Yesterday, I promised to tell another sexy, yet awkward, story. Here we go!
I met Wes on Craigslist in early June, last year. He was handsome, brilliant, and wrote beautifully. After a few weeks of lyrically lovely letters, he asked for my telephone number. His number was blocked on my phone's caller ID, but we talked for a few hours and discovered similar world views, the same kind of wit, and complimentary sexual requirements.
We planned to meet at a coffee shop somewhere between the two of us. I took the train from my suburb, walked the few blocks through sprinkling rain, bought my coffee, and waited. And waited. He called (still from that blocked phone number) to let me know he was running late, but would be there shortly. It took a little while for us to find each other once he was there, but we settled in a corner and chatted. There was chemistry fairly sparking between us. The place we met had books on every wall, and we talked about those we'd read, those we wanted to read, those we disdained outwardly but secretly loved. I felt this gorgeous connection, and knew that the sex would likely be explosive.
We walked through the neighborhood around the coffee shop, talking about our gardening woes while looking at various landscaping projects. He walked me back to the train stop, and shared two thorough, fabulous kisses with me, and I stood on the train back to my car, awash in a wave of lust.
A few weeks later, we managed to arrange our schedules for a Friday afternoon at a hotel. I would have liked another "date" before we went to bed together, but he had trouble getting away from home and work, and said pretty words about how he really didn't want to wait to fuck me, so I went along with it. We'd agreed to split the cost of a hotel room, so I found a great deal (by the way, http://biddingfortravel.com is fantastic for gaming Priceline's hotel bookings, and I got a room in a 4-star hotel for $31).
The day before we were set to meet up, he sent me a list of instructions. No perfume, no make-up, no hair product, to bathe thoroughly (uh, like I wouldn't want to be squeaky clean for sex?) and I followed them to the letter. He told me he'd call when he was in the parking lot for the room number, so I read on the bed in a slinky, silky nightgown and waited. And waited some more.
He arrived, 90 minutes after he was supposed to meet me. I let him into the room, and he ravaged my mouth, going straight for the tonsils. Nothing wrong with it, but it was maybe a little much a little quickly for me. He sat on the bed, and gestured me to recline between his legs, my back to his front.
He brushed his lips across the nape of my neck, and I luxuriated in it. He slid one strap of the nightgown off my shoulder, and then the other. Each hand took hold of a nipple, which he teased and twisted and pinched, varying the pressure to find my pleasure. He reached between my legs and teased my (freshly waxed) pussy. I tried to find something to do to him, yet he kept me from him.
At last, he swung off the bed and removed his clothes. He was incredibly handsome, even naked. Fit, brown hair, gray eyes, a moderately muscled chest likely sprinkled with hair. He told me to remove my nightgown, and I pulled it over my head (totally ruining the french twist I had coaxed my hair into, since my hair always seems to get in the way).
He slid on top of me, and seemed to examine my body as he brought me pleasure. He suckled my nipples, squeezed my breasts between his hands. He noticed the stretch marks and c-section scar, signs of motherhood, but kissed them as he moved down my body. He commented on the nice work of my waxer as he looked at my pussy.
In our conversations, Wes told me that he adored cunnilingus. Does every man seeking a sexual partner say that? Because we can tell if you don't. It's okay. I'd rather do something else that you really do like if you're not thrilled by it. I am comfortable with my own taste and scent, I'm hygienic, but I also get really, really wet when I'm turned on. Whether the lack was me or Wes, he took three swipes at my clitoris with his tongue, moved up immediately and then poised his cock at the entrance to my cunt. While I was pleased that I'd passed his inspection, I wasn't going to fuck without a condom.
I finally took the initiative and pulled him further up my body so he straddled my chest. I sucked his cock (nicely sized -- wide enough, in the six-or-so-inch range) and looked at his face. He kept his eyes closed, but by the jerking of his cock in my mouth and the slackening of his jaw when I combined my tongue and fingers on his balls, I was doing fine. I grabbed a condom from the table where I'd placed them (a girl never should be unprepared), and got it on him in one try. He seemed displeased, but stayed hard, which worked for me. He sat on the bed, reclining on his elbows, and I mounted him, feeling him fill me and stretching around him.
Wes was silent in bed, something he had sworn he wasn't. It's hard for me to lose myself when I'm the only one making any noise, but I did my best. He stopped me right as I was about to cum, and tried to get my mouth on his cock, which at the angle I was at, was not going to happen. "Wes, I'll do just about anything to please you, but I don't bend that way." He laughed, admitted that I was right, and I settled alongside him to suck his cock, as he wished.
I've said before, the taste of skin with condom residue isn't my favorite, but I can deal. He played with my clit and I sucked him until he came. I still hadn't cum, and he didn't seem to notice. "I have to get going," he said. He got in the shower, alone, and I read in bed until he chastely kissed me goodbye. After the door closed behind him, I finished myself with my fingers.
I had some mixed feelings after this encounter. He didn't notice that I didn't cum? He didn't care? Maybe this is why his marriage was sexless.
He called that night, when I was nowhere near my telephone. Left a message about how beautiful I was, likening me to the full moon that night. I was mollified, and assumed that the next time would be better.
