Archive for March, 2012

Successful week

I’m trying so hard not to put in any clichés about sex being like buses, you wait for ages and then loads come/cum along at once. I’ll just leave it at that.

In light of the bad mood I was in for most of last week, I decided to head to the capital for an afternoon yesterday (Friday) to meet some old friends from high school and escape my own city for a while. Since I’m apparently very easily influenced – I don’t know why I’m bothering to pretend to be surprised by that actually, it’s nothing I didn’t know already – my friend who is in first year at a uni outside the city convinced me to stay in town overnight and go out with her and her friends. We headed over to the campus where she lives, stopping in Tesco to buy a toothbrush on the way, had some food and headed to her friend’s flat. Before going though, she – I later realised jokingly – said to me, “I don’t have a sleeping bag or spare blanket, so you’re just going to have to pull”. Challenge accepted.

And challenge it was. The part of the city I live in is bursting with queers and promiscuity… well maybe not promiscuity… but anyway, it’s never too difficult to find a boy who likes boys. (I have this funny duality in my head where I’m hesitant to go for one-night stands with girls, which isn’t to say it’s never happened, just that it’s less regular and I’m more cautious, but that’s another post for another day). Here though, the pickings were slim but I was introduced to a friend of my friend’s who is openly gay and openly available. He really reminded me of a well-known (on the scene) gay from the city I live in actually, in his appearance at least. He was really cute, if a bit more masculine that what I usually go for.

When we were out in the club I would have sworn dead that he wasn’t interested at all, every time his friends who were conspiring to get us together left us alone on the dance floor or made us dance together he would turn away or start talking to someone else and it wasn’t until after we’d all left the club and gone for a “magical mystery tour” through the woods at half two in the morning that any sort of interest manifested itself at all. I’ll say up front that I’m a bit of a wimp and while I’m no longer scared of spiders, I’m not great with the dark, so he held my hand through the woods to stop me getting scared, bless. And when we came out of the woods we just kept walking, with everyone falling away behind us, until we got back to his building. “You live here, right?”  – “Yep” – and in for the kiss. Straightforward, no games, just how it should be.

What happens when you get two dominating tops in bed together? A lot of fun, apparently. You’d think it wouldn’t work but it REALLY did. Really rough fun, quite loud (his neighbours must hate him or me now), lasted for hours, biting, scratching, yum. Best I’ve had in a long time, probably at least six months or so. Because of our preferences for not taking it up the bum no actual penetration happened but just about everything else did, including at least two things I’ve never tried before. I was introduced to the pleasures of having your feet sucked on and played with too – the idea of it had always seemed a bit weird but when he suggested it I just went with it and I think it might be my new favourite thing. We were only at it for a couple of hours but it was a fun couple of hours, and I’ve got lots of bite marks and at least two bruises so far to show for it. He’s coming through to my city (where he’s from, actually) for an event in a couple of weeks so he has the option of a repeat performance, and as always, I’ll keep you updated 😉

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Sex and the Art of Conversation

Another Wednesday, another night out. I’d been in a horrendous mood since Sunday – and those of you who know me know that I don’t do bad moods, so it must have been really bad – and was right in the mood for dancing, so Sonic’s flatmate and I went to the same place we go every Wednesday (“…try to take over the world!”) for a while. For a Wednesday night it was surprisingly quiet. Irish Slag and I had been in town earlier that day and I’d treated myself to some new clothes so was feeling overly-confident, for the first time in a while, and it went quite well.

Relatively early in the night a boy caught my eye on the dance floor, and his friend/wing(wo)man caught me looking and pointed me out. Then she went to the bar leaving him alone (pretty shit wingman) so I went to say “hi” (In the process also abandoning Sonic’s flatmate, which in retrospect was actually really stupid because she’d lost her phone.) and a song and a half later, we left to go back to mine.

For once – and certainly the first time since I’ve started this blog – I actually managed to land someone who was pretty much my type. Bisexual (another one!), big brown eyes, eyelashes like you wouldn’t believe, hair that’s naturally black, tall, thin, a bit twink-like, cheeky but endearing smile… anyway, we got back to mine and went to “bed” for some fun. My neck’s now in a state that it’s not been left in in a really long time but the hickeys themselves are really small, there are just lots of them, and he gave really good head. (I’ve realised I write this quite a lot. Maybe I’m just not fussy? Maybe I just really like getting head.)

But the striking thing was that between and after sessions (yep, I’m gloating now), we actually talked. Like, a lot. This coming from me, the overt cynic (but secret absolute hopeless romantic) who doesn’t even do cuddles and gets up and goes straight after. We were awake until half past nine this morning, having arrived at mine before two, and for most of the time just cuddling and talking. About everything, in that candid way that you can sometimes only be with a stranger. He probably knows more about me now after that one night than a lot of people who I’ve “known” for years. It was really refreshing and lovely to do that, if somewhat unexpected and very out of character.

We actually got on really well, have a similar sense of humour, I found him hilarious, he was at least polite enough to laugh at my jokes. At one point around six this morning (the time flew) I cringed at some pun he’d made – I can’t remember which, there were so many – and he quipped; “Yeah, whatever – it was you that brought me home so deal with it”. Fair point, well made. As he was leaving to head back to his I gave him my phone number, and I’m finding myself jumping every time I get a text (and admitting to it on the internet. Wow) but so far, nothing. And since one of the things that he told me about himself proved to be untrue, I doubt whether I’ll ever hear from him, but I’m still hopeful. Still, the whole thing has done wonders to lift my mood from the depths it had been since Sunday. I’ll keep you updated.

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