So that’s summer done with. Hope you all had a good one. Mine was a bit subdued this year. No Phileas Fog adventures across several continents for me to write about this time. But where I aint been traveling I have reverted back to my once favorite activity of dating and shagging. Remember when I used to write about that? After the baron sex drive years that were my mid 20’s I’ve found that for some reason the ladies have all of a sudden perked their interest for me once again and seeing as quite a lot of them were fun, meaningful and at times hilarious I thought I’d tell you all about some of them in graphic detail! So here’s 3 of my favourite saucy tales from summer. Names and in some cases times have been changed out of respect for the survivors and those who are named consented to their stories being told. Please don’t be a dick and dox anyone you think you know in these stories.
One of my fondest dates of the last few years was at the beginning of Summer. During the spring months I was back in the dating game with a vengeance. I’ve been an on and off user of the dating site Okcupid for some years now. Usually spending about 3 months genuinely committing myself to keeping up an attractive profile and trying my best to deliver eloquent and witty messages to high rated matches until I invariably get bored and disable my profile for a further 3 months. This spell was a particularly successful one; I’d picked up a few dates a long the way with a decent amount of attractive and interesting women. Nothing too much meaningful in any of them however and when contact would fizzle out I was never too bothered, I never really felt the need for the kind of structure you get with a reoccurring date in my life at that time. Then at the start of June I had a hat-trick of dates one day after another. The first was a miss match – we got on but there really was nothing more there – it happens. The second was quite a funny one where we realised that we had several mutual friends in common which complicated the situation so we left it at that – Fair enough, we’ll probably end up being friends which is cool. But then the 3rd was one of those rare dates that in the lead up to it I was really looking forward to meeting the bird…
We matched on OkC from their new Tinder style swipe right design. You have to pay for the premium account to see who’s ‘liked’ you but when it’s from someone who’s an exceptionally high match it sends you a notification. How the OkC matching system works is through an algorithm of answered questions that quiz your personality traits. From experience I’ve found that it’s actually quite a successful system, in the past people whenever I’ve met up with with a 90% + match I’ve got on very well with, and by which I mean we usually end up shagging. I seem to remember my first message to her being a reference towards her love of cycling and dogs. If she was just another fucking cat person then I probably wouldn’t have bothered. After a few back and fourths, I’d acquired her whatsapp details, it then took us a few weeks to actually get a date set in stone due to our busy schedules but we kept on chatting via message. We’d connected so well that I had a feeling it was all going to go well. The date also fell on the same day as the general election and the sense of change was in the air. Lets call this bird Pippa
My go to date venue of choice in the city is always a branch of Sam Smiths pubs. Solid beer selection and the pubs themselves are always really nice, not as cheap as they once were mind but even Spoons in central aint exactly value. She had broken her phone a week or before so we had to meet like how they did in the old days by agreeing a venue and a time to meet and just hope that we were both on time. The date itself was off on a flyer from the get go, with the two of us conversing enthusiastically about politics, the futility of monogamy, the countries we’d traveled, the music we liked. Telling each other about our lives up until that very point. Pippa having the head start on me by reading this very blog and declaring herself a fan of it – something that can usually be divisive with my dates. I was fascinated by the tales of her life, all the places she’d been and experiences she had and I found it very cute when she kept acknowledging how middle class she was. It wasn’t until some way through the date that I noticed how beautiful she was. Short cut red hair, curvy figure with adorable pot belly and of course a gorgeous face made all the more endearing by the Larry David style looks she kept giving me for no apparent reason throughout the 3 or so drinks we had together. As we finished our 4th beer to a conversation about how I could never understand how women find the time or need to shave their body hair and realising that I was on that verge of almost really drunk I thought it be a good time to drop the question ‘Right how’s this all going? How we getting on and what do we do now?’ She responded and explained in no uncertain terms that although she did find me attractive and would be up for kissing, cuddling and hanging out at some point, she currently didn’t have any sex drive and wasn’t interested in a sexual partner. ‘That’s cool, those things are all nice anyway’ I replied, she gave me another Larry David glare so I leaned in and kissed her… That’s when things started to get good.
We decided to ditch the pub and head to the Southbank, one of my favourite areas of central London and also somewhere I recommend as a date venue, especially during the summer. There’s usually plenty of great bars and food stalls along the walkway. The neighbouring Southbank centre, National theatre, BFI and Royal Festival hall and Underbelly always a worthy programme of events and the walk up it is generally just really nice, especially in the evening as the sun starts to go down. I popped into the National Theatre to get us a couple of G&T’s and we sat on a bench and chatted away some more. I asked if it was ok to hold her hand and she took the piss out my consistent consent. There’s never any harm in simply asking permission I explained. It’s better to know where we both stand at all times. After a few more drinks and what I can only imagine was intellectual two-way conversation we had to decide what to do next. ‘Do you want to come back to mine watch the election results?’ she suggested. I’d never heard a better plan.
