by Abby Lee
The length of it can lie against your labia with the tip tickling your clit Sometimes you can’t feel it inside you
You can rub it through jeans without it being noticeable It doesn’t always show through jeans when hard
You can get it all in your mouth without choking Sometimes it’s nice to deep-throat
Easier to give a hand job – if it only fits into one fist Using only fingers to stroke it can be frustrating
Holding it when standing can make you feel powerful Penetrative sex whilst standing up is often difficult
It feels wonderful inside your arse It can be difficult finding a good angle of entry
Large
Pros Cons
It fills you up and you feel like you are getting ‘fucked’ Being filled up can hurt and prevent you getting fucked hard
It pushes against your cervix and stimulates your womb A constant pushing against your cervix can be painful and annoying
It tugs on your labia during penetration and thus indirectly stimulates your clit It can rub your labia too intensely, making you sore
It looks beautiful when hard underneath jeans Hiding an erection under clothing is difficult
It gives you deep orgasms It misses your g-spot
You can feel like a girl when you hold it, or put it in your mouth It can be more laborious to give a hand job and you can’t get it all in your mouth
It can reach any position, any angle, any depth Not all positions can be comfortable
It makes you feel intimidated and excited Forget about anal: no chance that is gonna fit in there, mate
3
March
Wednesday 2nd March
Finally met up with Blog Boy again this evening – the notorious third date. It wasn’t the ideal time to meet because I had done an exhausting 14-hour day and was very tired, but he was booked solid for the next few months and I knew I’d have too much work on my plate then as well, so I didn’t want to let this chance slip by and lose all that momentum.
Plus I was gagging for a shag.
So even though I was dressed in work clothes, my hair was a mess, I had no make-up on and I looked as knackered as I felt, I drove straight from work to meet him for a late dinner. Fuck it, I thought, he’s going to have to see me looking rough at some point – better for him to see the real me and not just think of me as the sexy, sultry girl who let him grab her arse in the middle of Oxford Street.
It was great to see him again; we caught up on each other’s lives, ate some lovely food in a tapas bar and laughed a lot. It felt like hardly any time had passed since we last met; there was no embarrassment or awkward silences between us. The rapport was instant.
So when I drove him home a couple of hours later and leaned over the steering wheel to kiss him, I was shocked that he then pulled away and said, ‘I’d prefer it if we were just friends from now on, if that’s OK with you.’
I was speechless; I really didn’t see that coming. All I could do was mumble that it was ‘fine with me; friends is great’, before driving off in a state of shock.
I was so stunned by what he had said that I got hopelessly lost driving home. The journey took me twice as long as it should have because I was racking my brain to try to understand why he would suddenly be so disinterested in me, after seeming so keen.
And now I am sat here, unable to sleep for my confusion. I thought he liked me – how could I get it so wrong? I know it’s silly, but I can’t help but feel gutted that he’s fobbed me off with the whole ‘friends’ thing; I thought at the very least he wanted to sleep with me.
Friday 4th March
The Blog Boy episode seems to have ended in frustration and Tom’s been sending me loads of flirty text messages that lead nowhere, so I decided to call him and see if he was in town. It’s about time we had another shag.
‘Hey, Abby,’ Tom said as he answered the phone, ‘Nice to hear from you! How are things?’
‘Not bad,’ I replied. ‘Been a while, eh?’
He laughed. ‘Yeah, maybe too long. Work going well?’
‘Fine,’ I said, ‘but I haven’t called you to talk about work.’
There was a pause. ‘Why did you call me then?’ Tom asked.
‘I think you know,’ I said, slowly.
‘No, I don’t. Tell me.’
‘Well,’ I said, trying to find the words, ‘I think there are better things to do with my mouth than talk all night.’
Tom laughed again, ‘And what might that be, Abby?’
I took a deep breath and swallowed my shyness. ‘Sliding your cock between my lips and sucking it deeply?’
