I met D for that drink which morphed into a dvd in his apartment, which morphed into 3 bottles of wine and a beer, which morphed into my own demise from my classy facade to a hammered slut.
He was the gentleman. I left unsatisfied....the humiliation didn't creep in until morning.
He kissed me when he walked me home. But ignored my offer to come up and my offer after that.
A phone call this morning told me that he would never have slept with me on a first date. That he has more respect for me than that. That he wants to "do it again sometime".
I presume he knows that I would have happily fucked him in an alley on the way home. That I was desperately horny and worked up.
Of all the men in my life right now he's the one left me wanting more.
Not a slut. A girl making up some time after a 3 year relationship.
Somewhere during that 3 year ellipsis a large handful of men had their balls lanced off.
The first sentance left me in stitches, very good
I think, below your obviously mental sex-drive, what you crave is a good old fashoined fucking hammering, im talking knuckle dusters and baseball bats.
Or maybe not, who knows.
If anything, i admire your ability to make every night sound like a Friday night - there is something in that, that makes me remember the old-skool days of getting truely smashed, every night.
Now reserved for certain weekends like my upcoming one, i still miss how my life has put me in a quiet place where this is not possible. As much.
Life is a nial. Hammer it.
Cheers again
B