42. Crazy Horses: The Italian Stallion

First of all, Merry Christmas everyone, I wish you all the best for the festive season.

Secondly, here’s a funny tale of past dating from before my 100 dates challenge:

I hinted a little about a previous public transport encounter in my last post so it’s about time I explained more to you about the “Crazy Italian Stallion”. Crazy_Horses

 

It all started when I was on my way home from the gym, I was walking to the tube station and was standing outside whilst I finished talking to a friend on the phone.  Out of the corner of my eye I spotted this tall dark Mediterranean looking man looking at me.  I thought nothing much more of it, finished my call and headed down to the subway.

Next thing I know he’s standing right next to me and asks politely if I can tell him the best way to get to Baker Street.  Being the helpful (is that gullible?) person that I am, I give him directions and we continue talking as we head to the train.  Eventually we end up exchanging numbers and arrange to meet up another time.

A couple of dates on and all was going well, we’d spent the day in Kew botanical gardens, had a date at the British museum and were getting along fine.  We both seemed to have a quirky sense of humour and would talk nonsense for hours – actually a lot of it was nonsense as his Sicilian was that strong I could barely make out what he said at the start.

Now as much as we got along to start I did have a couple of early concerns about Crazy Italian – namely his being almost 40 years old and still working as a temp barman – doesn’t exactly scream ambition.

Anyhow being the non-judgemental soul that I am, I put aside my qualms and decided to see what happened.

After a few dates, he invited me round for dinner… which of course meant sleeping over…

My first shock came when I saw where he was living – it was basically like a student house, a really run-down student house where the landlord hadn’t done any repairs in over a decade!  Again foregoing better judgement I tried to ignore the dilapidated décor and concentrate on the fact that a tall, dark Mediterranean man was cooking me dinner and I knew exactly what we were having for dessert.

Dinner was… forgettable – at least I can’t remember what the hell he cooked for me but dessert…. UN-FOR-FREAKIN-GETTABLE!!!

And for a number of reasons I might add.  You see my crazy Italian was particularly adept at a certain sexual technique – the man was an extremely cunnilinguist.

Never in my life before or since have I ever met a man who could do what this man could do with his tongue… he was like a freakin pneumatic drill… the rapidity and accuracy would have put a trigger happy sniper on speed to shame!

Seriously – I cannot emphasise enough how astoundingly amazing this guy was with his
tongue – I was almost in tears from the paroxysms of pleasure he was causing to washWoody over me.  It was like Woody Woodpecker having had an extremely fat line of the old magic dust, with a tongue instead of a beak just hammering away and hitting the bullseye every damned time! – it almost brings a tear to my eye at the mere memory, and certainly means I’ll be having a few pleasant dreams tonight 😉

Once I’d recovered my composure and had slowed my gasping to a gentle pant, I asked him where in the hell he had learned such skills.  It turns out he had a lesbian friend who taught him everything he knew… I swear if I ever meet that woman I would firmly shake her by the hand and beg that she set up a school to teach every straight man in the world her genius skills.

But back to that evening and what puts the crazy into Crazy Italian…

After several hours of jackhammer inspired pleasure and a rather unfulfilling bout of ‘lovemaking’ – I now realised why he spent so much time on pleasuring me (not complaining of course).  Unfortunately my Italian Stallion had some issues with keeping his pecker up.

But this is not the crazy part, and in fact I think his pecker problem was probably connected to the crazy problem…

By now it was about 3am and we were in post-coital (well actually post-cunnilingual but why split hairs?), the discussion moved towards past significant exes and I noticed his face drop… warning bell number one.  My initial instinct was to let it drop, this was clearly a sensitive subject, but then something – let’s call it female intuition made me push for more information.

Crazy Italian, then proceeded to tell me of his tumultuous relationship with the Mother of his baby! Yep, news to me too!!!  The basically he’d ‘discovered’ that his girlfriend was cheating on him and ‘god forbid…’ with a black man… ohh the scandal (please note the British sarcasm here – to be clear I am not in any way indicating shock or disgust at her possibly having cheated with someone of a different race to him or her, it was more shocking that he seemed to me doubly offended and abused that she could sleep with a black guy – like the race that someone cheats with even matters).