We talked a few times a week for months after that, but the lyrically written e-mails ended the day we fucked. He really wanted to come to my house when the kids weren't home to fuck again, but that's against my rules. When I offered to get a room at the same place, he was suddenly too busy. I stopped taking his calls in October, since I didn't think we'd ever manage to get our schedules to match up again, and he never e-mailed again.
I think, deep down, he didn't want to spend a dollar on the affair. That's okay. I'm not a hooker, and I'm not seeking monetary gain from these adventures. But I don't have a place to meet my lovers, so it needs to be on neutral ground. I'm willing to pay my share. But I also felt like I gave more than I got, from a trust standpoint.
I should preface this by saying that I am well aware that I am in a different situation from the majority of people seeking extramarital succor. My husband knows I'm looking elsewhere and he doesn't care. If a lover decided to make my life difficult by confronting my spouse, hubby would be displeased because it's against our "don't ask, don't tell" proviso, and would consider it a sign that I didn't choose someone who respected our rules, but my life wouldn't change materially.
I know that in this respect, I am lucky, and I do understand the measures that married men must take to protect their own situations. While I would never, ever jeopardize someone's home life, they have no real way of knowing that. It's a weird kind of honor among thieves, I suppose. Wes told me what he did for a living, but not where. He never told me his last name, where he went to school, if he had children, and he never ever trusted me with his telephone number.
The evening when I posted my last ad, I got a call on my phone from a blocked number, right before the ad was flagged. I know it was him, and I am quite sure he knew it was me. He didn't leave a message.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Hmmph!
So it seems that neither Dude X nor Mongo will work out. Dude X, as I expected, chickened out. He sent an e-mail on Tuesday night, saying that cheating on his wife didn't fit in with his version of himself. That's fine, really, but it doesn't explain why he answered the ad in the first place. This is part of why I'd prefer a guy who's strayed in his marriage before.
I am less upset about Dude X than I am about Mongo, who I haven't heard from now in a week. He promised me in our last conversation that he was still "as interested as ever, so don't give yourself a complex, cutie!" I responded to that e-mail last Thursday, and then I sent a "Hey, hope you had a great holiday weekend, thinking of you" e-mail on Tuesday. I won't call or text or e-mail again, unless I hear from him.
This is a lesson I've learned over the time that I've been, well, dating. When you really like someone, it doesn't make them like you more to bug them incessantly, it's more likely to make them never want to talk to you again. I know this, intellectually. It doesn't keep me from feeling that awful urge to send progressively more strident or cute or sexy e-mails or texts. I may have already gone one over the limit with the second e-mail to Mongo. I won't compound it by bugging him more.
I suppose that this is the difference between being cool and psychotic -- the cool girl THINKS about constantly communicating with someone she's interested in, while the psychotic girl can't take the hint. Of course, the totally copacetic ladies don't think about it OR do it and there must be some women out there who never are more interested in their suitors than the suitors are interested in them so this doesn't come up. I can at least control the impulse enough not to push the button.
Next up (possibly later today), a story from last year. There is sex and awkwardness, my specialty!
I am less upset about Dude X than I am about Mongo, who I haven't heard from now in a week. He promised me in our last conversation that he was still "as interested as ever, so don't give yourself a complex, cutie!" I responded to that e-mail last Thursday, and then I sent a "Hey, hope you had a great holiday weekend, thinking of you" e-mail on Tuesday. I won't call or text or e-mail again, unless I hear from him.
This is a lesson I've learned over the time that I've been, well, dating. When you really like someone, it doesn't make them like you more to bug them incessantly, it's more likely to make them never want to talk to you again. I know this, intellectually. It doesn't keep me from feeling that awful urge to send progressively more strident or cute or sexy e-mails or texts. I may have already gone one over the limit with the second e-mail to Mongo. I won't compound it by bugging him more.
I suppose that this is the difference between being cool and psychotic -- the cool girl THINKS about constantly communicating with someone she's interested in, while the psychotic girl can't take the hint. Of course, the totally copacetic ladies don't think about it OR do it and there must be some women out there who never are more interested in their suitors than the suitors are interested in them so this doesn't come up. I can at least control the impulse enough not to push the button.
Next up (possibly later today), a story from last year. There is sex and awkwardness, my specialty!
Monday, July 5, 2010
Weekend hijinks
As expected, no communication from either Dude X or Mongo, but I presume that will start up again tomorrow, sometime.
I had family in town, but had arranged to go out both Friday and Saturday nights with a couple I've enjoyed hanging out with (and fucking) several times in the past, Bob and Nell.
Friday night, we danced and drank and ate cupcakes at the bar. There were a ton of work/family acquaintances there, and while Bob whispered dirty nothings in my ear a few times while we danced, and Nell did grind on me during a hilarious version of the lambada, I knew that nothing was likely to happen that evening.
Saturday night, I arrived to their home in the later afternoon for the BBQ. The food was fantastic, and I enjoyed debating politics and poking fun at the various party participants. Everyone left shortly before 10, and when I asked Bob if he'd like me to stay or go home, he referred to me as Nell's big present, and hoped sincerely that I'd stay. How could I not oblige?
