known for many years. In that time, I’ve got married, he’s dated various women and has himself got married to someone who has distinct physical similarities to me. He says he is in love with me. I say I reciprocate. But I don’t. And I don’t want to hurt his feelings. So I found myself meeting him for dinner on Thursday. He wanted me to come back to his hotel. I couldn’t that evening, as my absence would have raised suspicions. And so I agreed to pay him a morning visit instead. I woke early, dressed in stockings and bra, stuffing my lacy knickers into my handbag. If I was going to get on a packed commuter train, I wanted to be standing between them, knowing that I was bare beneath my little black dress. As I clung to the rail and bumped against weary looking commuters, I closed my eyes and began to think of the physical sensations of being pleasured. Though I like the tall guy as a friend, he is not what I would call ‘my type’. He doesn’t turn me on physically in the way the economist does, for example. And so I need a little bit of mental preparation before getting into a bed with him, especially if no alcohol has been consumed.

I arrived at his hotel – the same hotel in which I bestowed him his wedding gift last year. Strangely, his room number was the same room number the economist had had before xmas (different hotel of course). I knocked on his door and entered. He was dressed only in a towel. He had cancelled his meetings for the morning, so we could be together. Now normally, a gesture like that would thrill me, but with him, I wonder whether he is a little ‘too in love’ with me. His kisses tend to smother and I find his advances, constant IMs and texts a little stalkerish at times. More on that later.

I removed my coat and he kissed me, unzipping my dress as he did so. He took off my clothes and boots, leaving only my stockings and bra. Pushing me to the bed, he took the silk scarf I had worn around my neck and tied it over my eyes. Gently he touched my arms, breasts, stomach and kissed his way down to my sex. Pushing my legs apart, he began to lick my clit, moving his tongue rapidly up and down and from side to side. The sensations of sex first thing in the morning are very different to night time fondling. I feel suddenly hot, feverish and a surreal state of mind grips me. My orgasm was swift as he pushed two fingers inside me and licked my cunt into submission. As I came, I was grateful for the blindfold. I did not have to see who was pleasuring me, and could imagine a stranger, or one of my many other lovers. But not him. I couldn’t bare the thought of him. He thrust himself inside me and within a few short seconds had come.

We lay in bed together for a long time, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep a little. He kept touching me as I feigned sleep and I was conscious of him looking at me throughout. For some reason I found this behaviour a little disturbing. Like his smothering kisses, I felt trapped. I was keen to get out of that hotel room and be alone again. When I stirred from my faked slumber, he moved his hand to my sex and began to masturbate me. I was still very sensitive from the climax earlier and so knew his fingers would tease another orgasm relatively quickly. I closed my eyes and concentrated on coming, so I could get out of there. His touch lacked the softness or delicacy of other lovers and I came, but was removed from the sensation mentally. He came in my hand at the same time, giving me an excuse to wash in the bathroom. I decided not to bother with a shower and instead washed at the basin, trying to remove his scent from my body as best I could. Then I dressed and made a swift exit, leaving him to shower and dress.

I walked in the rain, feeling slightly bewildered and sick. I ended up at the British Museum. There were so many people and my head was spinning. Looking at the ancient Greek and Roman statues, I decided that I could not sleep with the tall guy anymore. There was a sense of uneasiness at the pit of my stomach. He was definitely a sympathy shag, someone I had slept with to be polite and it had to end. And so I will need to fashion a good excuse for not visiting his hotel room next week when he is back in town.

 

Advertisements

2 Comments

Filed under flings, General

London lover odyssey part 2 – the wedding gift

Life’s commitments have not permitted me the time nor space to document subsequent parts of my London lover odyssey. But today, as I sit outside in the morning sun, a cool wind lifting my hair and spirits I feel the need to write again.

I awoke on day 2 feeling that familiar ache in my legs and my cunt still tender from the hours spent with my older lover the night before. It was going to be another hot London day. I showered, reluctantly washing his scent off my body, dressed and headed into town to meet my original lover for lunch. We had not met for half a year or more, we haven’t slept together for even longer. Ever since he became a father, our lust for one another has faded. He still holds a very special place in my heart. We met near his office in the city, I saw him walking down the street towards me. I skipped towards him and we hugged, allowing the other suited workers to stream past us. Then we walked and talked, stopping at a little restaurant for a bite to eat (his treat) and wandered through the city at a slow pace. I had forgotten how well we get on and felt a little craving in my womb. The idea crossed my mind to book a hotel room, even if just for an hour. I’ve always wanted to do that. I love the decadence, the naughtiness of it.

After lunch, a stroll and an ice cream we parted, agreeing to meet later that afternoon at his office for a coffee. I roamed the streets of London floating in the summer’s breeze, feeling elated at the thought of my older lover’s tongue on my clit and the prospect of a new lover later that day. That afternoon I returned to his office. I think he wanted to show me his new place of work. We sat in his glass office and chatted over coffee again. I imagined what it might be like if his walls were not made of glass. The things I would like to have done to him then and there. The excitement and tenderness of our love affair was rekindled, ever so slightly. He had to go to a meeting and so I left him, both of us feeling the urge for more than just a hug and goodbye.

It was nearly time to meet the tall guy for our rendezvous and his wedding gift. He had flown into London especially. I walked to Soho and waited for him in a pub. He arrived from work wearing an expensive suit. Men in suits… call me old fashioned, but it just turns me on. We enjoyed a cold G&T together and moved on to a restaurant of his choosing. He had offered to buy me dinner – I assume to relieve his guilt of the sex that was to follow. Dinner was charming, a fancy underground affair. We ate and chatted. He told me about his wedding (it had taken place a mere month or so before). Perhaps we are two of a kind. He said he felt no guilt at breaking his vows so soon after making them.  And so after a drink at a seedy bar and numerous kisses across the table, we finally arrived at his hotel room. My wedding gift to him – me.

Having spent all day walking in sandals my feet were tired and aching, so I ran some cold water into the bath and sat on the edge, dipping my feet and washing them with soap. He came into the bathroom to bring me a drink and hugged me from behind, letting his hand stray inside my dress. I took his other hand and gave him the soap, then guided his hand down to my cunt, lifting my dress so that he could touch me with his soapy fingers. As he did so, I turned my head upwards and we kissed. He began to gently masturbate me and I could feel his cock through his trousers. I stood up in the water and he helped me step out of the bath and led me to the bed. Before I knew it, my dress and lingerie were off and I was lying naked before him. He stripped and lay next to me. We fondled each other’s bodies, savouring the new details. There is such a delight in discovering a new body. Every crevasse, crease and mole.

In our IM chats leading up to the meeting, he had talked about bringing a silk scarf, a blindfold. I had been excited by the prospect of a slow, sensual session. Yet, he had forgotten to bring it and as we fucked I began to remember why on the last occasion we had fucked it had not been an earth shattering experience. He entered me from behind and came rather quickly. The long drawn out build up I had hoped for did not occur. And after coming, try as he might, he couldn’t get a hard on again, despite numerous blow job attempts on my part. During one such blow job I suddenly realised he was trying to masturbate me at the same time, by rubbing his foot against my cunt – not, dare I say in a slow and sensual manner, but rather in a jerky and sporadic way that turned me off, rather than on. I decided to fake an orgasm in order to curtail the evening’s events. Then I dressed and left him to sleep, taking a cab home and feeling rather deflated. I had had high hopes for the night, he is an incredibly good kisser after all. But, it seems that some men just aren’t the right fit.

Perhaps that is a good thing, given he married someone else a month ago.

Leave a comment

Filed under flings, General