Now at first I listened thinking – ok the man was clearly hurt and betrayed, understandable.  But then his tale continued, he explained how he knew, just knew that she had been fucking this other guy whilst heavily pregnant with possibly his child.  When I asked him how he’d found out he became rather vague and started telling me how she had then thrown him out and threatened to call the police.

The next part of his tale was to tell me how he hid in her apartment when he’d come to pick up his things and how she had at some point thereafter contacted the police, had a restraining order put on him and had told the police she feared for her own safety.  All the way through this tale he protested his innocence and anger that she feared for her life.

“I have pictures of us together where she’s smiling, how can she have been scared if she was smiling?”  All I kept thinking was of a woman with a fixed smile on her face but fear in her eyes.  It just didn’t ring true… I also kept thinking, ok getting a restraining order is no easy matter.  I was more inclined to think this poor woman whoever she was, really was in fear of her life and that this guy was slightly unhinged – it was something in the way he spoke about her and his paranoia about the child not being his, even though it clearly wasn’t mixed race.

Again my women’s intuition, aka survival instinct kicked in and I just knew this guy was clearly a few salami slices short of a Panini.   But given the hour I had to play it safe…  lying naked next to a guy you’ve just been intimate with and now fear is a bit of a psycho-obsessive with a restraining order, does not make for a restful night I’ll tell you that much!Pretend_asleep

I spent the next few hours feigning sleep until I ‘awoke’ and had to return home… “busy day today and all, but thank you so much for a wonderful evening…”

I beat a hasty retreat home feeling thankful that I’d pushed my line of enquiry and truly believe I had a lucky escape.

My lesson in all this? Well I thought I had taken the time to get to know him before moving onto the next step, but sometimes things come out later rather than sooner.  But the main point is trust your instincts, if it doesn’t sound right and you’re getting that crazy freak vibe, then get the hell away as safely and as quickly as you can!

The other key lesson here – No type of crazy tongue skills, no matter how earth-shattering they are is worth the other type of crazy this guy was packing.

But not all random train guys are loopy as the circle line, I have met some lovely people on the tube too, some of them are still friends and as far as I know none of them have any restraining orders…yet

36. They Think it’s All Over…

So last time I left off I’d strangely agreed to a third date with my Palestinian Premiership Guy.   And I’ll explain why now… although the second date had not been a raging success and conversation had been far from scintillating; it had gone well on the first date so I thought it only fair to give it another shot.

To be honest sometimes I fear that I don’t give the guys I meet enough opportunity to win me over or vice-versa even.  The problem is when you’re looking for love, who knows how long you give someone before deciding whether there’s something there or not?  Now granted sometimes you just have to see them enter a room and you know it’s never gonna happen, like when they’re rude and obnoxious from the start, have poor personal hygene, or just don’t look a thing like their profile.  But what about those other times, when they look ok, the conversation is fine but there’s no immediate spark?

Now in the course of meeting someone in the usual manner – through friends, work or going to the same activity or bar – you can get to know someone gradually.  You may not dirty-dancingfancy them, in fact you may not even view them as a prospective lover at all.  But time and circumstance allow feelings to grow and you eventually end up fancying the arse off them and imagining doing the horizontal salsa/bogle/conga-line (in fact just insert whatever dirty dancing you want here) with them whenever they glance your way.

I know this happens, I’ve even seen it happen in real life, but the thing is when you’re dating online, time just doesn’t allow.  The circumstances within which you meet are always artificial, you’re meeting with the sole purpose of interviewing for the prospective role of shag partner, life partner, or partner for the time being until something better comes along.  And for that reason you can’t afford the luxury of hanging out for the next few months just to see if you might end up crushing on them eventually.

So on that basis, I decided to work on a three date rule, if I was undecided after two dates 3rd Date Rulebut could see some vague possibility of fancying them, they get one more throw of the dice.  For Premiership Guy’s third attempt we decided to go to the park again but this time it was during the day and we organised a picnic, followed by the cinema.

