So Im taking a break – See you when I feel better.

x

My university years saw my transformation from closed adolescent to sexually confident young man, and I vividly recall the first expression of that.It was December and I’d been there about 3 months, finding my feet. I went with a friend to the students union to drink and look at women. Towards the end of the night we moved into the dance area; a very cool emptied swimming pool. We got talking to a couple of women. I remember they expressed some objectionable views about the university men, but then I gor spikey women and this probably drew me in.

We paired off, though my friend has always insisted that I abandoned him with a random rude women, while I looked after the attractive one…One on one, we talked as 18 year olds: Salinger, Trainspotting, Oasis and Blur. During this jousting I established that this was a person I wanted to sleep with. She had sparkling eyes, a beautiful Roman nose and an enticing, Rubenesque figure. The clothes she wore, trousers and a loose blouse, suggested she was less confident of her sexy body than I.To this point I had only slept with two people: A slim man and a slim woman. I had yet to experience the intense pleasure of a fuller figure. Yet to feel the weight, as well as the softness of a womans breasts.

We were enjoying each other, bathing in each others smiles, moving closer, but I made no move. I was still a bit shy. Thankfully she wasn’t! Mid-conversation, I may even have been speaking, she inched forward and pressed her lips to mine. This, the first kiss, taught me something new: It turns me on to kiss while standing up, holding my entire body against a woman. I love it when my leg, hips, stomach, chest and lips all touch hers.

If I said you have a nice body, would you hold it against me?

We could both feel my erection, so when I suggested we go back to my place and she agreed, I knew this would be a good night. All’s fair in sex and war, so I abandoned my friend (he still mentions this sometimes, I’m not forgiven) and walked back to my high-rise student heaven.In my room, she suggested I do something strange but erotic: “take all your clothes off straight away”. Sex was implied but nudity would normally comes in increments. I did as she said and was soon naked. She was fully clothed, on her knees, on the edge of my bed. She beckoned my forward. As I walked, my rigid penis bounced slightly and I could see that her eyes never left it. She was about to perform a trick I’d never before seen, and have never experienced with anyone else since.I stood by the bed with my penis near her mouth. She placed her lips so close to my glans that I could feel her breath, then moved her face around the side, as if to savour my length from the closest of quarters. Still she hadn’t touch me. I would later learn that this intensely erotic teasing was her favourite game, but for now this was all new and I quivered with excitement.She placed her lips back in front of my penis and waited. I could have moved forward, touched her face with it, but by now I knew the game. Without touching me, she opened her mouth wide and moved it over the end of my penis. It only touched her tongue and she didn’t close her mouth around it. She moved back and forth with this action a few times. I could feel the warmth of her mouth but this wasn’t a blow job, it was advanced teasing.When it felt like this minimalist approach might be enough to make me come, she pulled back and adjusted her position: raising her head and changing the angle. For the first time, she firmly grasped my penis (don’t come, don’t come, don’t come, remember I was 18), held it at the base and placed the first 2 inches or so in her mouth, this time firmly closing her lips and allowing me the full warm, wet pleasure. Next, her ultra-arousing party trick. I felt the tip against her throat, my limit, but not hers. With firm pressure, she pressed her whole head forward, and after a little resistance, and with a stifled gulping sound my entire length was down her throat. Her lips were against my pubic bone, and with little movement possible (after all, her head was impaled on my penis) she began a sort of gentle vibrating hum. My god, this was a turn on. I felt my orgasm approach and wondered if I should withdraw. My body took over though and I came in gentle convulsions, with restricted movement. She swallowed without swallowing.

Later that evening there would be advanced filthiness and squirming, and I dated this rather lovely woman for over a year, but it’s this surprising opening to our sexual history which I always remember.

I met a girl off the internet. She was a thing of beauty, an artist pursuing her dream. Feline eyes shone powerfully from her shy frame. When we hugged I knew contentedness, when we kissed I knew intimacy, when we spoke I knew intellect, when she left I knew I needed her. But she didn’t have time for me in her life.

Now I sit, pathetically fragile, an ageing fool before my time.

I’m a literary exhibitionist too. Below are the final emails between myself and Art Girl – Wow, I’ve got it bad, I feel terrible! I’m attempting to turn it into some anthroporphic observational thing – To step outside of myself and examine my emotions, rather than remaining locked in this sad place. I’ll remind you once more, we went on three measly dates.

