Maybe we’ll both get lucky

Saturday evening

7:00 pm:  I write as I wait for responses to the Craiglist post I just put up on Women Seeking Men:

Maybe we’ll both get lucky

Let’s face it, CL is a crap shoot. Want to take a random chance tonight? Meet me for a drink in the mission and let’s see if we click. Ya never know.

420 friendly
Over 40 

The streets are noisy here, the San Francisco 49ers having won some big football game a couple of hours ago that has the fans still celebrating.  I wish I shared their enthusiasm for this sport, but the horns honking and the aggressive whoops in the street are a turn-off.  I hope to meet someone smart tonight, who doesn’t care about this football score.  Beyond that I’m open to most anything.  Good looking is great, and a good sense of humor is a definite turn-on.

7:15pm:  The first response is in:

hello , how are you ?

even I have little chance but ill try it 

where is your location ?

I’m thinking no on this one.

7:22 pm:  Just made a date with the second responder, who sent this:

Hi.

Why not. Was considering just getting dinner and a drink by myself anyway. I’m a 42 yo wm, 6’1″, 170. I’m a scientist by training with an edgy, hip style.

i’m on google chat and yim (thensomewherenow on both) if you’d like a quicker correspondence.

good luck.

A quick glance through my sent mail box tells me that we have corresponded before.  I already know, then, that he only has a six inch cock, way too small for me to have fun with.  Darn.  I hope he’s smart and cute.

7:38 pm:  Took the post down.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

11:22 pm:  Oh, well.  Never got close enough to bring up the fact that we had corresponded before.  He was smart and reasonably good looking, and as mystified by the roaring about the football game as I was.  I bought us one round of beers at a local dive before he left to meet friends across the city.  No attraction here, I guess none on his part either.

A crapshoot.  Not tonight.

Happy New Year

Sorry for relative silence over the last few weeks.  My sex life is pretty much dead in the water, so nothing much to talk about in this venue.  I’m down to just one fuck buddy, and I haven’t seen him since before the holidays.  He’s hot and young and fit, but we still need to learn one another’s bodies.  The November reconnect with Mr. Wrong was hot, as I told you last time, but he has returned to the east where he lives now, and I haven’t been properly fucked since then.  My few ventures into Craigslist have reaped nothing:  just a few disappointing dates with men who don’t interest me, sexually or otherwise.  I may look around there again, but hold out little hope that I’ll find anything much of interest.   I’d love to hear about some others’ adventures to titillate me and perhaps make me jealous.

Happy new year to all.

 

Epic Sex

As always, it followed a game of Scrabble.  I won again.  This time I asked, “shall we fuck one more time since we can?”  He was to leave later that night, and today was our last chance.  His hands were in his face when he nodded.  But his enthusiasm grew after taking off his pants and settling back.

Today I wanted him wet – really wet.  I licked his shaft from base to head, moving around him with each stroke, making sure I didn’t miss a side.  I took his balls in my mouth my favorite way:  first one, around and around, wetter and wetter, til I could take it in my mouth and tug it.  Then the other, then stretching my mouth wide to take them both.

I knew his cock waited eagerly above me.  I could feel my spit across my forehead as it skimmed my face.  Not wanting to waste it, I returned to the head of his cock.  I gently took it in my mouth, sucking hard as my tongue probed the tip, searching for the tasty pre-cum I know would come soon enough.

He wasn’t yet wet enough.  I took him slowly and deeply, his hands gripping my hair and pressing down, until the spit rose from deep below.  And again.  And again, deeper still.  Pulling away, strings of saliva stretched between us, I licked him again up and down his his shaft, all the way around, slowly and methodically.  Wet, wetter.  I spit and splashed my lips with the juices.  Deeper, deeper, slower.  Then faster, with the music.  Sometimes holding my hair to guide me, sometimes thrusting his hips gently up as I reached the limit of my throat, his soft moaning kept my gags, breaths and moans company.

Just as I wanted more, he reached down and pulled my t-shirt over my head.  I loosened my bra, and his fingers found my nipples and pinched hard.  Really hard.  He pulled me toward him by them, forcing his cock that much deeper into my throat as I squealed and squirmed.  He held me there, my mouth completely filled, until I pulled back gasping.  I took a deep, wet breath and he did it again.  And again, pinching and pulling even harder.  We were approaching my limits, but still I wanted more.

I reached for my belt and jeans, needing to take them off so he could touch me.  I was ready to be fucked, by his hand, by a toy, by his cock, but didn’t want to release the deliciousness of his cock until I knew he was really ready for me.  I pushed myself up and off him and bent over the couch.  Coming around behind me, he took me all in a sudden, slippery rush, so deeply, touching down for a moment before beginning a rhythmic pounding of my pussy.  I braced myself against the back of the couch, resisting him to bring him even deeper.  We continued that way for several minutes until he said, “on the floor.”  I was headed there anyway, knowing he could find me even deeper and harder on the hard floor.