I heard him breathe heavily. ‘Well, in that case, maybe you need to jump straight in a cab and come over; I’m staying in Westbourne Park.’ His voice sounded gruff.
‘Yes, I think that’s a good idea,’ I replied, and was relieved that I had already showered, shaved my legs and put on a new pink lacy thong just minutes before calling him. I do like to be prepared.
Later, when I arrived at Tom’s, we did end up having a conversation – of sorts:
‘I forgot how hard you come, Abby,’ he gasped, as my convulsions subsided for a moment. ‘When you come, you COME, eh?’
‘Mmm,’ I replied, as I shifted back up to face him, my breasts in front of his mouth.
He began kissing my nipples again, and tugged them gently. I slid my legs around him and tucked my ankles behind his arse. We moved together for a while.
‘God, you’re close again, I can feel you,’ he breathed in my ear, as I gripped his back and held on for dear life.
‘Fuck … that feels good.’ My toes curled and my insides began to grip him like a vice.
He pulled me closer, holding my shaking hips as he slid me up and down his cock. We paused for a second and I caught my breath once more.
‘Right. Let’s try something else.’ He picked me up and flipped me over so that just my back lay on the couch. He knelt on the floor and pushing my knees back towards my chest, rested my ankles on his shoulders. Then he slid himself into me sharply and I trembled.
‘Mmm, you’re off again!’ he said, as he grabbed my tits and began thrusting. I quivered, dug my hands into his arse cheeks and gripped his neck with my toes, my body tensing up.
‘Jesus. Fuck me. Harder …’ I trailed off, almost unaware of his groaning, grimacing and steady pumping as I spasmed away uncontrollably.
‘Fucking hell, what’s with you tonight? You’re on fire!’ Tom said as he picked me up once again and sat himself back down on the couch, ensuring he was still inside me as I slid my legs around him.
‘It just feels … so good … ooh …’ I pushed myself onto him deeply, and rode him again.
‘Yeah, go on, yeah,’ he moaned, as I clawed my nails into his back. ‘Ouch!’
‘Sorry,’ I murmured, and slid my hands around his neck, holding him tightly as my convulsions started up again.
He grasped my arse and pulled me into him as the waves of pleasure filled me once more. ‘That was sudden. Where did that one come from, eh?’
(To him): ‘I think it was your cock rubbing against my g-spot. It felt so fucking good.’
(To myself): I can’t quite believe it, but I think that the excitement of fucking to the band Kasabian’s song ‘Reason Is Treason’ made me come. How weird is that?
We waited a moment for my shivering to subside. Then he pushed me off him and stood up, cock still rigid. ‘Right. There’s something I’ve been waiting to try.’
He motioned me to walk round to the end of the couch. I slowly managed to manoeuvre my still-shaking body there and stood next to the waist-high arm.
‘Bend over,’ he said, and leaned me over the arm so that my upper body was draped downwards into the seat of the couch. I grabbed hold of the sofa cushion as he slipped himself into me.
‘Mmmfghrbmmm …’ I mumbled, as he began to thrust, my mouth pressed up against the cushion.
‘Uuugh,’ he groaned, holding my hips an
d pumping me hard from behind. My legs began to shake once more. They felt like jelly. I clung onto the cushion for dear life.
‘Uh, fuck, yeah!’ he panted, ‘Jesus, I can feel you coming again! Fuck!’
I heard myself saying (through the cushion): ‘Harder. Harder. Fuck me. Oh God, please. Harder!’ and I ground my teeth, went blind, lost control of my legs and shuddered violently.
Our convulsions were simultaneous. He pulled out, removed the condom and sat down on the sofa, but I couldn’t move. All feeling in my legs was gone. The only sensation I had was of my body quivering like a jellyfish. I was still clinging to the sofa cushion to stop myself collapsing; I just couldn’t stop trembling.
‘Been a while, has it?’ he asked, laughing and out of breath.
I grinned at him through my post-coital haze; if only he knew.
