sex, etc.

18th November
written by Dame Suzy

I realized I had never written about the aftermath of my brief but intense Australian relationship from 2013.

My Aussie master and I kept in touch, and for the first month it seemed he was still into me. Then he posted “I think I’m in love” on his public Facebook page and I naturally assumed it was me, since he hadn’t been in love/in a relationship in four years. I was all warm and gushy inside since I had fallen for him during our time together – albeit naively, prematurely, and temporarily.

Alas, I was wrong. He had met someone on an online dating site, started dating her right before he met me, and possibly had a date with her the night before I left.

During the time his relationship with this other woman was supposedly on overdrive, he was still talking about seeing me.

Him: Good thing is she’ll prob let me shag you when I come over… She’s like that – understanding.

After some painful (to me) small talk about how they met, etc.

Me: If you don’t hear from me for a while, you’ll understand. That you could fall in love with someone else so quickly is a pretty swift punch in my gut. I of course want you to be happy! I just need some time to recover. Until then…

Him: Oke dokee

Damn, ouch. Well, this is a man who’s never been married and is pushing 45 after all. So knowing how to be nice to women is not one of his fortes.

Anyway, I got over it more quickly that I thought I would and two months later:

Him: How you doing you sexy beast ?? I’m in the USA ( Cali ) for 3 weeks in sept/ oct if you’re around…

After I didn’t respond for a few days out of respect for the budding relationship:

Him: No love?

I didn’t reply until after his trip was over, over two months later.

Me: Hope your trip to the States was great and I wish you and your new family all the best. With love

Him: Wow! Long time no hear. How you been? …(small talk)…Let me know if you’re in town again be good to catch up.

He friend-requested me, I said yes, and all hell broke loose.

Suddenly, his “understanding” fiancée, started looking through all our steamy messages and naughty pictures (all mine since he’s a selfish bastard) and wrote me via his Facebook profile.

Idiot: Hi, This is Idiot. (His) Fiance. So nice to read all stuff here and then. Just funny reading your sex talks and him making you a sex object. and u offering yourself as a mistress. It amazes me to encounter a matured woman like you with family and kids but still looking around and fucking other guys..disgusting! isn’t it. Who would say no to FREE meat..just saying..

Me: It was I who didn’t respond to his Cali request knowing he had a potentially meaningful relationship in the works. And I also knew being understanding works well in theory but shouldn’t often be tested, especially so early. Aside from that, relax, you shouldn’t feel threatened by someone who lives thousands of miles away, and like I wrote him, I wish all of you well, and chalk your rude words up as a healthy amount – however unwarranted – of jealousy, ignorant of what his and my relationship was. Note the use of the past tense.

Idiot: He told me about you fucking around when on holidays overseas. I am not threatened. I am scared for std. Peace of advice though. You are married with kids. I’m not ignorant of what happened to u guys because he told me about you. You flicked a guy in Sydney before him.

Idiot: Fucked. Oh dear! Men are men u know that.u are more experienced.

First of, check your damn messages before you send insults, lady. Actually, get someone who speaks English to write them. You sound like you just fell off the boat, landed in swamp goo, got your brain fluids sucked out by leeches, and then got a yeast infection. (I had fun writing that. Hyperbole? Nah.)

Also, I wanted to add that I actually hadn’t flicked anyone in Sydney but that had had every right to. I believe she wrote more insulting crap via his email account but am not going to bother looking for them.

I saw no point in possibly breaking them up by asking her how she expects a guy who’s never been monogamous and has never been married to suddenly become that for the rest of their lives? Understanding, my ass. But if someone’s going to mess up their relationship, it would be either of them, not me. I’m too much of an adult – geez, when did that happen?

Interestingly, I have no interest in seeing what the outcome of all that was. It’s been two years. Did they get hitched after all? I kind of like being in the dark about it; it remains a mystery. I think of him from time to time, fondly. It would have been pretty awesome to have a private BJJ lesson turn into something much less (or more?) dangerous. And though I have no plans to return to Australia – been there, done that, don’t feel at one with their culture – who’s to say?

14th January
written by Dame Suzy

It took Style Network to alert me to a new service being offered in New York, Los Angeles, and Miami. They’re debuting a show called Built which features attractive, built handymen doing work in your home. I had thought of this a few years ago after being fortunate enough to have a handsome plumber do some work for me. Who wouldn’t $$ pay extra for that? How much entertainment and eye candy do you think the average woman sees in a week? Not much.

