by Abby Lee
I’ll call you sometime I’ll keep your phone phone number handy just in case we meet again I’m about to delete your number from my phone
I’ll call you Please call me I will never call you
4
April
Monday 4th April
When I read back over my diary for March it struck me that every time I had sex, I had a multiple orgasm. It’s just seems to be a given now, though I remember when it wasn’t always so. Like many women, I went through a period in my life when I found it difficult to climax. Back in my early twenties when I was in a relationship with a man called Rupert, I almost never had an orgasm. If I masturbated it was no problem, but during intercourse, nothing. It all ran like clockwork. A bit of fumbling foreplay, then he entered me, thrust a few times and ejaculated. By the time he had finished I was just getting started, but that was the end of my chance of coming. Instead I would lie there while he snored, wondering how it was that he got all the fun and I got none.
I suspected that it had something to do with the fact that he always came moments after penetration, and that our timing was totally mismatched, but I found it stupidly difficult to be open about this with him without hurting his feelings and making things even worse. I didn’t want him to go soft if I said something like, ‘Er, would you mind holding on a bit so I can come?’
Alternatively I could ask for more foreplay, but he wasn’t so great with his hands or mouth, so that was ruled out. I needed to think of a way of postponing the inevitable, so that I could have a chance to be stimulated enough to climax. Eventually I hit on the best solution: perhaps if I made him think that before he gave me his cock I had to be begging for it, then it would give me a chance to get aroused before penetration and thus asssist with me obtaining an orgasm.
I flirted with the idea one night:
Me (licking his cock lightly): ‘You want to know what really turns me on?’
Him (grinding his hips into my face): ‘Mmm, what?’
Me: ‘Well, you know how much I like your cock? How I love feeling it inside me?’
Him (his cock rubbing against my lips): ‘Yeah, I love it too, you feel fantastic.’
Me (swirling my tongue along the shaft): ‘Well, because I like it so much, because it turns me on so much, I want you not to give it to me.’
Him (his cock bouncing along my tongue): ‘You want me not to give it to you?’
Me (sucking the tip): ‘Yes. Don’t give it to me. It’ll drive me crazy.’
Him (grabbing his cock and whacking it against the side of my face): ‘I’m not sure if I get you. How do you mean?’
Me (nibbling the head) : ‘I want you to withhold giving me your cock. Don’t let me have it. It’ll drive me nuts.’
Him (paying attention now): ‘Really?’
Me (squeezing his cock tightly in my fist): ‘Yes. I’ll be begging for it, if you won’t let me have it.’
Him (gleeful): ‘Mmm, begging, I like the sound of that.’
Me (sliding my hand along the shaft): ‘Yes, even if I beg, you mustn’t let me have it.’
Him (getting excited): ‘Yeah. I won’t give it to you, not even if you cry for it.’
Me (both hands on his cock now): ‘Yes, but if I beg and beg and plead and cry, you’ll give it to me eventually, yes?’
Him: ‘Hmm. I might …’
And low and behold, it worked.
When we were next in bed, instead of ramming his cock into me at the first opportunity, or fumbling around with bad foreplay, he stayed fully clothed and refused to let me play with him at all. I couldn’t have hoped for better: I got to dry-hump him for ages. It was the perfect non-direct clitoral stimulation I needed to finally give me an orgasm prior to penetration and make me wet enough for it when it happened.
Our excitement was synchronised for the first time, and when he eventually ‘gave in’ to my ‘demands’, the three minutes of penetrative sex that he was capable of brought me off too. We climaxed together for the first time that night.
And I learned that to get what I want in sex, I should always make suggestions to my partner when I had his cock in my mouth. A very valuable life lesson I think.
Wednesday 6th April
Fiona and I met up in a bar near Oxford Street tonight, ostensibly to catch up with each other, but really just to ogle some talent. There weren’t really many nice-looking guys in the bar though, mostly middle-aged bankers, so Fiona and I ended up chatting for most of the evening.
