Handsome, White Boy's Blues

fucked

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Sun, 25 Nov 2007 16:42:00 +0000

I was on my knees and elbows on the bed, waiting.

She had the bulb of the feeldoe in her flushed, postorgasmic pussy. The feeldoe's cock, bright blue, had a condom over it and she was covering it in lube.

Then she began to push it into me. Gently at first, carefully. She wasn't used to being the one doing the fucking, didn't want to hurt me. I opened myself up for her, relishing the feeling of her prosthetic cock penetrating my greedy asshole.

So good.

Then she started to fuck me. Slowly at first, then with more vigor. I shivered and shuddered, pushed against her, ordered her to fuck me harder. I only had to say it once. Moments later she was moaning and fucking and slapping my ass like a pro.

And I got well and truly fucked.

power

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Sun, 25 Nov 2007 16:26:00 +0000

Yesterday, a beautiful woman brought herself to orgasm.

She was imagining she had dressed up as a prostitute and waited for a call. When called, she was instructed to go to a hotel - the hotel where my girlfriend and I were staying. I paid her and then she did as I told her, while my girlfriend watched. She imagined these things and came, thinking about me pushing a vibrator into her wet pussy while my cock was deep inside my girlfriend's.

This morning she came twice more.

This afternoon she told me so.

And then she offered to get on a plane and come over to make it happen for real.

We'll see.

For now, I'm smug and horny. I love the thought that thousands of kilometers away, pussies get wet, clench and throb, and women come because of ideas I've put in their heads

I like, no, I love having that kind of power.

swing?

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Tue, 25 Sep 2007 09:11:00 +0000

Code names. We agreed on code names, because being incredibly famous, unique and special snowflakes we didn't want the swingers Googling us if we decided we didn't like them.

The official plan: go to a well known pub, SMS the hosts, meet, greet, flock off to fuck.

Our plan: go to a well known pub, SMS the hosts, meet, greet, run away. Baby steps.

We had dinner together, not far from the venue. Walked hand in hand to the pub, nervously. What were we doing? Why? We weren't even horny, just nervous. Wrong time of the month really, but we were still curious.

We got to the pub, SMSed the hosts. We had convinced ourselves that it would be just us and the peeps organizing this, it would all be a miserable failure as we left. We were therefore bemused and surprised at the reply: at the back bar, about 8 couples

8 couples? 8 couples! That's 16 people!

Turns out they were pretty nice. Also turns out we were too flummoxed to remember our assumed identities and kept calling each other by our real names. The host at least humored us. Oh well. We stayed for drinks, relaxed. Chatted a bit with one of the couples, then another couple. The host wandered by now and again to make a joke and put people at ease. More and more couples kept arriving.

After about 3 drinks the word rippled through the crowd: time to go!

I looked at Rosa. This was our cue to run away; but I had relaxed, she had relaxed. We had people we were comfortable talking to and we were curious, so we decided to go along. We'd told people we were absolute beginners and probably only voyeurs at this point; noone seemed to mind.

Time to go!

Slowly the group made it's way out of the pub, gathered outside like students on a field trip, waiting for the teacher to lead them back to the bus. It was quite amusing, actually. Jokes were made.

Then a friend of a friend, an attractive young woman we'd met at a party a couple of times before crossed the street and looked right at us. Ohshitohshitoshit. Be cool.

I grin and walk right to her, bravely launching into routine small talk. Rosa follows, slightly more flustered, makes the excuse that she wasn't wearing her glasses and was unsure who she was talking to. Our friend of a friend jokingly replies "What? Two nights of passion and you've forgotten me already?"

We titter.

...and worry silently that one of the swingers might overhear, take her seriously, invite her along...

But instead the group wanders off without us, as we continue making conversation. Once we've exhausted all the mandatory pleasantries, our friend of a friend wanders off. Following the swingers, of course. Catching up with them immediately, in fact, leading her bike and having a hard time getting through the massive mob.

Rosa and I just stand still, laughing. Waiting for her to get far enough away that we can follow without giving away our lies. Hoping she doesn't overhear anything too incriminating.

We catch up with the group in the corner shop where everyone is buying booze. We follow their lead, buy a bottle. Follow their lead down the street and follow their lead into the apartment that had been rented for the occasion.

The tiny, barren, oddly shaped apartment. It felt quite crowded, with over a dozen couples milling awkwardly about. Many of them inexperienced like us. Young, older, all shapes and sizes and colors.

Someone tried to find some music on the tiny telly, but gave up. Bare light bulbs cast unflattering shadows; I turned off the light in the kitchenette where we'd pitched camp.

After a bit the host announced, somewhat formally, that he and his girlfriend would be adjourning to the bedroom and people were welcome to join them. From that moment on, whenever we saw him he was wandering around with a t-shirt, socks and no trousers. With his really quite impressive dong flopping about. Not exactly elegant, but somehow comical enough to not add to people's insecurities.