It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining and he was looking good in a tight t-shirt again – I’ll give him this much, he knows how to work with his assets!  We chatted a bit about what we’d been up to since we last met, ate a bit and then lay down to enjoy the sun.  It was all very chilled like last time, and again just like last time, the conversation was flowing as sluggishly as the blood-flow of a clinically obese man having a nap after eating three burgers, five servings of fries and a gallon of strawberry thick-shake – on sedatives.

Having talked ourselves dry yet again within half an hour of meeting, he proceeded to try and get off with me in the middle of the park.  Now I’m no prude – I’ll even admit to having had al-fresco sex on a common, in the long grass in the middle of the day.  Slightly embarrassingly a dog walker came by at a rather inopportune moment, but being the troopers that we were (overly horny and young), we soldiered on.  But when it came to Premiership Guy in a very public park with no long grass in view… well let’s just say I’m not as young, and I wasn’t as horny for him at least.

The other problem was I was getting distracted by all the other hot guys in the park – not a good sign when you’re on a date.  Eventually when it was looking like I was about to doze off – which he didn’t seem at all perturbed by (in fact he took it as an indication of how comfortable I was around him rather than how mind-numbingly bored I was), we decided to head to the cinema.

I chose a comedy rather than anything too romantic or heavy, I’m not a fan of rom-coms and as much as I do enjoy a good drama, I felt like we needed to lighten the mood.   He did the gentlemanly thing and bought the tickets and I bought the snacks and proceeded to our seats.

The film was hilarious! I couldn’t stop laughing the whole way through, so much so that my sides were hurting from laughing so much.  The only thing was, every time I looked over at Premiership Guy he was barely even cracking a smile!  Now admittedly some of the humour was a bit crass in places, but still… not even a smirk or a slight giggle???

For me this was the definite final whistle.

If I can’t converse easily with a guy, the kiss feels passionless and we don’t even have theMichelangelo's David same sense of humour in the slightest? Well it’s a no–go for me, even if the guy does have the most beautiful green eyes in the world and a chiselled physique that would make Michelangelo blush.

So sadly I’ve called it a day with Premiership Guy, but it wasn’t for want of trying.

What’s next?  I hear you cry…

Well there are two more contenders – A primary school teacher, and a stockbroker… you couldn’t get much more polarised opposites if you tried!

I’ll tell you more in the next post….

23. Trench-Coats and Power Trips

Last time I left off I’d had my first date with our man in IT and was figuring to meet him again to see if we had anything more in common than a mutual love of sushi, sake and shitake mushrooms.  But in the meantime I was cooking up some equally delectable plans for my next liaison with Football Guy.  And so this ‘episode’ is dedicated to a most delicious evening of mild debauchery.

It all started with some light sexting, talking about the next time we were going to meet up and what I imagined doing to him.  And then inspiration hit, I knew exactly what I was going to do the next time I saw him!   A long time ago, when I was still with my ex but not living with him, I used to have to make an hour long train journey to get to his place.  One evening I decided that I’d give him a special surprise, I decided to turn up on his doorstep semi-naked.  Yep I traveled halfway across the city in nothing more than a bra, flimsy knickers, stockings, suspenders, heels, and of course the obligatory trench-coat!  He was as I’d anticipated completely shocked, slightly awed, and as excited as a kid on Christmas Day who’s just about to unwrap a large box that keeps making yapping noises and smells a bit of puppy poo.   Needless to say what followed was fast, no holds barred passionate sex in the hallway of his flat – thankfully he was living alone at the time.

So I decided to take a leaf out of that particular sex book and play dress-up or should I say ‘dress in as little as public decency will allow’.  I started off by laying the groundwork with ‘small’ hints to Football Guy that I might be wearing something a little special for him that evening.  I then gently enquired if he would mind being ever so slightly… restrained.  He seemed intrigued and quite amenable to the idea of getting a little ‘tied up’.  So with the prey well and truly bated, it was time to prepare myself.  I put on my much coveted Agent Provocateur peep bra and panties, along with black laced topped hold ups, 4 inch black patent heels and of course, the obligatory trench-coat.  In this case it was a very cute blue and white striped coat that flares out just after the waist, long enough to look like I could be wearing a short skirt underneath but short enough to imagine that I might not be.

