sex: encounter #13 – Chris

What do I look for in a man?

It kind of depends on the mood I’m in:

Sometimes I want a man who’s a little dominant (but not arrogant, never arrogant).
Sometimes I want a man who’s a little malleable (but not weak).
Sometimes I want a man who’s brooding and sensual.
Sometimes I want a man who’s selfish and unbridled, a little out of control maybe.
Sometimes I want a bear who’s just going to fuck me until I lose all connection to the world.

I’ve found that out there in the dizzying Craigslist/Gumtree world sometimes you can find something you weren’t looking for. Last night I found a virgin. Lucky number 13.

crazygirl: The shop assistant and the dummy

Note from CasualLucy

A fellow female blogger (CrazyGirl) approached me earlier this week to ask I would be interested in adding some of her posts (more sexual encounters) to the blog. I read some of her postings and agreed. English isn’t CrazyGirl’s first language but her writing certainly got me going so without further ado, her first post…

During this week I’ve been working in the shopping in afternoon shift. I don’t know if it is my lack of sex or if I do really miss so much Scooby, but each time I go through the underwear man section there is a dummy that remind me him, it is tall, slim like him but specially it has the quality of make horny just looking at it. To be more exact the dummy is on a very expensive pair of CK boxer – Oh, my God!! My mouth is watering just imagining how sexy they’d fit on Scooby’s body and how yummy his dick would look in it. I would buy dozens of them for him if he allow to take if of from his body using my teeth.

Anyway, as the Crazygirl I am, I have started to have sexual fantasies with Scooby’s dummy and here it is!

sex: encounter #12 – Paulo

I could possibly refuse the offer could I?

Paulo, (32, 6′, Italian, intense brown eyes and masses of hair everywhere) had offered to cook me a three-course Roman meal naked. Naked! Really though, how could I say no?

He picked me up from the office after eight carrying a full to brimming Whole Foods Market hessian bag and we dawdled back to mine, basking in the residual heat of the day. Back at mine I needed a shower so I led him into the bathroom.

‘Strip’ I said to him as I stood washing myself in the shower. He did.

‘Wank’ I said to him as I washed my hair. He did. He gently drew a ring around the head of his cock with a lovely slow motion, I almost fucked him then and there but I was so hungry.

‘Now go and make my fucking dinner’ I said with a wink and a pout. He grinned and left, I dried and changed into a fake Chanel cocktail dress.

sex: encounter #11 – Alex II

The ‘II’, makes him sound like a king or a pope, I’m going with king for the time being.

Meet Alex: 25, Scottish, red-hair (I mean red, think Lauren Ambrose – Claire form Six Feet Under), 6’3″, pale skin, IT something or other and sometime basketball player. I met him at 21:00 (I’m working late all this week, poor me) in Clapham Old Town. We did the usual la la la chat (what is it with IT guys and their need to explain their job to me?) over a couple of drinks. After three pints of Kronenbourg (I shouldn’t really drink lager, it has unpredictable results) I was definitely in the mood so on the way to the station I pushed him into a shop alcove and had a good grope of his pleasantly hard cock. I guided his hand down my trousers to feel my wet cunt. He put his wet fingers in my mouth and I sucked them dry while giving him my best fuck-me eyelash flutter. He grinned.

sex: encounter #10 – Harlan

I have vague recollections of turning 10, it felt like I was passing a milestone, ‘double figures, look at you’ my mother said so proudly. I’m not so sure how proud she be of this anniversary, 10 nights, 10 different men. The volume of emails and twitter messages I’ve had is unreal. ‘Are you a journalist, a fantasist? Trying to drive traffic to your blog perhaps? Maybe you’re just a whore.

Maybe I am. Maybe I just like sex.