I’m so glad to see my ideas come to fruition. Another idea that came about after I put a condom on my toe; I had just ordered a hundred condoms for a business school class presentation and was playing with a few. When I held the latex tight, I felt much less than when the latex was free to move around. Only a year or so later, which means it had been someone else’s idea long before mine – I saw the condom in the store – it was tighter at the base and looser and less restrictive at the top.

I DO wonder, of course, how often Hott and Handy handymen get propositioned by customers for some extra TLC. *Sigh* Probably not as often as I’d like to pretend for fantasy purposes. 🙂

Since I don’t live in any of those cities, I’ll have to just live with my fantasies, but they’ll be aided and abetted by the visual stimulation of that new show. The (albeit lame and uninformative) website for the company is here at

12th September
written by Dame Suzy

I happened upon talk of this while looking for sex towels or cloths. The idea of the glands sounded familiar but the name certainly had escaped my memory. According to Wikipedia, Skene’s glands could secrete during ejaculation and be related to the G-spot orgasm in addition to providing additional lubrication. Handy glands they are, and apparently they are not present in all women. Ah, the mysteries of the human anatomy.

Incidentally, sex towels – kind of – exist! Or rather, sex blankets. Satin on one side, crinkly plastic in the middle and velveteen on the other – just look up Fascinator Throe – they command from $60-100 a pop.

I would prefer there to be sex cloths available that are about 24″x 24″, easily washable, stain-resistant, and cuddly-soft. I may just have to make that happen. It’s not a normal size to find in a luxurious material. Yeah, you can get those disposable hospital blue/white papers in about that size but a clinical sex/bed-wetting experience is not what I’m going for.

9th August
written by Dame Suzy

I met Jeff on the set of a print shoot. Like many over-25 models of both sexes, he was married. But it didn’t matter as I was just happy there was an attractive guy to flirt/chat with. At forty or so, he was one of those ruggedly handsome guys but with poise and elegance. Very nice.

When I saw him stretch and rub the back of his neck, the generous and opportunistic ME offered her massage services which he accepted with a look that said, “I don’t want to bother you but damn, that would be great.”

A barely-audible moan of tension release later and I invited him – and his wife – for a spa session the next week. His wife was tall, statuesque, and blond, the opposite of me. She also looked like she needed to get laid, but I didn’t mention that absurd detail. I mean, how could she look that way when she had this tempting man sleeping next to her every night?

I started massaging her temples first. And at first she was happy, but as Jeff and I were having a lively conversation, I realized that the voices, especially his, seemed to annoy her. After I was done she admitted that having a spa day meant not having him around. “And,” she said with a coquettish smirk in his direction, “I prefer a man’s touch, but not yours, honey. You’re too rough.”

That left Jeff and me in a house alone for our weekly spa sessions.

We flirted more, enjoyed each other’s company more, and I started working my way from his face to his neck and shoulders. I sat behind him and used the palm of my hand to work his smooth, hard, pronounced pecs and the added bonus of hard delicious nipple. I smelled his sweet faint manly smell with the stronger scent of fabric softener. And I felt the heaving of his chest as I pressed my breasts against his back to get my palms deep into his muscle.

We lasted all of three weeks before things got interesting.


I crane over to work on his face. He notices me stretch my back. “You can straddle me if that’s more comfortable,” he offers. Don’t mind if I do. I don’t tell him that I’m not wearing panties and the way we are sitting my pussy is just out of sight, which is the only way this could be quasi-legitimate. *Ahem* Wow, what a friend he is to me – arousing me by letting me touch and smell him, and what a great friend I am, giving him these luxurious hour-long massages in return.

And it could stop here, and I would be okay with that, but I know there is a high probability that things will get out of control and I am thrilled at the prospect.

And it happens quickly. Because when I seat myself astraddle, he has to have somewhere to put his hands, so they naturally rest at the tops of my thighs. And then his hands begin to move slowly, squeezing once in a while, and his supple lips part slightly and my face is so close to his and my fingers move over his cheekbones and his hands slide up the insides of my thighs… and his until-then closed eyes pop open when his fingers reach wetness, and he puts his hands under my hips and carries me, still astraddle, to the couch, where he sets me down, pulls my skirt out of the way and his mouth closes around my glistening wet vulva. His talented tongue drives me crazy – sensitive! – and I want to touch him so badly that it’s painful and I just have to wait patiently till he has his fill of making me squeal and moan with his tongue and fingers. Then when he finally pulls away, I yank his snug shirt over his head and am like Ahhhhh. He has downy dark hair all over his chest. His nipples are gorgeous and I attack them right away as he continues to fuck me with his fingers.

