Ok. This is the 3rd story in the Perfect Imperfection Series. The premise for this series is that we aren't all billionaires, hunks and stunners or even healthy but we still tend to have sex lives or at the very least want to. Erotica can be a bit too perfectionist for my liking sometimes and having suffered for two years from a serious skin condition myself and still wanted and did manage to maintain an active sex life, I decided to write about those of us who are perfect in our imperfections; to give hope and to broaden peoples attitudes hopefully.
Paul looked at all those faces staring. Each one contained within a neat little square. Some smiling. Some looking sultry. Some with friends. A smorgasbord of ladies all looking for a man. But Paul wasn't one. Not really. Not as far as he saw himself. He did try to. His body was fit and toned. He had a well kept beard. A few tattoos, as women were often partial to them in his experience.
But as soon as they found out about 'that', everything changed. And who could blame them? Why would they want him when they could choose from so many others, ones that weren't, well...
He hung his head in shame as he thought of the words.
Cockless.
The Doctors had tried so hard to save it. To reconstruct it. To save his left testicle. But it was hopeless. They offered him counseling and reassured him that relationships were still possible. They were doing their jobs -- he knew that. Trying to give him hope. However, after 8 years of fruitless searching and trawling through dating apps, he felt it was time to stop; consign himself to reality.
A life of solitude. No love. No intimacy of any kind.
As he raised his hand to shut down the site, a little box symbol appeared in the top right corner. A message. His heart hurt him. He felt he'd not the strength to introduce himself and explain all over again. So he closed his laptop and readied himself for bed leaving the message unopened.
Alas, sleep was not swift in coming. He considered watching some porn and rubbing his lowly one inch scarred stump till he feebly came if he was lucky. But he just couldn't. In fact he felt tears at the thought of it. He just needed the day to end.
Turning over for the tenth time he saw his phone on the nightstand blinking away. He knew what it was immediately. The message. He had the app on his phone too.
Best to just get rid of it, he thought. Get it over and done with.
Opening the app, he clicked on the message with a profound sigh and was shocked to discover things were not as he imagined.
It was from a woman he had spoken to several months ago; Veronica, a woman who had gone quiet after his disclosure regarding his genital injuries and limitations.
With the phone lighting up his now smiling face eerily in the darkness, he began to read...
'Paul. I understand if you don't want to speak to me. You must think I am terrible. I feel very saddened about your injuries. And what difficulties they probably present for you. And I feel touched that you felt able to tell me about it.
I never got back to you because that night my mother passed away. She wasn't living in Northern Ireland. So I had to travel to India to sort out her affairs. I really hope I did not cause you too much distress.
I'm messaging now to explain and say that I'd very much like to meet you. Your injuries don't 'turn me off' as you put it. I find you a very attractive man. Hot actually. Lol. And I hope this doesn't seem too forward (it probably is, but what the hell), I think if we got along ok, we could definitely find ways to enjoy each other.
Oh God. Did I just say that?'
Paul started to type quickly, thumb flying over the keypad.
'Yeah. You did. Lol. I'm really pleased to hear from you and I'd love to meet. You seem, kind, intelligent and um...well very sexy.'
She sent a smile emoji back in response and he felt a stirring in his loins.
'When would suit you best?' he typed.
'How about Friday evening?'
After they'd made plans and said their goodnights, Paul lay on his back reminiscing about the only two sexual encounters he'd ever had in his life. Then he began to think about Veronica, his date and what she might have meant when she'd mentioned enjoying each other. Idly, he manipulated his little nubbin, until to his surprise and delight he managed to achieve a very mild orgasm, leaving a little damp patch on the bed clothes. Grabbing a tissue, he cleaned himself up and the image filled his head of Veronica doing that for him -- only with her tongue.
Would she be that dirty and creative? Hopefully he'd get to find out, very soon.
They met as arranged on Friday and to be fair, he found her a good bit different than her photos online. That was a common enough occurrence to his knowledge considering today's apps and the lengths women will go to with lighting, make-up, etc. But it wasn't bad different. She looked more natural in person. Like someone he could be comfortable with quickly. And the way she talked too. The girl was funny as hell. Impish. A little on the short side with a booty that made his abs tense.