Harlan, oh Harlan. I may have called him Holden (I was too young when I read Catcher in the Rye) when he had me bent over my kitchen table banging (I can’t think of a more appropriate word) his short fat cock into me and slapping my arse with the timing of a concert pianist.

sex: encounter #9 – Brad

Lunch with my sister yesterday proved to me something: Among what I’d class as my intimate friends (let’s qualify them as saying I know what kind of vibrator they use) I appear to be the only one that’s getting any, any action that is. As my sister was mid-way through one of her endless litanies of complaints about her husband-of-two-years (doesn’t listen, wet towels on the bed, wants anal sex) I couldn’t help but think of Michael the creamy, lithe German student from the previous evening or when I straddled ‘a’ last Monday while my knickers were stuffed in his mouth. She came back from the loo, traced a finger around the rim of her wine glass and asked, ‘and you?’. ‘Oh, you know…’, I replied.

Brad-from-Boston had two things going for him: 1) He could answer a series of really silly questions about Boston (eg, have you ever met Noam Chomsky?) and 2) A thick 8″ cock (shaved too).

sex: encounter #8 – Michael

I was in the mood yesterday. Walking around Borough Market yesterday with Gina was fun, trying cheeses and olive oils and hams and olives, the usual stuff. Gina was in the middle of this long, complex relationship story (I toyed with the idea of telling her ‘so leave him and go on a year long rampage, fucking every delicious red-blooded male that takes your fancy’ a couple of times) and I was restricted to the occasional ‘uh-huh’ as I was chewing on an olive. My mind wasn’t really on the conversation, not that I’m a bad listener, okay I am a bad listener when I’m on the prowl and I was definitely on the prowl yesterday.

The sushi we ate for lunch just ramped up my desperation for a fuck.

sex: encounter #7 – Alex

Just in case I got stood up again (Believe it or not I was feeling slightly paranoid) I wore my Friday dress-down, casual outfit (casual clothes and casual sex) ie jeans, t-shirt and my cute faded pink Birkenstocks (If I drag my feet a little the sound reminds me being in Thailand). I met Alex (Lawyer, 34, 5’10”, slim, blue eyes, cheeky smile) at Temple and we walked through Embankment Gardens.

Given the disaster of the previous evening and my lunchtime sushi extravaganza, I was feeling particularly horny and was aching for him push me up against a tree and roughly manhandle me. He didn’t (life would be so much easier for women if men were telepathic).

By the time we reached Villiers Street I was ready to take matters into my own hands, literally. I held his hand, pulled him towards me and  gave him my best come-to-bed eyelash fluttering. He kissed me deeply and I helped my self to a lengthy grope of his pleasantly hard cock. We’d planned on walking up into Chinatown but that was clearly off the cards now so we picked up a taxi heading back east on The Strand.

disappointment: unlucky number seven

It had to happen I guess, I was stood up!

I wore my favourite red dress (A Karen Millen number I’ve had for years) and a pair of very sexy shoes (Jil Sander) and (trying not be conceited here) I looked good, good to go, you might say. The mechanics of the said standing-up? A phone call? No. A text message even? No. Just a no show, a no-answering three (count them) calls. I gave up after an hour, had a wander around the sex shops (So much seedier than I remember from drunken girly-student nights) and trundled home.

On the bright side I had some time to do some work on the blog and catch up with my Michel Thomas French lessons (half-baked attempt to learn a language number 12).

I felt a little nostalgic hanging the dress back in the wardrobe.

Hope I have better luck tonight.

sex: encounter #6 – ‘J’

‘J’ is the second guy the week who wanted to be referred to by initial only. Is this the norm in the casual dating world? Anyway…

J persuaded me to meet him in Clapham, I lived in Old Town for a couple of years and so was curious to see how much had changed. After a short hop on the tube down from Old Street I was walking into my old local The Sun to meet encounter #. He was ordering a drink  at the bar when I arrived, jeans/trainers and a nice shirt from Reiss, quite tall, maybe 6’3″ and with a pleasant languid confidence. I gave his pert arse a little tap and he turned around with a big beaming smile.

We talked about a whole bunch of things (no sex talk, no flirting really) and before I knew it it was half-ten. I was beginning to get some cravings and suggested we pick up a taxi.