At one point I was queuing for the loo when a sweetlooking blonde girl approached me. I was expecting her to ask me if I had any tampons, but instead, she asked me something really odd:
‘Are you looking for a friend?’ she said, in a thick East European accent.
Confused, I asked her to repeat the question. She whispered again, conspiratorially:
‘Are you looking for a friend?’ and beamed at me.
For a brief moment, I wondered to myself, is she offering me her services? I’ve read about prostitutes soliciting for customers in bars, but surely not in a toilet? Especially not the ladies’. I feigned ignorance, ‘I’m sorry? I didn’t catch that?’ She motioned to one of the cubicles and said:
‘There’s a girl in there. Are you looking for a friend?’ and then she smiled at me again and lightly touched my arm.
This was a new twist, was she pimping someone else? I let out a resounding ‘No!’ and acted shocked and a little disgusted. Her smile faded. She pointed at the stall door again and said quietly, ‘There’s a girl in there crying. I wondered if she was your friend. I didn’t know what to say to her. I hope she’s OK.’
My cheeks burned with embarrassment and I muttered something intelligible and locked myself in another cubicle, hoping that the toilet would swallow up some of my stupidity. By the time I crawled out she was nowhere to be seen. I made my way back to Fiona and told her the whole story, which she thought was hilarious.
‘Anyway,’ Fiona said, much later, when we had ingested far more wine, ‘if you’re so worried about girls, why not try one out – see what they’re like?’ She put her hand on my knee and winked at me.
I know not to take Fiona seriously, however playful she gets with me, because I know she’s just a flirt by nature, but she had a point. I wanted to try new things, so why shouldn’t sleeping with a girl count? Fiona could help me too, as she had plenty of experience in such matters. I told her she was right, and then we started our ogling again, but this time I was checking out the women as well as the men.
We both noticed a beautiful girl dancing near our table. She was truly striking: slim, curvaceous, with a sumptuous arse over which she was wearing a body-hugging wrap dress and absolutely no underwear. I looked many times for a panty-line and couldn’t find one. I couldn’t stop staring at her bum; it was like a siren, calling ‘squeeze me, slap me’.
Fiona saw me looking and removed herself by sashaying off to the loo, ‘If I were you, I’d take this opportunity to approach her.’ And lo and behold, I didn’t need to budge an inch. The beautiful girl immediately came over to me, sat next to me, put her hand on my thigh and flicked her hair back coyly, then firmly demanded that I come and dance with her. Nervous, I teased her back gently, but stayed seated. I wasn’t brave enough to dance with another woman in public, even though, dammit, she was lovely, and sure enough my pants were moistening already.
By the time Fiona came back from the toilet, my wouldbe seducer had given up on me and gone back to dancing with her friends. Fiona called me a chicken and I knew she was right, but if I’m only just getting used to chatting up men, I’m in no position to try to pick up a woman. Yet.
I think I need to make it my next objective, though. This is one thing I have to experience – even if it will take all my confidence to do it.
Thursday 7th April
I’m still shopping around for men and adventure but now I’m doing it on-line. Internet personals. I didn’t know where to start, but Tim recommended Craig’s List
and he was spot on – it’s the funniest thing I’ve read since Blog Boy’s diary posts.
I wonder which of the following got the most responses. This one?
‘Ladies, this really is quite straightforward. If you are in need of some oral stimulation, send me a message. No shagging or blow job required in return. The only condition is that you are not a “minger”.’
Or this stupendous promise?
‘If we hit it off let me take you back to my hotel to give you multiple orgasms through oral and good hard sex’.
Or this modest offer?
‘We are two good-looking guys looking to fulfil the fantasy of having no-strings-attached sex with one woman. We are both well endowed and have already had a threesome with one girl. We are looking for someone who will take double penetration and two in one hole. You must be prepared to be awake for at least seven hours as we both have huge amounts of stamina. Our last conquest didn’t sleep all night and came about 25 times.’