We moved into the bedroom. Bob moved behind me, kissing my neck, while Nell stood in front of me, kissing my lips. She has lovely lips, and I could taste the tequila from many margaritas that evening in her mouth. They stripped off my wrap dress, Bob unhooked my bra, and Nell slid my panties down, kissing my nipples and stomach and thighs as she went.
We retired to their (huge) bed. I lay on my stomach across the bottom of their bed and spent some time reacquainting myself with Bob and Nell's bodies. Nell helped me arouse Bob to full tumescence, as we took turns licking his cock. He stopped us from finishing him, and we moved to focus on her, licking and squeezing her large nipples. I moved down to taste her pussy again. Every pussy is differnet, of course, and hers was as I remembered -- relatively tight labia, the world's easiest to find G-spot, and a tangy musk that was, as always, delicious. I put two fingers inside of her wet cunt while I sucked her clit into my mouth, and felt incredibly successful when she started to cum just a few minutes later.
I kept sucking on Nell's cunt, licking and nipping at her labia, and she came again quickly. Bob moved behind me, and I heard the condom being applied to his (not-terribly large, but reasonable) cock. He spread me open and slid into me. It's been months since I've had a cock in me, and it was lovely. He came (a little quicker than I'd wished) and Nell replaced his cock with her mouth. I hate eating post-condom-ed pussy, but she didn't seem to mind.
We moved well together, finding something wonderful to do with each passing moment. There are those moments of laughter and awkwardness that come with all sex, like when Nell accidentally elbowed Bob in the head while fucking me with her tongue, but we took them in good humor.
When we'd had enough, I cleaned myself up, dressed, and drove home. I was in bed by 1:30, and have many pleasant memories of our evening.
We don't see each other that often -- they live an hour away from me, and we are well-suited to each other as occasional friends and lovers, but they're not the solution to my search for a long term FWB. I like them, the sex is good, but they're not smart enough for me, nor could I deal with their (rather closed-minded) politics more than once every few months.
But I got laid! Orgasms were given and received! It was a successful weekend on that base. :)
I had family in town, but had arranged to go out both Friday and Saturday nights with a couple I've enjoyed hanging out with (and fucking) several times in the past, Bob and Nell.
Friday night, we danced and drank and ate cupcakes at the bar. There were a ton of work/family acquaintances there, and while Bob whispered dirty nothings in my ear a few times while we danced, and Nell did grind on me during a hilarious version of the lambada, I knew that nothing was likely to happen that evening.
Saturday night, I arrived to their home in the later afternoon for the BBQ. The food was fantastic, and I enjoyed debating politics and poking fun at the various party participants. Everyone left shortly before 10, and when I asked Bob if he'd like me to stay or go home, he referred to me as Nell's big present, and hoped sincerely that I'd stay. How could I not oblige?
We moved into the bedroom. Bob moved behind me, kissing my neck, while Nell stood in front of me, kissing my lips. She has lovely lips, and I could taste the tequila from many margaritas that evening in her mouth. They stripped off my wrap dress, Bob unhooked my bra, and Nell slid my panties down, kissing my nipples and stomach and thighs as she went.
We retired to their (huge) bed. I lay on my stomach across the bottom of their bed and spent some time reacquainting myself with Bob and Nell's bodies. Nell helped me arouse Bob to full tumescence, as we took turns licking his cock. He stopped us from finishing him, and we moved to focus on her, licking and squeezing her large nipples. I moved down to taste her pussy again. Every pussy is differnet, of course, and hers was as I remembered -- relatively tight labia, the world's easiest to find G-spot, and a tangy musk that was, as always, delicious. I put two fingers inside of her wet cunt while I sucked her clit into my mouth, and felt incredibly successful when she started to cum just a few minutes later.
I kept sucking on Nell's cunt, licking and nipping at her labia, and she came again quickly. Bob moved behind me, and I heard the condom being applied to his (not-terribly large, but reasonable) cock. He spread me open and slid into me. It's been months since I've had a cock in me, and it was lovely. He came (a little quicker than I'd wished) and Nell replaced his cock with her mouth. I hate eating post-condom-ed pussy, but she didn't seem to mind.
We moved well together, finding something wonderful to do with each passing moment. There are those moments of laughter and awkwardness that come with all sex, like when Nell accidentally elbowed Bob in the head while fucking me with her tongue, but we took them in good humor.
When we'd had enough, I cleaned myself up, dressed, and drove home. I was in bed by 1:30, and have many pleasant memories of our evening.
We don't see each other that often -- they live an hour away from me, and we are well-suited to each other as occasional friends and lovers, but they're not the solution to my search for a long term FWB. I like them, the sex is good, but they're not smart enough for me, nor could I deal with their (rather closed-minded) politics more than once every few months.
But I got laid! Orgasms were given and received! It was a successful weekend on that base. :)
Friday, July 2, 2010
Where things stand...
So it's time to offer pseudonyms to my two suitors.