Monday 7th March
I am ill. My throat hurts, my lungs ache and I feel groggy.
Ever since I got back from shagging Tom, I’ve been sat under the duvet feeling sorry for myself. Not even a little fiddle here and there makes me feel better – which says a lot.
Earlier I had to venture out to my local supermarket to do a quick shop and get some emergency essentials. Even with a crappy cough and bunged-up head, I had to brave it and stock up on food and groceries.
Oddly, two guys proceeded to have the following conversation about me down one of the supermarket aisles:
Male #1 after having walked past me three times to check me out (to Male #2): ‘Well, would you?’
Male #2 (loud enough for me to hear; looking at my arse): ‘I would.’ He smiled at me and then looked at the curve of my breasts against my t-shirt. ‘With pleasure.’
Male #1 nodded in affirmation. He joined Male #2 in the dairy section, and they grinned at me.
At that precise moment, my flu decided it would be the absolute perfect time to exit my body in a retching, loud, throttling hacking that can only be compared to the sound of an antelope having its throat bitten into by a leopard and choking out its final breath.
Not sexy; especially not with added sputum. While I was busy hacking a good ole phlegm-filled cough (with a massive sneeze too, for added sensuality) the boys scarpered, and I can’t blame them really. I am not at my sexiest with a runny nose, it has to be said.
Although, thinking about it, when I was round at Tom’s, I was literally dripping onto him. And not only from down below. No, clearly I was just developing the beginnings of the flu and my nose was running like a tap when we were shagging – no amount of tissues could dry it up.
But Tom didn’t seem to mind: he just pulled me down onto his cock, gripped me harder and told me, ‘A good shag’ll bring it out of you.’
Amen to that.
Tuesday 8th March
I got an email from Blog Boy today.
In it, he tried to explain that though he liked me and was attracted to me, he just wasn’t ready to be in a relationship right now, because he wanted to travel in the summer and his job-hopping didn’t leave space for someone else in his life.
He apologised if he misled me in any way by showing so much interest, but wanted to let me know that he was trying to do the ‘right thing’ by not acting on his attraction to me and asking to be friends instead.
But when I then emailed back and suggested we have a fling instead – there’s always hoping – he wrote back immediately and said he didn’t want us to be fuck-buddies, because he wasn’t good at casual sex. Plus he was worried that if we did get involved, that he might end up hurting me, so he wanted to put a stop to things before they developed any further.
He reassured me that he meant what he said about staying friends; that we should meet up soon for dinner, that he really enjoyed my company.
I am really pleased he came clean; at least I know I wasn’t imagining the whole thing, and the fact that he respected me enough to NOT fuck me, because he wants to ensure we stay friends, says a lot about him. It’s nice to know that he thinks of me as more than just a potential fuck-buddy.
Though that doesn’t stop me wanting to shag him rotten.
Saturday 12th March
Given the Blog Boy situation, I finally decided to take up Kathy’s suggestion of going to a singles’ evening at a club last night. And as luck would have it, I actually managed to meet someone there.
Not that I had planned to; I had dragged Kathy, who’s perfectly happy with her boyfriend, along to the Gardening Club in Covent Garden as moral support. I promised her there would be free cocktails if she’d come and keep me company while I checked out the talent and got more confident about my chat-up technique.
I certainly didn’t expect to be going to some cheap hotel afterwards and trying out hand-job techniques on a complete stranger, but after a few drinks, when I spotted him standing by the bar, I just knew I had to talk to him. Tall, with baby-blue eyes, unkempt fair hair and large hands, he was just my type.
So I plucked up all my courage and made my way over to him, catching his eye in the mirror and smiling shyly at him. To my relief, he smiled back and we began chatting quite easily.
Ben was from Manchester and down in London on business; he mentioned that he had ended up in the bar because he was trying to have a drink somewhere near his hotel. I noted this information keenly: very handy, I thought, nice and local.
