What has been the longest session of foreplay (12 months? 18 months?) has now been consummated in the speediest, sexiest, surprising way.
I had gotten a message from 'Swing Time Slammer'. He was going to be in my area on Saturday, and had 3pm open. His profile pic appeared to be of a costumed super-hero. Or super-villain. I wasn't sure. He had on a very snug(and snug where it counts) light blue spandex bodysuit: decorated with numbers and...musical notes.
The presence of bass clef, half notes and threw me. My first thought was of Van Johnson as The Minstrel on television's Batman. Would 'STS' point then burst into jazz standards? And I may be popular, but I'm not quite so booked that assigning me a specific time is necessary: nor does it turns me on.
Intrigued nevertheless, I called Swing. He thanked me for calling: then said his 3pm was taken and he'd catch me another time.
"Another time?" I was outraged.
"Sorry, my darling. Do you ever get up to Lake Arrowhead?" He did have a sexy voice.
"You expect me to drive up to Lake Arrowhead because that's where you live?"
"No, dear, I don't live there. I'm going to be there next month. I'm free the 13th."
I slammed--the phone down, thankful for a landline and Princess phone to do so.
Despite this, Swing Time continued to keep in contact and his boyish charm kept me interested. His face pics showed him sporting a Guy Williams-as-Zorro mask. Perhaps Swing Time was a famous jazz artist. I could get him on cam and at the proper moment unmask him.
Maybe not. There might be a hefty re-stocking fee if I returned him 'out of the package'.
Out of the blue, he hit me up via IM: was I free the next evening?
Indeed I was, but me, being me... I can't leave well enough alone.
"I'm surprised you're single, Swing Time. You really are quite charming."
"I never said I was single. You assumed such, and as such, assumed incorrectly."
Such news doesn't thrill me, because
a) I'd already taken a shine to Swing
b) I'm the one who gets hurt in these situations
c)I've gone through too manycheating weasels in. relationships.
But hooking up would fulfill some sexual accounting of Swing Time's. I, in turn, could move on to the next sneaking-behind-their-back SOB. And Swing Time wasn't going to get me without ponying up some perks. And he wasn't fucking my ass either: that's how I get into these romantic disasters.
Swing Time had excellent time management skills. I was to arrive at 6pm. He had to be back home by 12 noon the following day, which meant winding down beginning at 6am.
It was a solid plan, but traffic south towards San Diego isn't great on a Friday. I didn't show up until 9pm. He wasn't as tall as I thought, but he was even more delightful than I expected. For conversation starved me, an intellectual man is the ultimate stimulation. It was a good thing his super-hero costume was at the cleaners: I'd have ripped it off his body. He was in damn good shape for a married man. I bet this fox could do a fancy fox trot too.
The dinner menu I requested had been delivered and was delicious. Had I not been rather stressed from the day I'd had and the drive, I probably wouldn't have minded the fact that he kept pawing me as if he'd just been rescued from a desert isle. I got a bit snippy: I think I hurt his feelings, and I really didn't mean to do so.
Things got so hot and heavy, instead of breaking at 6am: we headed back to my place where we continued cavorting like sex-crazed hyenas until it was time for him to leave: and I made sure that he did....after fucking him a few more times for good measure.
But damn it: He didn't fuck me and I still fell in love with him. Drats. I must be losing my resolve.
I had gotten a message from 'Swing Time Slammer'. He was going to be in my area on Saturday, and had 3pm open. His profile pic appeared to be of a costumed super-hero. Or super-villain. I wasn't sure. He had on a very snug(and snug where it counts) light blue spandex bodysuit: decorated with numbers and...musical notes.
The presence of bass clef, half notes and threw me. My first thought was of Van Johnson as The Minstrel on television's Batman. Would 'STS' point then burst into jazz standards? And I may be popular, but I'm not quite so booked that assigning me a specific time is necessary: nor does it turns me on.
Intrigued nevertheless, I called Swing. He thanked me for calling: then said his 3pm was taken and he'd catch me another time.
"Another time?" I was outraged.
"Sorry, my darling. Do you ever get up to Lake Arrowhead?" He did have a sexy voice.
"You expect me to drive up to Lake Arrowhead because that's where you live?"
"No, dear, I don't live there. I'm going to be there next month. I'm free the 13th."
I slammed--the phone down, thankful for a landline and Princess phone to do so.
Despite this, Swing Time continued to keep in contact and his boyish charm kept me interested. His face pics showed him sporting a Guy Williams-as-Zorro mask. Perhaps Swing Time was a famous jazz artist. I could get him on cam and at the proper moment unmask him.
Maybe not. There might be a hefty re-stocking fee if I returned him 'out of the package'.
Out of the blue, he hit me up via IM: was I free the next evening?
Indeed I was, but me, being me... I can't leave well enough alone.
"I'm surprised you're single, Swing Time. You really are quite charming."
"I never said I was single. You assumed such, and as such, assumed incorrectly."
Such news doesn't thrill me, because
a) I'd already taken a shine to Swing
b) I'm the one who gets hurt in these situations
c)I've gone through too many
But hooking up would fulfill some sexual accounting of Swing Time's. I, in turn, could move on to the next sneaking-behind-their-back SOB. And Swing Time wasn't going to get me without ponying up some perks. And he wasn't fucking my ass either: that's how I get into these romantic disasters.
Swing Time had excellent time management skills. I was to arrive at 6pm. He had to be back home by 12 noon the following day, which meant winding down beginning at 6am.
It was a solid plan, but traffic south towards San Diego isn't great on a Friday. I didn't show up until 9pm. He wasn't as tall as I thought, but he was even more delightful than I expected. For conversation starved me, an intellectual man is the ultimate stimulation. It was a good thing his super-hero costume was at the cleaners: I'd have ripped it off his body. He was in damn good shape for a married man. I bet this fox could do a fancy fox trot too.
The dinner menu I requested had been delivered and was delicious. Had I not been rather stressed from the day I'd had and the drive, I probably wouldn't have minded the fact that he kept pawing me as if he'd just been rescued from a desert isle. I got a bit snippy: I think I hurt his feelings, and I really didn't mean to do so.
Things got so hot and heavy, instead of breaking at 6am: we headed back to my place where we continued cavorting like sex-crazed hyenas until it was time for him to leave: and I made sure that he did....after fucking him a few more times for good measure.
But damn it: He didn't fuck me and I still fell in love with him. Drats. I must be losing my resolve.
1 comment:
In my best Tallulah Bankhead "I have thing for mysterious masked men!" Same bat time, same bat channel! Watch out boy wonder, don't get too smitten, Disney owns all the Marvel Superheros not to mention the pretty princesses.
kiss
dtf
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