...the making of a slut.

#this slut's going nuts

Toward the end of July, I really started to lose it. I was horny to the nth degree and pandemic frustration was steering me toward doing some very reckless shit.

After going into involuntary self-preservation mode, I seemed to have simultaneously eliminated my sex drive and lost my orgasm. It was worrisome but something of a relief as well. If I can't trust myself enough to not do stupid things in the name of lust, I might as well be a guy. Haha. Kidding!!

But seriously, subverting one's will may work in the short run, but it's like toxic waste. Eventually it comes bubbling to the surface and creates a big ole mess; at times, worse than the original gunk.

Next time: toxic clean-up, pandemic edition.

Steve went from the top spot in my hook-up ratings to a FAIL for our second encounter. It wasn't exactly anyone's fault, really. Just one of those things.

He got a room at a nice hotel and I met him there. I was looking forward to playing with him again as our first hook-up went so swimmingly. It started nicely with a drink and a bit of a smoke. He's very into satisfying his partner and tbh, it throws me for a bit of a loop because I'm a pleaser by nature and care more about 'their' pleasure and less about my own. I'm sure it all goes hand in hand with my Control issues. But since he was determined to get me off, I made sure to bring my magic wand vibrator that guarantees orgasms. I like to warm up with it first, then at just the right moment, tell the guy to put his fingers in me. When all is right with the world, this makes me cum in multiples.

Vibe warm up. Check. Finger fuck. Check. Multiple orgasms. Check. Now that I was all soft, wet, and amenable to just about anything, he suddenly spots a pinkish smear on the glaring white hotel sheet. His face blanches.

“Is that blood?” he asks.

I quickly check myself and I'm not actively bleeding. I assure him it's not my period because I'd just had it ten or so days prior. I know some people can't deal with menstrual blood. I'm kinda one of them. I make a joke.

“Ward, you were a little hard on the Beaver”.

And he was. He was doing the “attempted squirt” finger fuck that requires quite a vigorous thrusting.
He doesn't laugh; just sort of sits there.

“I can't stand the sight of blood,” he explains.

Uh huh.

“So that's it??”, I say.

“Yeah, sorry...”

I can tell he is sorry but I want dick! I offer to just blow him because I honestly do love sucking him, but he declines. Apparently, the boner has left the building. I'm trying to make sense of this unprecedented turn of events. I'm annoyed and disappointed. Horny and awkward. Not a fun combination. To sort of test him I hold out one hand and say,
“Look, I've got a hangnail. If I peel it off, the blood will start to well-up...”

He turns green, almost like in a damn Bugs Bunny cartoon. So I guess he's being truthful. Argh!

“I'll make it up to you next time,” he promises, obviously feeling shitty about it. Kitty don't care! We are standing in front of the bed and I can't help it. I place my hands on his chest and shove him so he falls backward on the bed. I growl in frustration. He keeps apologising but my ego has taken a beating and just wants to hide. Never mind that he got and paid for the hotel room. Never mind that I'd had multiple orgasms. I'm not happy. All because of a pinkish smear! But I try to be gracious, tell him it's okay, and hug him goodbye.

We've tried several times to get together since, without success. My inner kitty taunts me: 'maybe he's just not that into you.' Sigh. Maybe...

The last blow job I gave was in early February 2020. He was the one and only worthwhile match I had on the Hinge app in the four months for which I paid for premium membership. Hinge, for me, sucked big donkey balls. Lots of Likes, most of whom weren’t even remotely my type but not a whole lot of tempting choices. Of course, I tend to be shallow and use the Hookup Loophole to “date” out of my league. But that’s another story.

