Tuesday, 20 December 2011

Vanilla Lite

I had a dabble in the vanilla world this week. A male friend has an advert in the adult personals section of a publication. He does quite well and I have shared the delights of his respondents on more than one occasion. Some months back he had shared a drink with Marta, but had declined to pursue her for a proper meet. He passed her number on to me and suggested that I call as though she had responded to an advert of my own. A subterfuge, but not wholly immoral as she was seeking a connection. I rang, Marta was happy to chat and arrange a day to meet for a drink. 

We meet as arranged at a station in the outer reaches of London. From there we depart to a local restaurant that she frequents occasionally with her grown up daughter. We click right away. Conversation flows uninterrupted as does the wine. I tell her immediately that I am a swinger. That requires some explanation and she tells me that she is not interested in the lifestyle.

 "What are you looking for?" I ask. 
"I'd like to meet someone who's single." 
"You know I'm married?" I reply. 
Her thoughts are on my swinging. "Are you bi?" 
I grimace, an affected reaction. "No, its not my thing." 
I somehow sense it is what she wants to hear.

At this stage I'm thinking, I'm with the wrong woman. I'll tell her about my lifestyle and when we part we'll go our separate ways, but Marta has other ideas. She has consumed the wine and we each order another. My first remains half filled. 

"Do you think you could be satisfied by just one woman?" 
"It hasn't happened yet, but could be possible," say I. 
" Maybe I could be the one." 
Marta has made up her mind and I tell her that is the challenge I am setting her. Our food arrives and Marta orders a third glass. "I'm not a lush," she informs me.

A decision made, the mood lightens and we flirt openly. Marta has a grip on my hand across the table which tightens with each mouthful of wine. 
"We are not going to have sex on a first date and you are not coming back to my place", she insists. 

"That's fine," I tell her. "Next time will be so much more to look forward to. Where would we go?" I enquire. 
"What do you mean?" Says she. 
"Well, I'm married. I usually arrange a hotel to stay in." 

"Oh no! We'll go back to my tiny flat. 
"Your lair", I agree.

I ask for the bill. Our food hardly touched. No, there is no problem, I tell the waitress. Marta is keen for me to kiss her and I do, several times, leaning across the table. The bill settled, we have no plan. I scoot my chair round to her side to make our canoodling easier and to be fair to our fellow diners, they studiously ignore us. Conversation with Marta is getting increasingly confused. She has worked her way through my barely touched second glass of wine and I'm now painfully aware that Marta was right. She isn't a lush. The alcohol is going to her head and there is nothing I can do to stop it. She falls asleep, her head resting on the back of her seat and a handy piece of wall. I ask the waitress to order a cab. "Where to?" She asks. I have no idea and suggest the local station.

The cab arrives, I wake Marta and while I am gathering up her bag, coat, notebook and earrings, plus all my baggage, she has staggered off in the opposite direction to the exit. I catch up with her and baggage scooped under one arm, take her's with the other, then guide her out of the door. "Is she alright?" Says an understandably concerned cabbie. "Yes, fine," I say, as I bundle her into the cab, following close behind. "Where to then?" Says the cabbie  "Marta? Where do you live?" Marta, still confused, asks where we are going? "We are taking you home, what is your address?" She mumbles something incomprehensible. "What town?" asks the cabbie. She tells him and off we go to a town some thirty minutes drive away. "Do you have a postcode?" Marta digs the notebook from her bag and peers inside the cover. I can see lots of numbers scribbled down, but no postcode. The cabbie radios in to his control our destination. "She told me it was to the station", complains control, but we are in place and en route. Whomever else needs our cabbie's services will have to wait.

In the back of the cab, Marta dozes, wakes and clings on to me. "You will call me in the morning?" "You won't will you?" She asks several times. We kiss. Marta is a great kisser. Her lips are expressive and I can feel her telling me a story. I remove a hand that had been cupping her breast, she takes it and puts it back in place. In one of her dozing moments, she begins moaning, so much so that at one stage its like the scene in 'When Sally Met Harry'. Lord knows what the driver thought I was doing to her.  

