The Irishman cometh… All over himself

Evening Lovers!

I hope wherever you are you’re much warmer than I am right now! It’s pissing down with rain here and my heater is pitifully ill equipped for this barrage of icy weather. Cue sexy man heater to snuggle up with! Warning: I have cold feet 😉 I know what you’re all thinking, “But Claire, what about that sexy Irishman who farted in your face? Won’t he keep you warm in these cold months?” And the answer to that question is sadly no. Why you ask? Read on fair follower, and discover how the mighty have fallen.

So apart from the fart ‘incident’ as we will now call it, and the fact that I wasn’t particularly attracted to him , Irishman seemed to have a fair bit of potential. As I took the tram home after our birthday sleepover I mused to myself about the idea that people often fall in love with personality, not someone’s physical appearance. I mean myself of all people should know that after being dubbed ‘the funny one’ at endless parties. Guys normally came around to the idea of me after I’d made them choke on their party pies multiple times with my awesome jokes, but I’d never been one to throw a sexy glance at a dude and moments later have him worshiping my feet. (Which is a relief really because I’m super self conscious about my smelly feet. Always wear open toed heels ladies, helps them breathe.)

So why should I dismiss Irishman just on looks? No, I was definitely going to give him a second chance. Although a big part of that second chance had to do with his dominance over me in the bedroom. Finally someone who knew what they wanted! I’m so tired of telling boys what to do in the bedroom and the constant ‘is that ok?’ just gets so old when they ask it five times in two minutes. Irishman had the guts to order me around for a change, and I liked it a lot. Maybe it was good we didn’t get to have sex. The wait until next time would be oh so tantalising and count as a bit of saucy foreplay. Yay for me!

Irishman waited the allotted three days to text me, (honestly I hate that rule, just call me straight away losers.) and we arranged to meet up the next Friday after he finished work at ten. I rubbed my hands together gleefully. Ten was too late for dinner and too early for sleep, which meant it was exactly sex o’clock! When Friday finally rolled around I had worked myself up to a fever pitch picturing the wild sex I was about to experience. Would he tie me up? Blindfold me? Whip me? The possibilities were endless! I picked out my best innocent nice girl dress and made sure I was wearing my most top notch come fuck me lingerie underneath. Oh yes, I was ready for some naughty action alright, and I was ready now.

So you can imagine my disappointment when I had to make the hour long two trams and one train journey, complete with one tram being delayed due to some dude spewing up down the aisle. Didn’t these people understand that I had somewhere very important to be?

Finally I reached my stop and I jumped off, eager to escape the vomit that was slowly wafting through the carriage. I spritzed on a bit of extra perfume just in case. Nothing turns a man off faster than the stench of stale vom. I waltzed into the pub where he worked and did a lap only to come up empty. Where was he? I sent a quick text and he replied saying he was just finishing up and would be out soon. I took advantage of the time and dashed to the bathroom to let out any stray farts that had built up on the journey over.

Thank god I got those out before hand!

When I was sure I was waft free I headed back out and pretty much bumped straight into Irishman. He looked…

Meh.

No! I told myself sternly. This was not about looks! This was about personality and sex. I kissed him hello and he pulled me out onto the street and into the nearest taxi. Ooh looked like he was as keen as I was to get the show on the road. In the taxi however things became a little… awkward. We didn’t really have much to say to each other. It was the usual ‘how was your week’ and ‘anything exciting happen lately’ but nothing particularly saucy. I began to feel a small knot in my stomach and I instantly regretted not staying in the bathroom longer. I tried to push past my sudden apprehension and sparked up a conversation about the first thing that came to my mind. Colours.

Shut up.

I had to get him talking ok? I was dying with all the lame small talk. Of course colours didn’t exactly spice things up but I was able to slip in a few sexual innuendos at least.

When we reached the house Irishman practically threw money at the taxi driver and we were out and into his bedroom before I could say orange is the new black. I breathed in slowly, and frowned. He looked at me in surprise before it dawned on him.

“Oh, I just vacuumed.” he said with a grin.

Ah. So that was the dust I could smell. Not exactly a recipe for desire, I thought, but I pushed that thought aside as I stepped closer to him and put on my best ‘do me now’ face.

Turns out I really have to work on that face.

“You hungry?” he asked, going for the door. I shook my head and pulled him in for a kiss, impatient to get things going. He finally got the idea when I shoved my hand down his pants to feel a sadly limp participant. He perked up quickly after a few kisses however, and we were good to go. I waited for Irishman to do something, to take control, to throw me on the bed, or really do anything at that point. But all he did was compliment me on my dress.