He took me again, six or seven fast strokes followed by one deep one, over and over, working the length of me with each thrust.  He may have smacked my ass or my breast, I don’t remember. My toes clenched behind me as I held myself in place, pressing back against him each time, I briefly felt the one sharply abraded one from the day before, a match for the growing rug burns on my knees and elbows.

My toe forgotten, I found his foot by my ear, and I took his slender ankle in my hand and squeezed.  This sent him even deeper, if that was possible.   He reached around for my nipple again, pinching hard as he pounded.  Dear god.  I squirted on his cock for the first time, feeling my juices run down my leg, adding more lubrication.

Then a rustle in our toy bag.  I heard the snap of the lube just before the cool gel hit my other hole, his fingers probing there as he continued to fuck me.  I knew what was coming, and I was ready.

I needed him in slowly, and asked for that as he firmly but fully inserted his cock into my ass.  My arms released and I collapsed forward onto the floor, my ass still raised high behind me.  I surrendered to this fullness, as he stroked here faster and faster, deeper and deeper.  I squirted again.

When I sensed he was getting close, I stopped him.  ”I want to taste you one more time.”  He went to clean himself first, as I squirmed there on the floor in anticipation.  I wanted my mouth on him again.  I wanted to taste him one last time before he left.  It was a good fifteen or twenty minutes of slobbery, deep licking and sucking, still deeper in my throat.  I spit and gagged, taking a break now and then, only to go back for more.  I licked and sucked on his balls again.  I massaged them, now slick and warm, as I sucked his head; I was taking my own pleasure from him, as I always do.  He is delicious.

I was rhythmically working him up and down as I felt him begin to pulse, and he grabbed my head, suddenly and firmly pressing me hard against him.  I felt my nose buried in his stomach as he came hard, deeper in my throat than I ever remember.  I stayed there until my eyes watered, until I could feel his come filling me deep inside.  I slowly and reluctantly withdrew my mouth, swallowing every drop with relish.

Jesus, we can fuck.

Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner

Mr. Wrong.  Yep.

For six days over Thanksgiving he’ll use my place as a home base as he visits friends and family in the Bay Area.  Not at all sure how this is going to go.  It’s been six months since we’ve seen each other, and we’ve never spent any prolonged periods of time together.  When we have been together more than a few hours, we have quickly run out of things to talk about.  Our relationship seems to be built on Scrabble and sex, but we have a whole lot of baggage between us that sits just below the surface of our interactions on my sofa and living room floor.

The message I keep saying to him in my head:  don’t hurt me.  Not exactly sure where that’s coming from, but it feels very deep.

I have enumerated the ways he has hurt me many times, in letters both sent and unsent.  I have alluded to some of our issues here, but hold some of them close, as does he.  There is financial business between us.  There is the sharp sting of the other women in his life.   There are many, many lies.

I wish I were feeling more excited about this.  It could be a bad idea.

One Hundred Thousand

As this blog approaches 100,000 hits and I approach another birthday, I’ve been reading my way through the memories:  dozens of hot fucks with the smokin’ Mr. Wrong before he moved away, the sweet but elusive company of Little Justin, the occasional rough and tumble of Jonas, the tasty BBC of a new vacation buddy, steamy cyber sex with a man halfway around the world, a hot threesome with a couple of Brazilian boys, and dozens and dozens more encounters.  And yet, after hundreds of Magnum condoms, a gallon of lube, a growing collection of toys, makeup stained sheets and stories to tell, I’m still looking for the man who will ring all my bells.  Yes, this playful girl would still like to find the guy who can keep me satisfied on every level.  I’m wondering if that will ever happen for me.  Many suggest I’m looking in the wrong place and in the wrong way, but I still hold out hope that I will find my guy before the ride is over.

A New Buddy

I just may have found myself a new, regular fuck buddy, just when I was beginning to give up.  Tall, strong and fit, and much younger (nearly twenty years younger), he’s suitably aggressive with me, tossing me around and fucking me hard, just the way I like it.  We still have lots more to explore in the bedroom and I look forward to it.

The post-coital euphoria continued through the evening last night, fueling me for the rest of the day.  This was welcome after several weeks of low mood and energy, in the wake of strong internal messages telling me that I’m getting too old to be attractive to the kind of man I like best.  The inevitable physical changes – loss of muscle tone, relaxing vaginal muscles, further sagging of my breasts, wrinkles around my eyes and mouth – coupled with hot flashes and night sweats leading to terrible sleep, and you have what I have been thinking lately is an old woman.  Enjoying this youthful man’s body is changing those messages.

 

Finally, She Fucks

Has anyone been wondering where I am?  I’ve been pretty lost.  My sex life is largely dead with the departure of Mr. Wrong.  And I’ve been kind of lost in general, even considered leaving San Francisco.  I’ve often thought that I really need regular sex to keep myself on an even keel, and I sure haven’t had that of late.  I did, however, find a hot fuck on Craigslist today.

