Can someone explain this - walking past the many holes dug in London streets; dug and left, ignored, neglected, with plastic barriers surrounding- why oh why is it that there is always an empty can of Stella floating in a puddle of water in the bottom?
Somebody sat opposite me on the train this morning. The book he was reading was entitled 'Does anything eat Wasps and 101 other questions'. Maybe I 'll wrestle it off him and scour the pages for answers to that burning question and the 101 others. I hope at least 1 of them covers my favourite -Why are people so fucking stupid?-
Alex is happy tonight, he's worked out and feels good. He's managing his drinking. However, he's looking forward to tomorrow night when 'Alex's drinking club' runs it's second week. Contradictory I know. Last week was carnage. He gained notoriety cos one of the guys couldn't make it into work friday.. ..a subject of conversation in the office. If you can't stand the heat. . .give them something to talk about. This time we will have girls attending from the outset, a novel development, without paying them either!! He just needs to arrange a venue which will be the priority task for tomorrow.
Alex wants some action tomorrow night. . .oh does he ever want action.
blue balls don't even start to cover the issues.
I want to . . . . .
Wednesday 31 October 2007
Wednesday 24 October 2007
Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun
He heads for the rising sun arcing up from the east, the cradle of humanity, affirming another day. He passes the remnants of an all nighter, spilling out onto the riverside, guys and girls swigging from a brandy bottle, watching the miracle of a new day.
He had left the house at 7, emerging into the onset of a cold northern european winter.
He was seeking that exercise nirvana, when physical effort transcends the clamour of your mind, your heart, your soul.
His weapon of choice was the usual one.
He did n't have that deep purple track - 'smoke on the water', but he should have had, to accompany him on his riverside journey, following an ancient trail, mist burning off the water's surface as the sun gains in power.
He passes derelict industrials hinting at a despised past, reflecting his own internal decay like some fast isotope from Oppenheimer's own hand.
His legs finally fall into that magical rhythm where the miles peel away beneath the rubber .
His shadow follows him, a waving absolute in a world of change. Here is the vapour trail of issues that followed that man:
-- They have fallen out of love with one another
-- She has fallen in love with someone else
-- He is in the grip of a cold blooded MLC
Can he renew himself like the planners had with the lonely docks and storehouses all around him?
Can he cure the urban blight of his marriage?
Can he revive the failing edifice he had so painstakingly built up?
Truth is - He did n't want to . . .
He rode back, passing windows, hundreds of them, thinking of the lives being played out behind each one. He wanted to play out his life, not behind a window or in front of a mirror but on a stage.
He had left the house at 7, emerging into the onset of a cold northern european winter.
He was seeking that exercise nirvana, when physical effort transcends the clamour of your mind, your heart, your soul.
His weapon of choice was the usual one.
He did n't have that deep purple track - 'smoke on the water', but he should have had, to accompany him on his riverside journey, following an ancient trail, mist burning off the water's surface as the sun gains in power.
He passes derelict industrials hinting at a despised past, reflecting his own internal decay like some fast isotope from Oppenheimer's own hand.
His legs finally fall into that magical rhythm where the miles peel away beneath the rubber .
His shadow follows him, a waving absolute in a world of change. Here is the vapour trail of issues that followed that man:
-- They have fallen out of love with one another
-- She has fallen in love with someone else
-- He is in the grip of a cold blooded MLC
Can he renew himself like the planners had with the lonely docks and storehouses all around him?
Can he cure the urban blight of his marriage?
Can he revive the failing edifice he had so painstakingly built up?
Truth is - He did n't want to . . .
He rode back, passing windows, hundreds of them, thinking of the lives being played out behind each one. He wanted to play out his life, not behind a window or in front of a mirror but on a stage.
Friday 19 October 2007
When you're in love
It's 10 past 4 saturday morning. tired, can't sleep. Long painful talk last night. It was n't exactly that she had an affair but she 's fallen in love with someone else. I would have preferred an affair somehow. She says the falling in love bit is over now. I don't know who it is and unsure how important this is at the moment. I don't know if it's over or not. I don't know how I feel and I don't know how she feels.
This probably does n't make much sense, that's good cos it does n't make much sense to me either.
This probably does n't make much sense, that's good cos it does n't make much sense to me either.
