After living in Edinburgh for four years, I was finally home in Australia. It had been a wild few years; years abroad that I would cherish. I had enjoyed more than my share of action, mostly one-night stands when on weekend back-packing trips to various European destinations. The whole experience had been liberating and fulfilling, emotionally and... well, physically.
But back at home things were significantly different. I found myself falling quickly into a major 'rut'. Most of my formally single girlfriends were now engaged or married. Some faster movers even had started families. I was still included in everything, but gone were the days of having faithful wing-women to go out with. My social life were now daytime, family-friendly affairs, which were fun – don't get me wrong – but I missed having at least one single close girlfriend to go out with; a flirting partner, a partner in crime.
I was feeling quite depressed about the situation. It wasn't that I was envious of all of the relationships around me. Sure, I enjoyed the idea of finding 'The One', and was certainly not opposed to finding someone nice to settle down with. But I was not pining for it. I was still happy to enjoy all the things Single Life has to offer a girl.
However, unfortunately, with girlfriends who were increasingly unwilling (or unable) to join me on nights out, I was struggling to fulfill these thrilling Single Life offerings. I knew I could go to bars on my own. In fact, during my Travelling Days I had often hit up bars, pubs and parties on my own, quickly meeting all types of exciting people. But for some reason, silly as it may seem, I lacked the confidence to do this in my home city.
Finally, after a few months of solo nights in drinking wine and watching boxset marathons (don't get me wrong – this is a fantastic leisure pursuit, in moderation!), I decided to 'get out there'. I had enjoyed a lot of male attention during my Travelling Days and I had grown somewhat accustomed to having regular sex. The drought was starting to get extremely difficult to tolerate. I was finding myself getting increasingly horny and my porn viewing was beginning to get a bit out of hand. My browsing history was filthy, the say the very least!
So what does any modern single girl who wants to meet men do these days? She heads to one particular online dating app.
One night, glass of wine in hand, I created an app account. The whole concept appeared quite shallow to me, but also a bit of harmless fun. I can't deny it was a bit of an ego-booster. I quickly became enthralled in chatting to random guys, some seemingly nice dudes, some creeps. Some seemed content with just a chat, some wanted to meet up almost immediately, and some outright asked if I wanted to fuck.
I had no intentions of meeting anyone any time soon. I just enjoyed the harmless flirtatious conversations. A few times the text turned quite dirty and I found myself exchanging rather intimate details with these random guys. One night, after I came home from a work function a little tipsy, I exchanged mobile numbers with this guy who had openly told me he was married, and we had verbally graphic phone sex. It was surreal. Surreal and intensely hot. I had furiously fingered myself while he wanked, and we talked each other to mutual orgasm. The next morning I felt quite uncomfortable and guilty about the episode. Guilty because I had enjoyed it so much. I had enjoyed the thrill of getting off a taken man. I had listened to the sounds of him grunting as he beat off to my voice. I promptly blocked him to avoid any further, and possibly more devious, temptation.
After a couple of weeks of this kind of fun, I agreed to a few dates. My girlfriends encouraged me enthusiastically... I think they wanted to enjoy the single life adventures vicariously through me. I spent a couple of weekends meeting up with men from online. Coffee, dinners, drinks, nothing more. I have to admit, although nothing progressed with any of them, I had a great time just getting out and enjoying different people's company. A few tried to take me home with them, and although I was very tempted at least twice, I decided against it.
Then I met up with Brad. My inhibitions were shot.
Brad was 38 year old. A freshly divorced father of three. And there was something about him that made my pussy ache. I am not sure what it was, nothing I could pinpoint, but he was unlike the others. I wanted to fuck him the second I saw him in the flesh. I wanted him to screw me silly, to do anything he pleased. And I could tell, increasingly so throughout the night, that he felt much the same.
We went to a bar, nothing fancy, just a regular bar. He was friendly and held an awesome conversation. I was entranced by him. He was a big guy. Not overweight, but just a large build. He had dark hair, was unshaven... a real, rugged man. He had a rough, raw edge to him, but seemed quite sweet too.
A few drinks into the night and we were sitting very close to each other in the corner booth we had conveniently chosen. He had his hand on my thigh and when he spoke I could feel his warm breath on my neck. His mere presence was causing my body to tingle, especially between my legs. I had squirmed a few times, my cunt throbbing. I had to subtly grind myself into the chair, desperately trying to control myself. I was positive that he has noticed; the slight smirk on his face suggested he was well aware of the aroused state he was putting me in.
