Boris’ bender of a beef injection

Exciting news Lovers!

Sexpo is only one month away! Well for me anyways, you guys will sadly just have to wait until this most fabulous of expo’s graces your corner of the world with it’s presence. I may have got just a touch too excited by this news as I felt it was necessary to drop one hundred and eighty dollars on a pair of shoes and a handbag in celebration. My homage to the sex gods on high if you will (hey, they really are quite sexy shoes, plus I got another handbag for free. Score! Sadly my holiday savings may never recover.) I probably won’t be doing a review of Sexpo as it seems a little tame for you x-rated kinksters you. But, if you feel the need to live vicariously through me or (heaven forbid) Sexpo doesn’t visit your area any time soon, shoot me a message in the comments. If I get a few people asking for it, I’ll definitely do a review! After all, your wish is my command Lovers 😉

Speaking of lovers, lets get back to Boris shall we?

Righto, when I left you Boris and I were perched in a big comfy chair at the bar swapping saliva and sex stories. Boris turned out to be quite the drinker, and try as I might, I couldn’t keep up with his pace. I also felt pretty bad as he had paid for everything so far. Only problem was I had about twenty dollars left in my bank account to last me the next five days.

Tricky.

I wanted to show my gratitude for his generosity though and demonstrate I wasn’t just some beer loving gold digger (although I think they normally opt for super expensive champagne. I was drinking Asahi though, not the cheapest of beers.) So I bit the proverbial bullet and shelled out for some wedges; or as the bar called them, “Bad Boy Wedges.” I was drunk enough to hope that they might arrive dressed in mini leather jackets and sunglasses.

Alas, just regular wedges.

Damn false advertising!

You’re probably thinking, but Claire, what’s a few wedges to a guy? I’ll tell you this Lover’s, those wedges cost me ten dollars, approximately half my weekly budget, if that’s not gratitude, I don’t know what is!

We ploughed through those as I perched on his lap and tried not squash his nuts, before finally we decided to head off.

Both of us were still kind of hungry however, and luckily for us, those heavenly golden arches are never far away.

Boris shelled out for the food and told me with a smile that he was happy to get it because I’d get the cab home.

Aaand we’re back to awkward.

With a quick mental note to head towards the tram station as soon as we finished eating I devoured my cheeseburger, happy in the knowledge that I had at least ordered one of the cheapest things on the menu.

If you hadn’t noticed Lovers, I tend to get quite concerned about money and how much is spent on me versus how much I spend. I used to be fine to pay for things or go Dutch when the guy wanted too, but being a uni student means the belt is considerably tighter (you know those girls with six inch waists? Yeah that’s me.) I feel I need to repay them somehow or they’ll think I’m using them. I think that’s my biggest fear Lovers, that boys will think I am just with them for their money. It’s only happened once, but I promise you it’s not something you want to experience twice.

So with a twinge of guilt tainting my cheeseburger, I tried to shove the money issue to the back of my mind and just chat to Boris.

But Boris seemed to have other ideas. He placed his half eaten big mac back on the table and let out a burp and a sigh. He looked wrecked. And none too happy about it either.

Was this a bad idea?

“You ok?” I asked tentatively, licking the last of the tainted sauce from my fingers.

“Yeah, just not hungry anymore.” Mumbled Boris.

I looked at all the left over chips we hadn’t eaten and put them back into the paper bag.

I have no clue whose idea it was but before I knew it Boris and I were suddenly on a mission to feed the homeless. We set off in search of the nearest person doing it tough so we could hopefully cheer them up with a few fries. As always though, whenever you’re searching for something in particular, you’ll see everything except what you’re looking for.

Not a single bloody homeless person for miles. But I suppose in the long run that’s actually a really good thing right? We were just sad we couldn’t donate our fries, which by now had gone stone cold anyway. After dumping them in the nearest bin, I took Boris to the nearest tram stop and waited.

But Boris was having none of it. He didn’t want to wait for a tram and was adamant we take a taxi. Of course he had no idea that it wasn’t an option for me, so I finally had to admit that I couldn’t afford it.

“Whatever, I’ll pay for it.” Said Boris quickly. Was he angry? Annoyed? Tired? I felt my stomach twist as I began to have second thoughts about taking him home. What if he was just going to be irritated at me all night?

No no, I chided myself, I had to stop thinking so negatively. He was just cold and wanted to get home to bed. Surely once we got to my place he’d cheer up.

Right?

As we rode in the taxi side by side (a good sign that he wasn’t too pissed at me) I formulated a plan. We’d get home, I’d offer him some water, then we’d have a shower together. We’d be naked, which is always fun, we’d make out, and then if we felt like it, we’d have some (hopefully) lovely sex.

Unfortunately that was not to be.

As soon as I showed Boris into my room he started whipping off his clothes.

Huh, so much for foreplay.

I wasn’t even in the mood for sex at that point anyway. There was no way I was just jumping into bed with him. I have standards… mostly.

I walked in behind him just as he got down to his orange undies.

“So,” I purred, attempting to sound sexy, although after all those beers it came out as less of a sexy purr and more of a lazy drawl. “You want to have a shower with me?”

To my horror he simply looked at me nonchalantly for a moment before jumping into my bed and letting rip the loudest fart imaginable.

What the fuck?!

Did he really just do that? My god, I’d just met the guy and all of a sudden he was comfortable enough to gas out my bedroom? Boris!

As his personal brand of faeces fairies flitted freely through my freshly laundered bed sheets, I stormed off to have a shower, furious at myself for making such a huge error in judgement.

