12th February 2013
I slept surprisingly well despite the prospect of finally meeting Sylvie. Her long promised photo had never materialised and I wondered what the significance of that was. Still, Morning Glory knew what day it was. I showered and shaved, selected my after shave, deodorized, flossed and scrubbed and looked into the mirror.
A balding grey haired git looked back. I smiled at myself, more a grimace, teeth were clean, but those fillings! I had crow's feet at the corners of my piggy eyes, which I couldn't see unless I had my glasses on, which made me look even older. Seeing the blemishes and little patches of dry skin, I dabbed on some moisturiser. But there were a couple of fine red blood vessel lines surfacing near my nose, a drinker's nose? What on earth was I doing trying to pick-up a thirty seven year old?
But Sylvie had said from the start that she liked older men, and I was confident that a lot of women around my age apparently did seem to find me attractive. Ho hum. Go with the flow and see what occurs, I thought. I snatched a small breakfast, a bit late to worry about looking (be realistic, being) over weight now. I just didn't want to feel bloated.
I knew I was at my best when I had physical energy and was mentally energised and lively. That's the mood I wanted for nearly ten hours later, but it's a bit like playing football where all the preparation can be perfect and you play lousily, and the day you pitch up feeling like death warmed up you have a blinder. Form is an elusive thing, it would be down to fate if I was in my 'up for it' mode come 5:30pm in Bridgebourne.
I packed my briefcase for the day's three meetings. Suited and booted I loaded the car; it was a very cold wintry day so I swapped my business overcoat for my heavy, white winter wonderland coat. By 8am I was on the road and listening to the radio: sports, weather and traffic reports.
I arrived ahead of schedule, and waited in the outskirts of Compton, tempted to email Sylvie again, and then thought, 'add no pressure, leave her be'.
Eventually guided by Zoot, my ancient female satnav, named after the Monty Python Holy Grail Nun desperate for a spanking, I drove into the city centre and collected my client, Allan from the rail station. Zoot took us to our meetings which went well after which we had a meal and our 'wash-up' meeting. Eventually I dropped Allan off at the station a little after 3:30pm.
Me: Hi, have finished early, so could meet sooner if you can.
Sylvie: I will struggle to get an earlier boat but will try. If you don't want to hang around we could do next week if you are in the area. [What? Postpone? Never! I needed to see what this Pixie Pervert looked like.]
It was still very cold and the sea breeze was kicking up to a freezing wind. I drove around the Old Town district of Bridgebourne and parked near The Navigation pub that overlooked the Harbour.
Time to kill.
I walked around wrapped up in my big coat. The pub was closed and it was not clear if it would be open by 5:30. I walked to the ferry terminal where I wrongly assumed Sylvie would alight from, and strolled around the extensively re-developed area of the Lighthouse Quays, all new shops, bars, restaurants and apartments. And then back to the car.
We messaged about whether anywhere else would be more suitable for us to meet, and decided Café Blue in the Quays was best. All that time to kill and I was in the wrong area.
Me: I'm wearing a big white winter coat, and you?
Sylvie: I'm here blue shirt, curly hair, red nose. Hope you're not colour blind X
Five minutes later I entered Café Blue, and immediately I saw, standing near the bar joking with a barman, a small slender woman with a wonderful mass of almost unruly red curly hair.
'Sylvie' I said.
'Hello Jack,' she had bright lively eyes and beamed an equally bright smile at me, I was immediately attracted - even without my glasses on, my first view of Sylvie's face left me tingling. I had that instinctive involuntary biological reaction you have on the sudden proximity to a beautiful person. Heart beat and pulse quickens, breathing shallows and also quickens, pupils dilate, nerves fizz and the skin flushes.
Bloody hell, she's lovely I thought. She was trim in tight fitting clothes whilst I must have looked like the Michelin man in my huge white winter warfare Eskimo survival tent for a coat.
I was like a duck, attempting to look calm whilst hiding a furious reaction beneath the water line. All I wanted to say was 'Wow'! but all I actually said was ' hello' and asked what she would like to drink.
We took our drinks to a corner table and talked. We never actually talked about sex, and for a delightful hour we covered her job and my job and mostly it seemed my novel. She drove the conversation asking questions, chatting and smiling. At no time was it stilted or forced, nor did it ever seem to lull, we just relaxed and talked, it seemed so natural. Anyone eavesdropping would have assumed we were well acquainted friends or colleagues catching up with each other's news, not two strangers who had swapped obscene fantasies and planned perverted bondage and domination, sadism and masochism and not forgetting the obligatory bukkake, together.