Guy #1 (polysyllabic):
Married, more kids than I have. He works about 20 minutes from my home. He's quite attractive, quick-witted, and we had excellent chemistry in a 30-minute phone conversation on Wednesday. We know some of the same people, it turns out, but not in the same contexts. We had originally planned to meet for coffee and potential kisses early this morning, but he ended up stuck at home with sick kids, and couldn't get out. His e-mail apologizing about being unable to meet was sweet and funny, and I think I'm hoping he'll win. Henceforth, I'm going to call him "Mongo", due to a shared love for of Blazing Saddles.
Guy #2 (refrigerator):
Married, no kids. He's new to this kind of rodeo, and I think he's going to chicken out. He hasn't told me his first name because it's terribly rare, he says. He's sent photos, and he's cute enough. He lives farther away, though will be moving closer soonish. We seem to have good enough chemistry. I think he's just the spare in case Mongo doesn't work out, which isn't really fair, is it? He wanted to meet tomorrow, but I've got family in town all weekend, so that's not going to happen. There will be other days. He can now be "Dude X".
It's a holiday weekend here, so my guess is that nothing will move forward on either front between now and then. I may get laid, though -- a couple I've enjoyed a few threesomes with in the past are having a birthday weekend for her, and I'm meeting them at a bar tonight and going to a BBQ at their house tomorrow night after discharging my kids on my mom. Updates as the situation warrants.
Guy #1 (polysyllabic):
Married, more kids than I have. He works about 20 minutes from my home. He's quite attractive, quick-witted, and we had excellent chemistry in a 30-minute phone conversation on Wednesday. We know some of the same people, it turns out, but not in the same contexts. We had originally planned to meet for coffee and potential kisses early this morning, but he ended up stuck at home with sick kids, and couldn't get out. His e-mail apologizing about being unable to meet was sweet and funny, and I think I'm hoping he'll win. Henceforth, I'm going to call him "Mongo", due to a shared love for of Blazing Saddles.
Guy #2 (refrigerator):
Married, no kids. He's new to this kind of rodeo, and I think he's going to chicken out. He hasn't told me his first name because it's terribly rare, he says. He's sent photos, and he's cute enough. He lives farther away, though will be moving closer soonish. We seem to have good enough chemistry. I think he's just the spare in case Mongo doesn't work out, which isn't really fair, is it? He wanted to meet tomorrow, but I've got family in town all weekend, so that's not going to happen. There will be other days. He can now be "Dude X".
It's a holiday weekend here, so my guess is that nothing will move forward on either front between now and then. I may get laid, though -- a couple I've enjoyed a few threesomes with in the past are having a birthday weekend for her, and I'm meeting them at a bar tonight and going to a BBQ at their house tomorrow night after discharging my kids on my mom. Updates as the situation warrants.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
No, that's not a banana in my pocket
My search continues apace. My eight finalists became three rather quickly, as I determined that the other five and I were unlikely to be compatible.
Last night, one of the three rather abruptly excused himself from the field. I'll include the salient e-mails, sent between 10:00 and 11:30 last night. He had sent his photograph, which wasn't thrilling, but was certainly within the bounds of "doable" to me. His words were what was most important, and they were wonderful. I returned with several of my own photos. I brought up that old joke about how friends help you move, real friends help you move bodies... (work with me, it was salient to the e-mails leading up to it.)
Him:
I desperately need to get to bed ASAP, as I'll be getting up at an obscenely early hour tomorrow, but I'm afraid I've got to address something with you first, and I think you know what it is....
I'm either about to place my foot squarely in my mouth and render myself the biggest horse's ass in all of Christendom, insulting you mortally in the process and necessarily detonating our nascent friendship, or....
No, let me just stop right there and ask you point-blank:
[Adulteress], is there something you need to tell me -- something that you should have told me right from the start?
Me:
Not that I can think of. Was my moving bodies jest poorly received?
Or was there something else? I've got a decent sense of the absurd, so try me. :)
Him:
All right, I'm just gonna come right out and say it, and if I'm wrong you'll hate me forever and I won't blame you, and we'll just agree to take our leave.
The shot of you [on vacation] looks remarkably....masculine. Are you a transgendered individual, or perhaps a cross-dresser? (And of course if you are a genetic woman, I've just insulted you profoundly.)
Just tell me truth. Please?
Me:
I was born a female, and intend to stay that way. I'll gather that you felt no attraction, and that's fine, but perhaps you might have just said that, rather than impugning my honesty and gender.
Him:
And more regrettable still, I've managed to insult you beyond belief in the process, for which I offer my sincerest apology.
My my, this has been a productive evening, wouldn't you agree?
Oh well, I suppose it could have been worse. I'm not sure quite how, but it's possible!
I truly wish you the very best, and much success. You're an amazing person.
Okay. So let's analyze this for a minute. I spent a few minutes thinking "geez, I always thought that I was more femme than butch. Maybe I've been wrong all along." And not that there's anything wrong with being trans. I'm just...not.
I showed the photo in question to various friends this morning, (without the context that it was a suitor, just saying that someone thought I looked transgendered in that photo), asking for total honesty. None of them, including the transman or gay guy, thought I looked like anything less than a "lovely, genetically and culturally female woman". I'm shaped more like a fertility goddess than a supermodel, for sure, but I made that clear in the original ad. There's no adam's apple, facial hair, or anything like that.