Thursday 18 October 2007
Lady luck apologizes
When someone says to you: 'You made my night' you know you're doing something right. That someone was K. She's interesting. She works in a bar in the west end, she's a big untidy blonde fraulein, with perfect english. Not my type at all. She made me laugh when I was there, which is unusual for bar staff in London, mostly miserable, busy or both. So I complemented her sense of humour, an unthinkable thought before. While my boring client vanished to the loo, I asked for her mobile. Unthinkable. It was n't possible due to the po-faced landlord, so I told her i' m gonna put in an advert in the lovestruck column of thelondonpaper. Something new, another step.
I discovered craigslist yesterday. Interesting. Registered but not posted yet, looking at the form. There are some very specific requests made there . . . .
23 year old cancelled her date yesterday, citing 'boyfriend not happy' That would be going nowhere then. I still see her training, but that's gonna be all. I like her though.
So, that leaves Jo the kiwi fruit eater. Not sure about that one, she's a bit crazy. Says off-beat things. Kinda like her for that.
Then I literally bumped into J. yesterday, the lady that I had long dances with at a dreary corporate bash a few weeks ago. She's older than me and just wants to have fun.
But things are up on the home front too. Yes: we had sex this morning, maybe a little sleepy and a bit stilted, I think we were both embarrassed it was happening. But she came, which was a relief if nothing else.
Don't judge me, gentle reader, no one likes betrayal, but I have been betrayed also. There is the greater good........
I will keep you posted
I discovered craigslist yesterday. Interesting. Registered but not posted yet, looking at the form. There are some very specific requests made there . . . .
23 year old cancelled her date yesterday, citing 'boyfriend not happy' That would be going nowhere then. I still see her training, but that's gonna be all. I like her though.
So, that leaves Jo the kiwi fruit eater. Not sure about that one, she's a bit crazy. Says off-beat things. Kinda like her for that.
Then I literally bumped into J. yesterday, the lady that I had long dances with at a dreary corporate bash a few weeks ago. She's older than me and just wants to have fun.
But things are up on the home front too. Yes: we had sex this morning, maybe a little sleepy and a bit stilted, I think we were both embarrassed it was happening. But she came, which was a relief if nothing else.
Don't judge me, gentle reader, no one likes betrayal, but I have been betrayed also. There is the greater good........
I will keep you posted
Tuesday 16 October 2007
See the world through troubled eyes
I'm still at home. We're circling each other somewhat warily. No angry words. I went out on the bike last night, favourite way of contemplation, mind soothed by physical exertion.
I think my friends know something's up.Others have been great. There is a lady at work, who has plenty of her own problems, who asks me every day if I am OK. I love her for that. I wish I could name her. She's worth it.
I also speak regularly to a guy called Tony. He is a lovable rogue who has been through the same things as me. He is out on the other side now , several girlfriends, full life again, but carries an underlying sadness, melancholy, that glints beneath the facade.
Is this what the future holds ?
Might I find another person? Out there somewhere?
Or?
I think my friends know something's up.Others have been great. There is a lady at work, who has plenty of her own problems, who asks me every day if I am OK. I love her for that. I wish I could name her. She's worth it.
I also speak regularly to a guy called Tony. He is a lovable rogue who has been through the same things as me. He is out on the other side now , several girlfriends, full life again, but carries an underlying sadness, melancholy, that glints beneath the facade.
Is this what the future holds ?
Might I find another person? Out there somewhere?
Or?
Monday 15 October 2007
Steps
I promised my friend Marcelle Manhattan, that I would blog the little victories of breaking down barriers to talk to people. Smile and talk with another random human being. Make contact.
People - I hate doing this. Going up to a stranger and saying hello. It's difficult. If you met me you would not think 'He's shy' - hate that word but there I've said it, but I have a real problem with talking to people I don't know. But, but, I'm going to beat it. It's part of my plan.
So 2 scenarios then from last week.
1- Thursday night, on the way home, late, surprisingly. Dark haired Girl sits down opposite me on the train. I smile at her. She immediately starts talking. She offers me some baby kiwi fruits. A spark going on, absolutely. She tells me where she works. I will meet her on thursday for a coffee. Happy Alex, simple things , baby steps.
2 - Sunday morning. In the depth of my depression, I walk into the local starbucks, spy a sofa opposite a girl, head down, writing. For no reason, I approach her.
"Anyone sitting here?"
She looks up, pauses,shakes her head. I sit down. Easy one.
"Are you writing a book?" Banal, I know.
"My diary" she replies, looking startled that someone dare speak to her in a starbucks.
"Will you blog it later?"
She says no, no one would be interested, I reply that she may be surprised. I never thought anyone would be interested in my ramblings.