Although Hinge is supposedly more of a ‘relationship’ app and apparently I felt perhaps I was looking for more than my usual serial BJ adventures, it may have been more the fact that I just wasn’t feeling very sexual at that time. In any case, this Hinge match was very much my type AND he could host AND I was going to be clubbing not too far from his location so what the heck. I think I offered up only a blow job because I really didn’t feel like fucking. I only mention this stellar, all-encompassing episode of oral sex because I wish I’d known, then, that would be THE LAST TIME I WOULD TOUCH ANYTHING MALE FOR THE NEXT FIVE MONTHS.

Funny soon as the pandemic/lockdown/quarantine hit, my sex drive rapidly went from zero to sixty. I officially isolated myself from social situations on March 1. My job closed down and switched to remote-work on March 13 at which point I had way too much time on my hands. I could now wake up at noon and go to bed in the wee hours of the morning after reading smut, watching porn, and turning masturbation into an art form. Like everyone else single, I was going slowly out of my mind with horniness.

Around mid-April, a few of my regular BJ buddies hit me up but I was holding strong and meeting up was completely out of the question. In May, I began to hear from guys I’d hooked up with once or twice but with whom I hadn’t had any contact in years. Some I couldn’t quite remember. All along I’m getting Tinder matches and lemme tell ya, these guys were/are Thirsty. I don’t flatter myself to think all these dudes suddenly missed me. They missed IT. Toward the end of June, I was convinced that the pandemic had to be winding down. Things were starting to re-open; clubs seemed to think it wouldn’t be long before they too, would be back. As we all know, things instead got worse, and the numbers skyrocketed. July came, and my mind went. I could tell I was slipping.

Being the Queen of Loopholes, I decided that a strip-club-rules (I can touch you, you can’t touch me) BJ whereas he wears a mask throughout, would be a relatively safe sexual activity. Until my therapist kindly pointed out that the penis will have been touched by his hands before it went into my mouth. Well, rats. So I had to somehow come to terms with the fact that I really couldn’t get naughty until a vaccine was available. My slutty self didn’t like that one bit. She’s very rebellious and has a big problem with authority. Pandemic? Covid-19? Elderly parents? Oh, that’s Buzzkill-self’s prob.

I stopped answering my texts. I mean, I knew what they wanted and I knew I had to say No, which I have a problem doing under the best of circumstances. I had a couple of near-misses where I either pussied out at the last minute (called it off; I don’t flake) or made it so logistically challenging as to be virtually impossible to pull off.

But then he texted. Aaron. And I broke.

I didn’t hear from Aaron for 5 days. I send one super-ultra-casual text. Crickets. Five days of me torturing myself wondering what egregious sin I’d committed. I wasn’t pretty enough. I wasn’t a tenth of my online, scintillating persona. I’d stumbled into a patch of horrifically bad lighting. He must’ve known the moment he saw me whether or not he was interested. Even if he only wanted me for blow jobs, why bother with the hand-holding bullshit? Why kiss the wits out of me?

After 5 days of self-doubt, zero self-esteem, and the endless taunting of my inner critic, I get a text from him saying he’d been down with the flu and had been feeling like death. The moment of pure happiness I get when I see his message is downright nauseating. My sad, lopsided world tilts back on its axis and I can have a bit of peace from the nasty voices in my head. Over the course of the next week I send two more super-ultra-casual texts inquiring after his health; my third text is an exasperated one.

Me: feel free to continue to kiss me off, just do me a favor and let me know u didn't die from the flu. Just for my peace of mind.

Nothing. Nada. Niente.

Another week of denigrating every aspect of myself from head to toe, inside and out. The only part that remains in high confidence is my oral skills. I know those are en pointe without a doubt. I begin to spin a fantasy in my mind… I dangle the coveted blow job in front of him and he can’t refuse. This time when we meet there will be no hand holding, no goddamned kissing. I’ll work my magic on his cock and after I swallow all he has to give and he lies back to collect his wits, I’ll lean close and whisper, “Now you’re just like everyone else.”

“What do you mean”, he’ll ask.

“Despite all the hand holding and kissing, after all your claims of being a gentleman, you’re just the latest dick to get sucked off in my car.”

