Main image
26th October
written by Dame Suzy

I pride myself in wanting to build on sexual relationships, the ideal being a one-night stand becoming a passionate affair or a lasting friendship. But this time I wouldn’t want it.

It began wonderfully. I was spending a weekend with an old friend, and a mere two hours before I was to leave the city, I noticed a classic bad boy. He was diligent in his sandwich-making duties and his head was shaved. His jaw was square and broad, his lower lip juicy. Short, dark swaths of stubble outlined his face, as did a soul patch and bit of mustache. His lower arms as he sped through his work were lined with defined bulging veins, and his loose pants betrayed his individual round butt cheeks to my eyes’ delight.

He didn’t look at me, which afforded me the opportunity of looking at him and sent urges for sex that had already been high for days into overdrive. I wanted him naked. I wanted to take him into an alley somewhere, I wanted him to fuck me.

Because I felt I couldn’t leave without saying anything, I told his colleague to tell him that he was “ridiculously hot” and left before I could see a reaction. But a few moments later, while I was leaving, he appeared by my side and asked me for my number.

The next hour was spent sending texts back and forth and I finally decided to stay an extra day, at least through the evening. He arrived on bike, and was about to leave because he saw me enjoying the company of a huge Italian guy who was trying to get me to blow off the other guy, but I wouldn’t. I had to see him naked of course.

Well, unfortunately, the poor guy spent way too much time telling his dull and low-class story, and revealed that he wasn’t even 10% bad boy. He just looked like one. But I held out, thoughts of nudity propelling me forward, and I endured a painful, too-long walk in platform stilettos and more random talk. I pretended to be interested in his urban drawings, but his talk, lack of education, and his artistic hobby brought back a flood of memories of an ex-boyfriend who was also low-class and always talking about what he could be in the future. It was a turn-off.

Finally we kissed. And his kisses were great. And his body was killer! Even better than I’d imagined. His skin was soft but everything about him was hard as rock. Fantastic ass, muscular back, pecks, calves, arms, lats, ahhhh. Not bad for a sandwich guy. The sex was awkward and forced, and for some unknown reason, I wasn’t wet but he didn’t pause to rewet me. And he didn’t even know olive oil destroys condoms. Annoying. And even though I was coming (thank God), he couldn’t himself and blamed the condom. So sex ended with a fizzle and my bringing him off with my hands and getting shot in the nose and eye with a surprisingly powerful jet of gizz.

He was a sweet guy, but so very, very uncultured. He continued to text me, but two days later, I am over it. I had to see him naked, I did, and that’s the end. I feel like such a guy. And I don’t feel guilty about it. Which makes me even more a man.

Leave a Reply