Soon after the announcement, his girlfriend returned, pouting. "It's no fun if no one is going to watch!" she whined.

That broke the ice. The voyeurs gathered in the corridor outside the bedroom, craning their heads. The hosts got it on, soon other couples joined them. The couples we'd been idly chatting with in the kitchen turned to each other and began to kiss, touch. I watched as the woman I'd been chatting with had her little dress lifted up, and up, and up, by her tanned boyfriend.

Soon we were alone in the kitchen.

At this point, we were both quite drunk. I was starting to get a bit horny from the things going on around us, but Rosa was in more of a bemusedly shocked state; she was happy to watch, but wasn't interested in making out with me, let alone anyone else. We spent some time in the corridor with the voyeurs, but after a while began to feel that I couldn't really stay there any longer without doing something. As Rosa was emphatically not ready to do more than watch, I suggested we leave and go somewhere private.

I shook hands with the man wearing no pants and we made our belated escape.

Well, we tried to anyway. What actually happened was we found ourselves stuck at the gates and ended up having to return to request a code which would actually let us out. I promptly forgot it before reaching the gates, but luckily Rosa has better memory than I.

So on the second try, we truly did escape, only to find it wasn't even midnight and we had time to go for a quiet drink together to talk things over. Which we did.

We were glad we went; it was an experience! Not a bad experience, not a fantastic one either, but definitely an interesting and amusing one. Once I'd regained my composure and we'd talked a bit, I began to regret calling things short. It would have been fascinating to see how things developed. But such is life; and it was the right decision at the time, we were out of sync and needed to regroup.

We'll probably give it another try, sometime.

I still want to see my girl on her knees in front of another man, she still wants to see me touching someone else...

identities

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Wed, 19 Sep 2007 23:47:00 +0000

I, of course, am not always the white boy who suffers from the blues.

Sometimes I'm just a regular bloke who goes to work and has a girlfriend and has pints with his friends. This is, in fact, most of the time. Most of the time the white boy stays in his invisible place, in the back seat of my mind, not in control but merely watching, making snarky comments and lewd observations as my politically correct self does my best to navigate everyday life.

Only on this blog and in bed, or complaining to my nearest and dearest, does the spoilt white boy really take the wheel.

This is as it should be.

Except, if all goes to plan, tomorrow I'll be meeting people as the spoilt white boy from this page. Young Dublin swingers (wannabe?), meet and greet, at a well known pub. In the flesh. With the option to flock to a hotel afterwards for even more flesh.

What if they turn out to be my coworkers, nieces and nephews or, heaven forbid, landlords?

It could happen.

Murphy's law says it must.

But, even if Murphy's law is obeyed... odds are they'll be more embarressed than I.

luck?

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Sun, 09 Sep 2007 23:26:00 +0000

I remember when I first slept with her.

I remember how she looked sitting on top of me, her flat stomach and proud breasts filling my vision as my erection filled her.

I remember the note she left the next morning, after I had chivalrously left her alone in my flat. A note on an envelope, thanking me for a good time, adorably signed. An impeccably good sport about her philandering host dashing off to honor a previous engagement he had with another lovely lady.

After that, a blur of sex, restaurants, drinks and dates. Her, some others, but increasingly her. I was inexorably drawn into orbit around her fiery curls and glorious body. And she seemed cool, even intrigued, by my womanizing ways. I remember thinking to myself, hopefully; have I found a partner in crime?

Then, suddenly, she was a prude and we were having a relationship. It wasn't just fucking, we were becoming a couple and jealousy and love and claustrophobia took center stage. We broke up, got back together again just to break up some more. And so on.

Finally I fled, hid on a crazy volcanic rock in the north Atlantic.

...

This morning as her mouth gently massaged the head of my cock I marveled at how lucky I am.

Somehow, since I got back and we inevitably got together again, it has all been as effortless as it was complicated before. What used to be good sex has become amazing sex. I ask for a blowjob, she happily obliges. I ask her to come on my face, again I get what I want. She begs me to come on her tits and I return her favours.

We discuss making babies and attending orgies.

Sometime in the future of course, not now, not next week, she's not ready.

Or so it seemed until she started browsing Gumtree.ie this afternoon. Suddenly we have a date and I realize that I had indeed found a partner in crime.

We'll see about that baby thing later.

facebook

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Mon, 13 Aug 2007 21:51:00 +0000

"Oh my god! That girl just friended me on Facebook, " cries my girlfriend. "She'll eat me alive! What will I do?"

I put my hand on her breast and my lips by her ear.

"You'll just do as we discussed. Get between her legs and lick her little clit, put a finger inside her and make her all wet and horny. And then you'll watch your boyfriend fuck her from behind."

She shivers and replies, "I think I'll just poke her."

talking about...

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Sat, 04 Aug 2007 12:23:00 +0000

I'm horny today. That's what my previous entry was about.

This entry was going to be me dramatically complaining about my current shortage of people to talk to about sex. I was going to cry out to The Internet, hoping for a stampede of enlightened, pervy people in my GMail and Google Talk.