The general consensus is that he was a tactless ass, and I'm better off knowing that now than later.
I'm trying to not be all self-conscious about this, and I will likely retire that photo from the stuff I send to potential suitors. Gah.
Last night, one of the three rather abruptly excused himself from the field. I'll include the salient e-mails, sent between 10:00 and 11:30 last night. He had sent his photograph, which wasn't thrilling, but was certainly within the bounds of "doable" to me. His words were what was most important, and they were wonderful. I returned with several of my own photos. I brought up that old joke about how friends help you move, real friends help you move bodies... (work with me, it was salient to the e-mails leading up to it.)
Him:
I desperately need to get to bed ASAP, as I'll be getting up at an obscenely early hour tomorrow, but I'm afraid I've got to address something with you first, and I think you know what it is....
I'm either about to place my foot squarely in my mouth and render myself the biggest horse's ass in all of Christendom, insulting you mortally in the process and necessarily detonating our nascent friendship, or....
No, let me just stop right there and ask you point-blank:
[Adulteress], is there something you need to tell me -- something that you should have told me right from the start?
Me:
Not that I can think of. Was my moving bodies jest poorly received?
Or was there something else? I've got a decent sense of the absurd, so try me. :)
Him:
All right, I'm just gonna come right out and say it, and if I'm wrong you'll hate me forever and I won't blame you, and we'll just agree to take our leave.
The shot of you [on vacation] looks remarkably....masculine. Are you a transgendered individual, or perhaps a cross-dresser? (And of course if you are a genetic woman, I've just insulted you profoundly.)
Just tell me truth. Please?
Me:
I was born a female, and intend to stay that way. I'll gather that you felt no attraction, and that's fine, but perhaps you might have just said that, rather than impugning my honesty and gender.
Him:
And more regrettable still, I've managed to insult you beyond belief in the process, for which I offer my sincerest apology.
My my, this has been a productive evening, wouldn't you agree?
Oh well, I suppose it could have been worse. I'm not sure quite how, but it's possible!
I truly wish you the very best, and much success. You're an amazing person.
Okay. So let's analyze this for a minute. I spent a few minutes thinking "geez, I always thought that I was more femme than butch. Maybe I've been wrong all along." And not that there's anything wrong with being trans. I'm just...not.
I showed the photo in question to various friends this morning, (without the context that it was a suitor, just saying that someone thought I looked transgendered in that photo), asking for total honesty. None of them, including the transman or gay guy, thought I looked like anything less than a "lovely, genetically and culturally female woman". I'm shaped more like a fertility goddess than a supermodel, for sure, but I made that clear in the original ad. There's no adam's apple, facial hair, or anything like that.
The general consensus is that he was a tactless ass, and I'm better off knowing that now than later.
I'm trying to not be all self-conscious about this, and I will likely retire that photo from the stuff I send to potential suitors. Gah.
Monday, June 28, 2010
In which I advertise for a lover
Craigslist is rough for both men and women. I'm told that guys get a ton of spam and just a few real responses. Ladies get a superfluity of replies, but also get flagged quickly by guys staking their claims.
So I posted my ad, as seen below (with some local-specific things omitted):
Title:(misc romance) MWF seeking long term lover - w4m
Neither what I want nor who I am is for everyone, but I believe that the right man is out there, and that we can enjoy each other for a long time.
I'm in a sexless marriage. There are reasons for this, and I'll happily address them with you once we have gotten to know each other a little bit, but the crux of the matter is that I'm not comfortable with one-night stands, I am too young to go the rest of my life without sex, and I'm neither willing nor able to get out of my marriage. For this reason, I am seeking a lover.
I want a man who is comfortable with himself, adept at written and verbal communication (this sounds like a job application!), between 30 and 55 years old, loves sex yet doesn't want to be promiscuous, and can talk about more than just the next position we'll encounter as we seek to please each other. Ideally, he's emotionally available, not psychotic, and able to meet a few times a month, particularly on weekend evenings.
I'm attractive, practice excellent hygiene, and have never had an STD. I'm interested in technology, love words, and give fantastic blow jobs. I'm touch-starved, and believe that a good kiss is the prelude to everything else. I'm not going to fuck you the first time I meet you, which is one reason why I posted here and not in casual encounters.
If you'd like to discuss this further, and see if we might be compatible, please respond. Use a five-syllable word somewhere in your reply to really impress me. And yes, I'm real and local to [my area, and here was some proof of that].
My post went up at 1:53 p.m., and was flagged by 5:35. In that time, I had 79 respondents. Of those, there were 8 I chose to reply to, and see how it goes. More on them as things develop.
Besides just needing to winnow the field out, 33 were removed because they couldn't spell worth a damn. (It's my kink, I get to indulge it!). I removed 24 people because I think they reply the same thing to every ad. It was a cookie-cutter response. 8 were way out of my age range, 3 weren't looking for something approaching long term, and 3 sent nothing but cock shots (that weren't impressive enough to merit further investigation.)