Boy did I get a good scrub that night. I muttered angrily at myself as I loofahed up. Why did I bring him home? I should have just left it after a few beers. I steamed with frustration as I shampooed. He thought that was acceptable? Those sheets were fresh! As I towelled off I tried to calm my wounded sexual pride. If he didn’t want to see this sexy beast naked then that was his loss, obviously. So there.

But when I walked back into the room my irritation bubbled up inside me once more as I saw he had committed the cardinal sin.

Bastard was on my side.

Hell no!

I stalked over to the bed and flicked the lamp on, enjoying his surprise and squinty eyes.

“You’re on my side.” I ground out.

He mumbled something unintelligible and shuffled over. I hopped in and pulled the covers over me before backing up into him.

Oh yes, if he was going to fart in my bed, refuse a shower and then have the nerve to take my side, he was sure as shit going to spoon me.

And that’s how we spent the night.

Oh except the dozen or so times Boris woke up to complain about how noisy the traffic sound was.

Honestly, men are such babies aren’t they?

I wasn’t expecting to wake up and do much except throw his ass to the curb, but something unexpected happened in the morning. Once we were both awake and lucid, Boris was quite cool. We had a laugh and a little debate about what went on in the rugby changing rooms (apparently nothing but I have my doubts) and I found myself really enjoying his company. However, whilst we were on the subject of the rugby boys showering together (sounds nice eh?) we touched on the issue of pubal management. What guys and girls like, what they expect in the old nether regions and so forth. It was at this moment that Boris wandered his hands down to my juicebox.

I shave regularly Lovers, but unfortunately even with the sharpest of blades you’re always going to get that little bit of stubble. Most guys don’t seem to mind, but not Boris.

I had given him a bit of flack for not man-scaping (like at all) and he decided to fire back, letting me know he wasn’t impressed with ‘the situation’ down there and I “should stop being so cheap and just get a wax.”

Ooh, low blow.

Truth be told I was a little hurt by his comment. I mean it wasn’t as if he was perfectly man-scaped himself. First dates usually include compliments like how nice your butt looks in those jeans or how your hair smells kind of nice (props to scented conditioner people!) and here I was getting grief about my pubic arrangement.

Plus, it all came back to the money issue. A good brazillian is usually around the fifty dollar mark. Boris didn’t seem to grasp what I could do with that amount of money instead of blowing it on my froo froo (or bloody expensive shoes and bags. Impulse buying is a sickness, I swear.) Fifty dollars could buy me fifty cups of stress reducing, eight am, minutes before the class I haven’t prepared for Seven Eleven coffee. Or over fifty packets of life saving delicious two minute noodles. Or twenty five packs of Extra gum that I chew through far too quickly and end up having a laxative effect. (Yeah I’m thinking I should quit the chewies.)

Where before I had been totally ready to forgive and forget and enjoy some morning sex, now I felt suddenly self conscious and totally unsexy.

The beef curtains wavered, threatening to close over at any moment and refuse entry to all comers (pun intended.)

But then his hands were all over me and suddenly this ride was open again. Whatever, I’d take it up with him later, right now he had more important things to use his mouth for.

Boris set up camp between my legs under the quilt and got to work. I was incredibly tempted to dutch oven him as payback for last night, but decided against it at the last minute. I expected his oral attempts to be just like everyone else’s, not bad, but just a light snack before the main meal.

Boris though, that boy had some skill!

I hadn’t enjoyed a little face to flange time that much in years. So of course I was wildly turned on and grabbed a condom as quickly as I could (ooh apple flavour, nice.)

But when I went to give him a little helping hand I was in for a little surprise.

We have a curver people!

That’s right, old B-boy had a curvy cock on him. Now curvers can go one of two ways. Either they bend the wrong way or at too much of an incline and things can get uncomfortable or fall out at regular intervals, or you’ve hit the jackpot of g-spot stimulators.

I’m happy to say Boris was the latter.

After he’d popped on his protection (look at us, such mature consenting adults) he lay on top of me and eased his way into my now quite steamy muffin tray.

Ooh, all of the tingles.

A strange thing happened then. What I thought was just going to be a fun frolic between the sheets turned into quite an intense session. When Boris was on top of me we had full eye contact the whole time. He wasn’t going hard and fast like some eager beavers tend to do, but deliciously slow and deep. Well this was unexpected! It was great. I have absolutely no idea how Boris was feeling but something struck a chord inside me and I felt suddenly incredibly connected to him. For all I know he could have been staring intently at the bridge of my nose trying not to come too quickly, but I’d like to think it was something more.

I jumped on top of him and went to town, but sadly I couldn’t stay there for long as my treacherous bed kept sounding the sex alarm and squealing to high heaven. This wouldn’t have been such an issue if my house mate hadn’t been home, but alas, I had to stop and switch positions to keep the noise down.

I’ve never wanted a new bed more than at that moment.

As it turned out Boris was quite the energiser bunny in the bedroom and he just kept going and going. There were no complaints at all from me, but sadly the honey pot was all out of condiments and he was scraping the bottom of the jar with each thrust.

Yowch.

I delicately attempted to speed him along and luckily a couple of minutes later he was filling that apple condom with a few million of his best.

Happy days!

Phew! What fun! We laid around a little while longer before Boris decided it was time for him to head home. I watched with a satisfied little smile as he pulled his clothes back on and kissed me goodbye.

What just happened? A date that had started disastrous, then looked up for a while before plummeting to murky ass level depths, had actually been a success! Wowsa.

Did I see him again?

You’ll have to find out next time Lovers! (Plus I’m not sure yet either as this was a very recent date ;-))

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: You look so innocent,

you look so sweet,

as long as I have a face,

you have a seat

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