Well, fuck that!

Not that I don't still want to talk. Please, feel free to drop me a line or even better, hit me up on the Google chat thing. Especially if you'd like to star in one of my posts...

But I'm not going to whine about how I've stopped talking to my ex-lovers about my love life or bemoan the fact that I've been slow to find others to discuss that particular topic with. I had reasons for doing so, but writing (and then deleting) a very whiny entry about it made me realize that I painted myself into this corner and I can leave it any time I want.

I just need to rethink my approach to things a little bit.

Step one is to stop being a whiny bitch.

domestic bliss

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Sat, 04 Aug 2007 03:51:00 +0000

I came home from work, walked up the stairs shedding keys, shoes, jacket. Carrying a bag full of groceries.

At the top my girl stood waiting for me. Barely dressed really, although she had made an effort of sorts. Her perky, round breasts were nicely framed by her low-cut top. Her legs were bare and she had silky knickers on. The way they didn't quite cover her pink pussy gave it all away though.

I could tell what she'd been up to.

I played dumb. Kissed her hello and put my arms around her, the way I always do. Headed for the kitchen, knowing she'd follow me. Went through the motions of unpacking the food, getting ready to cook dinner.

"Maybe we should have a little cuddle first?" she suggested.

I put on my best leer.

"You don't want just a cuddle, girl." I pulled her to me.

She feigned innocence, but the way her body pressed against mine belied anything she could possibly have said. I took her hand and led her to the bed.

Orgasms and cuddles. A home-made burrito dinner and another session of fucking later, we slept. Then we woke up.

...

I love being a guy sometimes. I love waking up in the morning and feeling my cock grow hard. I love having a sexy, naked, freckled girl next to me. I love being able to simply roll over and press my chest against her lovely back, my cock against her delicious bottom, my lips to her sensitive neck. I love the simple joy that brings.

I love being able to run my fingers over her frame, feeling the curves of her hips and breasts. I rub my scruffy chin against her neck and put my hand between her legs. Sometimes it's caresses, sometimes it's a firm pressure, my hand hugging her pussy. Sometimes she's wet already and I just dip my finger in and slide...

Whatever I end up being in the mood for, it wakes her up.

She'll wake up a bit, press against me, rub her neck against my chin. Her lips will part in a silent moan as my fingers trace circles around her little clit. I'll watch her mouth and listen to her breath as my fingers move. So beautiful. And by now, wet.

The moans become audible.

My finger, slippery.

And about now, she's wide awake and can't wait anymore. She turns around and goes down. Her mouth hungry for my cock, which I'm happy to let her taste, lick and suck. She does it so well. I feel her tongue caressing me, watch her curls, the back of her head moving. As the feeling grows, it's not me that's moaning, it's her. Sounds of horny greed escape around the cock that plugs her mouth.

I lie back and enjoy it, for a bit. But only a bit.

"You're a right cocksucker, aren't you? Get off me, lie on your back."

She does as she's told, eyes wide and mouth open. I lie on my side next to her, put my hand around my erection and guide it between her legs, pushing just the tip into her slippery, swollen pussy.

"Now rub your clit. I want to feel you come on my naked cock. I want to feel you squeeze me, I want to feel your pussy vibrate on me."

And that's what happens. I pinch a nipple gently, moving my hips ever so slightly to rub the head of my cock back and forth inside her. Her fingers rub her clit just right, I stop moving now and again to enjoy the feeling of her fingers' vibration travelling throug her body and along the length of my erection. Then I move some more. And pause, feel. And move some more.

"You know, I'd love to do exactly this, lie next to you with my cock inside you while some slut sat on top of you, rubbing her clit over your face."

I slid a bit further into her.

"I'd like to lie here and watch while she got your face all wet, while you slid your tongue back and forth from her opening to her clit, around and back again."

Most of the way out again. Paused.

"And when I'd watched her come on your face, I'd pull out of you and get up on top of you, right behind her. I'd slide my cock into her pussy, right there in front of your face. I'd let you watch from up close as I fucked her. I'd let you watch as I slid in and out of her, so you could smell both of us and her wetness would drip onto your lips."

I slid a bit further in. The vibrations felt so good...

"I'd fuck her like that, right on top of you. And you'd watch from up close as we both came and I pumped her little pussy full of cum. I'd fuck her deep and hard and shoot my load into her, right there above your face. Then I'd pull out and my cum would come dripping out of her pussy and onto your lips."

I could feel her pussy grabbing me, now.

"And then she'd sit on your face again, you'd eat my cum out of her wet pussy. And I'd go back where I was and stick my cock back in you. My cock, covered with my cum and her juices, sliding back into you. And you'd come all over that filthy cock while the girl rubbed her soaking pussy all over your face."

And she came. I held still as she arched her back, gasping, pushing her wetness onto my now massive erection, her orgasm frantically massaging my cock.