Only then do our lips meet for the first time. Oh, sweet Jesus. Mmmmm. And he pushes me back down on the couch with the weight of his incredible body and with his uncomfortably constricted man parts lodged in my throbbing female ones.

And then as suddenly as it has started, he pulls his face away and then his body, and says, “Shall we continue next week?”

“Oh, you’re so cruel!” I sputter, my body silently screaming in frustration.

He smiles as he stands up and adjusts himself. “It’s the waiting that’s makes it so great. You know how much it hurts to have you touch me and hear your voice and have to hold back? But this proves that it’s worth the wait.”

He gives me an infuriating kiss on the forehead and is out the door in five seconds, flashing a cocky smile.


“I’ll punish him next time,” I think. And I ten-percent believe it.

14th July
written by Dame Suzy

I haven’t planned it. I don’t even wish it until someone does the easy part for me and my mind floods with titillating possibilities.

I’ve had a typical screen crush on Spanish series El Barco’s Gamboa, played by Colombian actor Juan Pablo Shuk, seeing him in the weekly over-the-top drama series, his persona easily conquering the small screen. The small mouth surrounded by juicy lips, the eye wrinkles that say he’s seen and done much and many, thick eyebrows, and a heart-shaped yet still masculine face punctuated by dark stubble. He is approaching fifty but doesn’t look it, his body replete with muscles not defined like a fitness model’s but instead thick and hard and covered in smooth bronzed skin.

His character is dangerous and has gotten more so by the week until he has become an utter f-ing asshole, one I am frustrated that no one is trying to stab or maim after he among other things threatens the lives of his much younger lover’s little sister and father.

It is at this point that I stumble upon the remnants of an after-awards party at a popular little cocktail bar on Calle Atocha in my beloved Madrid. Antena 3 (the Spanish NBC) actors file out in varying degrees of inebriation, the drunker ones too loud or completely silent and acting true to or opposite their T.V. characters. I turn the corner on my way to stop by my apartment to change from dinner clothes into a stunner dress, and what I do find is someone punching out a guy a bit shorter but bigger than him. The shorter, bigger guy seems unwilling to fight back though it’s clear he would make mincemeat out of the other guy, and the puncher sees me and then backs off, then turns to get out of there quickly. The guy on the ground is Gamboa.

I offer my nearby apartment for him to clean up his blood-lined mouth, and in a bit of a daze, he lets me help him up the street the fifty meters to my building.

He makes it into the apartment to the first thing he sees, a heavy-weight, old-fashioned club chair. A few seconds after he sits down, he falls asleep.

When he comes to an hour later, I am dressed in a glamorous yet sexy stretch satin bustier dress in blood red with lips to match. And he is very much restrained. Body and legs in the chair tied by layers of saran wrap and hands tied together in front of him. A ball-gag made of manchego cheese with a large breathing hole through it is lodged in his mouth. And he’s naked. And I have enjoyed just looking at him for the past hour. And grooming his over-grown manscape. I was doing him a favor there.

“To answer your ‘Why?’ I’m simply punishing you like I think the other characters on the show should have done a long time ago, except in my own special way.”

I caress his chest with my hair, my face, my hands, lick his nipples which involuntarily perk up. He struggles, then stops, struggles again with less volition, until he just lets me do as I wish and I move down to his cock which greets me, and I can’t resist and guide it into my mouth with one hand and caress his satiny (thanks to me) balls with the other.

He makes sounds as if he wishes to speak.

“No screaming, though. I think you’ve seen enough movies to know why.” I pull the cheese out of his mouth. In truth, if he does scream, I’m not worried. Across the hall is a daytime business and I haven’t heard any evidence of anyone living above me. I just know screaming would annoy me, and I’d slap it out of him – and I don’t wish to be violent.

“Thank you.” And surprisingly, that’s all he says.

I continue to pleasure myself by pleasuring him. I am so very much in my own little world with his lovely thick cock and the small punctuated sounds my playmate makes as I do it. And I bring him almost to climax twice but stop right beforehand, and he growls in upset, and the third time, I try to do the same but my timing’s off and he gushes onto my chin. Whoops. I lick my chin. Nice. Not a smoker.

While his body slumps from satisfaction, I sit on the arm of the chair and caress his hair, his cheek. He opens his eyes, and I see not a smidgen of malice. That catches me off-guard and I regret what I’m doing keeping him tied up like I am.