BOOM. And that’s how this Kitty rolls. Now he’s just one of the masses; nothing special here, ladies and gents.

That’s not exactly how it went down (as it were). I texted him:

me: mobile bj calling…

him: erect and trembling with excitement

He texts this 7 HOURS AFTER MY MESSAGE. Asshole.

me: u snooze u lose, butthead

And I make a happy discovery: I don’t have to actually blow him to bring him down a peg. His responding to my text already makes him no different than all the other guys panting after my blow jobs. I don’t get to rub his nose in it but hey, you can’t have everything. Yes, I’m angry. At him for treating me like a person instead of a cumslut. For getting my hopes up although I fought it every step of the way. For inadvertently tapping into the secret desires I’ve worked so hard to keep contained.

But I break my own rules (again) about texting first. I decide to give him one last chance to be a bj buddy. Perhaps I’ll get him addicted to my mouth. Play to your strengths, girl, play to your strengths...

Never let down your guard.

Don't feel.


..wings of pastrami part 2

We continued our online flirtation. We never discussed that last text conversation. We kept it light and casual. This I understand. The back and forth dance of seduction, learning each other's predilections and quirks. He's a self-proclaimed romantic. A relationship guy. A guy who likes Disney movies, for God's sake. He refers to sex as 'making love' and talks about how much he wants to kiss me.

I don't like kissing, don't do it often, and suspect I'm not very good at it. It's interesting that I can suck, swallow or fuck a guy that I don't know, but kissing him makes me uncomfortable and kinda grosses me out. And yes, kissing is very personal.

But kiss we did. Our online flirtation came to a head one night and we agreed to meet. Up until the moment he texted the address, I was still wondering if he really was local. On the drive over, I was uncharacteristically nervous. You'd think that going to unfamiliar places to meet strange men, to do naughty things would make me anxious, but I tend to be pretty calm during these assignations. I've learned to trust my instincts which are usually spot-on when it comes to physical danger. They may be spot-on for emotional danger as well, but my heart is a complete idiot and has no compunction about disregarding instincts and going off half cocked.

Which brings us to Aaron. I couldn't make heads or tails of his motives and yet here I was, on my way to meet him face to face for the first time. When he got into my car, I did this thing I do where I seem to be looking at you but really I'm looking through you. Eye contact can be difficult for me sometimes. Plus I didn't want to see that look of disappointment that I occasionally get upon first meets. I'd warned him that I was uglier in person to which he replied, “aren't we all”. In truth, he was cuter in person than he was in his pics. Jerk.

I continued to not look at him as I fidgeted and babbled nervously. He wanted to hold my hand. I was self conscious about my rough, dry hands but he insisted. We chatted about nothing while he held my hand and the rain on the windshield made for a ridiculously romantic setting. I didn't feel a physical chemistry with him as much as a mental one. I suggested we address the elephant in the room and get the inevitable blow job out of the way. He said he wanted to kiss me.

We made out for awhile. I enjoyed kissing him but didn't feel that elusive zingy, swirly sensation (as described in romance novels) that I've been waiting for all my life. As things progressed we decided to move our little party to a more secluded location. We found a dark corner in a nearby parking lot and I was happy to let the oral games begin. I was perfectly happy to suck him off but he wanted to fuck. I had my doubts we could do this in my smallish Toyota, but he was confident, so into the back seat we went. For back-seat sex, it was pretty good. Sure, I could've done without the cramped space, my head banging into the car door, the sauna-like heat (I'd forgotten to crack the windows). At one point early on, while I was blowing him, he said he was getting a bit light-headed (high praise indeed but not my highest; one guy said I made him feel like he was levitating...). We switched from bj to missionary to doggy and I ended up finishing him off with my mouth.