When she was done, I pulled out, straddled her.

"You like that idea?"

She stared at me. "Oh god. Yes. I want that so much," she whispered.

I put my hand on my erection, moved it up and down a couple of times and shot my pent up load clear across her chest, hitting her just below the ear. And again, all over her chest. And again on her tits.

Then I put my hands on her cum-covered tits and played with them, rubbing my spunk all over her while she bucked under me and came again, without anything even touching her overexcited pussy.

games

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Sat, 07 Jul 2007 11:05:00 +0000

I've got a roving eye. The rest of me doesn't stray much, but I love to look. Sometimes, if I'm feeling a little mischievous, it becomes a game. If I make eye-contact I score a point. If I get a smile, I get another. If she keeps looking after I look away, I win.

Another game is watching the married guys I work with. Funnily enough, most of them don't look around. At lunch, most of them just look at whoever they're talking to, look at their food, the table. Are they shy? Are they just not interested? It makes me wonder. A select few will, like me, let their eyes follow the faces or figures of girls walking by.

Does it mean anything? I dunno.

Yet another game. Go to a party, watch people drink. Follow their eyes, figure out who fancies who. Watch their bodies give away things they aren't even aware of themselves. It's not that hard, really. But I guess it's sort of the answer to that question I got the other day - how do you pick up chicks?

Eye contact, body language. Play the eye-contact game, flirt, plant seeds of interest. Pay attention to reactions and approach the ones that are already at least a little bit interested.

No one can pick up any girl he fancies. They do, after all, have minds of their own. But if you can read the signs and not waste your time on those who just aren't interested, then you've got a pretty good head start. Another game.

A game with the best prizes.

months later

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Sat, 16 Jun 2007 02:54:00 +0000

So, being the eternal optimist I am, I tend to go around seeing life through sex-tinted glasses.

It's like being a feminist, except... well. So I'll admit it's nothing like being a feminist, that was a train-wreck of an analogy just trying to get me on its tracks.

It is a point of view that most reasonable people would describe as a delusion, at best. No matter how horny I may sometimes feel, that doesn't mean everyone else is constantly motivated by lust. Really! That's just not how the world works. For some people it really is all about a career, gardening or that ideal cup of tea.

But in spite of being vaguely aware of this theoretical, so-called reality, I still tend to see a glance as a check-out, a smile as a flirt, turned down eyes as wishful bashfulness... And so on. In my world, they all just want to be wanted, held down, climbed, worshiped, humiliated, sweet-talked, licked, sucked, used, spanked. Whatever. Sexed.

Seeing the world through sex-tinted glasses is good fun, if nothing else.

But it's unsettling when things suddenly click.

It's unsettling when your friend tells you that while you were fetching the beers, the girl you were innocently chatting with hastily explained she was in an open relationship and requested stats on your availability. Because that's how I imagine the world, not how I expect it to be.

It's unsettling when that same evening, you find out that that couple you would quite like to be friends with, in a completely innocent, fun, get drunk and dance kind of way... are totally poly and the guy asks you for hints on how to seduce teh ladies. His wife puts her hand on your chest.

wtf?

Them damn sex-tinted glasses are glued to my face and I can't get them off.

...

Opportunities.

There, and there, and there, and there, and... I have a girlfriend I love and she's not cool with me being Mr. Sex Pervert anywhere but in bed with her. So I act like I don't see them, they just voom on by as I smile, take a quiet ego boost and pretend not to notice.

I think about age and wonder if some day soon, will I be a wrinkly old man who regrets not having just seized them all while he could? I've seized the one. A damn fine one to be sure, an excellent choice. But will I regret the others?

Or, worse, will I end up giving in and cheating, hurting my girl? Probably not. Will I end up pressuring her into something she just isn't interested in or cut out for? Maybe. Will she read this and worry? Quite possibly.

But I really can't lie to her or hide things from her. That's just not how I do things.

Is it always going to be a struggle to (not) be a poly slut?

avoiding you

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Sun, 15 Apr 2007 13:19:00 +0000

Hello, Internet.

I've been avoiding you.

Sorry about that. Things just went a bit crazy about a month ago and I haven't really felt like writing. You have to be in the right mood for that sort of thing, hey?

But, in the meantime, thanks for the encouraging e-mails. It's very encouraging to know there are a few people out there who enjoy my writing.

I'll be back when I've sorted things out.

of porn and whales

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Sat, 24 Feb 2007 11:39:00 +0000

Wow, the prudes won; Snow Gathering was canceled. How disappointing.

I think the whale comparison on the current Snow Gathering page is a cheap shot though. From what I've heard, Icelanders aren't hunting any endangered species'. That's just propaganda from overzealous environmental organizations - not all species of whale are endangered.

I've had whale at a restaurant here. It's very good. I have no moral qualms about this; as long as the animals aren't endangered I don't really see how killing whales is any worse than killing cows or pigs or chickens. At least the whale got to live a natural, free life.

