Sex.
Sex.
Sex.
That's all I've been able to think about since my first date with Cath.
Not the word, not even just the concept. Far more viscerally than that. Vignettes of what we shared and what we might share. In full colour and surround sound. Erection inducing mental pictures of me thrusting vigorously while looking down at her glorious body, of me sucking her out until she cums in a massive hip throwing orgasm or just of me drooling over that sexy swollen and clearly aroused mons of hers, the tiny, flimsy, tautly drawn bikini pants I'm about to remove not quite able to cover the flawless flesh that arcs so artistically and sensuously off her mound before curving up to her thighs.
Cath has permeated my dreams and my every waking moment. It's like an obsession. It is an obsession.
I'd never felt so randy, so in need of making love to a woman, as I had in the week after that date.
You can joke that sex is all that any man ever thinks of. But this takes it to a whole new level.
Just talking to her on the phone each night I got that feeling of my cock starting to swell with an inflow of blood. I spent the lunch we shared in the city on Tuesday with a three quarter mongrel in my pants the whole time; wondering, wishing if there was somewhere we could go to make out if only I had the courage to ask her.
Even in her work clothes, she was stunning. Just a plain, white professional blouse, unbuttoned as far as was possibly appropriate in a professional context; just that tiniest little hint of a cleavage display.
But beautifully tailored so that the shape of her breasts and the slim waist below it were almost sculptured into it; the dimple of a hardened nipple pushing out through both her blouse and the bra under it suggesting maybe I wasn't the only one affected by our mutual presence.
And the black skirt she wore with it, sheathed against her body, letting me see every curve of her hips and wiggle of her cutest of butts and admire the gorgeous legs that emerged from under the hem that fell half way down her thighs.
I spent the lunch immersed in the physical and mental pleasure of her company; laughing, exchanging banter, sharing views, even teasing each other. And aroused. Heavily aroused.
And after lunch, even when I got the physical arousal back under control, I was on the high of being emotionally aroused for the rest of the day.
On Friday, when she came back to my place to get changed for the dance night and emerged in that little black sheath dance dress of hers, it took every ounce of self-control not to ask her if we could have sex there and then. It drove me wild with desire and aroused me on the spot; an arousal that stayed with me for the rest of the night until we got back to her place and we could finally surrender to our - well, at least my - desires.
That little black dress has much to answer for. The plunging neckline which let her perky braless breasts all but spill out of it, the split down both sides, showing a three inch gap with the front and back held together by nothing more than half a dozen thin straps that left you wondering what was supporting her panties or even whether she was wearing any at all, the micro mini length which highlighted the shapely legs that appeared from below it; legs that, in the words of an old school friend, 'seemed to go all the way up to her arse'. And as, whether through a perception of cold on what was actually a warm night or - I have trouble believing it - because of her own arousal, her nipples pushed out the stretch material into a matching pair of volcanic cones, my desire and arousal almost felt like it would boil over on the spot into a premature ejaculation.
I'm in my early 30's. It's not meant to be like this anymore. That sort of uncontrolled reaction is for 18 year olds. I'm meant to have control over these things, not get aroused in public because of some unbelievably cute and sexy woman.
And what I really have trouble believing it that this gorgeous woman is seemingly attracted to me.
I mean, not only does she have a 12 out of 10 figure - she's got to get extra points for some of her more sexualised features such as those lovely puffy areolas that rise in the shape of an eroded volcano cone to project her hardened nipples even further, that stunning swollen mound and, for a thinist like me (as I have been playfully accused by Kate as being because of my preference for thinner women), breasts and curves that are just slightly exaggerated for one so slender - but the most beautiful, engaging and warm face, doe like eyes, flawless skin and long, honey blonde hair that goes all the way down her back.
And that's just the physical side of her. OMG, she's smart, funny, empathetic, confident, playful and tolerant (of me, no less) to boot.
I've never got an erection dancing with a woman in public before (as opposed to a bit of naked foreplay dancing with Kate), but every minute I'm dancing with Cath it seems like I have a full boner; not helped in the slightest when she gets in close, wraps her mound around it and proceeds to quietly rub herself up and down on it. It's taken all my effort not to cum.
By the time we got home to Cath's place on that second date night, my manhood was ready to burst. I knew I should have wanked at home the night before to clear my pent up frustration, but it seemed like such a second rate thing to have to do when all week I'd been dreaming of burying my manhood in Cath and making beautiful love to her.