Much cuter than his picture, with amazing bright blue eyes, Brock arrived exactly when he said he would.  Two others had flaked on me today, so his prompt arrival was welcome.   We spent a good 45 minutes talking.  He’s from the southeast, like so many of my reliable friends here.  Conversation was lively if uninspired.  His travel, his allergies, his job change.  I told him very little about me, and nothing about this blog, my book or my adventures on Craigslist.

After our conversation, which slipped ever so slightly into our respective sexual predilections, he leaned in to kiss me.  I could feel him trembling, and asked him right away if he was scared.  He said not scared but a little nervous, that this was “the first time he’d done anything like this.”  I believed him.  Just back from many years abroad, his experience with Craigslist was very limited.

The kisses weren’t working for me.  He was too tentative for my taste.  I pulled back.  ”I’m going to stop for a minute here. As attractive as I find you, this just isn’t working for me.”  His expression didn’t change; he was hard to read.  ”Would you describe yourself as a dominant man in the bedroom?” I asked.

“Yes, I would say so,” he said.

“Well that’s a good thing.”  I went briefly to the kitchen for water, and returned to straddle him there on my couch.  He nestled his face firmly between my breasts and things progressed very nicely from there.  Kissing someone I don’t know well is hard for me.  It’s a more personal connection than just fucking, for this girl, anyway.

We graduated to the bedroom after it became clear we were headed for sex.  ”I am a very messy girl,” I told him as we headed down the hall.  It takes very little to get me to squirt, and I had prepared my bed with waterproof sheets in anticipation of just that.

What followed was a remarkable testament to his fitness level, gained through regular water polo.  He fucked me hard and fast from behind for at least fifteen minutes.  I gripped the rails of the bed for resistance as he pounded me, pausing every few minutes to press hard and deep against my cervix, until he was drenched in sweat that dripped onto my ass and back. Reaching around to touch his hip and leg, I met sweaty slipperiness that added to my excitement.

I came several times, as I do when I’m fucked hard, but he couldn’t get himself there.  I invited him to finish in my mouth, and we tried there for a bit, but he would get almost there, then back away again.  Finally he pulled away and went for a towel.  His hair and upper body were soaked.  He mopped up and I offered my shower, but he said he wanted to beat the rush hour traffic and get out of the city soon.

I wasn’t sure as he left if I’d see him again, wondering if whatever stopped him had something to do with me.  But a few emails after assured me that he enjoyed himself and would like to come back.  Perhaps I’ve found a new fuck buddy.

Wonder if he plays Scrabble.  Now that would be hot.

A Short and Hot Encounter

Another old fuck buddy stopped in today.  We have been friends and buddies for six years now.

After chatting over a cup of coffee, I offered a blow job.  I haven’t had a nice cock in my throat for weeks now.  His is beautiful:  long, thick but not overly so. He likes it slow and deep, my favorite way to suck.  We spent a good ten minutes together – he was tired and slow to get hard, which suited me just fine. I love to suck a cock to hard.  It gives me plenty of time to get hot and wet myself.  I took him ever deeper, in time to my music, but didn’t come myself, which sometimes happens for me.  Slobbery and spitting, I took his balls in my hand, pressing them up against his body.  He didn’t take my head and guide me today, letting me set the speed and depth.  After five minutes or so, he came in my mouth, and I swallowed the come I have learned to love.

Nice.

A Busy Girl

If you’ve come looking for a naughty story today, this isn’t it.  Try reading about past encounters with Mr. Wrong, Little Justin and my newest/old fuck buddy.

I’ve been struggling to keep my sex life – and thus my writing life here – alive.  I’ve been cooking on a new blog on an entirely different subject.  A new singing buddy has me busy working on musical diversions.  And I’ve been pursuing a possible business opportunity that has me excited and distracted.  This all means I may be about to join the ranks of the “too busy for a relationship” crowd.

That all said, this girl needs to get fucked properly, and SOON!  I’ve dabbled a bit again on Craigslist, and am finding more possibilities there than in months past, but none have panned out.  Why is it so hard for a busy girl to find a hot, regular fuck buddy in this town?  Is it possible I’ve already fucked all the eligible guys here?

So I Sing

I cannot wrap my mind around everything going on now, not in a way that will find its way to “paper.” I’m a swirl of money and men and foreign visitors and work and travel plans and health issues. Mr. Wrong, little Justin, a sweet boy at a neighborhood bar, an old fuck buddy returned, three or four more bad dates this month, I don’t remember. I feel frustrated and disappointed and irrelevant and angry and old and stupid and stuck and I don’t know what else. Sometimes I think I will vomit it up but it stays inside me. It’s just all there, all the time. So I sing.