It's ironic that the Snow Gathering people fail to understand how Icelanders would fall for the rhetoric of all porn being abusive, degrading and criminal, but happily jump to equally predictable and narrow minded conclusions about Iceland and whaling.

snow gathering

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Sun, 18 Feb 2007 20:37:00 +0000

Sometimes I really wish I understood Icelandic.

My Icelandic friends tell me there's quite an uproar in the Icelandic press about SnowGathering 2007. I don't generally encounter the conservative part of the local population, and hadn't really realized that that sort of thing existed here, but during the past few days I've been assured otherwise. Apparently both the church, politicians and some feminists have objected to the gathering. It's somewhat frustrating to know this sort of dialog is going on here, but not understand the language well enough to be able to follow along.

I guess I'll just have to focus on what I do understand: downtown will soon be full of porn stars looking for a good time.

[ Insert predictable fantasies here. ]

fingers

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Tue, 13 Feb 2007 22:03:00 +0000

I have my fingers between her legs and my lips by her ear.

"You feel so warm, so wet baby. I love how your pussy lips get all swollen and inviting when I touch you like this," I breathe into her ear.

I slide my finger gently from her clit to her opening and back again, punctuating my words by sliding my fingers gently over her clit and tracing slow circles around it.

"You know I could so easily slide my cock into you now. Your pussy would swallow all of me up at once, it would feel so good. Just sliding back and forth inside you, feeling your pussy grab onto me. She's so strong, baby, it's amazing."

I keep running my finger gently around her small, hard clit. I relish how wet she is by now. How true my words are. My cock is hard, but I'm in no rush to do anything with it, I'm happy to just play her body like some sort of erotic instrument.

She's rocking her hips now, pushing against my hand.

"I love making you feel like this. I love bringing out the filthy little slut in you, I love making you come. Are you going to come for me, baby?"

She gasps out a breathless yes and I slide my finger back down to her opening, teasing it gently. I don't put my finger in her, I just feel how wet she is and tease her a bit.

"Right there. Right there, I could slide my cock into you. You'd grab onto me and your greedy little pussy would try and suck the cum out of me. You know she would. And you know if I let you come on my naked cock I wouldn't be able to resist, I'd just have to come too, fill you with spunk."

She's moaning now, rocking her hips back and forth against me, eyes closed and her mouth open. So beautiful, I watch her move, her flat stomach and perfect breasts. And in this moment, she is all mine. At the thought of me coming inside her an "oh yes" escapes her lips and her breath quickens.

I slide my finger up and down slowly, feeling the wet fullness of her pussy, sliding back and forth over her clit on each stroke. Her wetness has spread to cover her entire pussy, the rest of my hand, her thighs...

"You'd like that, wouldn't you baby? You'd like me to push deep inside you and just fill you with cum. You'd like to feel it pumping into you and filling you up and leaking out of you again."

She would.

"Or maybe, maybe you'd like to watch me do that to someone else. Maybe you'd like to watch me play with some other girl like I'm playing with you now. I'd make her all wet, play with her pussy until she begs for my cock. And you'd watch and play with yourself."

She opens her eyes wide and stares at me as the meaning of my words sinks in. "Oh god, yes," she whispers.

"You'd play with yourself and watch as I pushed the tip of my cock into her."

I touch her opening, caress it.

"Just like I could push it into you, right here, I'd push the tip of my cock into her, just a little bit. I'd slide out and then in again, fucking her slowly at first, then faster and harder as her pussy squeezes me and she moans and moans."

She has totally lost control now, her hips moving frantically back and forth as I slide my finger back and forth over her wet slit, up and over her clit and then back to her opening again. And again and again.

"You'd watch as she starts to come on my cock and I'd lose control and just pump her full of my cum. We'd be beautiful. And then once I was all done, I'd walk over to you and put my sticky, cum covered cock in your mouth and let you lick me clean, tasting my cum and her juices together."

Her body convulses, she's coming. I quickly take my finger off her clit, covering her pussy with my flat hand, giving her something firm to buck and push against. And buck she does, hard, the orgasm taking over her whole body.

"That's right baby, come for me."

It seems to go on forever and it's the most wonderful sight in the whole world.

And when she's done, exhausted and breathing heavily, all snug in my arms, she's still mine. My cock is still hard.

She'll be coming again, and we both know it.

sound advice

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Tue, 06 Feb 2007 09:51:00 +0000

Still recovering from a busy weekend in Glasgow.

Still busy cleaning my phone's SMS inbox, which is full of messages from both Rosa and Disa (turns out "deesa" is just how it's pronounced).

In the meantime, I recommend this sound advice from White Ninja.

clones

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Wed, 31 Jan 2007 00:57:00 +0000

Sometimes I wish I could clone myself. Follow more than one path. More than two.

Saturday, the night after I almost-but-not-quite had some sort of threesome, I was out again. And somehow, yet again, I bumped into that same blonde that I've been seeing now and again. I had asked her name the night before. I think I can pronounce it, but I'm not sure how to spell it. Deesa, or something like that.

