Urgh, I tell you Lovers, university does nothing to improve your love life!
Every time I see some hot piece of ass from behind I get all excited and speed up to see the hunk of spunks face. Every single time it turns out to be some pubescent little boy who is well within jail-bait territory. Gah! Why temp me with such a perky butt and manly hairy legs if the front view is going to look like one of the Planeteers? (By the way if you don’t know that reference I feel sorry for you as your childhood was clearly lacking. 😉 Anyways, enough of my stagnant uni endeavours, it’s time to fill you in on some more RB details! Like I’ll bet a few of you are wondering what RB actually stands for? All will be revealed soon my friends…
So, after the excitement poolside had worn off, myself and RB made plans to meet up for a bit of a week night tete-a-tete. We arranged for a little ‘movie night’ which was obviously code for “We will put a movie on and get past the opening credits and then it’s go time.” That’s what everyone means by movie night right? Or is that just me…
Anyways RB sauntered over to my house at around 6pm. (of course we had to go to my house because I have my own room, not something you think would be a problem when your seeing a thirty year old.) I was instantly concerned when he asked if there was a bottle shop near my house. It was a Tuesday night! What could he want booze for? Was he a bit of a alchoholic? I shook my head and giggled. Oh Claire, I thought to myself, you and your crazy thoughts! He clearly just likes a drink or two and maybe wanted to lighten the mood. Still, I’m a very firm believer in if you can’t fuck them sober, never fuck them drunk, so I told him there wasn’t one within ten k’s. Hey it’s not my fault if he didn’t see the one he had to walk past to get to my house. We decided to watch Paul. Funny, light and just the right amount of sexual innuendo. For some reason I decided we should watch it in the lounge room. Even though we both knew he was coming over for sex, I didn’t want to just assume he would get it. (Even though he definitely would) Aren’t us girls fickle? To my suprise, RB was awkward, even nervous! He sat on the couch as stiff as a board and it was only when I languorously slopped myself on top of him with my mouth placed inconspicuously close to his crotch, that he began to relax.
To my disappointment, the movie had finished without so much as a cheeky thigh slap, let alone hands down pants. Determined to resolve the situation, I dragged him downstairs into my den of iniquity (otherwise known as my boudoir) and shoved him onto the bed. And then… We talked. For hours. And I tell you lovers I was not loving everything that came out of his mouth. First of all, he’s a racist bastard and a picky one at that. I was talking of my friend’s love interests leaning towards those of Indian descent when he screwed up his nose as if I’d farted. I took a quick sniff to make sure I hadn’t and then asked him about the pooh pooh face. Turns out he hates Indians. That’s right, doesn’t just not like them, hates them. What the fuck? What did they ever do to you? Make too many delicious poppadoms for you to feast on? Have sari’s that are too cool for school? Incense you with rage and jealousy because of their natural tan?
No, turned out he thought they were just horrible people who were lazy and never did any work and bludged. It was at this moment that I struck him off my dating list. Never, and I mean never will I date a man who is that racist. We all have our little cultural slips, offending people without meaning too or not being as politically correct as we should be, but to openly declare hate for a whole race of people is entirely abhorrent to me. I quickly moved him from dating list to fuck buddy list. Maybe without the buddy, cause we sure as hell weren’t going to be friends after that little confession. And that was how he got his oh so charming nickname, Racist Buble. Simple, succinct and accurate. Oh but there was so much more. Turns out he just may have Aspergers Syndrome and really isn’t afraid to speak his mind about it. Over and over he told me of instances where he had been a total dick and really didn’t care. He loved when he was a chef because he could be a douche and it was just accepted. Wow, talk about a keeper. He then went on to talk about how completely and utterly he had been into drugs only six months or so ago. And did he stop out of a resolve to better his life? That’s a negative. The dude got hit by a car!
Still, he has a very nice body and one of the nicest schlongs I had seen in a very long time. I decided it was time for him to shut up. If I heard one more bad thing about him I was going to have to throw him out the window or let my cat eat him. So I put the moves on. Luckily he got the message and shut his damn trap as my mouth focused on an area a little south of there. He liked my technique, always a good sign, but I wasn’t going to let him blow it all over his chest, no no. I hadn’t sat through hours of chit chat for a quickie blow job and a good night. We only had one condom (Which of course was supplied by me. What is it these days with dudes not packing?) so we had to make it work first time. He slipped down between my legs and went to work. It wasn’t bad. It kept my mind off the doctors appointment I had to make the next day, so I guess that’s a good sign. I’m just not a cunnilingus type of gal I spose, something I intend to remedy in the future with some well timed tantra workshops. (I’ll keep you posted) When I’d had enough I dragged him up by the hair and told him where to stick it. Maybe a little more eloquently than that but who can remember in the moment?
And he was off! Good god it was a workout! He liked it deep, that was clear, as my ankles were up around my ears in a heartbeat. Jesus I didn’t even have time to stretch! He was pumping away, having a grand old time, and boy it had just been so long that I was loving every second of it. I felt exhilarated and let out a little whoop of ecstasy. He misconstrued this as an orgasm but I just shrugged. Let the boy think what he wants, whatever keeps it up. After about five or so minute of being pounded into my mattress in the most titillating of ways, it was my turn to take over. I jumped on top and went to town. I’ll spare you the finer details if you wish but all you need to know is the big O was achieved! Fricking fantastic fuck it was. After I was done I did the obligatory “Your turn.” And of course he chose doggy. Sadly the condom was not made for such frantic frolicking and lost most of it’s elasticity and therefore most of it’s use. Like the lady I am I offered to finish him off with a blowjob which he accepted (really had to twist his arm on that one.) I worked on him for a while but he’d lost most of his mojo after starting and stopping. I didn’t mind. I lay back with my arms behind my head, satisfied for once, that I had come and the guy hadn’t. I think this is what Carrie was talking about in Sex and the City when she speaks of “Having sex like a man.” Taking care of your own needs and then rolling off and falling asleep. It was pure magic.
If only I had known that our next encounter would be a completely different story and would thrust me into a situation I had never ever hoped to be in….
Pickup line of the week: Nice shoes, wanna fuck?