We talked and drank for a couple of hours, our conversation getting more flirtatious as time went on. At some point Ben’s hand subtly landed on my knee and I knew that things were looking good.
When I placed my hand on his knee in response, he looked down at it and then grinned at me, saying,
‘Maybe we should go to my hotel and have a quieter drink there?’
I didn’t need much persuading: it was getting harder to concentrate on the conversation as I got more and more aroused.
So I went over to Kathy who was busy schmoozing with the DJ and told her it looked like I could have got lucky. She laughed, wished me luck and demanded that I call her first thing tomorrow with details. I promised her I’d fill her in and she gave me a friendly slap on the arse as I rejoined Ben and we made our way to his hotel.
We didn’t waste much time when the door was shut behind us; our clothes were off in seconds and our hands all over each other. Almost before I knew it, his fingers were inside me and I was climaxing over and over again. He was very skilled in that department, that’s for sure.
It was then that I felt a little inadequate. Jerking a guy off has got to be the part of sex I am least sure about; to be able to pleasure a man just by stroking his cock is a big achievement in my eyes. I almost felt unqualified to touch him after his skilful display.
The reason I’m not so confident about it is because years ago, when I was 16, I was enthusiastically tugging away at Danny’s member when he remarked,
‘You’re not very good with your hands, are you?’
Needless to say, it made me self-conscious and nervous about touching a man’s penis for quite a while.
So up until last night I was still nervous about giving a guy a good hand job. I was terrified that he might go soft as I stroked him – a clear indication of poor technique, I presumed. I couldn’t bear the thought that my incompetence would turn him off that much.
But Ben was a complete stranger and I knew that if it all went horribly wrong, I wouldn’t have to worry about seeing him again, so I thought I should maybe give it a try.
And, well, I’ve been doing some research on-line, and there’s a lot of information out there on giving good hand jobs. I absorbed everything I could find that had anything to do with putting your hands on male genitals. If it was about tickling perineums, I wanted it. Ball-squeezing, I wanted it. Even prostate stimulation. I wanted to know it all.
Until now all I’ve needed is someone to practise on.
And there was Ben, lying on the hotel bed with a raging hard-on. Perfect.
I got myself ready.
That is, I pulled out the sachet of lub
e that I have been carrying around in my purse and squirted a generous amount onto my hands.
I have read that lube is essential for a good hand job: by adding some slick, slippery wetness, it would make my hands feel like a pussy gripping his cock, and that was precisely the effect I was aiming for.
I sat astride his legs, his erect penis just in front of me between my thighs and I reached down with my right hand to take a hold of it. I started off really slowly, making sure my well-lubed fingers caressed every bump and ridge as they moved up and down his cock.
He loved it. Really. I was amazed at the response. His cock was rock hard in my hands, his balls tightly tucked up underneath, and he was grinding his hips up towards me and groaning loudly.
So that move worked, hooray! But why stop there? He may have wanted to come but I wanted to try out all my new tricks on him, so try them out I did.
I intertwined my fingers, as if I was praying (to the God of Cock – the only deity I believe in) and I slid his cock between my palms. He most certainly enjoyed that. I even got to see the whites of his eyes as he thrashed about on the bed.
I wouldn’t let him come yet, and I started to enjoy teasing him: he was on the brink many times and I would keep slowing down to allow him to catch his breath before starting up again, faster.
Eventually I decided to go all out: I stroked Ben up and down, with one hand, and with the other I held his balls first, then tugged them gently, moved on to stroking his perineum, and then, finally, sliding my slippery index finger into his arsehole, stroked his prostate lightly as he moved his body back and forth against my hand.
I’ve never seen a guy come so intensely – the force, the spurting, the entire body clenching up – and he gritted his teeth as he let out this animal noise and climaxed. It was wonderful. I had no idea that he would enjoy it so much; my homework had paid off!
Ben then made me come again and I relaxed, knowing that I had mastered the hand job at last.