I was aware that Pippa was staying at her dads house in South London and as we cycled and chatted I said that it would be great to meet her old man. ‘He’s on holiday, I have the place to myself’ she replied then as we hit the area where she lived I remembered that the reason I’ve never visited the area is because it’s a rather affluent area in the borough of Lambeth that I’ve never had any reason to visit. A light bulb went off ‘ahhh you have one of those set ups’ I thought aloud.
We stopped at an off license to stock up on enough Gin to see us through to dawn. As we left the shop a randomer excitedly announced ‘The Tories are out! The exit polls says no majority’ we briefly celebrated with me the bloke then made our way back to her place – a very neat and tidy 2 storied top floored flat. Pippa cooked us both dinner whilst I poured the drinks and tampered with the laptop to get the live coverage up and running. We were both pretty pissed by this point so our chat became rambling and our intervals of kissing became more enflamed. I cant recall exactly what happened from the point of us eating a delicious curry in the kitchen to the two of us rolling around on the rug of her old mans living room but I’d wager that large glasses of Gin were probably involved in the equation.
The situation escalated from playful to saucy rapidly. One minute I was playfully kissing, stroking and sucking her titties taking into full account that just hours earlier she’d assured me she weren’t interested in sex so was trying my best to keep it clean. Then the next minute we were spitting in each others mouths, whilst I chewed her armpit hair and attempted to nor the bar piercing in her nipple off. I ran my lips and tongue up and down her body, playing close attention to her lovely squishy belly then asked if I could go down on her. ‘I’ve just started my period’ she warned. Now I dunno about the rest of you but the very thought of a woman’s menstrual cycle is enough to send a shiver up my spine. It’s become a point of contention with some women in the past when I’ve refused to have sex with them if they were currently howling at moon. Some women have said it don’t make me a real man or proper feminist whilst some blokes I’ve told have said it’s a clear sign that I’m a poof. Now first of all gender is a social construct, second I don’t identify as a feminist and also there’s nothing wrong with being gay. The sight of blood makes me queasy enough as it is, having it ooze out of a cunt and all over my dick whilst I’m trying to have some nice sex is never going to keep me stiff. However one thing I’ve learnt when it comes to chewing minge is that in my experience 9/10 birds will gain the most satisfaction if you focus entirely on their clit. If you want them to cum there is no where else to take aim then that gemstone of a target on top of the fanny. What’s more is that clits don’t bleed, there’s no worry of getting a mouth full of excreted uterus lining if you just focus on the clit during oral… Which is what I did on this occasion.
From there she dragged me to her room and intuitively both took our clothes off. We fell onto the bed chewing at each others faces with more vigour then we had on the lounge rug. What happened next was not a suggestion I’d ever make on a first date. Usually I have my own personal set of expectations and rules on such an occasion. Firstly never go on any date expecting a shag out of it. Even if your initial whatsapping has got saucy you dunno how things are going to go once you meet in person and you’ll feel a double cunt if you don’t end up getting a leg over when you’ve already packed a spare pare of pants and told work that you’ll probably be late in the morning. If you do have end up in bed with each other try and keep the rough play to a minimum unless you are absolutely, explicitly ordered too. I had an occasion once where I went in full pelt on an overly confident yet inexperienced bird and she ended up tapping within 5 minutes and shit got awkward. Finally never ask for anal. Personally I feel it just aint gentlemanly conduct. If it’s openly offered to you however then of course don’t let the lady down… Now despite Pipa making it clear that she was currently A-sexual and considering my own boundaries that I just laid out to you, I thought that seeing as the winds of change were blowing in the political world, and seeing as we’d had such a fun night together, and seeing as I didn’t want her bedroom to look like a we’d killed someone the following morning when we awoke with hazy memories and nasty hangovers I asked if I could fuck her in the arse… She consented immediately.
Now as someone who loves receiving as much as he loves giving anal sex I know all too well about the preparation involved with arse play that can interrupt the momentum of a drunken fumble. You have to do a few ablutions or shit happens as they say. But it’s the sign of a quality shag when if like Pippa all it took was a few minutes of rimming, then one finger quickly followed by a second to clear the runway and then her arse was ready for my freshly sucked dick. I don’t think we lasted particularly long, I think we may have exchanged a bit of dirty talk, I know we didn’t switch any positions and I’m almost certain the only reason we stopped was because of booze once again being the main cause of boner death for me in my ripe old age of 27.
As we crashed next to each other in a post coital and half blacked out cuddle I made the comment ‘You’ve done that before’ to which she raised one eyebrow triumphantly, smiled and then kissed me. The next thing I remember is waking up in the same position to the sound of the alarm ringing in my jeans that were thrown across the other end of the room. We got our bearings, she made coffee and heated up the curry we had the night before for breakfast. News came through that the Conservatives against all predictions did indeed lose their majority and that the new look Labour party had indeed invigorated the youth and made many gains. We cycled to work together in the warm June morning sun. Something I felt only made the experience all the more pure. Then as we reached the traffic lights at the The Strand where she was to go straight ahead and I was to turn right we told each other we’d had a great time and that we should do it again some time, said goodbye and gave each other a kiss. Then waited in silence for another couple of minutes whilst the traffic lights remained red…. ‘Well this is awkward’ we said in unison. We both laughed.