She continues "Besides I'm not sure I want the things I write here to be made public"
I nod and smile " Aaah, that's the beauty of it, try it, it soothes the soul and rests the mind"
No spark going on, no chemistry, but what the hell?
baby steps, Alex, baby steps.
People - I hate doing this. Going up to a stranger and saying hello. It's difficult. If you met me you would not think 'He's shy' - hate that word but there I've said it, but I have a real problem with talking to people I don't know. But, but, I'm going to beat it. It's part of my plan.
So 2 scenarios then from last week.
1- Thursday night, on the way home, late, surprisingly. Dark haired Girl sits down opposite me on the train. I smile at her. She immediately starts talking. She offers me some baby kiwi fruits. A spark going on, absolutely. She tells me where she works. I will meet her on thursday for a coffee. Happy Alex, simple things , baby steps.
2 - Sunday morning. In the depth of my depression, I walk into the local starbucks, spy a sofa opposite a girl, head down, writing. For no reason, I approach her.
"Anyone sitting here?"
She looks up, pauses,shakes her head. I sit down. Easy one.
"Are you writing a book?" Banal, I know.
"My diary" she replies, looking startled that someone dare speak to her in a starbucks.
"Will you blog it later?"
She says no, no one would be interested, I reply that she may be surprised. I never thought anyone would be interested in my ramblings.
She continues "Besides I'm not sure I want the things I write here to be made public"
I nod and smile " Aaah, that's the beauty of it, try it, it soothes the soul and rests the mind"
No spark going on, no chemistry, but what the hell?
baby steps, Alex, baby steps.
You can check out anytime, but you just can't leave...
This is the first day of the rest of my life. Unsure how I feel right now. Free? Hardly.
Having difficulty focusing at work (no, that's a lie, I'm doing nothing today, going through the motions,staring at my screens).
I'm gonna take one day at a time. If you don't know what I'm talking about, refer previous post. I need to get something out of my system. Or I need to change my life. Or both. My wife admitted yesterday that she did n't blame me because she had pushed me away and everything I had accused her of was true. That was honest of her to admit that.
So, am I a free agent? Are discreet affairs in order? I'm sure many people have no such qualms or dilemmas. I'm not like that. Things have to be right and the reasons have to be right in order for me to move outside my current activities.
But the force of my desires are something else. They clamour constantly for urgent attention. I'm changing too slowly, beginning to do different stuff outside the zone.
So the conflict is between dick, heart and head. The license is there, the possibilities are endless.
Having difficulty focusing at work (no, that's a lie, I'm doing nothing today, going through the motions,staring at my screens).
I'm gonna take one day at a time. If you don't know what I'm talking about, refer previous post. I need to get something out of my system. Or I need to change my life. Or both. My wife admitted yesterday that she did n't blame me because she had pushed me away and everything I had accused her of was true. That was honest of her to admit that.
So, am I a free agent? Are discreet affairs in order? I'm sure many people have no such qualms or dilemmas. I'm not like that. Things have to be right and the reasons have to be right in order for me to move outside my current activities.
But the force of my desires are something else. They clamour constantly for urgent attention. I'm changing too slowly, beginning to do different stuff outside the zone.
So the conflict is between dick, heart and head. The license is there, the possibilities are endless.
Sunday 14 October 2007
Find comfort in Pain, Tears and Rain
He walked out of the house early today. He had nothing with him except sunglasses, phone & ipod; no bags, no accumulation of life's belongings, no plan, although he should have had.
He walked through the quiet London streets for miles, constantly pushing , hurrying, half running, exhausting himself.
Finally he came to one of the green open spaces that london is so generously blessed with, found a bench, fell onto it and stared into the distance. Traffic, starting to trickle through the park, by some quirk of the wind, was silently moving across the landscape.
It seemed like he was the only person there. Anyone passing would have seen a tall figure, unshaven, hunched over, grim, forbidding. His thoughts were twirling like the leaves.
His mind went back to last night, the drunken row, the storming out, the extraction of his passport from the safe, the repetition of the arguments once stated so eloquently, now a wounding litany of blame and accusation. He has cried, something rending inside, gulping for breath, a pain in his chest and throat.
By the time he reached the bar, already drunk, the evening could only go one way. Powering through beers, behaving like a real asshole with the singer, swaying and dancing to himself to the sad songs, making an approach to a woman while her husband was outside smoking.... She protected him by pretending to know me when he returned, introducing him and covering him. Lucky escape, because the guy started shouting at someone else soon afterwards. He did n't have a chance to thank her either. He can't remember much more except he went home, alcohol fueling the homing instinct on auto pilot, before crashing on the sofa.