I did my best to redress myself. I may or may not have put my panties on inside-out. I didn't quite know how to take it when he said that “now, I'm feeling on edge...”, echoing my earlier words to him. I thought maybe he was having that male post-sex/escape-hatch syndrome but since he was in my car, couldn't make a graceful escape...? Who knows. It didn't occur to me to ask. Men baffle the hell outa me. I drove back toward his house. He was helpfully telling me where to go to catch the freeway home. Honestly, I wasn't really listening (that's why God invented Google maps). He told me I could let him off and he'd walk the block back to his house. I hate it when guys do that. I take it like they can't wait to get away. Monsoon, rain, tornado...they'll take their chances out in the open. So I pull over and say goodbye.

“Goodbye?”, he says with a slight chuckle.

“What?”, I reply, puzzled.

“Nothing,” says he and gets out of the car.

“Got everything?”, I ask.

“I think so.”

I must've hesitated to drive away because 3 seconds later he peered through the passenger-side window which was still open.

“I think I left my suspenders in here.”

I find them and hold them out to him with a suggestive grin. He takes them from me with a wicked grin of his own...and he's gone.

I wonder if that's the last time I'll ever see him.


I hate that I’m waiting for him for him to message me. I hate that I allowed him into my heart; just a smidge, the tiniest bit that couldn’t be avoided. But it’s kind of like opening your front door a tiny bit while in a hurricane; not a good idea and very possibly a disastrous one.

We matched on Tinder and from the moment we began chatting, it was rapid-fire, sparkling repartee. I am at my best in an online conversation. Those extra few seconds between responses allows me to draft the perfect comments, the cleverest comebacks. Without the heavy cloak of my own physical self-consciousness, I am breezy, confident and downright scintillating. It’s not often that I find someone who can keep up.

Aaron kept up. He too, was quick, clever, and sexy. He got my references. We flirted outrageously. He liked me too much way too quickly. I liked him but I am constantly on guard against letting myself get emotionally invested in my FWB’s. Deep down I’m a hopeless romantic, albeit a non-practicing one. I’m careful to keep my emotions in check but it’s like that old Don’t-Think-About-Elephants thing. One ends up with rampant herds of elephants on the brain. Pink, polka dotted, tutu-wearing, dancing elephants.

A few days into our online relationship, I went back to look at his Tinder profile and a cold chill ran down my spine. According to the Tinder app, he was 6,400 miles away. I’ve been targeted by several scammers over the past few years. They are all “looking for a long term relationship” and are “ready to settle down”. Often their story depicts them as widowed with a child (usually a son. I guess boys appeal more to a potential, future stepmother…?). These scammers are often “in the military” and “overseas”. They go from zero to 60 in record speed and in a matter of days, they’ve fallen in love with you. With one of my earliest scammers, I played along just to see how far he would take his little charade. It didn’t take long for him to spin some cockamamie story about how his military pay was inaccessible to him due to government red tape but if I wired him X amount of dollars, he’d pay me back plus interest and then he could fly home to meet me and we could start our new life together. I played dumb and asked a zillion annoying questions about our future plans. Finally, I’d had enough. The whole thing was beginning to leave a bad taste in my mouth. I told him, in what has become my go-to speech to scammers, “Enough is enough. I have no money and even if I did, I would never send it to someone I haven't met.”

Many, many scammers later, I can pick them out more easily. I avoid guys in the military or even ones who are out-of-state. I ignore anyone who claims to be looking to settle down. Their conversational syntax and grammar are often wrong and punctuation is inconsistent or missing. So when it seemed to me that Aaron had to be a scammer, it confused me. His writing was quick and flawless (not counting typos and stupid auto corrects). His knowledge of being American and more specifically, of our mutual city, was completely legit. But he had mentioned that he’d recently been living overseas. After he ignored my text asking if he wanted to meet up, then texting me hours later, seemingly confused that my plans had changed, I decided to call his bluff. It was around 4:00am and I’d gotten home from a club a couple of hours earlier. I invited myself over to his neck of the woods then sat back to see what he’d do. I was basically offering to drive 40 minutes just to blow him in the car. What guy turns that down? He did, more or less. Hemmed and hawed that he couldn’t think of a place we could be private and yada yada. I was convinced: he was thousands of miles away and thus there was no way we could meet and he was just jerking me around to ensnare me in his web. I texted him:

Me: Look Aaron (if that’s even your name). I’ve enjoyed chatting with you more than I have with anyone in a long time. Will u please just tell me what u want? Is that even u in the pics? Where r u really?

