I had low standards.

II originally wrote this in October of ’10 and I’ve had to update it with more truth. Specifically how he had whiskey dick. I don’t know why I hid that originally. It’s not like he was reading my old blog. Ethan ended up calling me all the time, but eventually flaking out on me. The last time we were supposed to meet was the same night I met Troy. He reminded me that sexual chemistry and promises mean nothing. This is part of my Memories Series, not to be confused with current lovers. This is me reliving my sexual history and seeing what I can find buried in the last year and a half.

I’ve had sex again.

And quite a bit of it, all things considered — two nights’ worth, actually — which sounds inconsequential, but what it means for me is that I’ve found someone I really like, whom I trust, and who has that rare combination of sexual chemistry that really does it for me. This is amazing news.

I met this guy on a whim and we hit it off immediately. He looks like a less muscular Clark Kent and if he wasn’t so damn cool I’d just call him that. I actually canceled my Sunday night date with some dude to hang with him instead. We met at a local pub and I drank Guinness and he had Stella until the place shut down at midnight. We met at 5.

I was so taken aback by his easiness, his sense of fun and calm. We decided to head back to his place to keep hanging out. I didn’t want the night to end and neither did he.

When we got to his apartment we opened more beer and he sat down behind his piano keyboard and started to play. I squirmed on my seat and tried not to feel so overwhelmed as he serenaded me. Eventually, I committed to relax into the experience and let my eyes drift across his bare walls and quintessential bachelor pad. His ex-wife had taken everything.

We sat on the couch and listened to The National and talked, inching closer and closer as we laughed and talked, until eventually kissing was the only thing left to do. We were leaning in together at first, then he stood up over me and pushed me back down into the plush pillows of the couch and kissed me so perfectly, effortlessly, skillfully that my breath was stolen from me. My skin began to buzz and my mind race. I thought, “This is what I’ve been waiting for,” as he continued to stroke my mouth with his tongue and my hair with his hands.

He broke it off for a moment and stood back a little and I breathed with a heavy-lidded, dazed look, “You’re kissing the fuck out of me.” And back onto my mouth he went.

I love kissing. I think that a good kisser is more than just skill. It’s intuition, empathy, creativity, and skill; and this guy had them all. We rolled around on the floor, he grabbed my breasts, I grabbed his cock through his jeans, we laughed some more. Then it was either keep kissing, fuck, or go home, and since it was past two in the morning and neither of us wanted a first-date fuck I went home.

It took 7 glorious little minutes to get to my house where a “Thanks for tonight, pretty lady” text was waiting for me.

I canceled a date with another man Monday night to hang out with him again. We grabbed dinner at his favorite local Thai restaurant and I bought us some wine on the way back to his place. We chatted, but things were cooler. I was a little confused; maybe it was just a one-night thing. He doesn’t have many friends here due to his travel schedule so perhaps he was just looking for friendship?

We sat on his patio and I smoked a cigarette. I was just about to ask him if he was at all interested in a repeat of the previous night when he says, “I have no game, and no idea if a woman is ever interested in me. I don’t know if I should ever make the first move.” That was all I needed and told him as much. I got out of my chair and held his jaw in my hands and kissed him deeply. My body tingled as he kissed me back. I straddled him and he wrapped his arms around me and squeezed. I melted into him.

We went inside and tore each other’s clothes off. His cock was beautiful, his balls soft like buttery, kid-gloves. I wrapped my mouth around him and tried to show a little bit of how much I enjoyed him; not really knowing whether or not our swift slide into sex would really be enough. Then, surprisingly, he pushed me back and spread my knees and suckled and kissed my pussy like it was honey. He made little grunts of pleasure and hummed into my curls. I looked down past the swell of my breasts to see him alternately watching me intently and with his eyes closed in pleasure.

He sat up, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and started ravaging my mouth again. I purred at the taste of my own juices. He broke off for a moment and was back over me, bare, the head of his cock pushing at me. Then he sunk in deep and long. We both sighed.

Why was I fucking him without a condom?? And then he stopped and I couldn’t feel him anymore.

He pulled out and shrunk away from me. I was afraid to say anything. He seemed tortured. I ventured something, but he cut me off with a, “Please, don’t… this has never happened before. Just give me a minute.” I waited patiently while he stroked himself and abruptly he was back and launched himself into me.

His thrusts were as relentless as the kissing had been 5 minutes before. He flipped me over and onto the ground, never breaking contact and got better resistance against the floor.