He moved away from his bench, continued to walk aimlessly, turning over the problem in his head. Well into the afternoon, the decision was reached.
He hurried back and tentatively offered:
"The best solution, for the moment, is for us to remain together, for the specific reasons we talked about. But i'm not going to pretend to you about being faithful any more, given your own hypocritical stance"
"What do you mean?" She asked.
"You can continue with your lovers, all you like, but I want us to treat one another civilly, stop the arguments. I want to be free to choose someone if I wish"
She nodded silently.
"So I take it we're agreed?"
"Agreed" she replied. Then more softly "Sorry ....."
"I'm sorry too" He whispered. But inside his heart was picking itself up.
This could be the solution they were both looking for.
Wishful thinking, over simplistic? He did n't know.
I think you know who this man is..
He walked through the quiet London streets for miles, constantly pushing , hurrying, half running, exhausting himself.
Finally he came to one of the green open spaces that london is so generously blessed with, found a bench, fell onto it and stared into the distance. Traffic, starting to trickle through the park, by some quirk of the wind, was silently moving across the landscape.
It seemed like he was the only person there. Anyone passing would have seen a tall figure, unshaven, hunched over, grim, forbidding. His thoughts were twirling like the leaves.
His mind went back to last night, the drunken row, the storming out, the extraction of his passport from the safe, the repetition of the arguments once stated so eloquently, now a wounding litany of blame and accusation. He has cried, something rending inside, gulping for breath, a pain in his chest and throat.
By the time he reached the bar, already drunk, the evening could only go one way. Powering through beers, behaving like a real asshole with the singer, swaying and dancing to himself to the sad songs, making an approach to a woman while her husband was outside smoking.... She protected him by pretending to know me when he returned, introducing him and covering him. Lucky escape, because the guy started shouting at someone else soon afterwards. He did n't have a chance to thank her either. He can't remember much more except he went home, alcohol fueling the homing instinct on auto pilot, before crashing on the sofa.
He moved away from his bench, continued to walk aimlessly, turning over the problem in his head. Well into the afternoon, the decision was reached.
He hurried back and tentatively offered:
"The best solution, for the moment, is for us to remain together, for the specific reasons we talked about. But i'm not going to pretend to you about being faithful any more, given your own hypocritical stance"
"What do you mean?" She asked.
"You can continue with your lovers, all you like, but I want us to treat one another civilly, stop the arguments. I want to be free to choose someone if I wish"
She nodded silently.
"So I take it we're agreed?"
"Agreed" she replied. Then more softly "Sorry ....."
"I'm sorry too" He whispered. But inside his heart was picking itself up.
This could be the solution they were both looking for.
Wishful thinking, over simplistic? He did n't know.
I think you know who this man is..
Thursday 11 October 2007
Thirsty Thursday
Yesterday my mood was as black as the london weather. I'm surrounded by people but I'm so fucking lonely....
Today, lighter and sunnier, mood and weather.
I walk to the place where I do most of my blogging, but I pass a guy outside his office smoking a cigarette. (I have no problem noticing guys, although was once accused of being gay because I am relaxed about saying things like - 'he's a very good looking bloke' or something. People often find this difficult handle, oddly; also; I am very, not, gay).
Anyway, I pass and notice his good dress sense, expensive shirt , good cuffs, expensive suit, elegant shoes, waxed hair in the way that it should be. So what, you say, another face in thousands of city boys. Well, he was in a wheelchair my fine friends.
What problems do I have when I see something like that? I felt humbled and ashamed of myself.
2 good things that are happening:
The young lady, let's call her Mandy, who I have been mildly flirting with, has turned into a proper date next Wednesday. I'm excited, I just have a good feeling about this. I know what she wants, because she told me, a no strings attached relationship. It's what I need right now. 'll blog this one as it unfolds.
I'm out tonight with the boys and girls from work. Carnage, hopefully!
In the Metro, that last bastion of free impartial reporting, this morning, there was an article which reported that studies have proved that lap dancers make more in tips if they are not on the pill, than if they are. Males can sense the heat or oestrous, apparently. Interesting .....
Take care
Alex
Today, lighter and sunnier, mood and weather.
I walk to the place where I do most of my blogging, but I pass a guy outside his office smoking a cigarette. (I have no problem noticing guys, although was once accused of being gay because I am relaxed about saying things like - 'he's a very good looking bloke' or something. People often find this difficult handle, oddly; also; I am very, not, gay).