I drove to the station to pick him up and just before getting there ensured that my coat was open just enough on one leg to see the smallest glimpse of stocking.  I pulled up at the station, he got in and I saw him glance at my legs straight away and clock the glimpse of stocking I’d shown as an invite.  I’ll give him credit, he did well to say nothing and we both pretended that nothing out of the ordinary was going on.  We talked about each others’ day, both aware of what was only just on the peripheral of his line of vision.  It was all I could do to concentrate on the road ahead as my mind started skipping on to what would happen next.  I will also admit to being extremely nervous; I know that guys generally like any kind of flimsy lingerie and I doubt there’s many would complain if their partner turned up semi-naked, but still it’s always a little nerve-wracking exposing yourself, to another – in both senses.

Thankfully the drive to my house is a short one and no major traffic incidents occurred on the way.  My God, to think, how would I explain that one to my mother if I’d had a crash and had to be cut out of my car, only for the ambulance man to find me semi-naked and begging them not to damage my rather expensive lingerie should it need to be removed in order to treat my injuries…. Oh dear, sorry just side-tracking into a very different fantasy there…

So ehhhem…. erm, where was I?  Oh yes, I was just about to pull up in front of my house.  My flat-mate had kindly vacated for the evening so I knew I had free rein to do as I pleased in any room (bar hers of course, eww… that would just be weird) I so choose to and with as loud a voice as I care to.  I apologise to my neighbours for all the noise they have to endure whole-heartedly here, as I’m too embarrassed to do so in person.  We walked into the house, closed the door and asked him, “So, are you curious to know what I’ve got on under this coat?”  “Hell yeah!” he replies.  To which I reply by unfastening my coat and letting it drop to the floor – along with his jaw and his tongue.  Stage one accomplished and already I am a happy lady!

With my newly found confidence I let him take in the sight of me, standing in almost plain view of the front door (Thank God for distorted glass!), in black lacey bra and panties and high heels.  I then look him dead in the eye and ask salaciously “So where do you want to fuck me first?”  Oh the look of shock on his face as he tried to get his brain to engage his mouth and formulate any words beyond ‘yes please!’  After a moment he was able to collect himself long enough to splutter “Where would you like?”… clearly any type of decision-making processes were quite beyond him at this moment in time and I will admit I was relishing the feeling of control and dominance.  I looked over my shoulder, considered for a few seconds and turned to face him again “I think we’ll start in the kitchen”

Oh My God! Wow! The whole power thing, coupled with seeing our reflection in the kitchen window.  Knowing that although we’re not in anyone’s direct line of vision, all it would take is for someone to pass by the back yard and they would see me perched on the edge of the counter with Football Guy screwing me as if his life depended on it.  After trying out the kitchen counter (note to flat-mate if she sees this, yes I thoroughly cleaned the surfaces afterwards), we migrated into the sitting room to try out a few other positions before finally collapsing into a sweaty but sated heap.

A couple of hours later I am fully dressed in a simple fitted wrap dress, and we’ve refueled and recuperated our spent energy.  We relax and chat casually about this and that, but with the difference that this time we’re actually listening to what the other person is saying rather than what one of us might or might not be wearing.  Football Guy eventually glances at his watch and says that he may have to go in the next hour or so.  In that case I tell him, we’d best go upstairs as I have more plans in store for him there!

Now this is the part where I’ll admit I was extremely nervous, conversely this was also the part where I really let my more dominant side come out.  I was scared shitless of looking like an idiot and failing to come across as the depraved sex vixen I was trying to portray, and looking more like a clumsy, uncoordinated fool playing dress-up.  The truth of the matter is, for me to do any of this I have to be really comfortable with the person I’m ‘playing with’, and because it normally takes me a damn long time to trust someone that much, I don’t get to play like this very often at all – hence the nervous clumsiness – I did actually almost fall over at one point.

Now to set the scene I should give you a little geography of my room, I have a large king-size bed centered at one end of the room, with a handy headboard that has allowance for one to be tied to it by the wrists if one wishes to.  My wardrobe is one of those large ones that covers the whole back wall and has a very large mirror on one sliding door, that rather handily is directly opposite my bed – a detail that I have to admit has been of great benefit on more than one occasion, and not just for checking out my hair… I have a vanity table and chair on another side of the room where I can do that from.