"It's getting quite late," he said in a breathy whisper. I looked at my watch but didn't really see the time. I was too overwhelmed with how much I wanted to see this man naked, how much I would be willing to let have his way with me.
"Uh, yes..." I said in weak response. He continued to hold his sexy smirk. He knew he was having an effect on me. He knew that and was starting to play with it. Bastard.
This only aroused me more.
He ran a finger down my cheek and said in a husky voice, "Let's go. Now."
He took my hand and pulled me to my feet. My knees felt weak as I followed him out of the bar. I wondered – with a little thrill – if other bar patrons knew what we were off to do to each other. It had to be darn obvious! Girl and guy meet in bar, clearly for the first time. Girl and guy get increasingly closer throughout the night. Girl and guy leave bar, hurriedly, girl flushed in the face, hot and practically panting with anticipation.
He hailed a taxi and we hopped in the back. We were still holding hands, but that was all. I desperately wanted him to touch me, anywhere. Everywhere. But I sat there frozen, feeling my pussy muscles contracting in excitement. I could tell by his ragged breathing that he was getting increasingly excited too.
The thrill of fucking a stranger is like no other. The idea that you and this other person want each other so desperately that you are willing to skip all niceties and just screw... it is always enough to get me soaking wet before they even touch me! I have never considered myself a slut; I have always just been a woman who loves sex and comfortable in myself to seek the satisfaction I crave.
I wanted this man. I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted to come for him. I wanted to make him cum in a way that would never allow him forget me.
We arrived at his place and he threw a fifty at the driver, not bothering to wait for his change. We practically leapt out of the car and made our way quickly to his front door. I tried to take in the appearance of his house, but I couldn't concentrate. I had only one thing on my mind. I followed him inside like a desperate puppydog and he closed the door behind me. I stood there, suddenly very shy in his hyper-masculine presence, and chewed my lip nervously. He stood towering in front of me; tall and oozing sexuality, opening running his eyes over my body. Before I could question why he was looking at me with such a sly grin, he closed the gap between us, pushing me back against the door. Hard. Passionately.
Our lips met and we kissed. Hot, passionate, desperate. Hungry. With his hands on my hips, he had me pinned against the door. The kiss seemed to last forever, occasionally breaking for a breath, in which he would let out a low, sexy growl and then go back for more. I felt my knees weakening and was thankful for his stronghold on my body. He clearly knew what he was doing and I was happy to follow his lead. This man knew how to seduce me. I was putty in his hands.
He pulled back slightly, withdrawing from the kiss, and looked down again at my body. Keeping one hand firmly on my hip, not allowing me to move, he ran his other hand across my stomach, sliding under my top. I gasped as he touched my bare skin, bucking slightly as my arousal increased even more. He continued to stare down at me, the intensity in his gaze never relenting, as he ran his hand up and up. I was panting slightly as his hand explored my stomach. He was breathing deeply, indicating his own excitement. I loved how he looked at me, his face expressing the fact that he was just as into the night as I was.
He stopped abruptly and I groaned in protest. With a chuckle at my disappointment, he took the bottom hem of my tank top in both hands and peeled it up over my head. I eagerly raised my arms to assist in the process. He grunted with approval when he saw my breasts, encased in a black lacy bra.
"Fuck..." he muttered under his breath, probably more to himself than me.
He proceeded to unclip my bra, tossing it to the floor. My body stiffened in anticipation as he lowered his head and wrapped his hungry mouth around my left nipple. I sharply inhaled, as a jolt of pleasure shot from my cunt. I grabbed him by his shirt to steady myself as I felt intense spasms. He was flicking his tongue around my nipple, sucking slightly, his beard stubble rough against my softness. Then he moved to my right breast and gave it equal attention. I writhed against him, my hips bucking without my initial realisation. My body was reacting of its own accord, my head spinning as he continued to devote his entire attention to my heaving breasts. My breasts have always been a favourite physical feature of myself, and men tended to enthusiastically agree. When I was in my early 20s they were quite large – at least DDs - but when my days of living wild and partying had subsided and I became fitter, they decreased to a still-sizeable C. Whatever size they were, whoever was playing with them seemed overly contented.
He detached from my nipple and kissed me again, pressing himself into me. I groaned into his mouth, as I felt his hard bulge push hard against my stomach. I tried to grab at it, wanting to take charge just a little, but he pushed my hand away. He grabbed both of my wrists and pushed them against the door, above my head. I knew he wanted to enjoy how this positioning of my arms made my tits perk up even more. Sure enough, he relatched onto them, sucking each nipple, kissing my breasts, licking, kissing... My moans increased in volume as he worked on my tits, knowing exactly how to handle them.