That morning at work I was on a high. Skipping through the office and high fiving colleague over the election results. The impending doom of an increased Tory majority never materialised The party instead of strengthening their hand was now in complete disarray and what’s more I fucked a really hot girl the night before. Was this the best Friday morning ever? Then the adrenaline wore off and I was then crippled by an even more intense hangover which made me anxious and I hoped Pippa didn’t think that I’d gotten her drunk just so I could fuck her.
The word came from the Woman’s house that people were gathering there for celebratory drinks. I couldn’t turn such an offer down so made my excuses and left work early. Whilst there my mates asked me how my date went the night before. I told them how she was a really fun, very clever, endearingly charming, unshaven, chubby, outspoken feminist lady who’d lived a very thick and interesting life so far and what’s more she was sexy as fuck. ‘What does she do?’ asked The Woman. ‘Works up in Bloomsbury as waitress to save up for traveling whilst she lives in her old man’s place in south London. He seem’s to be perpetually on holiday so she has the gaff to herself a lot of the time’ The Woman smiled as she conjured up an image of the character I’d just described. ‘Is she vegan?’ The Woman asked. ‘Of course she is’ I replied.
Many lagers and arguments later my phone bleeped and it was a message from Pippa telling me again how she’d had such a nice night and would love to arrange a second date as soon as possible. It’s not often I get such an enthusiastic piece of feedback after a first date. Usually I only ever get excited about second dates because the sex was so good. In this instance I was more excited to find out more about her and generally spend more time in her company and I hadn’t had that kind of interest in someone for quite some time.
Summer rolled on pretty blissfully and care free. The month of June climaxed wit an epic edition of Glastonbury, the sun seemed to shine every day and at work I was walking around with my head in the clouds in a dream like state just waiting to see what adventure I’d go on the following weekend. It appeared that the birds were coming to me. One weekend I hosted a girl from France I’d met at a festival the year previously, then another weekend a friend from the midlands came down for a few days of sordid and summer fuelled fun. But then out of the blue what I thought would be just another routine Tinder date ended up being one of my favourite sex sessions in recent years…
I was just idly swiping right at work one day when a cute chubby American girl appeared. I usually save my super like for either a hot fatty or a cute American, so the combination of the two was always going to get my attention. She immediately right swiped me and then within a few hours of chatting we’d agreed to meet up at the Rising Sun at the Barbican – another Sam Smiths pub for the record.
She was 21, from Portland and was on holiday here with her family. Upon hearing the latter I had my doubts on this being anything other then just a friendly drink. As the evening rolled on and the drinks went down our conversation swung back and forths about the difference in culture of the US and Britain, then of course there was the obligatory Trump chat to which I responded with my usual ‘I wouldn’t have voted for either of them because none of them reflect my beliefs. But if you put a gun to my head I would have voted for him because he’s the fuck off button’ she didn’t take too kindly to this as she was a hardened Hilary supporter… Like an actual person who genuinely believed Hillary Clinton was a great candidate for the role. The conversation never got too heated though as I don’t really feel strongly on the subject and I tend to find peoples strong beliefs fade when met with my total nihilism.
She was very much into the Oregon riot girl scene and had just gotten out of a near 2 year relationship with another woman. I told her about my recent traveling and how much I enjoyed my time in Texas checking out the culture in Houston. A few drinks later and we spoke more about previous relationships and just life in general. I went for a piss and dropped the line ‘This is going well init? We’re attracted to each other?’ She blushed and giggled, then as I returned and we finished up our drinks I then asked what we should do next. She gave me the look and said ‘I don’t know…’ in a loaded tone. ‘Well you can come back to mine if you’re family aint expecting you back?’ she said she’ll make her excuses then said ‘It’s the wrong time of the month for me to have sex right now…’ I assured her that I was sure we could figure something out.
We left the pub with our hands all over each other. We were that half cut couple who stick out like saw thumbs in amongst all the suits in the city with our over zealous enthusiasm for each other. A vulgar sight I know but when you’re the two offenders of it you never really give a fuck. I left my bike locked up by the pub and we got on the train. As we sat down I immediately asked if I could play with her curves. She looked at me weird and said that of course I could. I dropped my housemates a text to give them for warning that I was bringing a bird back, then I joked that she was a huge Trump supporter who was extremely homophobic. When I told her this she seemed genuinely outraged I would say such a thing. This just made the joke all the more funnier.
Back at mike I dished her up her first ever Sheperds pie for dinner and then offered her brown sauce – did you know they don’t have brown sauce in the US? We went to my room on the pretense of watching The Simpsons and she told me that in Portland its a well know secret that The Simpsons home town of Springfield is most likely in Oregon as creator Matt Groening is from there and a lot of the characters and place names are named after streets and districts of Portland. Our plan was hindered when my laptop wouldn’t work. ‘What else can we do instead of watching The Simpsons?’ she asked sarcastically. Then shit started to get saucy.