Anyway, I pass and notice his good dress sense, expensive shirt , good cuffs, expensive suit, elegant shoes, waxed hair in the way that it should be. So what, you say, another face in thousands of city boys. Well, he was in a wheelchair my fine friends.
What problems do I have when I see something like that? I felt humbled and ashamed of myself.
2 good things that are happening:
The young lady, let's call her Mandy, who I have been mildly flirting with, has turned into a proper date next Wednesday. I'm excited, I just have a good feeling about this. I know what she wants, because she told me, a no strings attached relationship. It's what I need right now. 'll blog this one as it unfolds.
I'm out tonight with the boys and girls from work. Carnage, hopefully!
In the Metro, that last bastion of free impartial reporting, this morning, there was an article which reported that studies have proved that lap dancers make more in tips if they are not on the pill, than if they are. Males can sense the heat or oestrous, apparently. Interesting .....
Take care
Alex
Tuesday 9 October 2007
Alex Wandered into Manhattan
I wandered over to the address she had handed to me at our brief lunchtime meet. We had been emailing for a while, and by the happy coincidence of a stateside business trip, we had previously decided we could exchange something more substantial than email.
At lunch, it had seemed right, had felt right. We had n’t touched, apart from double air kisses, the European way, while we had sized each other up. But I had been immediately relaxed in her company and loved the way she had looked and moved, smoothing back her dark shining hair, throwing her head back in unaffected laughter.
I hoped with all my heart that she felt the same way about me.
My nerves did n’t prevent me from playing the English boy. The ironic bemusement; the wonder that being in Manhattan engenders in all non-locals; the gentle sarcasm.
I rang the bell and waited, heart tripping. She had already informed me that there would no one at home apart from her and the cats. The door opened and a dim light spilled out. She was wearing a short dark dress which seemed to shine in the silhouetted light.
I became sure I was in the right place at the right time. . . . .
She remained motionless, then beckoned with an outstretched finger, her face flushed and smiling in welcome. The memory of the dress tricked in the back of my mind …..of course; the PVC number she had abused so readily. It hugged around her body, setting it off to perfection, not too tight but holding her breasts together around the depths of her shadowing, maddening cleavage. I closed the door behind me.
She looks at me, smiling “You are a naughty, naughty boy, Alex.” We stand in her hallway before moving through to her kitchen. I stare at her, not trusting myself to speak. “Come on, English boy, do something” she demands.
I move past her to the opened bottle of wine on the top, pour a mouthful into the empty of the two glasses. Replacing the glass, I finally move, holding her and bending to kiss her blood red mouth. As our lips meet I release the mouthful in my mouth, into hers. She chokes slightly, swallows and breaks away, green eyes flashing.
“Alex, you swine, what do you think you’re doing?” I wait for a slap, but this woman is in control, she grabs my shirt and pushes me down to my knees, crushing my face to her cleavage, holding me, suffocating me into her unyielding vinyl frontage. I gradually ease away and pull her down to me. We both kneel together, knees touching, faces inches apart. I reach to hold her face, with both hands and kiss her deeply, wetly. Time stands still.
“For fuck's sake Alex”, she breaks away, “you sure know how to make a girl comfortable, don’t you?” There’s no anger in her voice, only a detached amusement, a smile flickering beneath the flush. She is so cool, so much in control and so obviously enjoying, savoring, each moment. I am trembling.
She stands up and beckons again. This time, finally, I am ready for her. As she moves into her bedroom, the inner sanctum of her desires, I reach for her and pull her down on top of me, on top of her bed. She draws her leg between mine gently nuzzling her knee up to my crotch. I groan, the pressure of my confined cock building.
I don’t know how long we writhed together on the top of her bed. At some point she had ripped my shirt off while I had pulled down the straps and bodice of her dress, her beautiful breasts springing clear, hard nipples pointing up and out, seeking the heat of my mouth. She had cum, just my leg between hers, my lips gently sucking her breasts, crying out and arching her back , sweat breaking out in her hairline and chest.
I was dizzy with blood pumping into my crotch; she was looking into my eyes. “Go on, Alex, do what you want to, just come back, that’s all”
I nodded and limped into her adjoining bathroom, gasping as I survey her empty wash basket and her clothes strewn on the floor. I fall among them, reveling in her smell.
“Here” her low voice floats through. I am struggling to pull off my jeans and pants, a beautiful pain building in my crotch.