His lips part slightly and with those eyes of his I have to kiss him. He lets me and oh, his lips do meet mine and they enjoy their playtime together. If lips were delicious, his would be.

His lips pull away to speak. “I wish I could touch you.”

“No,” I reply and continue to kiss him.

Then he suddenly takes my lower lip in his teeth and as I pull away he presses his teeth closer together.

“Untie my arms.”

“No!” I say sternly, kneeing him in the balls.

He lets go of my lip and moans in pain.

“Bitch!” he mutters, the scariness that he exhibits on screen locked in his expression.

“Enough!” I say. “I’m going out.”

I return three hours later to his sleeping frame in the same position I left him in. I give his thighs an appreciative squeeze and collapse on my bed, fully dressed.

In my dream, I am with someone, I don’t know who. We’re on a boat sailing. But wait. Has water entered the boat? My panties are wet and warm. And there’s an electric shock that pulsates every second or so.

I come to.

My arms and legs are bound to the legs of the bed. Gamboa’s head Is between my legs and that beautiful mouth of his must be giving me those shocks. I’m buck-naked and he’s fully dressed.

I’m scared at first, then bummed that he’s not naked, then I get lost in sensations. My clit is ridiculously sensitive and I pretty much hate its being concentrated on. He takes advantage of this revelation and brings me with his mouth and fingers from wanting to bash him in the head from the sensory overload to ooooh, that feels good and back again.

When I feel like I’m about to die or wish I or at least my clit would, he asks politely, “You want me inside of you?”

“Would it make a difference if I said no?”

He ponders this with a cute glance toward the heavens and shakes his head like a little boy.

“Hmmm…” I start to mutter in a disgusted tone, “I don’t want you inside of me, you lower-than-dirt son-of-a-bitch!”

In a second, he unbuckles his belt and throws his pants down around his ankles to reveal his hard-on that looks even bigger than before as he stands above me.

I ask, “Where is your underwear?”

“I left them as a souvenir.”

He checks my nightstand and finds what he’s looking for, a condom.

“Crazy bitch kidnaps me, I don’t know what she might have.”

I nod my head, then stop. “Get out of here. I don’t want you. You’re sick trash.” I try to believe it.

He grabs me by the small of my back and pushes me onto his cock like it was butter. My body convulses in pleasure at the first thrust.

“Oh, fuck,” I exclaim. “Oh, God!”

And his face softens and he thrusts long and slow which drives me utterly crazy as I am about to explode already I am so primed, and I’m moaning and writhing and wanting so much to touch him, to kiss him, but he shakes his head and he continues his drawn-out years-of-practice torture, and then he withdraws which is like being suddenly suffocated.

My body spasms for a few seconds as he wipes sweat off his brow and breathes heavily – it isn’t easy for him to stop, he’s just punishing me. He gives me a wicked smile. “Touché, pussy cat.”

I struggle against my restraints. “I want to touch you.”

“I thought you didn’t want me. I’ll just go home now.”

“Nooo,” I moan. “I want you, I want you so badly.”

“That’s not what you said before.”

“But that was just…I was just wondering what denying you would be like.”

He pulls his pants up and I whimper. He notes it and pauses.

“Fuck me, please,” I whimper. “Take me, destroy me, devour me. Don’t leave me like this.” Tears well up in my eyes. Embarassing.

His eyes go soft again and he removes his shoes and socks, and as my chest is heaving from desire, he takes his time undoing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. I whimper. I bite my lip almost to bleeding. My back arches off the bed.

He undoes my restraints. We are both free. We are both each other’s prisoners without the bonds. I rise up and embrace him, kissing him all over his face. His hands roam my body, his lips meet mine as they pass, we kiss deeply, we pull our bodies closer to each other’s. He enters me and I yell out almost in pain.

He thrusts long,luxurious, and deep, and he makes me come over and over, never holding out on me this time, and then when he comes, I feel elated, relieved, victorious, and well-fucked.

And when we awaken from our post-coital bliss, he asks me, “Why did you do all this?”

I shrug and stretch like a cat. “It’s just an idea I had for a story,” I smile, giving him a thank you kiss on the cheek.

“What? That’s all?”

“I’ll do whatever you want. I’m your prisoner.”

“And I yours,” he responds, pushing his new erection on my welcoming clit.


Later… “By the way,” I suddenly remember. “Why did that guy punch you and why did you let him?”