Straight away what made our sordid session work so well was the constant communication between the two of us. Straight after going to work with a blow job she immediately asked ‘can I play with your ass?’ of course I consented, then after some very expert rimming and fingering I asked her if I could eat her arse seeing as her pussy would be out of action – she consented. The two of us then ended up 69’ing each others arses which is a maneuver I’ve never even seen in porn before. Then whilst she greedily went to work on my cock, balls and arse I pulled her sock off and asked if it was ok to suck her toes – again she consented enthusiastically. All this went on for a good amount of time before we stopped for a breather and we debriefed on how good our chat was, adding that having her toes sucked was not something she’d usually agree to but seeing how fluid our chemistry was she really enjoyed it. Then we got going again and she asked me if I’d like to fuck her arse – of course I consented. Then she asked ‘are you clean?’ I thought back to when my last all clear was and counted the partners I’d had since then and all of them I’d used protection with so logically I should have still been pretty rosy. Taking into account that this bird had just got out of a 2 year relationship I could only assume she was telling me the truth that she was also fresh and when I’m drunk I only need the slightest excuse to ride bareback.
That night of raw anal sex was one of the sauciest I think I’ve ever had. There was one moment where we were positioned so I was balanced with me feet on the floor and her gloriously huge arse was perched on the bed at a perfect angle for me to fuck her as hard as I could. In between her loud moans and groans she’d look back at me with intent and bark ‘Please cum up in my fucking whore ass’ and it’s moment like those that I pray that one day I find a cure to ejaculation problems because there really is something wrong when even the scene of myself fracking away at a hot girls arse whilst she barks explicit orders at me in an accent that I only ever hear in the films and I still am unable to orgasm. ‘Fucking cum in my ass and then spit it in my mouth’ she moaned in between breaths… Unfortunately I was unable to full fill her request – when I press play on this moment when I’m visiting the wank bank though I typically blow a load every time.
We had another rest and kissed and cuddled a bit and generaly stared at awe at each other in the beautiful filth we’d just created. ‘I’ve never been fucked in the ass before’ She dropped casually. ‘really?’ I asked confused, ‘I just railed your arse with only a bit of spit for lube for almost an hour and you’d honestly never done it before?’ ‘Never – but I really like it’ In the past I’ve had birds play the ‘Oh but ive never done it before’ when it’s come to anal or rimming or 3somes with 2 other blokes and I can always see through it. This time though I’m sure she was telling the truth…. Fair play! When in Rome and all that!…. I’m pretty sure the British invented anal sex?
The night was getting on by this point. Her and her family were due a day trip to Paris that morning so she was having to set off at some ludicrous time that following morning. Before we went to sleep I went down on her, again focusing on the clit to avoid coming up with a mouth like Dracula and too my delight she was one of those birds that cums loudly from oral in minutes. You ladies are a real moral boost and a credit to all casual fucks out there. No fuss, just pleasure for both us – I love you all.
We’d had such a great evening and night together that we arranged to squeeze one more night in before she was due to leave. I was so blown away and shagged out by the night of smutty passion I had to call in sick for work the following day. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a session where our communication, energy and attraction for each other were so equally matched.
Over the course of the next couple of days I grew all the more excited to see her again, not only did we get on really well the itinerary of things we wanted to try with each other on our next meeting was growing and growing. I happened to have a free house on the Friday and she suggested we have a night in to ‘discuss music and feminism’ a suggestion that in my current form I now read as a replacement for ‘Netflix and Chill’
The following night once we’d got through our takeaway and turn taking on the jukebox we retired to the bedroom as soon as possible. Before getting down to business however we decided to take a shower together and she ended a conversation with ‘and I just finished my period by the way so….’ ‘So any holes a goal!’ I continued enthusiastically. I’d never seen anyone look so confused to anything I’d said before. ‘Just a British saying’ I continued.
Our sexy sequel was very much a continuation of the previous session just with a bit more experimenting and getting to know each other. Although after a bit of kosher penetration caused the red rivers to flow again we had revert to going through the back door again. Not that either of us were complaining. ‘At least in the eyes of the church we’ve had actual sex now’ I added. We spent the majority of the night fucking away and perfecting our oral sex skills until our tongues were raw. Then at one point she had an anal orgasm… something I didn’t even know existed for birds and we had to take a break and whilst we lay there next to each other catching our breathes she told me stories about her life in America whilst I stroked her pubes and admired her naked form. She had the perfect measurements of chubby. Voluptuous arse, size D tits, chunky thighs, child baring hips, dome of a belly and body made up of rolls that reminded one of the rolling hills of the Cornish countryside. I spent a lot of our down time simply exploring her sexy curves. ‘I like this’ she said. ‘lying here and just talking’ she continued.
The night was getting on and our energy levels were getting low. Her requests for my cum were turning into begs so I thought that seeing as I’d almost exclusively been fucking her arse all night it only be fair that she fuck me as well. She was more then keen to try something new and so after some foreplay of rimming, fingering and fisting she was merrily pegging me in every position we could muster, whilst I tried my best to milk a money shot all over her willing face. Again I noted that for someone who’d never tried such a sex act before she was certainly bloody good at it, especially when it came to the smut talk ‘You like having having my slut cock fuck your whore ass’…. Despite this flawless performance however I still couldn’t finish myself off and we shortly fell asleep after.