The five-syllable words of our finalists:
Refrigerator
Decalibration
Polysyllabic
Indescribable
Situational
Communicator
Opportunity
Unbelievable
Their ages range from 31 to 50. Half are married, half single.
Off to correspond with the lucky fellows. I'm excited to see how things turn out.
So I posted my ad, as seen below (with some local-specific things omitted):
Title:(misc romance) MWF seeking long term lover - w4m
Neither what I want nor who I am is for everyone, but I believe that the right man is out there, and that we can enjoy each other for a long time.
I'm in a sexless marriage. There are reasons for this, and I'll happily address them with you once we have gotten to know each other a little bit, but the crux of the matter is that I'm not comfortable with one-night stands, I am too young to go the rest of my life without sex, and I'm neither willing nor able to get out of my marriage. For this reason, I am seeking a lover.
I want a man who is comfortable with himself, adept at written and verbal communication (this sounds like a job application!), between 30 and 55 years old, loves sex yet doesn't want to be promiscuous, and can talk about more than just the next position we'll encounter as we seek to please each other. Ideally, he's emotionally available, not psychotic, and able to meet a few times a month, particularly on weekend evenings.
I'm attractive, practice excellent hygiene, and have never had an STD. I'm interested in technology, love words, and give fantastic blow jobs. I'm touch-starved, and believe that a good kiss is the prelude to everything else. I'm not going to fuck you the first time I meet you, which is one reason why I posted here and not in casual encounters.
If you'd like to discuss this further, and see if we might be compatible, please respond. Use a five-syllable word somewhere in your reply to really impress me. And yes, I'm real and local to [my area, and here was some proof of that].
My post went up at 1:53 p.m., and was flagged by 5:35. In that time, I had 79 respondents. Of those, there were 8 I chose to reply to, and see how it goes. More on them as things develop.
Besides just needing to winnow the field out, 33 were removed because they couldn't spell worth a damn. (It's my kink, I get to indulge it!). I removed 24 people because I think they reply the same thing to every ad. It was a cookie-cutter response. 8 were way out of my age range, 3 weren't looking for something approaching long term, and 3 sent nothing but cock shots (that weren't impressive enough to merit further investigation.)
The five-syllable words of our finalists:
Refrigerator
Decalibration
Polysyllabic
Indescribable
Situational
Communicator
Opportunity
Unbelievable
Their ages range from 31 to 50. Half are married, half single.
Off to correspond with the lucky fellows. I'm excited to see how things turn out.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Back in the Saddle Again
The last few days have been spent doing family things, but always in the back of my mind is the wishlist for my next lover. Who do I want?
Long before I left my marriage bed, I read Craigslist Personals, usually on my phone in the pickup line while waiting for a kid to get out of school. One thing I've always found interesting is the number of men who will take anyone, no matter who, as long as she's willing. I'm not quite so ecumenical in my tastes. I'm not for everyone, and everyone is certainly not for me. There's this one guy who has a large cock who posts it in every ad. Sometimes he wants a nubian princess. Sometimes he wants a BBW. Sometimes he wants a little asian girl. It's like he's ordering a good lay off of a menu. "Tonight, I feel like sushi. Last night, I wanted a cheeseburger..."
So what do I need?
I'm not comfortable with men who are much younger than I am. It's not that I need to recount my favorite Love Boat episodes with someone who saw them when they were originally aired, but I do want to have some basis of commonality, since I want someone for more than just the cock and tongue and fingers attached to him.
I want someone who is intelligent, and I have a specific kink for someone who knows how to spell. The ability to communicate in text is really, really important to me, and text-speak and awful punctuation and misspelling "discreet" are immediate turn-offs to me.
I also can't be the first foray outside of the marriage vows. When I detail how things happened with my last lover, this may make more sense, but I need someone who knows how to compartmentalize real life and fantastic fun time with the Adulteress. Crushing guilt isn't sexy, and I don't want to cause that again for another man.
Physical attributes are less important to me, but oh, please please please let me find a man who smells good and can get and keep his cock hard. I don't mind if it's chemically enhanced turgidity, I just hate getting to that fantastic point where I'm about to be thrust into and then... it's gone.
That's it, really. It would be best if I could find someone who has access to a place to be intimate, or at least is comfortable renting a hotel room. If my schedule and my lover's don't mesh, we'll never find time together. If he has to be politically active, perhaps he could not be a total wingnut on either side. If he has unusual kinks, hopefully he can make time for my fantasies, as well. I'm open to anything that doesn't leave marks or require me to get too intimate with anybody's bodily excretions.
These are the things I want. Next, I need to craft a Craigslist personal ad of my own that will hopefully target someone like this.
Long before I left my marriage bed, I read Craigslist Personals, usually on my phone in the pickup line while waiting for a kid to get out of school. One thing I've always found interesting is the number of men who will take anyone, no matter who, as long as she's willing. I'm not quite so ecumenical in my tastes. I'm not for everyone, and everyone is certainly not for me. There's this one guy who has a large cock who posts it in every ad. Sometimes he wants a nubian princess. Sometimes he wants a BBW. Sometimes he wants a little asian girl. It's like he's ordering a good lay off of a menu. "Tonight, I feel like sushi. Last night, I wanted a cheeseburger..."
