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5th April
written by Dame Suzy

After a sweaty night at a hostel north of Melbourne, I check in to a chic hotel in the center of the city, a mere eleven minutes from the Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu gym where I’ll go to class tonight. The academy has classes every day, but it doesn’t hurt that the head instructor is strikingly handsome.

I walk in a minute late in my short gym shorts and supplex tank top with cleavage cut-out. Before I can be embarrassed that class has already started, the handsome man curtly tells me to put on a gi, and when I start to pull the pants over my own, he tells me there’s a dressing room – oops. I distinctly remember men ripping their shirts off in Sydney after class. Not a bad memory that. But I comply – now I’ve had time to be embarrassed – and emerge swathed in stiff white thermal-patterned cloth.

The instructor is equal parts entertainer and teacher, and in a short time I am impressed with his off-color, witty personality and improvisational style. At first I am paired with a guy that he has happily demo-beaten up, and later I am paired with the fierce and pretty Diana, who shows me quickly who would win if we ever actually were at odds – owww. To clarify moves, the instructor has me straddle him, and he me. Hum dee dum – ahem. Breathe… He has a square jaw, high cheekbones, heavy arched eyebrows, a deliciously hairy chest, and pretty eyes. When he rolls out of a hold, he lands gracefully with one long leg outstretched. I let myself enjoy his strength. When he’s on top of me, I can’t move my hips at all. Jut like being locked into a seatbelt turns me on, I don’t mind it. Happy day.

The end of class arrives quickly though it’s been 89 minutes, and *sigh* I suppose this is the last I will see of these nice people and of him…HIM. Mrowrrr.

As I dawdle after class, I am pleasantly surprised that he asks if I’d like to join him for a burger and beer. Um, yeahh. He says he needs a quick shower, and shortly afterwards he trots out from the back of the gym, tattoos and pecs glistening, a mere towel around his waist. How long am I allowed to stare? I try not to. My eyes are joyous, and the rest of me is toasty warm. A student couple stays till he flips off the lights and I think it’s just a hang-out with students kind of thing. But they take off on their own.

Just the two of us, he regales me with stories of his dangerous, decadent, and fascinating life, and I soak them all in. I’ve never met a storyteller like this. Championship titles, wild sex interspersed with funny situations, and permanent memory loss. He’s been a bouncer at brothels and strip clubs, and danced in his skivvies in a chorus line with Thai ladyboys. He’s animated and has the cutest boyish smile. The burger bar is about to close so he suggests we go to another bar. I’d love to. Turns out there’s a comedy show about to re-start so we pop in. Mostly great stuff, some decent. It feels natural and easy to be with him. He feels the same. We are also like school kids, nervous and excited.

He asks about me but after such lavish stories, I go blank and recall just snippets of my life. I wish desperately that we would kiss. The moment finally arrives and the kiss is lovely, gentle, and firm, all in one. Hello.

I know that he’s been up since 2 a.m. the previous night, so it’s unlikely that any nighttime playtime will be anything to remember. But I don’t care. My move from hostel to hotel that afternoon has been timely, and we go up to my room.

He confesses that from the moment I walked into the gym, he wanted to slip inside of me. His curtness in telling me to put on a gi was to cover me up so he didn’t ”get all pervy” on me.  I share my own confessions. As I write this, electricity shoots from my pulsating vulva and I clench my thighs together to quell the sensation. When he tied the belt around my waist in class, he wanted to wrap his arms around me. Melt.

He disrobes and slips into bed as I take a shower. Open, horizontal, colored-glass panels offer a peep show of my shower from the bed.  He takes advantage. He likes what he sees.

After I towel off, I slip my naked body next to his. Sweet bliss. Berlin’s Take My Breath Away begins on Pandora as I write this part of the story. Just imagine that as a soundtrack to our kissing and touching each other. I caress his chest hair, move my fingertips over his shoulders, his face, his back, his soft eyebrows. He puts his arm underneath me and it’s comfortable. He’s very vocal in his praise of my body, how he hasn’t been attracted to someone in years like he is now. Well, fuck if that doesn’t make me wetter. I’m not nearly as vocal as I am enveloped in unbridled sensations and emotions.

It is clear that I am with a man who uses creativity in every part of his life. His years of creative lovemaking and fighting show as he deftly moves me into positions but takes his sweet time, not racing against a clock like others might.

When my back is to him, he feels so good but I want to see him, his beautiful broad-shouldered body thrusting into mine, but I have to content myself with some vibrating moments of pleasure before I can see him again.

He insists on using his fingers to cause my vagina to do something it’s only done a handful of times with my man and my last lover — squirt liberally. At first it’s small amounts and then it’s squirting over us both, reaching my face. Whoa, surprising. He says most if not all women are capable of this feat. Live and learn.