We set an alarm extra early so we could squeeze in another 15 minutes of play. After a night of sodomy I was now able to fuck her arse without any prep or lube. The clock was ticking and literally the only ground left to cover was my orgasm. I spent a good 10 minutes in full concentration wanking myself off, luckily with a whole library of fresh filthy memories. She was getting changed and ordering an Uber when I announced I was about to cum. She leant her head over whilst tying her shoelaces and swallowed the lot.
I wished her well as she left my room at the crack of dawn. She assured me I’d have a place to stay if ever I found myself in Portland. We kept in touch over the next couple of weeks. She started seeing a new bloke and then a few weeks later it was made official as a Facebook update filled my feed. I gave it a ‘like’ then noticed shortly after that she’d disappeared off my friend list; I’d lost her number on Whatsapp also. I guess her new fella didn’t like the idea of her being in touch with the English bloke who taught her that thing he likes. A shame really as we got on really well and I thought she was totally cool, it would have been great to have visited her if I ever did make it to Portland, didn’t matter if she had a monogamous partner. Ah well, onwards…
Over the summer my form didn’t seem to let up. What struck me was not just that all of a sudden I had a series of very attractive birds take an inexplicable interest in me but it was mostly the type of women that I was starting to attract. The type of women who in the past have chosen to scorn me in person or on the internet and who I in equal measure would spit vitriol at just a few years before. It wasn’t that I now had a type that just happened to be the angry feminist woman, it was more apparent that I was indeed a type for them to be attracted to. What exactly that ‘type’ is though I couldn’t tell you.
On reflection this is not a new development however, my former lover and good friend of 4 and a bit years was a hairy, outspoken feminist fatty and I also remember one of the best 2 night stands I ever went on was with an unbelievably beautiful woman. Fresh off a Masters degree in gender studies, dreadlocked hair (and that was just the hair on her head) vegan diet and full of lectures on the patriarchy as well as being fluent in 7 different languages after having lived on several continents. When we got back to her place I scanned her bookshelf. In a row was The ethical slut, The Female Eunuch and The Hunger Games trilogy all next to a pile of Tank Girl comics…. ‘How cliché’ I laughed to myself at the time.
Towards the start of September I noticed I hadn’t used any dating apps for quite some time. My OkCupid profile had been disabled since June and I hadn’t used Tinder for a while. In fact I wasn’t really going out and doing much at all. I decided against going to any more festivals and I’d duck out of offers of going to the pub. A lot of my mates were on holiday throughout all of August and I was generally content with staying in. Even my dates with Pippa went from being once a week to once a month due to our schedules. I did however out of boredom one day download the app Bumble, which is basically the same principal as Tinder. You have a bunch of profiles in your area that you swipe right for to show you’re interested, except in this instance the bird makes the first move. Now that I was a lazy fuck this was ideal. Due to my recent ‘type’ of woman I stuck the line ‘tends to attract the unshaven, angry feminist type. References can be provided on request’ over the coming weeks I’d got the odd match here and there, some would reference that statement and others I found a lot would just be as shit as I was on Tinder and open with a ‘hey hows it going’ When you’re a woman on any dating app or site there must be an incredible of shit to shovel through before you find even anything resembling anything even chat worthy. I dunno how they put up with it to be honest.
One night however I got a notification I’d matched up with an absolute stunning skinhead bird in her early 20’s. I got a bit ahead of myself with excitement at first then remembered that it was up to her to make the first move so no matter how good my opening gambit was the cards were in her hands regardless. I fell asleep then the next day woke up to the message of ‘Do I scream ‘unshaven angry feminist?’ I replied that it was actually the cute buzz cut and the bicycle and football emoticons in her profile that urged me to swipe right (This was a lie. Unlike Tinder Bumble allows you to swipe right forever without having to pay any extra. I blindly swipe right until I get bored then pick and chose whoever matches with me. Numbers game init?) After a few back and fourths and a couple of attempts of organising a date and a few doubting thoughts of it all being too good to be true we did eventually arrange to meet up at the Southampton Arms up past Kentish Town – Probably the finest beer pub in all of London just so you know, a frequent haunt of mine but oddly only the first time I’d taken a date there.
Due to our schedules I arrived a couple of hours early and was already about 4 pints of mild in for her arrival. Our conversation got off to an encouragingly quick start. She was from the midlands and studied sculpture at St Martins College (Technically a fine art degree but I always wanted to be able to say that in a sentence with earnest) all our interest were in check. She ticked every box for who I’d been attracting recently. I dunno if she was vegan though… but she didn’t mention anything so I’d assume that means she werent. She liked music and festivals, was into football (which is a rare one) and loved cycling, which is always a plus. The klaxons started to sound early though when I questioned her music taste. She told me her music taste was basically whatever they played on 6 Music, so naturally I agreed that 6 music on a Sunday was unbeatable in any medium. She disagreed and said she found Cerys Matthews and Jarvis Cockers shows to be too forced and then told me her favourite shows were Lauren Laverne and Steve Lamacq, then shortly after that she went on to tell me that she could never like The Smiths because Morrissey was such a dick. Again I did a great job of hiding my disgust at her opinion. Cersy and Jarvis are innovators of modern day radio. Lamacq and Lavern’s shows are pony and Morrissey is a God.
