New kid in town

I was sitting astride his lap and we'd just started to kiss. My hand ran along the back of his neck, against the short buzz of hair at the nape, and then along the smooth skin of his cheek. He turned and nuzzled on my hand, kissing it then taking it to his mouth.

I've always had a penchant for having my hand kissed as way of greeting. Sadly though it's seldom that men here are gentlemanly enough for that. A woman's hands are underrated erogenous zones, from the underside of the wrist to the crevices between each finger where they meet the palm.

So when I felt his velvety tongue slowly slide up to that spot between my index and middle finger, I knew it was going to be a good night.

I'd spotted Trent talking to another woman at the back of the club. All 6 feet tall and broad-shouldered, just the way I like them. She seemed more interested in their conversation than he did, so I took it as a sign to start making eye contact.

Ten minutes later, he walked past me quite deliberately and stood at the far end of the dancefloor by himself. He was surprised I still recognised him from the week before, as our initial meeting had been rather a brief one. One drink and casual banter later, I left for the loo and returned to find the same woman desperately trying to engage him once again. This time by leaning into him and whispering in his ear while swaying suggestively.

I turned away and resumed talking to my colleague, because competing for a man's attention is futile at best, not to mention tiring and cheap, and I just don't like endorsing the male ego that much. Especially ones I don't know very well.

Fifteen minutes later, he returned, informed me he was leaving and asked if I'd like a ride home.

Done deal.

It's almost as if he can read my mind in bed, because he knew how to push all my buttons, just the way I like them pushed. He gives head in swirling, languid strokes, with just enough pressure, and knew to slip a finger in at just the right moment. So much so that I definately need to see him again.

And try as I might, I can't seem to recall the sequence of the various positions we used. I do remember him politely asking if I'd like it from the back and answering 'yes, please', and also that he actually managed to surprise me by pulling one leg up to his chest while I lay on my side, the other leg between his as he knelt above me.

Killer angle.

Let's hope that skanky other bitch doesn't get to him before I do next week... There's so many possibilities I'd like to explore, and this time I'd really like to show him what other things I'm capable of.

Oh dear...

I think I've fallen in lust.

Nothing is sacred

Men.

They have no integrity whatsoever.

I knew there had to be a reason Chris had started calling again, and of course it's because he wants to get it on.

Apparently the new girl has yet to shave him, and he's still got an anal fetish which she obviously won't indulge. Well, if he wants to tie me up this time, I'll have to make him put that money where his mouth is.

In the meantime, I've got a potential fella for the weekends but that remains to be seen. I'll find out soon enough and let you know, but if he's a no-show then I'll just have to find me a new toy. Sigh..

I think I'll text Chris tomorrow and ask if he'd like to make good on that offer.... wish me luck.

Start. stop. start again.

Back from my short sabbatical.

Spiritual self-reflection, you could call it. Even heathens like me need some from time to time.

No, I haven't decided to join the convent yet. Somehow I doubt that disappoints you...

Anyway.

It must have been because Chris had suddenly called up out of the blue, asking how I was, that I had that strange, erotic dream the other night. Me and another girl had been hired to please a rather commanding, middle-aged man and I was administering whipped cream onto her nipples, then mine, for him to lick off. The dream ended just as I'd sprayed some onto my bare pubic region in the shape of a heart while straddling his chest.

Any takers for some original (and non-obvious) dream interpretation?

The civil conversation between Chris and me lasted about five minutes before we ran out of things to say.

"So how's things with the new girl?"

"Fine. Yourself, any new guys?"

"Nah.. no new blood on my end."

"No-one's been messing your bedsheets then?"

"That was naughty... not since you, I'm afraid."

And that was that. It's always been nothing but small talk between us, and that's never going to change. I did want to ask if his girlfriend ever shaved him, but nice girls like her probably don't do such things. And besides, he probably would have mentioned I was right about regrowth being a bitch.

Goddamn though, he's still the best looker I've done yet. Too bad about the sedate personality.

Oh well. Fair's fair right?

All work and no play

I really hate celibacy.

Well, I haven't had the disclipline to seriously look for someone new to bring home. The girl who's been flirting with me has a very possessive girlfriend whom she's terrified will find out about me, so that avenue shall remain unexplored.

It's also a little tough when the majority of my girlfriends are happily attached at the hip to their respective men and insist on going to the same places we always go to, with said boyfriends in tow. So what's a single girl to do?

Thing is, I'm starting to get withdrawal from my choice of high: a warm male body. Preferably with some form of hard muscle and skin that smells good enough to taste..

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The fact that I've not got some in a while is making me antsy, and I swear i'm subconsciously giving off some killer pheromones. It's as if the sexuality muscle I've not been flexing is finding its way out in the most mundane of everyday actions.

I feel as if my body is trying to shake off some of this excess latent energy that's not being put to use. And it's not a good thing when I have to maintain a professional image in an office full of men who haven't a clue what I'm like outside the corporate box.

Thank god.

Plus these days Josh annoys me more than anything else, with his attempts at getting my attention and making me laugh. I think he felt my intangible withdrawal and wondered what happened, and now he's trying his darndest to get it back by overcompensating.

Anyway, the weekend's approaching and I'm in need of some new places to go which are not Velvet or Attica. Point me in the direction of where I can find my next live writing subject on Saturday night and I'm there. Then we can all be happy on Sunday...