Anyway, the emails from last night and this afternoon are below. I’ve noticed today how I’m subtly trying to regain control of the split, make it for my reasons, when in fact I was just plain dumped:
On 10/31/07, <The London Exhibitionist> wrote:

Truths:
About me:

1) I’d like to meet someone who’d see me as a priority
2) I commit totally to the women in my life – which only works if its loosely reciprocated
3) I’m exactly as emotional as I suggested in our early emails
4) I’m a lot older than you. Nearly 8 years and half a generation I’d guess
5) I thought you were absolutely lovely

About you:

1) You’re 17 years younger than my last girlfriend
2) You’re sexy as hell
3) You’re pursuing something noble
4) You should only be with someone who complements that
5) You’re absolutely lovely

At least half of those are enough to skewer a relationship on their own,
but they all apply simultaneously. So that’s it then. I’ve got to go back to
my instincts. I checked our early emails and I didn’t want to speak to you
because you were too young for me – But you turned me around with the
totally unfair technique of charm! Good luck with it all gorgeous <Art Girl>.

Strangely, considering my recent bout of casual sex with ladies I’ve hardly met, I’m really not cut-out for casual sex at all. An emblematic realisation: Art girl is some sort of blow-job genius. She gave me the best blow-job I’ve had, with firm, loose movements, enthusiasm, both-hands, deep, wet. Really, the best. The shy girl disappears, replaced by an insatiable giver of pleasure. When I have a memorable sexual experience, and her blow-jobs were certainly that, it often fuels my wanking fantasies for weeks afterwards - I bask in the hornyness of it. Because she’s rejected me, because it won’t happen again, it brings me no pleasure – I can barely bring myself to even think about it.  

After the night described below, we didn’t meet up for a week. Both too busy was the consensus, but now the recently dumped me can see that she could have cancelled something to see me – and didn’t. We met up last night, late because she only fitted me in after her life drawing class. It was actually a lovely evening, which ended with warm naked sex and me making her come with my hand as she slid slowly off my bed, but now I can see the warning signs. She complained about how far Richmond is from the centre of town, she was vague about meeting up at the weekend. I feel weirdly used. Used for sex I guess. A macho corner of my brain likes the idea of being used for sex, but my soft centre is hurt. I only have sex for the intimacy afterwards, and therefore it’s this she’s rejecting.

Her reasons for ending it are valid and excruciating. She’d not have time to see me, she doesn’t want to feel weighed down, we’re in different life stages. All true, but of course another truth is that she’s just not that into me. 

I only met up with her 3 times but I let myself get just a little carried away, so I’m sad now.  

She’s very good looking, and this opens up interesting and strong emotions for me. Everyone wants a gorgeous partner, but with me there’s something more. I’m not a particularly handsome man, OK looks, but I’m desperate to be thought of as attractive, and to be with attractive women. I often punch above my weight in terms of attractivess. My ex-wife was (is) very attractive in a quirky way. My recent ex is just absurdly pretty, to the point that men would throw themselves at her, and I’d often be asked to justify the attractiveness disparity by pissed-up bastards after the pub. Even though the relationship had long gone sour, it took me ages to end that relationship, partly because I knew I had hold of an empirically attractive individual. Silly, I know. Art Girl is similarly gorgeous, much better looking than me, and the paranoid (or realistic) me wonders if I’ve been dumped because she could see this fundamental truth.

I like the post, if not the events it describes. It’s the best thing I’ve written so far I think, and proves the cathartic, clarifying effect of wrtten expression. I’m proud of it.

I’m calling her Finance Girl. I met up with her on Sunday night. We had a romantic meal in a smart Italian restaurant in Mayfair. She looked very pretty and was warm company. We chatted for ages, over champagne I couldn’t really afford. I spoke about my mum too much for a second date. She sent self-consciously smouldering eyes in my direction, and rubbed my leg under the table. She has a knowing, confident sexuality, and it’s appealing.

The flirting got more explicit, until I suggested we “skip desert, find a quiet street lamp to kiss under, then go discover her apartment”. She agreed. 

We wandered the quiet Sunday streets back to her place. She lives at Picadilly Circus. Literally. To non-Londoners, no-one lives at Picadilly circus. It’s an absurdity. But she really does live there. On the whole top floor of a rather splendid grey mansion block, complete with sooty roof terrace. She did a quick tour of her apartment, excluding the bedroom – “maybe I’ll show you later”.