Despite this blip the rest of the date was an absolute laugh. We chatted about our favourite comedians and what we’d been up to the last few years. She spent most of last year doing a placement in Amsterdam which sounded pretty cool. But as the night got on and we got drunker the date got all the more anarchic and unpredictable. Our conversations turned into heated debates. She felt very strongly that women who enjoyed being degraded during sex only did so because of a patriarchal society. I argued that this was bollocks. Desires fulfilled between consenting adults are allowed to be absolutely anything you like. There may be some case to argue that our sexual preferences are dictated by our experiences and surroundings. But to palm off degrading sex as work of the patriarchy is pretty crazy… Degrading sex is hot.
Shortly after that she then went on a rather bizarre rant about sex robots, which then turned into a dig at vibrators, which again I found completely mental. A vibrator is just something that helps make wanking better. To be fair I cant remember much of her argument that well… I really must start drinking less on my dates.
We dotted around the pub going inside and out for fag breaks and then settled on a table next to another couple. We sparked up conversation with them and they too were on a second date – Tinder being the source of their meeting. We ended up out the front smoking with them talking about how our dates were going and talking about the football. It’s the first time that’s ever happened.
Last orders rung and we got one more in and the two of us were both pissed and rowdy by this point and I started to wonder where exactly this was going. We seemed to be getting on well, but then whenever I dropped a cheeky flirty line in she’d tell me to go fuck myself. I was in stoppage time and had to create one more chance to score. I thought I might have been fucked a few times in dying minutes. I was in ‘give a fuck’ drunk mode so the offensive flood barriers were completely open. We got onto the conversation of why she shaved her head. Apparently she did it without telling anyone because she just fancied a change one day from having really long hair. I then asked if her friends then stuck her suicide watch. ‘Dramatic change in appearance is one of the last signs of you about to do yourself in, init?’ Luckily she found this tasteless one liner really funny.
Despite getting away with that there was of course the time came where she started to take umbrage with the way I spoke. Throughout the night she was having trouble understanding what I was saying. It reminded me of going on dates with women who’s English really weren’t that good. But when she wasn’t screwing her face up and shouting ‘what?’ in an indigent manner because she couldn’t make out my ‘thick London accent’ it was out of shock for some of the things I was saying she deemed to be politically incorrect. She took particular offense at my gratuitous use of the word ‘birds’ for women and ‘gay’ for saying something is bad. For the latter I argued that the word gay has evolved so much over the years that it was probably used as a term for someone being a homosexual for as short a time as it was now being used to mean something shit. I’m not being homophobic when I use the word in such a way. Anyway I’m using it as an adjective not as a noun. Why don’t people still use it to describe something as brightly coloured or to too depict a person as happy and carefree? This would have probably passed adequate defence except I worded it as ‘I don’t know the last time I met a gay person who was fucking stupid enough to be offended by use of word’ to which she replied ‘my aunt is gay and she finds it very offensive when its used that way’… Despite this heavy blow I was hanging in there for the final rounds.
There’s a couple of tell tale signs I look out for when a date is reaching it’s climax and you’re judgment of how it’s going to end becomes all the more clear. One of the easiest to spot is the constant twiddling of the hair. In this case though obviously she didn’t have no hair, but what I did clock was that instead she was twiddling the hooped ring that pierced the plug in her ear, then for added assurance I also clocked that she was staring intently into my eyes and listening to every word I was saying. I aint no body language expert but I was pretty sure this meant this bird wanted to fuck me. There was just one more heated debate to survive.
Our final discussion was my use of the word ‘bird’ for women which is something I often find myself having to defend. Usually to middle class people from small towns or villages, or to people who’s English is not their mother tongue. In this instance it was a middle class art student from a small village in Derbyshire who despite living in London for the last 3 years had so little exposure to the folk native to the city she had trouble deciphering my faint south London accent. The term ‘bird’ aside from being a winged, feathered animal made up of a vast variety of species, derives from the old English word ‘Burd’ meaning ‘young lady’ or ‘fair maiden’ how the term has been predominantly used by the working classes in Britains cities I don’t know I aint a linguist and this aint a history lesson. But I did express that to tell me I’m fundamentally wrong for using the term in that way is to tell me that my up bringing was wrong, it’s to tell me that the way my parents speak are wrong, the way my friends and my community speak is wrong. The English language is the most spoken in all the world. It is complex, adaptable and is evolving constantly through slang and dialects by being used in hundreds of cultures. I often use the example of a date I was in the states when asked if I wanted to go out for a smoke I replied ‘Yea I wouldn’t mind smoking a fag actually’ my date responded with a shocked ‘excuse me?’ realising the different use in language I assured her that in the UK a fag is indeed a cigarette ‘ah right, for a moment there I thought you said you wanted to go outside and shoot a gay person’… The English language is used differently in different cultures is the point im trying to convey here. My spiel was pretty much the same that night.