Or you could even buy-one-get-one-free with this generous guy:
‘If you like the idea of a cute guy pulling out his hard cock and wanking it until he shoots, then get in touch. The thrill’s in the performing, but I’m happy to lend you a hand, too, if you wish.’
And here’s some wishful thinking:
‘I want sex, so mail please, this afternoon would be good! nice fit birds with pics, please.’
If this is all that’s out there, I think I need some other options …
Saturday 9th April
Tim took me to an R&B event in central London this evening. I was half hoping we might both get lucky, and I did, but not in the way I was expecting.
We were dancing away to some hip-hop and I noticed this woman near me. She was an angel, a stunning smile, almond eyes, long black hair flowing down to her fantastic arse and a cleavage to die for. Gorgeous.
But, you know, it was a straight club, she was a girl and I was nervous, so I turned away from her and carried on dancing with Tim.
Tim went to fetch some drinks and I sat down to rest my weary feet. Stilettos are every bit as painful as they look, and the balls of my feet were burning. Unbelievably, the Angel suddenly reappeared and sat down next to me in the booth. She plunged straight into a conversation with me so easily that I guessed she must be drunk or on something else altogether, and I found myself intimidated, but chatting back.
Her body language was uninhibited too, and she wasted no time resting a hand on my knee. Wow. I could barely move. She kept up a stream of talk and laughter, then eased her hand up my thigh, and I didn’t object, but was fascinated by the confidence she radiated.
At some point, Tim came back and I introduced her to him, then she grabbed my hand and told me to follow her. I grinned stupidly at Tim as she pulled me across the dance floor to the women’s toilets. She led me into a cubicle and sat down on the lid of the loo for a cigarette. I stood over her, and we both laughed like this was the most natural thing in the world for two women who’d only just met. Then she grabbed me, pulled me down and kissed me.
My mind was reeling, trying to work out what the hell was going on, ‘Ah yes, this is what I’m doing. I’m kissing a girl in the toilets in a club. And not just any club, a straight R&B club, possibly the most homophobic environment you’ll get. And I’m the only white girl in here, and am I gonna get my arse kicked when I get out of here? And what will Tim think? And God, her tongue feels so fucking delicious in my mouth …’
I just went with it. I straddled her and she kissed my neck while I stroked her shoulders. She put one hand on each cheek of my bum and tried to hoik me towards her, but we couldn’t get close enough and had to stand up against the cubicle wall. She pressed against me, her thigh between my legs, and I shoved mine between hers. I felt our breasts touching, and even her nipples hardening against mine. It was totally intoxicating, and I could barely breathe when she caressed my breasts and the sensation seemed to run right through my entire body.
She peeled my top off, unhooked my bra and brought both her hands to my tits, cupping them in her fingers. I did the same with her, struggling for a second with the clasps behind her back before freeing her amazing boobs, and then we rubbed breasts together, skin against skin.
I wanted to take it further, right there and then, but we were rudely interrupted by her friends who banged on the door and demanded that she come out. We dressed rapidly in silence and she unlocked the door, making some excuse to her mates about ‘having a smoke’.
I immediately went to find Tim, who was pissed off with me for disappearing, but when I told him about my girl-on-girl action he cheered up immediately and demanded to know all the gory details.
Typical bloke.
Tuesday 12th April
My encounter with the R&B angel made me question a lot of things. It was very enjoyable, but still, I can’t help thinking that given the choice I’d rather have a cock between my legs than another woman’s thigh, no matter how sexy.
I find it funny when men I know joke that if they had breasts, they’d be fondling them all day. If some good fairy granted me a cock I would never, ever leave the house, my hand would be so glued to it (quite literally after a while, I imagine).
I do find penises extraordinary. To have this thing, this part of your body, that you can see grow with desire, watching it change from a flaccid state to one of pulsing hardness fascinates me. Plus you can see how aroused you are without the aid of a mirror.