But back to the main event – I lead Football Guy up the stairs and into my bedroom.  Straight away he spots the two silk scarves placed on the bed, raises an eyebrow and smiles knowingly looking across at the headboard.  Nope I say and move the chair from the table to the end of my bed, directly facing the large mirror.  Ohhhh really? He says and I can see his interest is further piqued.  I instruct him to undress down to his pants, blindfold him with one scarf and tie his wrists behind the back of the chair with the other.  To my great relief he’s immediately turned on and even laughs at the realization of why I had a hefty swig of rum before taking him upstairs… Dutch courage!

I put on some music to further relax me and start teasing him, brushing past him lightly, running my fingers up his thighs and then my tongue.  After playing around like this for a while, I take my dress off and take his blindfold off so he gets to see what I’m doing to him; both directly in front of him and of course the reflection in the mirror.  Once I have gotten him sufficiently wound up, and consequently myself (I get immensely horny by turning on the person I’m with), I take my panties off and straddle him on the chair.

Oh. My. God!!! What followed was perhaps the most earth-shatteringly, eardrum piercingly turn your legs to jelly, sex had in recorded history!  And I’m even exaggerating that much.  It was truly amazing!

At one point his hands came loose – clearly I did not get awarded a badge for knot-tying when I was in the Girl Guides – and he did something that was such a small movement, almost insignificant, but it almost made me implode with pleasure… All he did was grab my ass and tilt my hips in towards him, but this tiny movement had me seeing stars and made my ears pop (weird thing but occasionally, if I’m having really great sex, my ears literally pop and my teeth feel all vibratey).

After that he wasn’t going anywhere… to be honest I think we were both too exhausted to move any further than the chair to the bed! He ended up staying overnight, which I know is breaking one of the cardinal rules if you’re keeping things casual, but I’m using the excuse that it was for our own safety – I could not have operated any heavy machinery e.g. a car after a session like that!

So there you have it – I’ve still not managed my fantasy of doing a striptease or a pole dance for a guy, but I do feel one step closer to having the confidence to do so.  And who knows… if he plays his cards right, Football Guy could be the lucky recipient.

Hmm, I think I’m gonna need a bigger shot of rum for that one…

13. Down The Rabbit Hole

Wow – It’s been far too long so I know I have a fair bit of catching up to do.  Now where was I? Oh yes being lightly spanked whilst handcuffed to PSB’s bed.

The next date we had was organised by yours truly in the name of equality and all.  I took us to a very hip secret rum bar that was disguised as a toilet in a normal pub – trust me, its cooler than it sounds.  I didn’t tell him where we were going other than ‘downstairs’ so the look of shock and awe on his face was quite rewarding.  I ordered us hot buttered rum which came in a cute little copper kettle that simmered over a small tealight.  It was absolutely divine and got us both thoroughly heated in more ways than one.  The mood was very flirtatious and what with the dark lighting, dirty talk and copious alcohol, we decided to go home relatively early.

The cab ride home was… entertaining, and a little wilder than the previous taxi ride.  No sooner had we gotten in than he started telling me all the things he was going to do to me once we were back at his flat.  To be honest he started doing some of them there and then – but all I hasten to add well-disguised so that my modesty and the remnants of my dignity remained (somewhat) intact.  It was also at some point between his running his hand up my leg and inserting a rather well placed digit into a place that is not traditionally used as a hand warmer (I can only presume he was placing it there to warm his hands), that he asked me my favourite fruit….

Mango I replied rather puzzled, “ok then, that’s your safe word”…… WTF??? I was really starting to feel like Alice down the rabbit hole – things were definitely not going to be the same from hereon in.  We got to his place not a moment too soon, as by this point I was more wound up than a wind-up toy in the hands of a five year old with ADHD who’s just eaten a bag of skittles.  We entered the hall and this is where things started to get into freak-mode.  Now I’m not a big fan of having my hair pulled at the best of times, so I wasn’t best impressed when he started wrapping my hair round his hand and pulling, whilst the other started to close around my throat… I squeaked a rather muffed ‘mango’ and thankfully the pressure eased off.