Her response was ‘it’s exactly the same as calling a black person a nigger’ then proceeded to casually drop N bombs in an already crowded pub of people. 2 of those people being a black couple sat not far to the right of us. I told her that the comparison between a word that can be used as an animal with wings or a woman to a word that was used to degrade an entire race of people for over 300 years was completely over blown, followed by ‘can you please stop saying that in a crowded pub’ After this rather heated exchange she finished up by saying ‘it’s ok, I know you’re not sexist it just something that bothers me’ I met this with ‘if it really bothers you that much I’ll try my best to stop saying it’ which is rare because usually I’m too much of a piece of shit to compromise over things like this.
My dialect is just one of the factors that often causes issues with certain feminist circles. Well actually just one feminist circle and that aint the angry Feminists, all feminists should be angry really when you weigh up all the inequalities that are still prevalent in modern society today. It’s the irrational feminist I have a problem with. Humourless type people stuck in a bubble who respond in a hysterical matter when someone may through a lack of education use the wrong pro noun for something and the same type of people who’s voices are so loud and who’s arguments are so disjointed it makes your average person ashamed to be feminist by association. Just because I use the word ‘bird’ to describe a woman don’t make me sexist or misogynist and just because I pay for sex sometimes and thought that lady Ghostbusters sucked shit don’t make me a rapist. Taking very trivial things so seriously is distracting from the bigger problems at hand…. But that’s just like, my opinion man.
Time rung in the pub and I asked in no uncertain terms ‘Right what are we doing then? We can either go back to yours or we can say goodbye and I can drunk cycle the 8 miles back to my house. I’m happy with either but the choice is yours…’ she looked at me as if despite all the differences in opinion’s we’d had throughout the date this was the most bewildering thing I’d said all night… ‘We’re going back to mine’
Conveniently she only lived 5 minutes cycle away, well 5 minutes for a sober person who knows where they are going. We spent 20 minutes cycling the back streets of Holloway whilst I grew increasingly annoyed asking if she knew where she was going, whilst she cycled on the wrong side of the road shouting at on coming traffic and showing off how she could now cycle with no hands. We made it back in one piece eventually.
Now with the upmost respect to the 2 previous women I’ve mentioned who were both premiership level sexy in both personality and looks, this bird was probably the hottest person I’ve ever got into bed with. Her athletic body was toned with such precision it was looked like proof of a creator and she pulled off the shaved head – natural everywhere else chic to total perfection. The moments of contention didn’t end back in the pub however. After foreplay I reached over to my jeans to get my wallet to fetch a condom, when she noticed what I was up to she paused ‘ah right… you’re one of those ‘good boys’ are you?’ she said in a mocking tone. Now don’t get wrong when I’ve had a few drinks I’m prone to being reckless when it comes to sex. But seeing as I’d got the all clear after a bender of raw dogging I thought that I’d put an effort in to rubber up with my dates. Yea sure it breaks the mood a bit but it stops you feeling like a cunt the next day and as well as protecting you from all the other shit. Either way if someone suggests you use a condom I don’t reckon it’s fair play to not be encouraging about it… In saying that though once I got up inside her I instantly regretted my decision as she had one of the smoothest, slipperiest fanny’s I’ve ever routed around in it was like sticking my dick in warm, moist, velvet. It was so nice to fuck that I thought at one point she was going to be the chosen one who finally makes me bust a nut during sex and I’ve always stated that when that time comes I will propose to said woman.
The sex itself was top notch for something that was in practice so drunk and scrappy, it was qually rough and hard enough that it didn’t matter. We seemed to be enjoying ourselves so much that her housemate knocked on the door for us to keep the noise down… she then did this again in the morning when we she was getting ready for work. Which on a side note if you live in a shared accommodation there are a few things you just have to accept. Sometimes you’re housemates are going to come home pissed on a school night and stumble about the place and make a bit of noise and wake you up and sometimes they will bring someone back with them to have sex with all night. As long as it aint a regular occurrence there’s no grounds to complain. Weren’t as if we were screaming the walls down or anything.
After our first round of sex she popped out to the toilet whilst I lay there with the covers off catching my breath in her now very humid box room. She arrived back aggravated and full of accusations. It went a little something like this….
Her: Why did you cum inside me without telling me?
Me: *puzzled look* Eh?
Her: When I just went to the toilet a loud of cum glooped out of my cunt. I know how my vag works that must have been your cum inside me!
Me: First of all you can quite clearly see me laying here, still hard wearing the condom you was so reluctant for me to use. Secondly I don’t cum during sex, what you’re accusing me of is physically impossible for me to do and third if I was going to cum I wouldn’t waste such a load inside of you with a pretty face like that!
Her:….. You must have cum inside of me.