Suddenly it was over, and all too soon. It wasn’t even close to great. He went soft, was temperamental and slightly cruel about his erection, and then only went for his finish line before he lost it. My expectations for sex are highly metaphysical and an orgasm is never my goal, but even I felt used after that.

I pulled my dress back on and we smoked another cigarette. It was extremely late again and I went home exhausted where I jacked off with my vibe.

He left town for work the next day, but we made plans for him to stop by my house when he got home Thursday night. I got a text at 11:30 pm that said, “Ding dong” and I opened my door and there he was. All 6′ 1″ of him in a black suit and tie and an adorable smirk on his face. I gave him a tour of the house, but my hopes of immediate sex were dashed when I sensed some shyness from him, but I didn’t really care.

I gave him the six pack of Stella I’d bought for him for the next day to celebrate his divorce becoming final and I opened a bottle of wine. Fifteen minutes in his phone rings and he excuses himself. It’s a woman he’s been seeing out of town and someone he’s been having a difficult time with. I can hear her voice on the other end asking him if he wanted to go to Miami with her. He’s rolling his eyes and making pained faces. He’s doing damage control for standing her up earlier in the week.

For whatever reason, I see this as my chance to shine. I give him a look and bend over and untie his shoes, peel off his socks. Next I loosen his tie and pull his shirt out; unbuckle his pants, zip down the fly and pull out his hard cock. His voice is cracking as he speaks, my lips are smiling around his heat. I start to suck in earnest, then come up to whisper in the ear without the phone to it, “You better get off the phone.”

I have no idea how he hangs up, but he does and I pull his pants off the rest of the way and lead him into my bedroom. My bedroom that I’ve so thoroughly reclaimed as my own. My bedroom with the brand new sheets and rearranged belongings. We tumble onto the bed and fuck passionately. We talk and lay around, drink some more, have a cigarette and end up back in bed. We decide that we’ll be each other’s #1; that we both want the relationship trappings, but not the commitment. I’m over the moon. I’ve found my motherfucking unicorn. “Now,” I tell him, “I just need two more.”

He laughs, “You want a stable of ponies!”

“Yep. Pretty much!”

I don’t remember how we fell asleep. I just remember waking up in his arms and feeling his long, muscular legs next to mine. I slid my hand down his belly to the soft nest of hair where his semi-aroused cock lay peacefully. I wrapped my hand around it and stroked until it was rock hard, then pushed him onto his back and straddled him; slid him deep inside me. His eyes were still closed and he was moaning softly.

I rocked on him and kissed his ears and neck. I worried a little that maybe he might want to sleep, but continued anyway. His cock hit my g-spot and I started to giggle as I always do. I reached under my bed and grabbed my vibrator and sat up tall on top of him and placed it on my clit. He moaned a curious, “Oh??” sort of sound as the vibrations hit his pelvis. I came hard with him inside of me and shuddered forward, took a few breaths then lifted off of him, and dove onto his cock with gusto, my scent filling my nostrils.

I sucked and fondled and teased for only a few moments until I felt his cum hit my mouth with a hot rush; his body tense and shivering. He pulled me up and said, “That is my favorite way to wake up.” Funny thing is, it’s one of my favorite ways of waking up a man. Lucky us.

I left to go make us breakfast and let him sleep. He hasn’t had anyone make him breakfast in years. I haven’t had anyone eat a breakfast I made and truly appreciate it in years. It was a win-win.

That was the last time I saw him and I won’t have the chance to see him again for another two weeks, next Thursday, and even then I’m not sure how that will work. I have my kid that weekend and week he gets back. But I don’t even really care.

If there’s one thing all of this is teaching me is that life, at least some parts of it, are extremely temporary and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s up to us to take meaning out of our lives no matter how short or long an experience.

He and I text frequently and I know he thinks about me — something I’m still shocked about, I mean, why does anyone think about me?? I have no idea — and he’s said some amazing things to me like he expects us to know each other for a long, long time; that I’m awesome; that I’m a “sexy beast”; that he’ll call me if he ever needs to talk to someone. I have no way of knowing if any of this is true, but my new found zen about the whole thing is telling me to take it for what it’s worth and enjoy the sounds of the words in the moment even if they never come to fruition.

[Post script: My hope and naivete runneth over. This is where the walls start to go up, up, up. I never did see that guy again, but it mattered little. I was knee-deep into Troy.]

A 40-something single mother who writes honestly about sex, body image, D/s, relationships, her nervous tics, and how much she loves to fucking fuck. She also likes to show you her tits.

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