I had to restrain my raging sex drive from snapping at him and instead demurely accepted the compliment before perching myself on the edge of the bed. Irishman stepped towards me and started tugging his shirt off. Yes! This was it! I braced myself, waiting for my indecorous instructions. But none came. Instead he took off his clothes, hopped into bed and patted the side next to him. I turned around so he couldn’t see my face and rolled my eyes. What the hell was happening? It was like we were a married couple! This was not the crazy whips and chains sex I was anticipating, this was the kids are at the movies and we should have some quality time sex.

Snore.

So I decided to play the only ace I had. I unzipped my dress and shrugged it off, revealing my sinful bra and panty set underneath. It certainly had the desired affect as his jaw dropped open and his doona was suddenly levitating. I smiled impishly and fluttered my eyelashes at him. Irishman grinned and said the words that every girl in heat loves to hear.

“Come here to me.”

Oh I came alright, hoping I would come in more ways than one that night. But all we did was kiss! And kiss. And then kiss some more. I kept waiting for him to roll on top of me and yank my hands above my head or pull out some fluffy cuffs or something. But nothing! I was so bored. And that’s when it got worse.

“Why don’t we just talk for a while?”

Something exploded inside my head in that moment and I have no idea how I kept my scream of frustration inside. I had to take three deep breaths before answering in as calm a voice I could muster.

“Ok then.”

At least that’s what I would have said if I hadn’t sneezed at that exact moment.

Oh no. The dust was hitting me!

And that was how I spent the next hour lying half naked next to an Irishman with a lacklustre erection, talking about where we went to school and spasmodically sneezing at every inappropriate moment.

So when he rolled me on top and told me to ‘grind’ on him it’s safe to say I was not enthused. But he was keen as mustard by that point, (somehow all that school talk must have gotten him hot. Weird.) so I complied, grinding on top of his semi flaccid penis until eventually he slipped it in.

God I was bored. It was all I could do not to yawn. But then it got worse.

“You love my dick?” he asked breathily.

“Of course.” I replied. I don’t care who you are, but you never insult a man’s penis while he’s inside you. That’s just cruel. Once it’s out, go for it, but not while he’s doing his thing.

“Say it.” he groaned.

I looked at the ceiling and sighed. How was I going to say this and not sound as sarcastic as I felt? No I don’t love your dick dude. It’s alright I guess. It gets the job done, but it’s no Dirk Diggler. Luckily he took my sigh as one of unbridled passion so I got away with that one without hurting his feelings. I eventually looked back down and with as much enthusiasm I could muster I told him what he wanted to hear.

“How much do you love it?” he asked

“Oh, you know, like a lot.”

“Tell me again!” he moaned. I was so thankful his eyes were closed at that moment as I looked down at him. I don’t think he would have been pleased at what he saw there. I was doing my best but after such high and exciting expectations this was just pathetic.

“It’s really really nice.”

“It’s really really nice what?”

“Sir.” I said, my voice dripping sarcasm. It was just unavoidable by this point. What was also becoming unavoidable was my need for a tissue. The dust had taken up permanent residence in my left nostril and the right nostril seemed to be crying after being left out. Any minute now I was going to drip on his heaving chest, I was sure of it. There was nothing for it, I was going to have to finish this. I sped up to double speed and watched as his eyes popped open and unnatural sounds started to emanate from his mouth.

“Tell me you love my dick!” he squealed

“I love it!” I cried, bouncing around crazily on top of him.

Just as he was about to explode I jumped off. He yanked off his condom and furiously wanked for a few moments before his own mini volcanic eruption took place all over his hands. And stomach. And balls. And ew the sheet too? Come on man I have to sleep here too.

After a few moments of panting he reached for his tissues and cleaned up. I gratefully plucked one out of his hands and blew my nose, which was sadly the most satisfying moment of our encounter.

The next day I woke up groggy and snotty. Irishman grinned at me and told me what a wonderful time he’d had last night. I nodded and smiled back, too blocked up to do much more. Then he grabbed his work clothes, gave me a kiss on the lips and left for work.

And I never saw him again.

Oh sure he called a few times, texted a lot, but if it’s not there it’s not there. Ah well, next time right?

Claire xx

Best bonking song: Mustang Sally

By: Wilson Pickett

Best Used: As a saucy striptease number that leads into grindy raunchy sex!

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