It must be hard though (again, quite literally) to have the focus of your sexual being physically hanging outside your body. If a bloke got turned on as many times a day as I do, he’d be fighting off erections all day – rather inconvenient in the workplace. There are definitely advantages to women’s evolutionary make-up because I’m not sure how many people would be willing to fight for a man’s right to have erections in public. Well, apart from me, of course.
There are other bonuses to having a cock (not to mention the ability to command higher wages), but the one I would be most interested in – the one I wish I could experience – would be the ability to slide it inside a woman and feel her climax around it. I would have loved to have been able to do that in the R&B club on Saturday night.
When it comes to women’s bodies, I’m sure that I think about them like any straight man. If I see a beautiful woman I’ll find myself looking at her breasts and imagining them in my mouth, I’ll look at the curve of her arse and think how gorgeous it would feel gripped by my hands, and I’ll look at the dip between her legs and wonder what she would feel like there if she was soaking wet.
I want to be able to:
⋆ Stand behind a woman, lift her skirt, tease her breasts and slide a cock into her
⋆ Lie side by side and rub her clit before slowly pushing a penis into her
⋆ Grasp her ankles and enter her with a slow and shallow pace until she is begging to be pummelled
Which is basically everything I like to have done to me by a bloke.
Using my fingers wouldn’t be enough though, which is the problem. If I were a man I’d be able to penetrate her with a part of my body that was my own sexual nerve centre too. And that’s something.
So, with apologies to my lesbian sisters, no finger, however skilled, is a substitute for a hot, swollen cock. Not that I’d turn down another rendezvous with the Angel or any other beautiful woman, it’s just that I’d be more inclined to go for it if I knew I was going to get a thorough dicking at the end of the night, too.
Thursday 14th April
On the internet again last night, I ended up in some chat rooms, instant messaging with a man. I’m intrigued by the way people take on different identities on-line. The barriers are down too, paradoxically, but that makes it easier by far to chat someone up.
Him: ‘You have a great arse. Can you send me another picture? It’s getting me hot!’
Me: ‘It’s much nicer in the flesh, I guarantee it!’
Him: ‘What are you doing right now?’
Me: ‘Apart from sliding my fingers between my legs and imagining your cock?’
Him: ‘Meet me.’
Me: ‘What?’
Him: ‘Let’s meet.’
Me: ‘We barely know each other.’
Him: ‘Which makes it even more fun. Meet me. For a drink. We can go somewhere brightly lit and public if you’re worried.’
Me (trying to think seriously for a moment, but being distracted by the throbbing between my legs): ‘OK, then. Café Bohème, Soho; one hour.’
Him: ‘Don’t be late!’
I wasn’t.
I lucked out. He was much more dashing in person than on the web, his greying sideburns highlighting an easy-going smile. We drank a couple of glasses of wine and flirted, his hand never leaving my knee. It wasn’t long before we were kissing, my pants still soaking from our internet chat earlier.
I was dying to fuck him – I’d been horny all day, wanking all afternoon and now I was sucking face with this man who had made all my will power fly out the window. I needed to bed him – and fast.
I thought about my options:
Go back to his = unsafe. He could be a psycho, despite appearances;
Go back to mine = unsafe. I don’t want him to know where I live in case he’s a stalker;
Go to a hotel = too expensive;
Go to a friend’s place = too embarrassing;
Fuck in the bar’s toilets = cramped.
Sod it, I thought, cramped it is.
So without further ado, I seized his hand from my knee, pulled him down the stairs and pushed him into a cubicle in the ladies’ loos. I unzipped him to find him rock hard already, and got on my knees to suck him deeply.
‘Aargh! Fuck!’ he pushed my mouth away. ‘That feels too good – I don’t want to come yet!’
I grinned at him and he pulled me up to kiss me, sliding his fingers between my legs and round the gusset of my knickers. With his lips crushed into mine I came almost immediately, shuddering against him. Breaking away for a second, I groped for a condom in my purse and rolled it onto him. Standing up? No. Me on his lap? No – the toilet was too narrow.