She is standing in the doorway, naked, her left hand working at her pussy, her right hand throwing me a wispy scrap of material. It floats down to cover my face. I inhale the rich, smoky, pungent smell of her cunt as my cock jerks and my hands travel downwards. But she’s kneeling on my legs, one hand working furiously at herself, a deep flush covering her upper body, breasts swinging freely, as she reaches for the head of my cock starting to pump me with her hand, perfect, exquisite pressure and reach. Her body goes rigid and she cries out my name.
Panting, she stops working me and holds my head, looking at me, looking at each other. She moves now between my legs, croons “cum for me, baby, cum for me”. We maintain eye contact as she repeats those beautiful motions, her head lower now, mouth opening, sweat dripping from her face, my orgasm building, but I’m still now, tension sucking out of my body, my cock at the centre of a world of absolute sensation.
She whispers again “cum, baby”. It is rising, seemingly starting from a point deep inside the earth’s crust, channeling through my shoulder blades, shooting down my spine, rising up between my legs, through into my balls, a wave of fluid moving unstoppably towards it’s conclusion.
I try to call her name, but can’t, an agonized rictus preventing speech. She knows, the tightening of my balls, the reflexive twitch. She bends lower, breasts swinging out and up as the first jet of cum shoots up to hit the underside of her jaw. She catches the second spurt in her mouth before bending further to imprison the head of my penis between her bared teeth. I hear screams as I jet a further 3 or 4 spurts into the warmth and wetness of her mouth. She releases me and sucks me deeply into her mouth, taking away all my pain. I realize the screams are coming from my own throat.
Slowly I relax as she topples over and comes to rest beside me on her bathroom floor, amid the contents of her washing basket. Her chin and jaw is sticky with my cum. What she did with the rest I did n’t see…
She turns to me, still smiling, entwining her hands to both of mine.
“Will you fuck me now ?" she says.
At lunch, it had seemed right, had felt right. We had n’t touched, apart from double air kisses, the European way, while we had sized each other up. But I had been immediately relaxed in her company and loved the way she had looked and moved, smoothing back her dark shining hair, throwing her head back in unaffected laughter.
I hoped with all my heart that she felt the same way about me.
My nerves did n’t prevent me from playing the English boy. The ironic bemusement; the wonder that being in Manhattan engenders in all non-locals; the gentle sarcasm.
I rang the bell and waited, heart tripping. She had already informed me that there would no one at home apart from her and the cats. The door opened and a dim light spilled out. She was wearing a short dark dress which seemed to shine in the silhouetted light.
I became sure I was in the right place at the right time. . . . .
She remained motionless, then beckoned with an outstretched finger, her face flushed and smiling in welcome. The memory of the dress tricked in the back of my mind …..of course; the PVC number she had abused so readily. It hugged around her body, setting it off to perfection, not too tight but holding her breasts together around the depths of her shadowing, maddening cleavage. I closed the door behind me.
She looks at me, smiling “You are a naughty, naughty boy, Alex.” We stand in her hallway before moving through to her kitchen. I stare at her, not trusting myself to speak. “Come on, English boy, do something” she demands.
I move past her to the opened bottle of wine on the top, pour a mouthful into the empty of the two glasses. Replacing the glass, I finally move, holding her and bending to kiss her blood red mouth. As our lips meet I release the mouthful in my mouth, into hers. She chokes slightly, swallows and breaks away, green eyes flashing.
“Alex, you swine, what do you think you’re doing?” I wait for a slap, but this woman is in control, she grabs my shirt and pushes me down to my knees, crushing my face to her cleavage, holding me, suffocating me into her unyielding vinyl frontage. I gradually ease away and pull her down to me. We both kneel together, knees touching, faces inches apart. I reach to hold her face, with both hands and kiss her deeply, wetly. Time stands still.
“For fuck's sake Alex”, she breaks away, “you sure know how to make a girl comfortable, don’t you?” There’s no anger in her voice, only a detached amusement, a smile flickering beneath the flush. She is so cool, so much in control and so obviously enjoying, savoring, each moment. I am trembling.
She stands up and beckons again. This time, finally, I am ready for her. As she moves into her bedroom, the inner sanctum of her desires, I reach for her and pull her down on top of me, on top of her bed. She draws her leg between mine gently nuzzling her knee up to my crotch. I groan, the pressure of my confined cock building.