He answers, “Well, you’ll just have to ask me next time.”

Oooh, there’s going to be a next time. Damn, he’s good.

Note: this story is fiction if you hadn’t noticed 🙂

19th May
written by Dame Suzy

In response to this XOJane article featuring a wimpy-looking guy saying something that’s supposed to be provocative, I had to add my two cents. This is the comment I posted.

I dig the equivalent to, “If you want it, you have to come get it.” Once done in Paris by a hot little buff Spaniard in a wife beater with just a come hither finger gesture, another time by a 6-foot-4, built Italian personal trainer in Barcelona, with the words, “You have to come find me if you want your kisses” – the two-cheeked greeting Europeans give…I did get my kisses and then some which provoked my saying a pretty good line too, “Your kisses are like music” which I said in Italian which is even better – “I tuoi baci sono come musica.” Good times.
Note: I don’t believe the wimpy-looking guy in the clip. He’s the kind of guy who ends up laying back and making you do all the work.

10th May
written by Dame Suzy

This is pretty much off the top of my head, so stay tuned for more thoughts on the subject.

1) Is it your ability at foreplay? No, not for this girl. Foreplay is seeing you across the room and having “Mrrowr” ooze through my lips. This kind of visual foreplay would lead to my coming the first time in 10-20 seconds if you were to take me right then and there. But as a general rule, girls like this. I do like a finger having a look-see. Nothing like a couple of orgasms before the main event.

2) Oral? Cute and considerate but unnecessary. Yes, I know. I endured eleven progressively more painful laser hair removal sessions to achieve near baby-soft smoothness in my supple areas, but just give it to me already. As a general rule, girls do like this, especially clitty girls (ones who come primarily from clitoral stimulation).

3) At times – like in public, when you don’t feel like giving the druggy homeless person a show, you can caress her cheek (either one), stroke the nape of her neck or kiss/devour it, run a finger down her cleavage or brush her breast, stroke an earlobe, or place your hand at the base of her spine in the small of her back. If you’re sitting down, you can stroke your thigh, knee, elbow, whatever’s in reach. But you can also just sit there, just out of arm’s reach, looking away for enough time where she can stare at you and long for you. Just make sure that when you do return her gaze you’re not aloof.

4) If I look like I’m about to come, don’t change positions – wait the few seconds, then switch, geez. This has happened several times, so it’s not just one idiot.

5) For Christ’s sakes, smile once in awhile. Don’t look like you’re taking a math test that will determine what college you go to. Work some but enjoy yourself. And don’t race to the next exciting position or thing you do. It is okay to stick with what works.

6) If you find things are drying out, lube things up. Use saliva or lube. Alcohol can dry you out and the girl isn’t necessarily going to be a wetness machine. Some of these young guys think, “What a horrible condom” when dry friction rips it. Duh.

17th February
written by Dame Suzy

One night I meet two young gay friends –22-years-old but could pass for younger. Tim compliments me on my panda purse, and Daniel spends the rest of the night insisting on paying for round after round of drinks.

A couple of weeks later, Daniel asks if I want to go out again, and as I’d also like to go out with my man – I’ll call him Mike – I invite him. I introduce him as “my best friend I sometimes hook up with.” Daniel is polite and friendly from the beginning, but Tim looks like he resents Mike’s being there and ignores him.

Fast forward to later in the evening, and Mike has a group of five or six of these gay boys hanging on his every word. Mike is after all well-traveled, multi-lingual, and can have a swagger when he wants. He also – thanks in large part to me – dresses well and also has – no thanks to me – a noteworthy bubble butt.

When Mike later takes a detour solo to his favorite bar with his favorite bartendress, I get to hear the guys dish on Mike. Tim – the one who seemed to resent Mike – tells me using a lot of mmms how he’d like to do all sorts of things to him. They’re taken by Mike and they’d like to see more of him.

Though Mike likes the attention, he doesn’t feel the need to repeat it. To this day, they have no idea he’s “my man.” And that’s how it should be. He’s not my property, and he can be someone’s fantasy, no problem.

15th February
written by Dame Suzy

As you type, you realize you don’t mean it.

Which is what happened when a lover (and guy I’m still in love with) IM’ed me out of the blue, two years after I’d last felt his firm embrace and we’d had several rounds of delicious, emotional (for me) sex.