He’s absolutely darling. The words “I love you” stop in my throat, and though he doesn’t admit it or perhaps he doesn’t remember, the words do escape his. And when I admit my thoughts, he says, “but is it the orgasms talking?” And honestly, I don’t differentiate the two situations, because it is when I am pleasured and opened up emotionally like a flower that I experience these feelings of love. I love him, take it or leave it.

The next day we plan our little trip along Great Ocean Road. He returns home to get his car and load it up. I wonder if he could be one of those flakes that offer the moon, but he isn’t. When he texts me, “Do you ride bikes?” I answer, “Not really.” To which he replies, “Good. I’ll bring you one.” To which I reply, “Don’t make me spank you.”

When I get into his car, I notice that the windows are open though it’s 90 degrees outside. Hmm. This does not bode well. He tells me the A/C has been broken for four years. Yikes! I feel a sudden pang of fear that this will end badly and I’ll end up stranding myself somewhere on a beach just as night falls. But the fear makes way to unyielding curiosity, and I just want to be with him as long as I can, so I suck it up.

He seldom wears a shirt, thank the gods. And he is amused and pleased when in the car in the middle of traffic, I change into my bikini top. He pretends that he hasn’t seen that before. But I know that things you’ve seen before can also feel new again, and some things never get old.

It is he that complains about the heat, the sun mercilessly pounding him, but for the most part, the most unfortunate part of it is having to alternate between having windows open and closed so that we can hear each other. He tells me how free he feels with me, that he can talk about anything, that he doesn’t have to hide any part of himself. Apparently, most women can’ t handle how colorful his life has been. Getting caught screwing his friend’s girlfriend in a club bathroom, being the other man with permission from a woman’s husband and then living with them for convenience… I am enthralled. And many of his stories end in a punchline, so I laugh a lot, too.

But in the end, he has been lonely for four years, and his previous girlfriend of three years hated kissing and would only have sex when she was drunk. WTF! Why would anyone have to be drunk to make love to this gorgeous, sensitive, and skilled lover? Jesus. But he does seem to gravitate toward birds with broken wings, so I can only conclude that he simply has bad taste in women, present company excluded of course.

When he takes my hand in his, I’m filled with warmth and happiness. We are instant girlfriend and boyfriend fashioned from a mix of luck and fate.

He dives into waves as I stand waist-deep in the water trying not to freeze. We’re surrounded by hundreds of revelers enjoying the long weekend. Australian leisure in its pure, simple glory. And as boyfriends do, he splashes me and I protest, then I dip in to my neck to get the shock of cold over with.

I am swimming in an ocean of fantasy. I had intended to write a fictional erotic mixed martial arts story, and instead I live one I could never have imagined.

It is becoming difficult to write this now as my eyes get wet and I long to be with him. The sooner I finish the story, the sooner I can post and then relegate it to memory. *Sigh* But the story hasn’t ended yet, as we continue to feed this romance with brief but frequent messages of affirmation and in his case, requests for photos of me, progressively more provocative. As I always do, I repeat to myself, “Enjoy it while it lasts, no matter how brief.” And as I always do, I hope it lasts forever.


  1. Dame Suzy

    This from Steven – I guess in the U.K.? I would have posted your URL but it doesn’t appear to be going anywhere at the moment:

    You remind me of a female version of myself. Sex and love are so tightly linked for me. Very unfashionable for a guy. But I love to write about my adventures, too, although I’m less willing to be identified with them.

    What strikes me most is the energy that drives you. The passion, most people might call it, but I suspect it is something a bit deeper than that word calls up. Something more necessary.

    I like the way you write. It’s good to know you are out there.

  2. Dame Suzy

    Oh, and Steven submitted that on July 26, 2013.

    Thank you, Steven! Very sweet. I have been fortunate to meet guys who have felt very strongly for me in a short period of time. It’s a rare gift I treasure when it comes upon me, even if their memory of me fades much more quickly than mine of them. Yes, I agree that passion can be interpreted as very temporary, heat of the moment, and thus is not sufficient to describe someone like us. It’s good to know you’re out there, too! Hugs!

  3. Dame Suzy

    This comment from NS July 25, 2013:

    Dear Suzy,
    what a beautiful and sensitive experience and story.

    I couldnt help identifying with the martial arts instructor.

    Hope it lasts forever for the two of you- good luck and take care and God Bless you.

    Also, thanks again for sharing and do keep writing and do keep sharing.

  4. Dame Suzy

    Smiley 🙂 Well, I actually have an update to that story which is quite comedic, sad, yet also infuriating. I need to post that soon. Thanks for your lovely comment and I’m sorry it went so long not being answered.

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