I don’t know how long we writhed together on the top of her bed. At some point she had ripped my shirt off while I had pulled down the straps and bodice of her dress, her beautiful breasts springing clear, hard nipples pointing up and out, seeking the heat of my mouth. She had cum, just my leg between hers, my lips gently sucking her breasts, crying out and arching her back , sweat breaking out in her hairline and chest.
I was dizzy with blood pumping into my crotch; she was looking into my eyes. “Go on, Alex, do what you want to, just come back, that’s all”
I nodded and limped into her adjoining bathroom, gasping as I survey her empty wash basket and her clothes strewn on the floor. I fall among them, reveling in her smell.
“Here” her low voice floats through. I am struggling to pull off my jeans and pants, a beautiful pain building in my crotch.
She is standing in the doorway, naked, her left hand working at her pussy, her right hand throwing me a wispy scrap of material. It floats down to cover my face. I inhale the rich, smoky, pungent smell of her cunt as my cock jerks and my hands travel downwards. But she’s kneeling on my legs, one hand working furiously at herself, a deep flush covering her upper body, breasts swinging freely, as she reaches for the head of my cock starting to pump me with her hand, perfect, exquisite pressure and reach. Her body goes rigid and she cries out my name.
Panting, she stops working me and holds my head, looking at me, looking at each other. She moves now between my legs, croons “cum for me, baby, cum for me”. We maintain eye contact as she repeats those beautiful motions, her head lower now, mouth opening, sweat dripping from her face, my orgasm building, but I’m still now, tension sucking out of my body, my cock at the centre of a world of absolute sensation.
She whispers again “cum, baby”. It is rising, seemingly starting from a point deep inside the earth’s crust, channeling through my shoulder blades, shooting down my spine, rising up between my legs, through into my balls, a wave of fluid moving unstoppably towards it’s conclusion.
I try to call her name, but can’t, an agonized rictus preventing speech. She knows, the tightening of my balls, the reflexive twitch. She bends lower, breasts swinging out and up as the first jet of cum shoots up to hit the underside of her jaw. She catches the second spurt in her mouth before bending further to imprison the head of my penis between her bared teeth. I hear screams as I jet a further 3 or 4 spurts into the warmth and wetness of her mouth. She releases me and sucks me deeply into her mouth, taking away all my pain. I realize the screams are coming from my own throat.
Slowly I relax as she topples over and comes to rest beside me on her bathroom floor, amid the contents of her washing basket. Her chin and jaw is sticky with my cum. What she did with the rest I did n’t see…
She turns to me, still smiling, entwining her hands to both of mine.
“Will you fuck me now ?" she says.
Monday 8 October 2007
Train Wreck
Watching the scenery slide by, heading back to London - the return journey from a tedious meeting with a major client. Out of town clients are a major pain in the ass - they have to be loved specially.
"So glad you came down to see us" they barbed, intimating the length of time since the last visit. 'Yeah yeah' I think, 'fucking losers, but thanks for your contribution to my monthly bonus while I sit in my ivory tower like some demented captive'
Was I sitting comfortably? No, the virus was biting, hard. My testicles and lower groin were swollen, hot and uncomfortable. The first class compartment where I was sitting was empty. A daily rag was spread on the table in front of me, my left hand had slipped irresistibly down to my crotch, the rational part of my mind subsuming to the desire to release.
My cock stiffening uncomfortably now, I gently rubbed it's head through my trousers and jocky's.. there was only one way to go from here...
The train ground to a stop at a provincial town as I hurriedly removed my hand, so lately massaging my crotch and shifted gingerly in my seat.
I hear the door slam behind me as the train restarted it's journey. A moment later the carriage door slid open and a slim dark haired woman in a business suit pushed in towing a wheeled case, which was dumped adjacent to my seat. She moved forward 3 rows to sit in front of me.
I speculated my approach - 'hello, welcome to the first class wanking compartment,I 've started , would you care to join?
She looks at me as the tip of her tongue touches the middle of her lips.
'hmmm' she breathes, 'it's just what a girl like me needs'
She wriggles her skirt over her hips and brings her finger down to the top of the strip of lace which was masquerading as her panties....
I snapped from my reverie and found it was my hand that was moving south. She had not moved but her head was lolling slumberfully and I heard the whisper of a snore reach my ears.
Must have been a good lunch...
Fighting the impulse and failing miserably, my right hand moved to her case and unzipping the top compartment revealed what she had hurriedly placed inside before her meeting; her tightly rolled pants.
Trembling now, I extract them, re zip the case and spread them out on my lap below the table.
They are black and lacy with a heavy white discharge on the piece where her pussy had pressed into. Below the white stain was a small area of dark red.
