Feeling a smidge broken this morning…
Quite obviously that thought is followed by quite a large smug grin, but it is substantially tempered by the knowledge I have definitely overdone it.
Also, I have to look reasonably alert and not like I’ve been a reprobate by the time mum and dad come to go out for lunch. So. Two hours then! May need a nap…
Yesterday evening saw me curling my hair, as I had plenty of time to kill. Ill-advisedly, as it turned out. Newly-coloured hair in lovely condition doesn’t so much like being curled.
Another text barrage ensued to the unfortunate Prof. “It looks like a bird’s nest!!”
Then I shamelessly abused his free time by being a total girl, getting him to check my skirt wasn’t indecently short and my jumper didn’t make me look like a square. He deserves some sort of medal. Especially when I said “I’m in a hurry, ignore the tits!!!” Honestly. Sometimes my manners desert me.
Off I went, Louboutins in bag. Got lightly splashed by a lorry as I walked to the pub. Great!
I knew I was going to be there first as Mr H had said he was running 10 minutes late.
The manager showed me to my table, and went to get me some bread when I asked ever so nicely if he had a biscuit or something I could eat before I started drinking. I thanked him when he brought it over. “Any chance of a G&T…?” I smiled at him winningly. (I’m really good at winning smiles to people I don’t fancy). He also assured me he’d keep an eye out for my dinner companion. Awww.
I texted the Prof rather grumpily about when men are nervous before dates, because sometimes they say things that make me roll my eyes. Then I shoved my phone in my bag alongside my flats because a seriously yummy man was approaching my table, and yes, it was actually my date!
He sat down, apologised for being late, complimented me. He was tall, neat but cool hair, grey trousers, black fitted top, leather jacket. Twinkly eyes. Oh I am a sucker for a well-dressed man with twinkly eyes….
“Right” I said. “We’re basically going to have to pretend that my hair doesn’t look ridiculous!”.
Way to go with an opening line.
He laughed and had no idea what I was talking about. Happily this set the tone for dinner. Lots of laughing, quite a lot of me saying slightly daft things, talking about cheese.
We had starters and main course, and I couldn’t eat more than half of my main course. We split the bill and I said that I’d got coffee at home. He seemed genuinely surprised that I complimented him and told him he was very attractive, which to me seemed blindingly obvious.
He drove us home, after we’d picked up a bottle of wine.
We sat on the sofa, had a drink, chatted. I curled up my legs and informed him that if there was going to be any kissing that it would not be started by me. Batted my eyelashes and looked (what I hoped was) alluringly at him.
“You’ll need to sit here, then, if there’s going to be kissing”
I happily moved up the sofa, and he started kissing my neck.
YES! Cracking opening move. Killer. Mmmmm.
Then we moved on to actual kissing. Quite a lot of tongue. Higher tongue:lips ratio than I actually prefer, but enough lips to not make me not want to kiss.
Then he sat back and asked if I had a pack of cards.
“Errrrr, yeah, sure….” What? I wondered why. Could we not carry on with the kissing???
He fetched more wine, we sat on the rug and played cards. I was damned if I was not going to hitch my skirt up.
There was a lot of laughing over the cards because I kept taking my turn in the wrong place, mainly due to alcohol and not properly paying attention.
Happily, a game of Trumps became strip-Trumps. This was great until I realised I was going to have to take my tights off and sit there in my bra and knickers in full view… nooooo hide the thighs!!
I sat there with my arms wrapped around my legs, with him laughing at my being so ridiculous. “Whatever are you doing?!” he laughed at me, stripped down to his boxers and reclining on the rug.
“It’s alright for you” I said, leaning over and kissing his stomach. “You’re fucking gorgeous…”
“So are you…” he said.
The only reply to that, really, was to remove his boxers and get better acquainted with the contents, deploying the correct lip:tongue ratio.
I found that he asked me quite a lot what I liked. My brain said “just do it and find out! You’ll know if I like it!”. My mouth said “everything that we’ve been doing”.
“Can I go down on you?” he asked. OF COURSE YOU BLOODY CAN! “Mmm, yes please…”
Eventually we gravitated upstairs. I found him to be another chap who is not always rock-solid at the critical time, which is a source of general bemusement to me when everything else has been very hot and very sexy and quite obviously very arousing.