But it was all too much. By the time I'd drooled and lusted over her body and those tiny black panties that had finally revealed themselves and I'd fingered and sucked her to multi-orgasms - the second of which had her throwing herself about like a mad woman - I knew, just knew, I wasn't going to last long. I hadn't even fully penetrated her before, like an inexperienced beginner, I went off. All that build-up meant it might have been a good one, a monster in fact, but the lost opportunity for some prolonged thrusting was devastating; at least until Cath made it clear she was willing to wait for me to recover for some more.
What followed was beautiful. Maybe the best sex I'd had until that date. A prolonged turn of pleasuring my shaft in her warm, wet snatch as I gazed down at the beautiful woman laid out under me. To cap it all, she climaxed just before I did. What a fantastic ending to the night.
And then, the following morning, when I woke early and she, half awake, rolled on top of me, penetrated me into her and promptly fell back asleep, leaving me inside her, enjoying her vagina's warm embrace of my manhood while her sensuous body, enhanced by the gentle rise and fall of her breath, rested on top of me, like she'd left it for me to look after while she was away.
One hand was on her cute little butt while the other rested in the small of her back, while her long hair draped itself over my right shoulder and her firm breasts poked provocatively into my chest.
I was in heaven; at least until the shear erotic pleasure of it all caused my manhood to start to brew up, and I was eventually unable to resist the temptation to micro thrust it, or at least rock and screw it about to pleasure it. She suddenly moaned in her sleep in my ear and I felt the contractions of her orgasm pummel my already sensitive shaft. That did it. I erupted uncontrollably, filling her with whatever cum my balls had managed to fill up with after the previous night.
As guilty as I felt, like I had breached her trust by cumming in her, Cath was unperturbed.
Being so close to the beach and it being the middle of summer, much of our Saturday was planned as revolving around it. Cath didn't make it any easier for me to stop thinking about sex with what she wore. It was the same bronze coloured mesh dress as the previous week. Under it she wore a bikini on a lovely burnt orange colour, one that very much suited her clear light olive skin.
It's style was much the same as her others; what you might these days call the 'influencer style', by which I mean a stringy slide tri top where the triangles are so small that if you tie it down to the base of the breast, the nipples are exposed, so you have to tie it mid breast instead. Likewise, the bottom was much the same style as she wears under her dance dresses; very low waisted with a small, rectangular front that barely covers her mound and a back triangle that's generously called Brazilian, but only because, as far as I can tell as a mere male, the concept of a Brazilian back has shrunk even further over the last few years.
And, unlike some influences, all of it in thin, taut material that disguises little to nothing of what's underneath, rather than a more ruched texture. Cath is clearly not ashamed to display what's she got and, except for the difficulty it presents me in keeping a boner out of my pants, she has every right to be like that.
My outfit for the morning was governed by the circumstances; namely the likelihood of having a boner in my pants most of the day.
Last week I'd made the mistake of just going to the beach with her in board shorts (boardies in Australia) commando; like I normally would. Big mistake. Big, big mistake. Made of light, fine, stretch, quick drying material, even a half mongrel stood out like a sore toe.
Loose fitting, without anything under them, your manhood sort of goes wherever it wants to. Flaccid, it tends to point off down one of the legs of your boardies; all very well until it starts to turn boner like. Suddenly it's like someone stuck a truncheon up the leg of your pants. Either it gets caught in the material and pushed straight outward, or grows down your leg until it emerges from the bottom of the legs seam, or a bit of both. What it doesn't do it tuck itself neatly and indiscreetly out of the way.
Fooling around in the water with Cath last week, it grew out the leg hem of my boardies; much to her amusement. She slid the hem of the pants up its length, exposing my erection (fortunately under the water) with the pants holding it down to project out horizontal. The as we pashed, she rubbed her crotch along it.
All very nice you might think until we decided to exit the water and I've got this unhidable projection. Sure, I could tuck it back in - sort of - but that might hide the naked flesh, it doesn't make it any less obvious what's in there.
And waiting in the water for it to go down is all but futile when Cath is standing on the shore doing everything she can to visually tease me.
So this week I'd brought the speedo like racing briefs I normally keep for doing laps in North Sydney Pool to wear underneath. Hopefully, I thought, that would keep any boner tight against my body where it will be less obvious under the boardies.
For what little frolicking in the water we did do, Cath seemed a bit disappointed by the more restricted access. But I was thankful for it when I exited the water.
The surf was a bit more boisterous this week. So the prolonged period we spent pashing out the back wasn't really able to be duplicated. Instead we interspersed body surfing with lying out on the beach.