So what do I need?
I'm not comfortable with men who are much younger than I am. It's not that I need to recount my favorite Love Boat episodes with someone who saw them when they were originally aired, but I do want to have some basis of commonality, since I want someone for more than just the cock and tongue and fingers attached to him.
I want someone who is intelligent, and I have a specific kink for someone who knows how to spell. The ability to communicate in text is really, really important to me, and text-speak and awful punctuation and misspelling "discreet" are immediate turn-offs to me.
I also can't be the first foray outside of the marriage vows. When I detail how things happened with my last lover, this may make more sense, but I need someone who knows how to compartmentalize real life and fantastic fun time with the Adulteress. Crushing guilt isn't sexy, and I don't want to cause that again for another man.
Physical attributes are less important to me, but oh, please please please let me find a man who smells good and can get and keep his cock hard. I don't mind if it's chemically enhanced turgidity, I just hate getting to that fantastic point where I'm about to be thrust into and then... it's gone.
That's it, really. It would be best if I could find someone who has access to a place to be intimate, or at least is comfortable renting a hotel room. If my schedule and my lover's don't mesh, we'll never find time together. If he has to be politically active, perhaps he could not be a total wingnut on either side. If he has unusual kinks, hopefully he can make time for my fantasies, as well. I'm open to anything that doesn't leave marks or require me to get too intimate with anybody's bodily excretions.
These are the things I want. Next, I need to craft a Craigslist personal ad of my own that will hopefully target someone like this.
Friday, June 25, 2010
The terribly unlucky bunny
On New Year's Day this year, I had a first date with a guy who seemed engaging and hot. Conveniently, he was single, not concerned with my marital status, and had a home to himself. I'm not generally comfortable with putting out on the first date, but I shaved my legs and was ready for action in the event that we really, really hit it off.
Adam and I had met on Craigslist a few days before, talked on the phone, e-mailed, and all seemed well. We met at a restaurant near his home, ate dinner, and I was my sparkly, awesome self. He told me about his job, I told him a little about my situation. He was fresh out of a divorce, and really needed someone to listen.
This should have been my first sign that it would all go to hell, but I was hopeful and horny, so we soldiered on through dinner. He asked if I'd like to see a movie at his house -- he had "Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist", and I've got a dirty old lady thing going for Michael Cera, so how could I resist?
I should have resisted.
I followed him home to his charming suburban home. It had snowed recently, and the driveway and sidewalk were freshly shoveled, so he couldn't possibly be a serial killer, right?
Once we entered his house, I noted the total lack of furniture in the front parlor. I assumed his ex had gotten it in the divorce, and headed on back to the den. I expected we would cuddle up on the couch, make out, and see where the night would lead us.
I was partially right -- we got the movie started, but we almost immediately heard an unbelievably loud scratching sound. It was his pet rabbit, begging to be let out of the cage. He got up, let it out to hop around, and invited me to cuddle.
I'm a total sucker for any tactile stimulation. I really miss being touched by a man, particularly one who is attracted to me. I settled in and enjoyed the movie. When Adam's bunny hopped up next to him, he alternated between scratching between its ears and running a hand up and down my arm. It wasn't ideal, but it beat sitting in front of the tube at home.
About halfway through the movie, I looked up at him to see if he was thinking of more than just the arm rub. He got a glint in his eye, and then, all of a sudden, jumped up and started swearing. It took me a few minutes to work it out, but apparently his bunny had pissed all over him and the couch.
We paused the movie and he ran upstairs to change clothes, while I cleaned bunny pee off of his couch. I could have left it, but my inner mom took over.
Eventually, he came down (in sweats), we moved to the dry two-thirds of the couch, and finished the movie. I think we both tried to get into the mood, but really, after rabbit excreta, there's nowhere to go. We finished the movie, I thanked him for a lovely evening, and drove on home to my lonely bed once more.
I e-mailed him the next day, and heard nothing. I can't be too surprised, and honestly, I'm not that disappointed. There are other fish in the sea. Ideally, those fish have potty-trained pets.
Adam and I had met on Craigslist a few days before, talked on the phone, e-mailed, and all seemed well. We met at a restaurant near his home, ate dinner, and I was my sparkly, awesome self. He told me about his job, I told him a little about my situation. He was fresh out of a divorce, and really needed someone to listen.
This should have been my first sign that it would all go to hell, but I was hopeful and horny, so we soldiered on through dinner. He asked if I'd like to see a movie at his house -- he had "Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist", and I've got a dirty old lady thing going for Michael Cera, so how could I resist?
I should have resisted.
I followed him home to his charming suburban home. It had snowed recently, and the driveway and sidewalk were freshly shoveled, so he couldn't possibly be a serial killer, right?
Once we entered his house, I noted the total lack of furniture in the front parlor. I assumed his ex had gotten it in the divorce, and headed on back to the den. I expected we would cuddle up on the couch, make out, and see where the night would lead us.
I was partially right -- we got the movie started, but we almost immediately heard an unbelievably loud scratching sound. It was his pet rabbit, begging to be let out of the cage. He got up, let it out to hop around, and invited me to cuddle.