He liked to do that thing when he’s on top, he’s inside you, and then he closes your legs to make it shallow. I find that kind of strange. But whatever.
Also, when a guy has been vigorously attending to you with his fingers for twenty minutes and you haven’t suggested he be more gentle (please don’t treat my bits like a piston chamber for fingers!!) , it’s going be pretty desensitised down there. So if you’re going for the shallow thing, it’s not going to do much for me apart from making me think “great! I’m having sex! yay me!”
To have a break, I went down on him again. It really was quite a pleasure. Apart from cricking my back. I’m not sure there are many things I like hearing more than “God, you are really good that that. Seriously. Oh my God…”. I don’t love hearing “what do I have do to make you come?”, because usually I don’t know. Have just the right physiology? Don’t cry when I get my toy out if you can’t work out how to do it yourself!
Then, because it had the excellent effect of producing rock-hardness, I hopped on top, and we had a fabulously uninhibited hot sweaty five minutes. Then he said “Oh God I’ve just seen your boobs again, I’m going to come…”, and did.
Then we had a sleepy cuddle, and I told him he could stay. This was possibly slightly obvious as it was 11:30pm and he’d had wine.
I broke the news to him that I would be sleeping in the spare room. I always feel like I’m kicking a puppy who wants to sleep curled up around me. However, my need for sleep always wins out. He was halfway there, and I wasn’t going to extract myself in 10 minutes when he was fully asleep and draped over me. Plus, if I haven’t decided what sort of relationship it’s going to be, I don’t do sleeping with them. Cold but true.
So I decamped to the spare room, where the gales were roaring around the end of the house and kept me awake most of the night. Also, sex has a funny effect on me, even if I haven’t come- similar to caffeine. My brain won’t really switch off. Combined with the gales, I didn’t get much sleep.
I snuck back into my own bedroom at 7:30am. In the spirit of being a good hostess I thought perhaps I ought to take my t-shirt off and show willing and not just be a miserable cow who slept in till 10. Also, I am very aware that morning is a good time for productive rock-solidness…
A sleepy cuddle quickly turned into my knickers being removed, and the contents investigated (hurray). My legs got moved across his torso, and then I got moved on top of him, face up, so that he could slip in from below, as it were. Not one I’ve experienced before. It was very sexy, but prone to slipping outage.
My arms were tingling and sore from the activities of the night before, and I could already tell I’d overdone it. I requested some activity on my back, which was forthcoming after I’d been down on him again (and got another gold star). The activity was finger-based, and vigorous. Fed up of being kind of nearly at the brink five times, I announced that my toy was required. I duly fetched it, positioned his hand and it, and five minutes later my eyes nearly popped out of my head.
Then we had a snooze. Actually, he went back to sleep. I just dozed. I told him before he nodded off that my parents were coming for lunch at 12:30.
Decided that a bath was probably a good idea for my back, so slipped out and jumped in a hot pond of bubbles. Then turned the bedroom light on and got dressed, suggesting that he might like a shower. He got to see dressed-up me last night; this morning it’s jeans and a t-shirt and hair blessedly back to normal.
“Sorry” he said good-naturedly, “I just feel very relaxed in your company!”
We had breakfast and chatted. I told him I’d been married, and I did the thing I always do when I end up having that conversation, which is saying “I left him!” in case men think I’m a sad embittered divorcée who has a giant chip on her shoulder. Nip that in the bud. So actually I probably sound like a heartless bitch! Heheh.
He asked for a kiss goodbye, which of course I was happy to provide.
The kiss quite clearly turned into a snog by the front door.
“We are not starting something we can’t finish” I said, breaking off, smiling.
“Awww” he said, coming back for some more kissing.
I smacked his bottom, and laughed. “Go home!” I told him, and off he went.
I’m definitely going to pay for the rest of the day (and possibly tomorrow) for the exertions. Stupid illness. Stupid body. Feeling slow and achy and tingly arms and tired. Some of that is normal post-sex lethargy; some is not.
My conclusion is I’m still not well enough for such shennigans, but you’ve got to try it to know! And it was a lot of fun.