As I went out I texted Rosa, just to see if she was out. No reply, but I've decided that doesn't mean anything much since most people are more absent-minded about their phones than I am.

First person I see in the bar is Deesa.

And then I get a text. But it's not from Rosa, it's an old flame from back home. Someone I'd love to shag again, but can't really, because aside from being in the wrong country, she's recently married. But, in spite of that, she texted me.

"how r u, iceland boy? am on train from galway, reminded me of u."

We met on that train. I remember how her elbows touched mine, how she sat just a little too close as we talked. How we met for dinner that evening and ended up in her tiny room, fucking until morning.

Such a loaded message.

"I'm grand. Train from Galway, aye? Good times! Hope you're well, give Pete my best."

Pete's her man.

Deesa was looking at me. I put the phone away and ignored the buzzing of the reply. We talked, I bought us both drinks. As the small-talk progressed, as I flirted, as I touched her arm and grinned my fuck-me grin, the back of my mind was following different paths.

I'd love to go back home, follow up on that text. I was always disappointed that she got away. She wouldn't be messaging me like that if those nights we had together hadn't made an impression. What if?

What if I had replied to Rosa's text last night? Would I have ended up in her arms? Would I be in her arms still? I wished I had.

And yet I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Deesa's hand on mine, her smile lighting up the room. Her cleavage distracting my eyes from her face. Part of me thinking she may be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. For now anyway. Older than she looks, actually my age. Not many girls are that hot at 30. Curves and maturity, that amazing Icelandic look of youth. They all look like kids here. And this kiddo has her hands and eyes on me.

Later that evening I sneak a look at my phone, turns out that message wasn't from my Irish lady friend, it was from Rosa. She's at Kaffibarinn again, I'm at Sirkus. I don't feel like moving.

I need more of me. One to be here. One to chase Rosa. One still playing the field in Ireland. One that made all the right decisions and moves and kept Maria. One that never got divorced. One that never got married.

The one of me here, was drunk. Dancing.

Deesa in my arms, dancing, spinning around and bumping into people, not quite spilling our beers. Or theirs.

When the world stops spinning, we're in my bed.

She's not wearing anything, I'm between her legs, my face all wet and my tongue on her clit. Her back is arched, a pillow between her teeth and covering most of her face. I slide a finger into her and use it to tell her body to come to me, for me.

Come here. I move my finger as I lick her clit harder, then relax both.

Come here. Harder, relax.

Come, lick, relax.

We fall into the rythm of it and soon I can feel her stomach muscles pulsating, her pussy grabbing my finger gently. She whimpers.

Come here.

Her hips buck, her pussy mashing into my face. I can't breathe, but for now that doesn't matter. I try my best not to lose the rhythm, to keep her moving, keep her gasping like that. She comes, crying out, pushing against me and then curling up in a vulnerable ball of girl.

I move to kiss her lips and eyelids, hold her as she relaxes and comes down.

We'd earlier discussed my warts, I knew she wasn't going to fuck me. Through my drunkenness I vaguely remembered her sucking me off. Or at least having a taste.

As we fell asleep, I drunkenly wondered what my clones were up to.

partner in crime

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Sun, 28 Jan 2007 23:55:00 +0000

My flatmate's party, the flirting at Kaffibarinn, that was all last weekend. Now another weekend has passed and I'm behind in writing about what's been going on. I've been busy, and if anything I'm even more confused now than I was before. Hopefully writing about it will help me work through things.

But, on with the story while I still have access to the laptop...

--

Turns out the toasting was all a little premature. Rosa never actually made it all the way back to us, she got mobbed by friends, distracted and swept away. Soon after, Karl got bored and left.

I was still lurking around, hoping to see her but ended up leaving the bar too and heading to Sirkus to see if any of the others from the party were there. The queue wasn't moving, the weather sucked and I eventually just headed home, drunk and tired.

As I walked I got a text message from her, but I didn't feel like responding. I was pretty disappointed.

But we were probably all too drunk for that sort of thing anyway and now that a few days have passed, I'm more intrigued than disappointed. I find that sort of slutty behavior very attractive.

I'd love to have a "partner in crime" like her.

I'm still not sure what to do about the flatmate situation though.

fleshbotted harder

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Sun, 28 Jan 2007 20:34:00 +0000

I think Jefferson likes me.

He keeps fleshbotting me! I like it.

Hey fleshbotters, welcome! Might as well take advantage of the you: I'll be visiting Glasgow next weekend, if anyone wants to recommend something sexy to do there I'd be much obliged. E-mail or comments, whatever tickles yer fancy.

why not?

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Sun, 28 Jan 2007 19:37:00 +0000

So, my escape from the smokers' party was foiled by the blonde's request for a drink. I took my time finding it though, wandered around the downstairs party, checking who had showed up while I was upstairs. Plenty of people. Plenty of chicks.