He then led me into the bedroom (by the hand thankfully rather than by my already stressed hair) where he confidently and quite proudly unveiled the bed restraints… Once I had picked my jaw up from the floor and recovered with what I hoped was a look that suggested ‘oh restraints… so you want to do this now? Fine, in fact I do this all the time’ – completely faked I might add and a look that he didn’t buy into for a millisecond.  I was still in shock and I’m not ashamed to say, a little scared. Keep breathing, just act normal I thought.  It didn’t work and I soon reverted to looking like a trapped rabbit that’s just been told it’s about to be rogered by a rather excitable Irish Wolfhound.  But he was very sweet and kind, and reminded me that there was a safe word and that I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to.

Next thing I knew I was pinioned naked to the bed like a giant X marks the spot, with my ladygarden as the treasure!  Now I won’t go into the details but let’s just say it was actually quite enjoyable and oddly funny too.  The funny part came when we were both lying exhausted – I’d say in each other’s arms but to be frank, mine were still handcuffed and strapped to either side of the bed…  Now to clearly envisage this, let me explain how these restraints work, basically a thick strap wraps around your ankles and wrists, which is then secured with thick, industrial strength Velcro.  This in turn attaches to a short metal chain that then attaches to another thick strap secured to the bed frame.  Now, the funny part was when I had to apologise for breaking one of the leg restraints.  He looks at me all satisfied (of course), raises a knowing eyebrow and says “don’t worry; it probably just came loose or undone.  I’m sure you didn’t break anything”  “Erm, no” I reply, “I think it’s actually snapped…?”  it was only then that he got up and saw that I had in fact snapped the metal chain link in the throes of passion.  The look of astonishment and mild awe on his face was, as a rather famous brand of credit card Ad says – priceless.  What can I say, clearly I don’t know my own strength.

Now not to harp on about my carnal adventures, but this was a night of all things new for me; and in the interests of ‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it’ I went along with his next suggestion of wait for it… the ball gag!  To the uninitiated this is a strap that fastens around your face, with what can only be described as a black Ping-Pong ball with holes in it that fits into your mouth.  As I turned round to allow him to strap it to my head, I just kept repeating the mantra ‘you never know, you might like it’, and thinking – well the restraints were fun, this could be too…

It wasn’t

All that happened is I spent half my time wondering if I’d end up drooling on the bedsheets due to not being able to close my mouth, and the other half feeling ever so slightly degraded, like a rather troublesome whippet that’s been muzzled so as not to chew at the furniture whilst my owner is out.  None of which equates to sexy in my world.  It may be for some, but it is most definitely not for me!  But having tried it, I can now happily ‘knock’ it with resounding confidence.

And now we get to the morning.  Ahh normality I thought, Sunday morning TV and breakfast, gentle lazy morning sex and a cup of tea… now that I can cope with.  But the morning had its own surprises in store for me.  The first surprise came whilst PSB popped out for breakfast supplies.  After kissing him goodbye in the hallway, I noticed some post on the floor with his name on it, the only thing was the surname was different… now ok it could have been the old tenant, or for a different person delivered to the wrong address even.  But when I went into the sitting room and saw his work pass on the side with the same ‘incorrect surname’ and his picture on the front alarm bells started to ring.  I was just about to go back in the hall to check the two names when he came back from the shops, and I didn’t get a chance to verify what I thought I’d seen.

The next occurrence was after breakfast when I was sitting on the sofa and he decided he wanted to spank me.  Okay, again in the spirit of trying new things I ‘rolled with it’ yet again and was neatly placed across his lap and told to count to ten whilst he administered my ‘punishment’ of ten short sharp (but nonetheless painful) smacks.  I forget what exactly my transgression was meant to be, but in all honesty I don’t think that was the point for him.  Now, this type of sex-play may well get a lot of people going, especially – dare I say – if you’ve spent a large section of your educational and formative years in private education (a La PSB). But I haven’t, and all I equate being smacked on the arse with, is not going to bed on time or not eating all my veg as a child and being smacked and sent to my room to contemplate my wrongdoings.  Admittedly sprouts still bring me out in a cold sweat, but the memory of the punishment does not get me frisky in the least!  A point well noted when PSB placed his long fine fingers into me and found me as dry as the Sahara.  “Hmm, that doesn’t appear to do anything for you does it” – No Shit Sherlock!