He kind of shrugged off my questions and concerns, almost like he was humoring me. I mentally shook him off, disappointed that one of the few guys for whom I felt a connection was only playing me.

A couple of days later he texts:

him: the day felt a bit empty without messaging back and forth with you.

I’d been feeling the exact same thing. We started chatting again but in the back of my mind, I took everything he said with a grain of salt. I wasn't sure what to believe. When I asked him about Tinder showing him as 6,000+ miles away, he explained that sometimes he used a phone he had from the time he was living abroad, hence the different distances. But why did he almost always text at odd times? Was he functioning in a different time zone? He was twisting my mind into a pretzel!

After much more flirting and sexual tension, one night at 12:43am he texts:

him: well come show me some action

[12:44] me: ok

[1:33] him: ok as in you'll come?

[2:27am] me: as in 45 mins ago i coulda. Actually 2 hours ago. Then i fell asleep waiting for a response

(3 days later after no reply) me: wellll?

Nothing until 6 days later. By this time I'm even more convinced he is scamming me. But I can’t figure out how he sounds so normal. What is he after, for fucks sake?! After nearly a week with no messages I figure this is one for the ages and I’ll never know what was what. It's frustrating and disappointing.

Then, out of nowhere…

Him: I feel you have too many guys lined up

That text is like a slap in the face and I feel that chill start up again. I mean, it's true, but he doesn't really know the extent of it.

Him: I was looking for more and you are settling for less.

Me: Ah, slu

I was trying to write Ah, slut shaming. But my finger went haywire and I pressed Send prematurely.

Him: you're awake

Me: obviously (calling me a slut brings out the bitch in me; go figure)

Him: Ah slu isn't english is it

Me: yeah well

Him: well what chick

Me: the universe efited me. Edited.

Him: failed you

Me: that too

Him: you're trying for something, but leaving behind things at the same time

Me: aren't we all

Him: not me

Me: well bully for u

Him: I’m honest as i said. I’m true as i said

Me: how would i know?

Him: how dare i expect the same. That's fine. Treat me with low circumstance. I deserve it right.

Me: I’m open and honest

Him: right. If only

Me: and what does it get me? Slut shaming from u

Him: i aint speaking of anything u chose in your life. I would be number one in line to lick you dry.

Me: actions baby

Him: nah. You chose. And left me hanging. So goodbye

Me: stop saying that i chose

Him: you did. You had chances. You chose otherwise. prove me wrong

Me: fine, u obviously don't know me at all. But why would u. Have a nice life.

Him: I know you too well. I wish i knew you less. I wish i could live the dream. But you're playing fool. and i ain't one of them. I'm not your number 2. So fuck off. I'm number 1 or nothing.

His short sentences are actually sent as 8 separate texts which I find mildly annoying. So that's that, I think to myself. I feel strangely bereft. We are over and we never even began. I was condemned for choices I didn’t know I was making. And shamed for living my life in the only way I know in order to keep myself safe.

I couldn't stop thinking about him. I missed our banter. I missed feeling special to someone. Three days later I caved. I decided, who cares if he isn't who he says he is. I enjoy him. I like him. And if he tries to scam me, I'm already on high alert.

Me: so i guess ur not even interested in being friends...Is it just me or didn't we get on like a house on fire?

And we start up again. And it feels really good.