I was feeling a bit conflicted. Part of me just really wanted to get Rosa into bed again, but I was worried about my flatmate and from our last encounter I knew she liked my player aspect. So making the most of my opportunity with the blonde was a good strategy either way.

One thing I've learned, is you concentrate on one girl at a time, or you end up with none. On the other hand... I've also learned not over-analyze things. So I just grabbed some beers and went back up to see which way the wind would blow me.

I didn't end up going back down. Rosa and the blonde sat next to each other, chatting. I leaned against the opposite wall, sipped my beer and looked slyly at them. Now and again I'd take part in one of the conversations around me, but mostly I listened and watched, enjoying the glances they took turns making and the feeling that I was in control and could have either one I wanted. I was beginning to toy with the idea of having them both.

Just as I exchanged yet another meaningful glance with Rosa, my flatmate showed up in the door. He was pretty drunk, but he also seemed a little bent out of shape. I think he noticed the way Rosa was looking at me. He said something odd and then announced that he was leaving, heading downtown. We could do as we damn well pleased. Then he turned off the bathroom light and disappeared down the stairs.

Ouch.

We switched the light back on, the night went on. But it had all gone a bit sour and soon afterwards the party broke up and headed downtown.

Me and some of the others from congregated in Kaffibarinn. For me it was the obvious choice, that's where both Rosa and the blonde were headed, that's where Rosa and I hooked up last time. Trendy girls, rock'n'roll guys, beer and music. It was a happenin' place that night. I bumped into one of my other mates near the bar, bought him a beer. Let's call him Karl. Karl and I exchanged jokes and conversation for a while, until Rosa showed up and took a position between the two of us. It was crowded, she couldn't help but rub against me.

Her scent and presence had me sporting a stiffy pretty quickly. I played cool, acted like nothing was up, kept chatting with the both of them. But Rosa only had one of her hands on the bar, the other was on my knee, my thigh, stroking the bulge I was pretending wasn't there. Naughty girl.

I had forgotten all about the blonde.

As the conversation went on, Rosa stopped feeling me up, but turned a bit so her pert little bottom was pressed against my erection. She was facing Karl, talking to him. I discreetly put one of my hands on her hip, slid it under her top and caught my breath as I felt the warm, toned skin of her stomach. She wriggled just a little bit, letting me know she liked my hand there.

I had forgotten all about my flatmate.

Another beer, more talk. It slowly dawned on me that I wasn't the only one getting attention from the girl. Karl was standing pretty close to her as well and as before, Rosa had one of her hands out of sight. But it wasn't touching me. I began to suspect it was touching him... and when Rosa headed off to the loo I asked my friend what was up. Sure enough, her hands had been all over him, and he knew she was flirting with me at the same time. I was suitably impressed.

"She's quite a handful," he grinned.

"Yeah. Shall we give her what she wants? I'm up for it if you are."

He paused. Thought about it. Neither of us had ever been in that sort of situation together.

"Fuck it, why not? Fuck her, in fact," he replied.

We raised our beers and banged 'em together, just as I noticed her making her way through the crowd towards us again.

party

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Mon, 22 Jan 2007 09:59:00 +0000

I sat in the living room with my flatmate, a bunch of our mutual friends gathered around to drink with us. On the coffee table there was a growing pile of empty pizza boxes, beer cans, bottles and dirty glasses. The laptop I've been borrowing sat in the corner playing random songs from Flatmate's mp3 collection. An hour or two, maybe three, and people would run out of drinks and start heading downtown in search of more.

Rosa hadn't shown up, but oddly enough the blonde I'd been fantasizing about earlier this week was there. Friend of a friend, this is such a tiny town. I had my charm on and was getting to know her a bit, making it clear I found her interesting. She flirted back like a champ. I liked where things were headed.

Every once in a while the doorbell would ring and more people would join the party, it soon fragmented as they always do into a kitchen party, the living room party and the smokers up stairs, sitting together on the edge of the bath tub and smoking out the window. I was up there with them for a while, mostly chasing the blonde but also on the off chance that someone would pass around a joint.

Most of the conversations were in English, not only for my benefit, but because there seem to be a lot of foreigners in this town. Exchange students and people who've just decided this is the place for them. Every once in a while people would lapse into Icelandic, but during the past few months I've begun to understand a little bit. I was usually able to follow the gist of things, which made me feel pretty good.

When my beer was empty I abandoned the smokers and went back downstairs for more. Guess who had turned up in the meantime? Rosa! She was chatting away with my flatmate, and she was lovely. I felt awkward, I could tell from the way my flatmate was behaving that he was totally into her. He was at his most charming, telling tall tales and making her laugh.

I retreated back up the stairs before she noticed me. Chicken.

One of the girls in the bathroom party had decided it was too hot and had taken her top off. After all, her bra wasn't any more revealing than a bikini anyway, she claimed. And she was hot. Sure... I grinningly encouraged the blonde to follow suit, but she was a bit more reserved. Laughs and banter and innuendo ensued. Someone brought beer up from downstairs.