The final oddity of the morning came in the form of him taking a post coital picture of me… odd because he just walked into the sitting room where I was reclining and took a picture of my face for with no explanation and no apparent reason at all.  But as it was just of my face, devoid of make-up yes but otherwise decent I didn’t see the harm.

An hour or so later I was getting ready to leave; I had to return home to pack for a trip abroad with my family.  I innocently suggested that I might call or text even whilst I was away, much as he had from his holiday.  He replied that yes it would be nice to hear from me, the strange thing was, it wasn’t what he said, but it was the slight change in inflection that suddenly made me think – he’s not interested anymore, I’m not going to hear from him…

A week after my holiday and it was no surprise when he still hadn’t replied to my messages or the one tentative call I made enquiring after his well-being.  Ahhh how quick the flame that burned so brightly dies and turns to ash.   When he did finally realise that no, neither of his arms had been severed off in a tragic freak tin-opening accident. And that he was not in fact lying helpless in his kitchen in a puddle of his own excrement, frantically trying to text me back using his nose or tongue.  He eventually replied apologising for the lack of communication – work had been soooo busy – but that he would love to meet up for a drink sometime…. Some time??? Some time like never???

The next text from him was a full week later, again apologising for the lack of communication but that he would try his best to call me at the weekend.  The mere mention of the word ‘try’ confirmed to me that I would not be hearing from him again – I haven’t.

So it’s back to the drawing board yet again.  But you’ll be happy to hear that I have not been wasting my time by wallowing in self-pity, or drowning in a vat of Häagen-Dazs with Messrs’ Ben or Jerry – well maybe for one weekend, but I’m over it now okay.  No, I got right back on that dating horse, dug in my heels and spurred the beast on, o’er the treacherous moors and desolate fields of date-land… okay so maybe I took the metaphor a little too far, but don’t you just love the imagery?  No?  Just me then?

Anyway, lone horse rider imagery aside, I do have a couple more dates lined up.  One with a cute guy with funky short dreds and a love of monkeys – at least that’s what his profile pictures would indicate – and the other date is with a hip, bohemian looking artist.

Game on!

12. Lions and Tigers and BDSM Oh My!

So things seem to be going well with PSB, we’re texting regularly and he invited me to his for dinner and a sleepover!

I’ve packed my bag accordingly – a bottle of wine to go with the dinner he’s cooking, toothbrush, casually sexy underwear for the morning, meticulously planned casual clothes for the next day and the bare minimum of make-up for early morning repairs.  He’s given me his address and we’ve arranged to meet near his after work.  I’m all excited by the prospect of what I know will be pretty darned good sex – and some stimulating conversation of course.

I spot him as I reach the top of his road and I get a jittery feeling in my stomach that I haven’t felt in a long time…  We enter his house and I avert my eyes from his giant beat-up brown shoes and focus on his dark chocolate eyes and his mischievous smile.  He grabs me quite firmly and kisses me in the hallway quite taking me by surprise and then stops as suddenly as he started saying that can wait until later … swoon!  He quickly shows me the sitting room and kitchen for which he apologizes for the terrible state they’re in – the house is quite clearly a work in progress. It’s a great space though, big Georgian rooms with lovely high ceilings.  It’s just that the walls are all in dire need of re-plastering, the carpets are circa 1973 and the lino quite possibly pre-dates my grandparents.