He gets us to her road and we begin looking for her number. Marta recognising the neighbourhood, insists that we stop, for her to walk the rest of the way. I can't stop her and follow her out of the car to escort her to her door, which we already judge to be some hundreds of yards further on. Marta won't let me stay with her and shoos me back to the car. We wait while she walks ahead and losing sight of her, the cabbie thinks that she has gone indoors. We move forward cautiously and come abreast of her still walking. Well, staggering to be accurate. She stops and waves us away. We have no option. The road is narrow and a bus route and at that moment one pulls up behind us. My driver is obliged to drive ahead and clear the road. Now I am in a quandary. I'm abandoning a drunken woman on the street, yards from the safety of her home, but feel I have no choice, since she won't move while we are in sight. Abandon her I did and this troubles me as I write. To reassure you, she did get home in one piece and I'm probably overstating her drunken state by this stage. Nonetheless, I'm struggling to come to terms with leaving her on her own. 

My cabbie takes me to a nearby station to continue my journey home and I leave him forty pounds the poorer and giving thanks for his patience and assistance. On the train home, I ponder the evening and resolve in future to stick with swinging. It is so much simpler.

Tuesday, 13 December 2011

A Day Unwritten

Dark Knight is on his way. We have a day of writing planned; two big scenes to map out. He has just text me to let me know he is en route.

     Santa is on his way. You can sit on his lap and if you have been a good girl, you can have a present.

Hmmmm. My reply.

     Such a shame I've been so naughty this year.

His response. Well, you'll be on my lap....face down and bottom up!

I'm just wondering how much work is going to get done today?

Wednesday, 7 December 2011

A Night in Nottingham

So there I was, innocently tasting the delights of a Scarlett Miss Charlotte when he reclines into the comfort of the corner sofa in the Revolution bar and says
     'Talk dirty to me.'
I gave the request a moments thought and then responded.
     'I did give thought to arranging a meet ..... without you knowing.' It was an honest answer.
     'Why didn't you?'
     'Because I am ever conscious that I don't want to dominate the play time with single guys. You need your play time too.' Very unselfish of me but again an honest answer.

He picks up his iPhone and logs on to our swingers profile. He updates the status and puts out the request for a hotel meet.

Our profile receives many hits in a short space of time and then the messages started coming in. We ignore all those that couldn't be arsed to send a photo and I did have to tussle over the ones that looked okay but their profiles were not up to scratch (call me old fashioned but anyone that can't string a few words together in the Queen's English rather than using txt talk, I am wary of).

One guy looked promising. I message him back and confess to time running short but that we would be happy to meet for a drink after the concert. He is at least an hour away. His message back confirms he does not have a car so meeting would not be possible as trains were not convenient. For goodness sake man, you replied to a request to meet because.....????? 

Suffice to say, we met no-one. Although having said that if I'd have taken the bull by the horns I could probably have pulled the young (twenty something) barman but I didn't have the courage. Maybe next time.
However, the whole exercise was very interesting. There was a great buzz about trying to arrange a meet, very last minute to see what happened and it did re-ignite a conversation about the possibility of going to a club and playing the single female scenario with husband close at hand to keep an eye on proceedings. That would be a huge thrill.

And we are back in Nottingham next Spring. So maybe I just will organise a little bit of fun and surprise my husband with it on the day....... and it just so happens I have someone in mind already.

Monday, 5 December 2011

Blind Date

Tonight I met the glorious Mariella. An introduction through a mutual friend.  The two hours we spent alone in an hotel room passed in what seemed no time at all.  Occasionally, just once in a while, you meet someone with whom you hit it off straight away. My first glimpse of her,across the room, in a body, fishnets, shoes, blond hair and a smile, had me smiling back and saying something, whatever, I hoped that would  put her at ease.  There is a thrill to this kind of blind date. Our mutual friend had described me to her and she in turn had agreed to meet me. Standing either side of a hotel door with me in the corridor awaiting entry is a little like the television show.  The partition slides back and your first reaction tells her all.