I'm a total sucker for any tactile stimulation. I really miss being touched by a man, particularly one who is attracted to me. I settled in and enjoyed the movie. When Adam's bunny hopped up next to him, he alternated between scratching between its ears and running a hand up and down my arm. It wasn't ideal, but it beat sitting in front of the tube at home.
About halfway through the movie, I looked up at him to see if he was thinking of more than just the arm rub. He got a glint in his eye, and then, all of a sudden, jumped up and started swearing. It took me a few minutes to work it out, but apparently his bunny had pissed all over him and the couch.
We paused the movie and he ran upstairs to change clothes, while I cleaned bunny pee off of his couch. I could have left it, but my inner mom took over.
Eventually, he came down (in sweats), we moved to the dry two-thirds of the couch, and finished the movie. I think we both tried to get into the mood, but really, after rabbit excreta, there's nowhere to go. We finished the movie, I thanked him for a lovely evening, and drove on home to my lonely bed once more.
I e-mailed him the next day, and heard nothing. I can't be too surprised, and honestly, I'm not that disappointed. There are other fish in the sea. Ideally, those fish have potty-trained pets.
Our heroine, up until now...
Christmas Day, 2008, was quite possibly the worst day in my life. I knew that my marriage wasn't in the best straits -- my husband and I hadn't had sex for three years, I was quickly approaching that mythical sexual peak, and I was ready to cut bait.
After opening gifts, my husband asked what I had really wanted, since I seemed so disappointed with his gifts to me.
"All I want is to get laid," I grumbled.
"Wifelet," (which is what he calls me) "If you haven't figured it out yet on your own, I need to let you know that I'm gay. We're never going to have sex again. At least, not with each other."
To be very honest, it wasn't the world's biggest shock. My husband is a manly kind of dude, but nothing I was doing in an attempt to fix our lack of romance was working. I'd lost a hundred pounds, offered blow jobs in lingerie or au naturale, and had suffered nothing but rejection for a long enough time.
I think he hoped I'd figure it out, he'd go on doing whatever it is that he does with whoever it is he does it with, and I'd stay home every night with our kids and explode in a shower of snark every few weeks, masturbating every time I was alone. Kind of like I'd been doing for the last three years. I wasn't willing to deal with this state of, well, affairs.
There are both financial and logistical reasons to stay married. We're a lot closer to the poverty line than we'd like to be. While I could probably maintain our home on my own income, maybe, there's no way he could live anywhere safe enough for our children to spend time with him on his income. Our kids deserve him around every day. I still like him, and he's still my best friend. I'm far more financially responsible than he is and we live together quite amicably.
A marriage without intimacy isn't what I signed up for more than a decade ago, and so we needed to develop new rules. Here they are:
1. Don't be an idiot. This means that our love lives don't cross into our family life, we don't ever have unsafe sex, and we keep the other informed about when we'll be home and where we are if we're out.
2. We need to be roughly equitable in who gets to go out and who stays home with the kids.
3. Neither of us is particularly interested in the details of what we're doing with our respective paramours, so we've got a "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" kind of arrangement.
Since we came to our understanding, I've had a couple of lovers, and kissed a number of frogs. I find myself ready to seek my next lover, and thought that I should write about the adventures I've had and chronicle my ongoing search.
After opening gifts, my husband asked what I had really wanted, since I seemed so disappointed with his gifts to me.
"All I want is to get laid," I grumbled.
"Wifelet," (which is what he calls me) "If you haven't figured it out yet on your own, I need to let you know that I'm gay. We're never going to have sex again. At least, not with each other."
To be very honest, it wasn't the world's biggest shock. My husband is a manly kind of dude, but nothing I was doing in an attempt to fix our lack of romance was working. I'd lost a hundred pounds, offered blow jobs in lingerie or au naturale, and had suffered nothing but rejection for a long enough time.
I think he hoped I'd figure it out, he'd go on doing whatever it is that he does with whoever it is he does it with, and I'd stay home every night with our kids and explode in a shower of snark every few weeks, masturbating every time I was alone. Kind of like I'd been doing for the last three years. I wasn't willing to deal with this state of, well, affairs.
There are both financial and logistical reasons to stay married. We're a lot closer to the poverty line than we'd like to be. While I could probably maintain our home on my own income, maybe, there's no way he could live anywhere safe enough for our children to spend time with him on his income. Our kids deserve him around every day. I still like him, and he's still my best friend. I'm far more financially responsible than he is and we live together quite amicably.
A marriage without intimacy isn't what I signed up for more than a decade ago, and so we needed to develop new rules. Here they are:
1. Don't be an idiot. This means that our love lives don't cross into our family life, we don't ever have unsafe sex, and we keep the other informed about when we'll be home and where we are if we're out.
2. We need to be roughly equitable in who gets to go out and who stays home with the kids.
3. Neither of us is particularly interested in the details of what we're doing with our respective paramours, so we've got a "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" kind of arrangement.
Since we came to our understanding, I've had a couple of lovers, and kissed a number of frogs. I find myself ready to seek my next lover, and thought that I should write about the adventures I've had and chronicle my ongoing search.
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