I join him in the kitchen whilst he finishes preparing the starter, goat’s cheese tarts, which I don’t have the heart to tell him I can’t stand as he’s clearly gone to a lot of effort.  He cracks open a bottle of Bollinger and he proceeds to prepare the main dish whilst I sit and watch.  I’m deeply appreciative of the effort he’s gone to here – the delicious Champagne, the starter, the main and dessert… but My God! The mess!!!  Now I know he apologised about the house being in a state of disrepair, but that doesn’t go anywhere to explaining the absolute chaos and mess surrounding me… there are empty containers and dishes everywhere! Suddenly the gilt edging is starting to look a little worn and patchy in places.  I politely enquire as to how long he’s had the property and just about manage to hide the look of abject horror when he says over a year!  Over a year???? It looks like he moved in last week!!!  But okay, one large gulp of Champers and we’re moving on, reserving judgement and not jumping to any hasty conclusions. Perhaps he’s had an extremely busy year?  Perhaps he ran out of funds by spending all his money on bottles of Champagne and goat’s cheese?  Or maybe all he needs is the love (and organisational skills) of a good woman to straighten things out…

We chat some more, make out a bit more whilst I close my eyes so as to block out the Chernobyl-like disaster area I now find myself in.  In fact we end up making out so long that he’s forgotten all about the goat’s cheese tarts and they end up slightly blackened and burnt – All I can do is breath an internal sigh of relief and exclaim that it’s totally fine, that I appreciate the effort and that I’m more than happy to skip the starter.  The rest of dinner is delicious and the evening goes well.
It’s after this that we proceed to the bedroom and I find out that PSB has a darker side.  It turns out PSB has real genuine Public School Boy tendencies… he’s into BDSM… in a big way!  I should have said in my last post that when he came to mine that first night he asked me where I kept all my ‘Toys’ and he did seem a tad disappointed when I explained I only really had the one (the rabbit with the ears that all us girls tend to have) and that it’s quite enough for me thank you very much.  Now I’m not a prude, and I will try anything (within reason of course) at least once before ruling it totally out of hand, so I decided to go with the flow and explore my darker side too.

So this is how we ended up with me being lightly spanked with a paddle whilst having my hands cuffed above my head and blindfolded – not exactly how I’d pictured my second night of carnal pleasure with a potential boyfriend I have to admit but hey-ho.  Now I’ll not get too deep into the nitty-gritty, don’t want to put anyone off their breakfast/lunch/dinner/midnight snack, but I will say this – it was actually pretty damn good!  Admittedly I’m pretty non-plussed at the idea of someone slapping my arse because they had some messed up experience with the head boy in their dorm, but a bit of mild hand restraint and biting – hell yeah, I’m all over that baby!

And so I wake up the next morning, sated and ravenously hungry – well you would be too after several hours of mildly masochistic pleasure.  And here’s the clincher… I’d spotted a madeleine tray in his kitchen during dinner amongst the carnage of dishes and enquired as to whether he’d ever used it before, to which he admitted that yes he had once and that if I liked he could make me some for breakfast –swoon again!  I had visions of Jason Statham in Transporter being all macho whilst making madeleines and getting shot at with sub-machine guns in the dawn light – romantic I know.  So of course when I wake up and he asks me what I want for breakfast I remind him of his previous offer.  How was I to know it would involve him making a trip to the shops for half the ingredients and whisking batter for a good solid hour?  On the plus side I was incredibly impressed with the lengths he went to in order to appease my culinary (and cheesy action film scenario) cravings.  Also, those madeleines tasted pretty damned good!

So it all looks pretty rosy so far doesn’t it…? aside from the ground zero mess of course and the Frodo feet (fortunately I managed to keep them out of eyeshot most of the time), but in the interest of fairness I feel it’s only right to point out one or two minor concerns I have. 1) When he was out buying supplies I did have a sneak peak at the other rooms in the flat (c’mon, who wouldn’t?), waaay worse mess than the other rooms I’d been shown and I’m sure I spotted a couple of mouse traps… glad I didn’t see those until the morning! 2) When I got dressed to leave, my beautiful red lace Elle Macpherson panties are nowhere to be found – this is concerning as I’m pretty darned sure where they landed in the throes of passion (also they’re one of my favourites and part of a set damnit!).   I did ask him if he could keep an eye out for them but I have a sneaky feeling he knows exactly where they are… oh and concern number 3) he’s suggesting purchasing nipple clamps for my next visit and has intimated that he has other ‘plans’ for me – if I’m comfortable with them of course.

Oh dear, I really am beginning to wonder what I’ve let myself in for here…