We kissed in her kitchen, me pinning her to the wall, gently biting her bottom lip. I wore skinny jeans, and my hard penis was crushed and prominant. She looked, but didn’t touch or comment. I lied that I like rosé and we retired to the living room sofa, glasses in hand. Once sitting, we kissed deeply and passionately, and soon I was lying full length on top of her. Feeling constricted by clothes and harsh light, we moved to her bedroom. Still standing, without breaking the kiss, we undressed each other. She gave an unexpected intake of breath when she freed my penis, but didn’t grasp it, instead feathering her fingers over it, as though it were bone china. In bed we kissed and touched, but without momentum, without narrative. She was inert and I was tentative. The confident temptress schtick was revealed as an act. She was nervous and unsure, not unlike everyone else. I rescued the fraying condom from my wallet, giving that poignant totem some unexpected significance in it’s old age. Although she was reassuringly moist I asked her to ease me in – My size sometimes makes it difficult just to ‘slip it in’ – I didn’t spell this point out to her. The sex, an unchanging missionary thing, felt nice, but after about 10 minutes she whispered in my ear “maybe you could come now baby”. I did.

Lying naked on her bed, she admitted she’s scared of penises, calling mine ”your giant phallus” – a ball shrinking phrase meant in jest. Later we kissed and hugged up close. i touched between her legs and she was very moist – More moist than I’ve ever known. I gently rubbed her, never reading from her signs if I was being too gentle, too rough or hitting the spot. After a minute or two she turned her head into my shoulder and tightened her body, coming in waves, before curling into me. The first and only moment of intimacy. Later still, as we dozed, she reached round to touch my penis, I got hard, but this was forensic manual examination rather than mutual pleasure and my erection soon subsided. I drifted to sleep.

The next morning a cruel buzzer woke us at 7am. We both had work. I wandered her apartment naked, enjoying the exhibitionism. She cupped my bottom each time she passed. At the undergound station she loudly complained that she’d lost her Oyster card so would have to stand in line with the tourists. I neglected to mention I don’t even have an Oyster card.

On the train to the office I thought back fondly to the intimacy I shared with my ex – The sexiest and most impossible woman on this earth. I won’t be going back, but nights like these make it tough.

Me – Really enjoyed the morning with you, and my instinct that I’d fancy you was proved right! Would be great to see you again, maybe over a glass of wine?

Finance Girl - Thanks for a delightful breakfast. With or without your man-bag, I think you’re sexy as hell. I’m not good at deferring pleasure. Fancy drinks Sunday, 8pm? XO

Me – Most certainly, 8 it is, where’s a good spot?

Finance girl - How about XXXXXX?

Me – Booked it X

(later)

Finance Girl - A vice of mine is outrageousness. So if I send you naughty & disgraceful texts while I’m out tonight, forgive me would you? XO

Me – Oh man, I’m holding my own outrageousness in, just waiting to exhale. Don’t hold back sexy lady, the bigger risk is Im disappointed if you DON’T get just a little naughty

(later)

Finance Girl - My friend and I are getting a little flirtatious with each other. She thinks I have sexy knees. Just a little harmless sensuousness… I think. XO

Me – I didn’t get the measure of your knees this morning sadly. However I did notice your eyes, smile and the nape of your kneck (which was my illicit pleasure). Sensuousness is a pleasure deferred… XX

Finance Girl - Baby, I’ve popped my friend in a cab home, didn’t want to take advantage. She was nestling into me, however, and stroking my leg. XO

Me – Aha. Relieved you didn’t take advantage. Leaping way over the line for a moment (just a moment, really) I was hoping one of us would take advantage tomorrow night. XX

Finance Girl - I admit, in my intoxicated state, that I hope you’ll take advantage tomorrow. I’ve been playing the dominant female all evening , so it’d be fun to take a back seat. XO

Me – Wishing you were on your way round. I’ll see what can be achieved with you on the back seat tomorrow. I’m glad you were the first to use the word ‘sexy’ in our exchange, as it frees me up to say that I think you’re absurdly sexy, and I’ve thought about little else all day. XXX

Finance Girl - Ditto, good night gorgeous. XO

Me – XX

So we meet up tonight. I’m heading out in 20 minutes. I’ll let you know how it goes…