Of course I end up fucking the strangler dude. It’s been a particularly busy work week and I’m thinking that a few hours of rough sex could be just what I need to relax in time to spend a couple of days off with The Husband.
I’m exhausted, but excited enough to get dressed up in my corset and stockings, black dress and favourite leopard print coat. He picks me up around the corner from my house to take me to where he’s staying – a trailer park. It may be described as a ‘luxury’ holiday village, but it is still a trailer park. It appears to sum up the dirty shabby nature of the whole episode. But not in a totally wrong way.
He’s attentive, funny and flirtatious on the way there, and acts the gentlemen opening the door for me to climb out of the ute. But that’s where it ends. I’m used to a glass of wine and some gentle foreplay to ease me into a submissive state, but straight away he has me bent over the table spanking my arse – really hard. No niceties, just straight into the brutal play as he shoves me to my knees and tries to ram his pathetic cock into my mouth. I’m a bit stunned to be honest. We’ve chatted about different scenarios for a few weeks, but now I’m thinking that I really should have been more proactive in establishing boundaries and expectations for the visit.
I know I can stop at any time and that The Husband will be waiting outside shortly, so I go with it. His under-performing penis is clearly something he works with on a regular basis as he arrogantly mansplains female sexual pleasure to me while vigorously using his fingers to make me squirt all over the bed. He jumps up with a triumphant smile on his face, heading to the kitchenette in just his socks to fetch a can of rancid beer to thrust into my hand.
The mood becomes far more affectionate and chilled as we relax over our beers. And I’m sure that the squirting has given him a much needed boost to his sexual confidence. The afternoon culminates in him cumming over my face. I walk to the car park past the holiday makers looking like a hooker from a 1960s British film, complete with my leopard print coat, disheveled hair, and a dirty grin on my face.
He was enthusiastic about seeing me again but there was something missing for me. And it wasn’t just the lack of a big hard cock. Maybe if he’d have lived nearby I would have invested more time into exploring the potential. But then again, maybe I wouldn’t have. It was just a little cold and flat.
The continual chatting with prospective guys and juggling coffee dates is pretty intense. It’s often hard to work out what does and doesn’t do it for me. And as with anything, it comes in waves of nothing or all at once.
During a particularly lean time and a rare day off to myself, I spontaneously agree to meet a local man for coffee. The alarm bells should have rung when he sent me an unsolicited video of him fucking a fleshlight attached to his kitchen counter. While I’ve seen worse, it did seem an odd thing to send straight away, and I reminded myself that whatever came of it I should never let him cook for me.
The coffee shop was really busy and he’d already ordered his to take away before I arrived. He didn’t offer to buy mine or even wait with me, instead telling me he was heading outside. While he was reasonably good looking, he had a distinct lack of charm or even personality. As we walked along the seafront with our coffee, I felt like I was an unwilling participant in a job interview as he listed off his CV of sexual conquests. He appeared completely disinterested in me, not asking a single question, and at one point even interrupting me to hold a full-on conversation with the volunteers who were out cleaning the beach. I have never felt a more striking example of mutual incompatibility. And yet he was seemingly totally unaware, bizarrely pestering me to come to his flat for days after until he finally took on board my definitive ‘no’.