The night went well even though he had been expecting it to be a thorough and utter failure. When they were both back at their own homes the texts started to fly. It seemed he wasn't wrong. This gorgeous, intelligent, funny girl actually did like him. It was this realization that prompted his heart and head to hold up a great big stop sign.
Yeah but what about when she sees it, for real in the flesh? Will it be all such fun and games and laughter then or was he going to end up utterly crushed.
Oh God.
She'd sent a photo.
Shit was getting real.
Oh fucking hell. She was sending more.
Ping. Ping. Ping.
Instead of being turned on he almost felt like vomiting. He was going down a path he'd no right to be. She deserved a proper man.
She'd obviously expect a photo back.
He turned away. Then looked again. Properly. His chest did a pancake flip.
Oh God her ass! He wanted to lick it. And red lace too.
'Not your thing?' she typed.
Clearly from the pause she thought he didn't like the picture.
He didn't like to think of her sad.
'Not my thing?! I wanna bite it. Rip up that lace and tongue it all over. And I mean all over,' he typed feverishly.
Suddenly she was video calling.
Oh crap!
He tried to hit the reject button and answered instead in his befuddlement. Straight away he heard giggles.
'So you ARE a dirty boy then, just as I thought.'
He tilted his head to the ceiling.
'Guess I am. But...what can I offer you? What? That's what's tripping me up here.'
Over the video connection she gave him a wolfish smile with lowered eyes that pierced right through him; made him wonder just what he was taking on here...
'Exactly that,' she said huskily. 'YOUR tongue all over my body. Every inch. Even inside. Everywhere you can reach. And then mine all over yours...just for a start.'
And it was then that Paul realised...Veronica was nothing like the other two women he'd messed about with in the past. She was a dirty hungry fucking slut.
And he was so going to make her his...his slut.
The next date they had he took her out for a meal. He didn't intend to be one of those pricks who used a woman as a vessel simply for his own pleasure and gave nothing back. He genuinely wanted to please her. Spoil her. She had given him so much already. Made him happier.
'Where would you like to go?' he'd asked.
'I don't mind, wherever suits,' she'd responded.
'No pretty lady. You get to decide. The choice is yours.'
So they had made reservations at 2Taps; a fairly small, intimate tapas restaurant in the Cathedral Quarter. Apparently it was her favorite. And he had to agree it was an excellent choice. Great food, great atmosphere, twinkling lights, excellent wine and great service. But what made the evening even more special was the first view he got of her as she walked in.
She smiled coyly at him, eyes lowered almost demurely. Lips painted dark red. And nails. Hair slicked back in a high ponytail that made him instantly think about pulling it from behind. Her womanly curves were encased in an elegant but sexy dress of black lace and he strongly suspected those were stockings on those long delectable legs. Not tights. As she walked her legs crossed each other and her bare arms swung confidently at her sides.
He knew people were taking sly and not so sly glimpses of her. Why wouldn't they? But she was there for him. And it pleased him immensely that she made that fact abundantly clear by approaching his table, bending and brushing her lips softly against his. He wanted to grab her and put her gorgeous ass in his throbbing lap. But instead, he behaved like the gentleman she deserved, taking her by the hand and pulling out her chair for her.
She sat, almost purring with pleasure at seeing him and his treatment of her.
'Thank you Paul.'
He sat opposite, actually glad for once he no longer had a seven inch cock, because, God would it have been obvious to anyone right now how she affected him if he still did. As it was, his remaining one inch was prodding the fabric of his boxers like Brutus stabbing the proverbial Caesar.
'You look stunning Veronica.'
Her reply was a simple smile and to reach across the table and take his hand.
Had they really had that conversation the other night, so filthy and so heated, or had he imagined it?
Nope. She was absolutely a lady but still a very naughty slut. Her stiletto had found his leg under the table already. He shifted awkwardly as she rubbed it languidly up and down his calf. He read the menu to distract himself and she snickered softly as she pretended to read hers.