This little debate was a theme for the night she then revealed to me that she also didn’t cum during sex, only through wanking. I said that she could have fooled me, whilst she was grunting and wailing away my cock and balls felt like someone had poured a pint on them. I’ve fucked squirters who were more baron then her. Her pussy got so wet that at one point were I thought I’d fan the flames and get things heated I started to finger her she then motioned with into a heads down arse up position so naturally I took up post behind her and ate her arsehole whilst strumming away on her pussy which from this angle looked a lot like Satans beard. I started with the 2, then a 3rd slipped in, then once I felt my hand slip in with ease up to the thumb and her moans get louder and could feel her pushing back into me I thought I’d go all in and try my fist which slid in with pure ease. This was proper fisting too, none of that phony to the knuckles and it feels like her cervix is about to snap kind of attempt, I thought if she comes back any further I’m going to lose my wristwatch. For the next few minutes she was screaming into her pillow and rocking back and forth that from afar this must have looked like a very vulgar puppet performance.
Oh and then there was another bit where the booze once again killed my hard on and seeing as I was blind drunk and starting to get the spins I thought Id suggest calling it a night. But she didn’t want to stop and kept trying to initiate more sex to the point where I had to play the ‘no means no card’. She was cool after that and Im not mad at her for anything, when the two of you are pissed consent can be a bit blured and communication is always key.
Not only was this bird the sexiest I think I’ve ever bedded, with the juiciest, tastiest pussy she also had an absolute cup winning blow job in her arsenal to boot. Now seeing as I cant cum from anything else but my own hand blow jobs are a bit hit and miss for me. I find that they can be just part of the routine of foreplay and some birds really enjoy giving them so I’m not going to stand in their way. But it’s not until you receive one of those ‘cor blimey blowjobs’ like she could give do you really appreciate the art form that is sucking dick. She had the technique of a sword swallower and the lung capacity of a deep-sea diver. My groans of satisfactions must have given her housemate more grounds to complain.
The following morning she lay there sleeping with her head on my chest. In my awake yet exhausted hungover state I admired her face for a while. I always had a thing for women with shaved heads. Whenever a female friend is considering changing their hairstyle I always suggest going for the buzz cut. It really brings out the structure of the face and increases androgyny which is the only thing that is sexier then a chubby girl in my book. This particular bird was so androgynous that at times when I was about to go down on her I wasn’t sure if I was going to eat her pussy or suck her dick. As I waited for my alarm to sound and could feel my hangover start to kick in I could hear her housemates getting ready for work and noticed that the walls were paper thin for sound, her neighbour must have heard everything… possibly even the bit where at one point in the night where she needed to leave the room and take a piss I suggested just doing it in my mouth. The only thing that stopped us that she’d been on the ale all night and there was no way I weren’t going to gag from it.
The next morning we cycled off to work together knowing we were both due horrendous hangovers. I text her later in the day thanking her for a good night and wished her a good day. She ghosted me, which I’ve always found lacking in decorum really, it don’t take much to acknowledge someone for a good date, especially if you’ve fucked them. But then it’s something that I make out pisses me off more then it actually does. Despite the fun night and hot sex I knew there probably wouldn’t be a second date. Although I may have made her out to be a bit of a dick she really weren’t. Yea sure I spotted nuances in her that came up as red flags. How she was insecure about her body even though she was conventionally perfect, how she told me to go fuck myself whenever I complimented her on anything. The fact that she was so sure that I’d unloaded inside her when such a thing weren’t possible, the general pillow banter we had were I picked up on certain things that made me think ‘I’ve seen it all before love’. Overall I think she was probably a lot more trouble then she was worth. But despite this she had a good sense of humour and a different take on the world and she was really cool and actually really friendly. I got the vibe that she was probably in the midst of shagging marathon and I was just lucky enough to catch her at the time where she wanted to clock up another notch so I was glad to be of service.
I did see her again actually on Facebook the following weekend as one of those ‘People you may know’ randomers. Freaked me out a little bit as Bumble aint linked with Facebook and I’ve never put my number on there… Someone told me it was to do with the location settings on your phone and it’s clocked that we spent a load of time in each others company. Creepy how Facebook tries to bend fate like that. A small part of me was tempted to add her, but then I thought the joke of wanting to appear like a creepy stalker weren’t actually funny when I stopped to think about it. I wish her all the best for the future.
So now I find myself in autumn with a lack of interest in the dating game. My Bumble and Tinder profiles are still active but they’re just there out of boredom more then anything. I dunno if I can be arsed with the financial and social exhaustion that dating entails. I’m sure I’ll be back in the saddle come Christmas once I get bored.
Seeing as I’ve been living as a professional non-monogamous bachelor my entire adult life I sometimes get asked for dating advice. I’m a terrible person to ask as my dates very rarely get past the first date stage. But if there’s one thing I can tell you its just be yourself. Don’t adapt and try and be the person you think your date wants you to be, if you really hit it off you’ll be living a lie which will soon get found out, also if someone doesn’t want to fuck for the person you truly are then they don’t deserve to fuck you at all.
Winters coming lads. Stay warm
Play me out Mozzer……
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