Our mutual friend having done the introductions, disappeared off to let us get acquainted.  He is a voyeur.  I know that he will look in on us now and then and get his kicks imagining what we have been doing, perhaps picturing himself in my shoes.  I have asked him what he gets out of this kind of scenario. I think I understand, when he tells me of the thrill he gets from imagining that I am with his significant other.  A fantasy that cannot come true, but can be virtually lived out through my copulation with Mariella.  I take for granted being the front man and the one stepping into the unknown. For him, my being his proxy is as close as he wants to get. I think of it as a question of confidence.  I enjoy making something happen. The magician, conjuring an erotic encounter out of thin air.

In this case, mostly hot air.  I can talk for England and Mariella matched me every step. She had from me my swinger's life story, my philosophy on single guys and this blog. I skipped over my recent encounter with the G, though by now I guess she will have read about it.  In return I learned her family status, how she had not had sex for eighteen months and some history that she won't have shared too often. Women are attractive to me for myriad reasons.  It may be their overall beauty, particular features, or manner of speaking.  For me the greatest is enthusiasm and Mariella has this in spades. Everything we did was such fun.  Her eyes shone and I was getting so many compliments, I could have put her in my pocket to bring out the next time I am feeling down. 

Sometimes the greatest compliments are unintentional. Mariella was still in her body and stockings.  The shoes had long gone. The body had been popped from between her legs so that I could lick and taste her pussy and her breasts were now exposed, but otherwise it remained intact.  We were talking about skin, stroking and touching.  She asked if I would like her to remove the body. I concurred and she did so, exposing to me some of the history I referred to earlier. I was touched by her confidence in me.  Thinking about this, I have noticed on many occasions, women who retain some clothing, be it a basque or nightdress, usually something that covers the torso. Retaining a little mystery can be erotic, but often I think the motive is more one of selfconsciousness and body self image.

On this occasion, stripping naked, save for one fishnet stocking that we agreed should be kept on for modesty, meant that we could step up the passion another notch. Mariella had exposed herself to me and I could now explore and discover her navel piercing. I adore skin to skin contact and in a 69 position I was steadily heading towards an orgasm in her mouth.  We switched around I expected we were working towards coitus.  I asked her if she likes cum in her mouth, thinking about how we might finish when I orgasm.  Actually the game was, two smacks on my bum for yes, one for no and that had just been one of my questions.   Mariella then asks me, “Why don't you come in my pussy on our second date?” It took a while for the implications of this statement to sink in.  Both erotic and a challenge. She had just told me she wanted us to meet again and had at the same moment challenged me not to fuck her, but to let her fellate me to orgasm.  What a choice.  I was aching to feel her pussy surrounding my cock.  To feel it sliding deep inside her. That is why I was there. To abstain tonight? To forgo that pleasure, on the promise of another day to come?  How deliciously balanced it was.  How would it feel when and if, I finally found myself buried inside her?  

I'll always take the erotic option, though I wasn't confident that I would be able to come without the stimulation of her vagina on me.  This then became a challenge for us both. I would have to guide her to give me the sensations I would need to be able to come and I in turn would have to find in her body and the moment the stimulation to coax from my balls a two week store of semen. This was going to be mental. I looked for it in her labia and with my tongue in her vagina. I could feel it building when I tasted the metal of her navel piercing. When my two fingers were inside her, stroking where she had told me she most enjoyed, I imagined they were my cock and that her lips and mouth on me were her pussy. Little by little I was getting nearer.  Conscious that if we rushed, I may not achieve the strength of feeling that I would need for a strong ejaculation. I cautioned Mariella, to be very gentle on me and I'm sure that she would have found that incredibly frustrating as all she wanted was to suck the life and cream from my cock. 

Our patience paid off, as I found myself close enough to take matters in my own hands to bring myself over the edge.  My penis now in her mouth, I came. She took it out and directed my second and subsequent spurts around her mouth and face. As the ripples subsided she used my penis as a spatula to further spread the semen over her mouth.

And then I kissed her.