And then Rosa joined us.

Of course, I thought to myself, she smokes.

We exchanged hellos, smiles. I tried not to act too familiar, tried not to make it obvious to the whole room that the image of her naked frame on my cock was flashing before my eyes. She was similarly cautious, but you could probably have cut the tension with a knife. I was already thinking about how to get her into bed again... or maybe I should play it cool? Be a little hard to get? Maybe I should keep working on the blonde?

Instead I just prepared to escape again, headed back downstairs "to get another drink".

The blonde asked me to bring her something too.

Okay...

questions

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Fri, 19 Jan 2007 01:00:00 +0000

Will I ever be a dad? In what ways will it change me? Will I become just like my own dad? What would my life be like if my mistress hadn't miscarried all those years ago?

Will I ever taste another man's cock? Will I like it? Will I ever let some guy do me in the ass? Will I like it?

Will I ever find a girl who wants to be mine? Will I be able to hang up my players' hat and just be hers as well? Will I be able to resist the temptations I've spent the past few years learning to recognize? Will I stop judging and looking down my nose at people who cheat... and become one of them?

Will I ever be fully rid of my warts? Does the fact that I haven't found any for a couple of months mean I'm cured? When do I have to stop warning girls about them before sex?

And...

Will I see Rosa this weekend? Is this a beginning?

complications

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Mon, 15 Jan 2007 07:52:00 +0000

So, a month ago I met this girl, Rosa. I've really only seen her once since then, since I went home to Ireland for the holidays. But we've exchanged the occasional flirtatious text message and I'll probably see her again next weekend. I'm a bit excited about that!

There's a catch though. A very frustrating one, in fact. I'll probably see her next weekend because my flatmate is throwing a party and he's invited her. Turns out they've been friends for a while and I suspect he wants more then just to be friends.

After our romp back last month, she asked me to be discreet about having been with her. She said she didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Flatmate's feelings.

But I want her in my bed again...

practice

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Sun, 14 Jan 2007 19:05:00 +0000

I stood under the shower washing and thinking about last night. The warm water felt good on my skin, the soap nice and slippery. My penis wasn't quite as relaxed as the rest of me.

I'd overheard a conversation at the bar the night before. Girls chattering away as they do, but this group was discussing blow-job technique. They'd had enough drinks that they were forgetting to be quiet about it. I listened and looked, thought about offering one of them a chance to practice. Preferably the curvy little blonde.

As I washed I thought about that some more.

I thought about taking her to visit the cute couple on the 2nd floor. Thought about having drinks with them, smoking a joint, putting a porn flick on...

Letting the girls practice on both of us.

I lathered up and stroked my now hard, erect cock. I covered myself in shower gel, using it as lube, sliding my fist up and down. Slowly at first.

I closed my eyes and imagined my neighbor's girlfriend asking my date if she would mind trading places for a while.

I imagined watching the blonde wrap her lips around my neighbor's cock while his girl licked me up and down.

My strokes got faster. As did my breathing.

I thought about the two of them kissing on the floor, mouths full of our cum.

I came.

conflicted

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Wed, 06 Dec 2006 11:12:00 +0000

I'm still surprised about last weekend. It seems a bit unreal.

But of course, in hind-sight, it makes sense. If you catch the most common STD in the world (HPV), of course lots of other people will have caught it as well. The odds of ending up in bed with one of them aren't really so small. That's how I caught it in the first place, right?

It so happens that the strains that cause visible warts (like the ones I've been fighting to get rid of for the past few months) aren't the strains that cause cancer... so aside from the stigma, they aren't really a big deal.

But the stigma matters.

I'm not just surprised though, I'm also having second thoughts. Meeting and sleeping with Rosa was amazing. I can't wait to see her again. And yet, at the same time, I worry that we let the drink cloud our judgement. Maybe she had a different strain of HPV from the one I have. Maybe she can catch mine as well and will regret having slept with me. Maybe I should have known better than to expose her to that risk. Maybe she regrets our time together and won't want to see me again.

Will sobriety and guilt make her play the feminine victim card, will she dramatically blame the evil man (me) for a decision she made and regrets?

Am I being an arrogant chauvinist, second-guessing her sincerity, motives, decisions?

Or, worse - was I perhaps selfish, did I throw caution to the wind just because I wanted to get laid?

I just don't know what to think. Part of me is elated and can't wait to meet her again, part of me worries and frets. And part of me just wants to go out and find out how many other girls I can have fun with like that.

Worries aside, last weekend I realized I can have lots of sexy fun without actually rubbing the rapidly disappearing warts against anyone.

That's something anyway!

made me cry

noreply@blogger.com (H. W. Boy) — Mon, 04 Dec 2006 09:00:00 +0000

This blog post, together with the comments, made me cry.

If you came here looking for something sexy, don't click on that link. But do so later, it's worth reading.