Age-old question: what is it with guys and their dicks? They’re oh-so-eager to whip it out at any opportunity. Super glad to send unsolicited dick pics. Confident that all that come into contact with IT are forever changed (and yet the Do You Like It questions posed in eight different ways). They want their penis to be worshipped and revered yet when I do so, obnoxious cockiness inevitably ensues.

I’m an extremely oral and tactile person. I was in Barnes and Noble today and became aware of how I tend to caress the books. I love the feel of them. The weight. The smoothness of the covers. I was vaguely reminding myself to keep my hands to myself as to not pick up nasty flu germs. But touching, holding, leafing through books sparks the pleasure centers in my brain. Those are books. You can imagine my senses-fest when I’ve got a beautiful, hard cock at the mercy of my hands and mouth. For a plain girl, I can be very shallow. I love a lean, tight body and I’m a sucker for a pretty face. Not model/actor pretty. Edgy, with puppydoggish eyes, a strong Roman nose, and a crooked smile that crinkles the corners of the eyes. Yummy yum yum. I show my appreciation for this lovely package by exploring with my hands, mouth, and tongue. I’m a giver by nature and get pleasure by giving pleasure. A guy’s moans send shivers down my spine. The tightening of thighs against my shoulders, encourage. Trembling and shaking legs spur me on. A rough, gravelly voice murmuring, “I’m close”...or “I’m gonna cum” makes me smile around your cock. As you cum, I try to remember to take-in all the myriad sensations: the groans of pleasure, the hot jets of semen filling my mouth, each spurt causing your penis to pulse against my tongue. I swallow as the pulses slow and then I gently slide my mouth from you, leaving you clean and spent. There really must be something to the mood-boosting properties in ejaculate because I’m pretty peppy afterwards and more than a bit smug.

Good stuff, right? Here’s what invariably happens. All this worship seems to make a guy feel (more than) a bit full of himself. He confuses Penile Worship with Ego Worship. He seems to think his is the only penis that can inspire worship. He believes he is doing me a favor by allowing me to suck his cock. So tiresome. His requests begin to turn into royal commands (Come over now... Come suck this dick... You know you love it...). He turns into a bratty little bitch. I want to tell him Hey, I might not be beautiful or have a hot bod but I am female and thus can't swing a dead cat without hitting a multitude of guys I can blow at any given moment. Next comes the litany of selfish requests (You can blow me in the car! Oh gee, can I?) that elicits the mental raising of one eyebrow as I try to tell you in a nice way to climb down off your high horse if you ever want to be in my mouth again. The smart guys snap back to reality enough to quit getting on my last nerve and we progress happily. I have blow job buddies that have been ongoing for some time. One has been over three years. I see him perhaps once a month. Respectful guy with good manners. I don’t know his last name, what he does for a living or his exact age. I know all I need to know: he has a smokin’ hot body and he likes what I do to him.

So what’s my point here? Guys: CHECK YOURSELF. Yes, I like your cock. Yes, I like to have it in my mouth. Yes, I’m orally gifted. No, it doesn’t mean you can treat me like a hooker. Get a fucking grip. Or that’s literally what you’ll be doing tomorrow night while watching Pornhub...

Steve and I flirted online for about a year before we finally met up. We had logistical issues keeping us apart (distance, work schedules, hosting difficulties) and perhaps a bit of a lackadaisical attitude from us both. He wasn't quite my physical type but he seemed like a cool guy; sexual and sexy without being cocky, and attracted to me in all my hot mess glory...

Generally, if you've been messaging someone for too long without managing to take it to the next level, your window of opportunity will slam shut. I'm not sure why that is. Perhaps too much texting, even with naughty pics, isn't enough to sustain the motivation for a New Meet (or is that New Meat. lol). At least for a hook up. It can be different, I think, if emotions and gut-spilling are involved. That's what Catfish the TV show would have us believe, anyway.