She was really pretty but as we talked I was reluctant to put my glasses on and look at her properly; I was a stupid old git who was dreaming if the vibrant young woman would have any serious interest in sexual intimacy with me. But we talked easily, I really liked Pixie Sylvie.
When it was time to leave I paid the bill for our drinks - modest quantities of red wine as I still had to drive home. We wandered out of Café Blue towards another coffee bar where she would later meet her friend.
Somewhat awkwardly I said goodbye and how much I had enjoyed meeting her.
She looked up at me and asked. 'Aren't you going to kiss me?'
Surprised and pleased I leaned down and kissed her soft rosy cheek, it was still warm from the restaurant, she motioned for me to kiss the other cheek too. It was it was our first physical contact, so prim and polite but loaded with phenomenal meaning.
As I walked back to my car I realised I had been enthralled by her, so much for me hoping to be 'on form' though. I had felt old, big, awkward, shy even. I wish I had dared to wear my glasses and see her properly because I still only had a fuzzy recollection of her face, I was a stupid, half-sighted fool. I wondered just how this would play out, and before starting off for home I emailed her from my car.
Me: It was lovely to meet you this evening, not only are you delightful but I am pleased to say that I am definitely not beauty blind, you are gorgeous too. Enjoy the rest of your evening, and chat again soon.
I drove home with an odd feeling that I was either on the brink of finding someone really special or that it would never get going at all because I was too old, or she would lose her nerve and render our new dalliance stillborn. And how would she feel after some reflection on our face to blurry face introduction in Café Blue?
13th February 2013
When her email arrived I half expected the old thanks but no thanks, or it was nice to meet you but the chemistry wasn't there, or we could be friends but not in the bedroom. But I also felt confident that we had got on well. I clicked open the email with uncertainty.
Sylvie: Hi Jack It was lovely to meet you too. I hope I wasn't too forward with my questions, I was nervous but felt we got on easily. You have a 'delightful' pixie face. Hope to hear from you soon. S X
This was fabulous news. I felt a mixture of excitement that she was still up for an adult encounter, and relief that I hadn't messed up our introductory meeting. A lot of emails were exchanged and that evening we crossed a Rubicon of intent. Her questions were positive and indicated that she was still very much interested in a sexual adventure with me. She asked me about my preferences - 'I never got to see your profile...bukakke a given of course...' she stated.
I told her I loved oral sex, giving and receiving - slow and extended. I liked bondage and would like to see her in various vulnerable positions, for example wrists tied to the bed, or her ankles up behind her shoulders. Totally exposed I would shave and then use and abuse her. I liked objectification too, though it might be a tad boring in practise. I added spanking, paddling and flogging, gags and blindfolds, anal play and eventually ending with me cumming over her very pretty, upturned pixie face, mouth open, tongue out...
We discussed if water sports were erotic: hot piss onto an open pussy and the humiliation of a golden shower: female kneeling, head bowed, man standing over her urinating on her hair, face etc. Pissing into someone's mouth is even more degrading, the secret is drinking lots of water, so the piss is clear and almost tasteless, old piss stinks and the taste can be very unpleasant (I'm told).
I had experimented a couple of times with water sports with Shannon, (who was also into rimming). It was erotic, but I would not want to do it all the time. One thing I discovered was that I couldn't piss if I was too aroused, I suppose the erectile tissue squeezed the pipeline closed.
Pixie said she had tried it only once but had enjoyed it which was why she ticked curious about it in preferences. A boyfriend had 'peed' on her bottom when they were in the shower and then fucked her from behind. She said she had liked the sensation, and wanted to explore more of this and other sensations with me but was uncertain how far to go.
I was almost beside myself reading that proposition.
14th February 2013
Whilst I travelled to Northampton, Sylvie resumed our e-conversation and asked about objectification.
Me: For example human furniture, I have a couple of images that turn me on. One is the human ink well; the master is sat at his desk with his work to do, it is a very large L shaped desk and on one side the female slave is trussed up in such a way so that her holes are accessible. He has to keep his pens, pencils and mobile phone somewhere. Another variation is that he ties her to the underside of his chair - so that she can orally service him as he works.