He typed, “How are you?” which gave me a panic attack that released a flood of emotions, and after some chit chat…

Me: I texted you last time I was in Barcelona.
Sergio: I know. My girlfriend saw it too and you got me into a ton of trouble.
Me: But all I said was if you wanted, I would like to see you. You could even have brought her.

Even as I typed those words I was thinking, “Um, no, I don’t actually mean that.” But then he replied:

Sergio: That would be best.

So I was kind of stuck. So then I wrote:

Me: I could even bring my Italian.
Sergio: Sounds good.

Of course, my Italian had never been mine in the carnal sense and only came to Barcelona to visit his brother, but what can I say; I was trying to be nonchalant.

Two months later, I’m in Barcelona, hanging out with some girls I met last time, and since they’re only 21/22, that’s the age of most of the meat that circles us too. And I’ve had a couple of drinks in me, and it‘s my last night in Barcelona, so I call him.

Sergio and his girl show up right before we enter a club that the girls like and coincidentally the only club in the city where I’ve actually slept with a bouncer, and of course, the bouncer’s there and we share some flirtateous words and touches before he lets me and the girls in. Sergio and his girlfriend have to pay. As expected, Sergio’s girlfriend is kind of ugly, with a big forehead, no lips, and blah hair. I didn’t say the guy had taste.

I am cordial to the girlfriend, but I don’t go into super-friendly mode which is what I instinctively would have done to defuse the weird situation. She is in defensive mode, her arm wrapped tightly around his, and she gives me the up-down grrr look and constantly gauges Sergio’s reaction which is annoyingly placid. And he’s refrained from giving me the classic cheek-kiss greeting which I realize I miss from him terribly.

Some time passes and nature calls. The girlfriend tells us girls that she needs to go to the bathroom, anyone want to go with her? I don’t say anything which unnerves her, and my friend drags her away with a smirk.

As soon as the girlfriend is out of sight, I notice Sergio’s gaze instantly changes and he looks me deeply in the eyes.
Sergio: I’m really happy to see you. You look fantastic.

And I can imagine his lips on my neck and my pussy throbs.

He gives me my cheek greeting and I’m nervous like a school girl.

Him: It’s too loud in here. You want to go outside to talk?

I nod vaguely and he takes me by the hand, past the somewhat jealous bouncer to the outside. And he doesn’t stop. We keep going until we feel the breeze caused by the waves slowly lapping at the sand.

And he pulls me toward him and his curvy lips envelop mine. And we kiss deep and hard, and I bring his hand down to my ass and reach my pelvis toward his, to feel him against me once again.

Sergio: I want to take you right here.


And I unsnap his pants in reply, but he jerks my hand away and says:
Sergio: No, I want to but I can’t.

And my breath catches in my throat and my pussy growls in annoyance. And I can’t stop myself. I’ve never said the words out loud to him, but I do now.

Me: But I want/love you.
Sergio: I know.

And he pulls away which is more devastating than the years apart have been.

And I find myself running back toward the big arms of my bouncer, who has never lied to me, never broken my heart, never hurt me, and when Sergio catches up, the 6-foot-5 man built like a truck tells Sergio he should go.

And at that moment, the girlfriend who’s been frantically looking for her man comes out, sees us three, doesn’t know what happened but knows she’s mad about it, gives me a dangerous look to which I give a dangerous look back, and goes to Sergio, who has already started to go at a quick pace and doesn’t slow down; she has to hurry to catch up.

And though it should be the last time I set eyes on Sergio, somehow I know he’ll break my heart again.


And I unsnap his pants in reply and feel his thick hardness directly and its warmth and feel bring back pleasant memories. He stops my hand.

Sergio: Not here.
Me: I can’t wait. Please do me, now! Please, please…

And I turn around and press myself against his cock and without hesitation he enters my soaking wet vagina. My whole body trembles; it has wanted this for so long. I utter a sharp moan as he manages to control his thrust to make it best for both of us. And it feels so right, like this is the way things should be, that we were meant to fuck, that we were made to fuck each other. And my first orgasms come within a minute or two, and others follow in quick succession, and he kisses the back of my neck and reaches in my dress to grab my breast and tweak my nipple.

Sergio: Let’s go.

And we go back to my apartment to avoid getting maimed or murdered by his irate ugly chick, and we spend the night making love, sleeping, fucking, sleeping, caressing, sleeping, making love, sleeping, and eeking out one more round.

And I feel like this is as close to bliss as one can get. And for the moment, I forget that it will disappear as quickly as it started and I will shed yet more tears for a man who will never understand why I love him and will never feel the same.