Apparently, Steve was an exception. We touched base maybe every couple of months, flirted, agreed we needed to hook up soon, then nothing until six to eight weeks later (I rarely message first so my timeline was in his hands). Finally, finally! about a year ago we managed to be on the same page. He got a nice hotel room about halfway between us, and we had the hook up to end all hook ups.

I was pleasantly surprised to find him taller and thinner than I thought he'd be with a wiry, tight little body that I adore. And physical type or not, I felt immediate chemistry. I was also attracted to his manner; a bit of a low-talker, rather laconic but with a quiet confidence and a dash of introversion and mystery.

We had a drink, smoked a joint, then I proceeded to show him all the toys in my bag of tricks. Vibrators, butt plugs, lube, condoms... I started with my trusty super-turbo massage wand while he began to explore my body. Soon I had to have him in my mouth and I nestled between his open legs to devour and worship his hard, slender cock. Soon, he grabbed a condom and was fucking me from behind. I don't usually cum without clitoral stimulation but I did with him. He asked if he could fuck my ass and I was so super turned-on, (btw, this is a good way to make me amenable to many things...) I said yes. He had the perfect cock for anal: slim, small head, long but not too long. It barely hurt going in and then it was all naughty, sensual bliss and anal orgasms. At one point he thoughtfully tried to get my vibrator on my clit but the lube we used got everywhere and made it impossible to get a grip on it. Afterwards, in the bathroom to clean up, I went to take a whiz and almost flew off the toilet I was so slippery.

This was one of the few times that sex almost hijacked my brain by tempting me to feel too much for a guy just because he was spectacular in bed. I had to mentally shake myself for a few days afterward. I was hoping Steve and I would manage to hook up semi-regularly, but alas, we more or less repeated our previous pattern: every couple months we flirt, agree to hook up, then don't follow through for various reasons. Until last night.

Next time: candy corn in the ointment... we covered Bullshit Pics in part one. Our next sub-category of the Candy Corn Hookup is: Unfulfilled Promises.

I don't remember his name (or perhaps I've blocked it out), so let's call him Roy. Roy was in town for business and staying at a motel about 45 minutes drive from me. I wasn't overwhelmed by his Ok Cupid photos. While presentable enough, he just wasn't really my type. It was too far to drive for a not-my-type guy. However, he lured me in with his promises of pleasure. “I'm gonna eat that pussy for an hour.....I know how to make u cum....I can go for a long time...” blah blah blah. I can't usually cum from oral and I was intrigued. This guy was older than I normally go (he was 44) but I thought perhaps an older guy might have skills not yet acquired by my usual Cubs.

When I saw him for the first time I realized that his pics had to be at least 7-10 years old. The blonde, athletic guy in the pics bore little resemblance to the chunky, balding, pasty-faced dude before me. And he had that very specific, married I've-let-it-all-go-to-pot look. “Ah, well”, I thought, “who knows, maybe he really does have skills.” EN OH. Or if he did, he certainly didn't trot them out for me.

I started off by sucking his cock and about five minutes into this he says, “You're gonna make me cum. I want to get inside you.” Okayy. Apparently, Extended Foreplay and I are not to ever be in the same place at the same time. He rubbers up, fucks me doggy for about a minute, and cums. He pulls out, gets rid of the condom then sits on the bed and pulls out his phone. I'm still on all fours and I couldn't help blurting out, “That's it??”. “Yeah,” he answers pleasantly, “I have to get up at 5”. Perhaps his lack of manners made me forget mine. “Well, I'm glad I had a contingency plan to go dancing after this”, I mentioned as I got dressed. “Yeah, go dance,” he said absently, like he was talking to a pesky child, “have fun”. Blink. I almost expected him to pat me on the head. The only good thing about Roy was his taste in music. Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon was playing during our encounter. I arrived during 'Breathe” and was out the door before 'Money' had ended.

(coming soon: candy corn hookups part 3: Bad Manners)