Caught short with an early period on a business trip, with Mr Panty-fetish to find them.
How wrong.....but how right....
I slipped out of my seat and locked myself into the adjoining lavatory, heart pounding, palms sweating. I released my swollen member before encasing it in her soiled undies. This was not going to take long. I unloaded my sperm into the crotch of her knickers in several hard, hurried spurts, groaning silently, the pain subsiding almost immediately. I gathered them up in my hand, adjusted myself and returned to my seat.
To my horror, the case had disappeared. Panty-miss had woken and claimed her bag while I was cumming into her pants next door. Craning my head , I noticed she has opened the side zip to remove some papers , the top zip remaining closed.
I waited. We were crawling through suburbia now, heartbeat returning to normal, her pants now squelching with my cum, held in my left hand.
As the train slowed to it's final destination, she stood and made for the door. I waited then got up and stood behind her, my left hand balled into a fist. As she reached to open the door, I spoke,
"Excuse me, I think these are yours"
As she turned, I reached and offered her the soiled evidence. She instinctively reached out and looked down, horrified as she realised the scenario that had played out as she felt the material wet through her fingers. Her mouth opened.
"You, you, you, bloody wanker! how dare you"
I smiled, agreed and moved past her into the cocooning rush hour crowd.
I did n't look back.
"So glad you came down to see us" they barbed, intimating the length of time since the last visit. 'Yeah yeah' I think, 'fucking losers, but thanks for your contribution to my monthly bonus while I sit in my ivory tower like some demented captive'
Was I sitting comfortably? No, the virus was biting, hard. My testicles and lower groin were swollen, hot and uncomfortable. The first class compartment where I was sitting was empty. A daily rag was spread on the table in front of me, my left hand had slipped irresistibly down to my crotch, the rational part of my mind subsuming to the desire to release.
My cock stiffening uncomfortably now, I gently rubbed it's head through my trousers and jocky's.. there was only one way to go from here...
The train ground to a stop at a provincial town as I hurriedly removed my hand, so lately massaging my crotch and shifted gingerly in my seat.
I hear the door slam behind me as the train restarted it's journey. A moment later the carriage door slid open and a slim dark haired woman in a business suit pushed in towing a wheeled case, which was dumped adjacent to my seat. She moved forward 3 rows to sit in front of me.
I speculated my approach - 'hello, welcome to the first class wanking compartment,I 've started , would you care to join?
She looks at me as the tip of her tongue touches the middle of her lips.
'hmmm' she breathes, 'it's just what a girl like me needs'
She wriggles her skirt over her hips and brings her finger down to the top of the strip of lace which was masquerading as her panties....
I snapped from my reverie and found it was my hand that was moving south. She had not moved but her head was lolling slumberfully and I heard the whisper of a snore reach my ears.
Must have been a good lunch...
Fighting the impulse and failing miserably, my right hand moved to her case and unzipping the top compartment revealed what she had hurriedly placed inside before her meeting; her tightly rolled pants.
Trembling now, I extract them, re zip the case and spread them out on my lap below the table.
They are black and lacy with a heavy white discharge on the piece where her pussy had pressed into. Below the white stain was a small area of dark red.
Caught short with an early period on a business trip, with Mr Panty-fetish to find them.
How wrong.....but how right....
I slipped out of my seat and locked myself into the adjoining lavatory, heart pounding, palms sweating. I released my swollen member before encasing it in her soiled undies. This was not going to take long. I unloaded my sperm into the crotch of her knickers in several hard, hurried spurts, groaning silently, the pain subsiding almost immediately. I gathered them up in my hand, adjusted myself and returned to my seat.
To my horror, the case had disappeared. Panty-miss had woken and claimed her bag while I was cumming into her pants next door. Craning my head , I noticed she has opened the side zip to remove some papers , the top zip remaining closed.
I waited. We were crawling through suburbia now, heartbeat returning to normal, her pants now squelching with my cum, held in my left hand.
As the train slowed to it's final destination, she stood and made for the door. I waited then got up and stood behind her, my left hand balled into a fist. As she reached to open the door, I spoke,
"Excuse me, I think these are yours"
As she turned, I reached and offered her the soiled evidence. She instinctively reached out and looked down, horrified as she realised the scenario that had played out as she felt the material wet through her fingers. Her mouth opened.
"You, you, you, bloody wanker! how dare you"
I smiled, agreed and moved past her into the cocooning rush hour crowd.
I did n't look back.
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