The beaming sun beamed down onto muh-face. Holy moly it’s hot, I thought to myself, I’m even reusing words in the same sentence. Cuckily I’d slathered on some factor 50 before leaving muh-flat earlier that day. No muh-lanoma for me, thank you!
I gently licked the inside of muh-cheek where I’d bitten it the night before and gazed into Trafalgar Square, shielding my eyes so I could see better. I had approached from the south-west corner and a kind of Islamic carnival was taking place. The muh-ting call of the muh-slim invaders crashed around the square. Jesus Christ that sounds awful, I thought to myself, I can’t even hear myself think. What?!. A huge sign adorned the stage: Eid Muh-Barak, it read.
The only thing that could make this experience worth it is a same day lay, I thought, straining to hear one of the voices inside my head over the din. How about a same day de-lay? Another of the voices countered. Okay, that’ll do, the original voice conceded, but only if she has fake tits and I get to spoil the ending right at the beginning of the lay report.
As I stepped forward into the loose crowd of people paying homage to the deafening wail of the stage, another figure stepped out of it towards me. The figure was very slim and had a tight body, with a flat stomach. Tall, too: five foot nine. All covered in a black figure hugging skirt and top combo which unzipped down the front; it was like a gift wrapped up with a bow. Huge eyes which dominated her face. Odd, because she clearly of south-east Asian descent; just not the squinty kind I guess. Not of prime age (I’d find out later that she was 30) but with a banging body, and good face. I’d say around a low seven. She gave me the slightest of looks before moving on.
My legs started to move and Mr White’s cheeky bald portrait came into my mind. I hear you’re into Asians now. Just a coincidence! Just a coincidence! Now get out of my head you slaphead trickster!
“Excuse me.” She immediately came to a dead stop. “I just wanted to say something quickly. I thought you looked nice, like a ninja, in this black outfit.”
We began flirting but after 30 seconds she maneuvred herself to my side. Oh, she’s just not that interested I guess. I think it showed on my face and she picked up on it.
“It’s just that the sun is directly in my face.” Okay, fair enough, that’s an opportunity to lead then.
“Let’s go stand in the shade over there.” I said, as I gave her a slight prod on her shoulder and moved her over to the side of the square where the dumpsters were. The faint smell of warm garbage wound its way up my nostrils.
“My name’s Tom, by the way.” I said while offering my hand.
“Paige.” She replied. I tried to hold her hand there but she pulled it away as if it were a normal handshake.
It turned out that Paige was in London on a business trip. She was Malaysian, but had lived in Hong Kong and then Stockholm for the past year. She had been in town for the past week and was leaving the next day; she planned on going to the Sherlock Holmes museum that afternoon. It presented another opportunity, just like leading her into the shade, but really the only one available to me.
“Well before you go, tonight, let’s have a drink.”
I wasn’t sure if she would follow through on that but I thought that I might as well go for it. The story was all there, with her leaving the next day. It provided the perfect scarcity of time to create huge value in the moment. But was there enough interest? I had tried a further physical test by taking her hand to look at her rings, but it was reluctantly given. I’d been in this circumstance before, where lacking a kind of sparky interest made my attempt at the lay more of an interesting distraction from her end of holiday formalities.
Though in this case, I had the benefit of the bubble burst which is inherent in a SDDL attempt. If she came out tonight then she was confirming her interest. If she didn’t, then no harm no foul. I sent my feeler about an hour after meeting Paige to keep the momentum going and after receiving her response, I set another compliance test by telling her to meet me at the train station near my house. I was planning on watching football and proposed that we meet at 9:30pm.
“Can we do a little earlier? 8:30/9?”
“Yeh that’s fine. See you later.” It was still late enough to confirm the seductive frame.
Really I was testing to see if she was coming out to fuck. It reminded me of Anna, from last year. She had met me with the pure intention of fucking. It was just too juicy an opportunity for her to pass up on. Though in that case, I was working with her body agenda and pushing against the line of least resistance. In this case, I would be working against it. The likely case was that she too was coming to get fucked, but it would take a lot more corralling to get her there.
And as with the thirty minutes before the date with Anna, I started to get nervous. It was a real do or die event. I knew I had to go in there, and work fast, and if it went wrong then I’d fall flat on my face. The story was there, but was the interest there? I thought about how the physical tests in-set had gone. They didn’t encourage me. But then something curious happened:
“Hey I’m on the way but according to google map I’ll definitely be there later than 2100… apologise for that.”
“[thumbs up]. Text me when you’re there.”
And all the nervousness melted away. I can’t pinpoint what it was about that message but it put my nerves at ease. Obviously, it confirmed that she would turn up. Maybe the fact that she was apologising? Maybe because she was moving back to the time that I initially suggested?
I got Paige’s message around 9:20 and walked up to meet her. She was wearing the same outfit but now had her make-up and hair done, and was wearing red lipstick. Later on I’d get her Instagram and look at a picture she published the next day. In the comments section was a suited man saying “hope you enjoyed the rest of your weekend [kiss emoticon].” I wondered whether she’d just come from having dinner with him. She’d also later tell me that she didn’t realise how far away our meeting point was from where she was staying (she was in north London and we were meeting in the south); she said she’d only realised the distance when it was too late to rearrange.
I leaned in and kissed her on the cheek and then lead her down the road to a pub.
“What would you like?”
“A Moscow mule please.”
I nodded and walked over to the bar, stopping halfway to google what a Moscow mule was. Vodka and ginger beer, okay.
“I’ll have a pint of this and a Moscow mule, please.” I said to the bartender.
“A Moscow mule?”
“Vodka and ginger beer. Don’t worry, I didn’t know what it was either until about 10 seconds ago.”
I pulled the drinks towards me and tapped my card on the reader, then walked back over to Paige to begin my conversation/spike/escalation loop. She loved it, and soon enough was leaning with wide eyes, begging to be kissed. Once she started telling me that she liked the boldness of my approach, I knew there was the easy opportunity to kiss her. I pulled her in towards me, but she slightly tipped her face down so I had to loop my lips underneath to kiss her. She went for it straight away though, with her tongue, and soon after, biting my lip. It was on.
I started the Questions Game and gave her the same sort of questions I asked Julia. I found out that the last time she had sex was two months ago with her ex-boyfriend; that was probably the best answer she could have given me.
But it wasn’t all plain sailing, and my prediction that she would need corralling started to gain credence:
“What do you find attractive in men?”
“But what do you find properly attractive? As in, what do you find sexy? Not what do you want in a husband.”
“What turns you on?”
Wisdom?! Wisdom! What the fuck?! She asked me a few questions about my job as well but I refused to qualify along K lines. Whenever that kind of topic came up, I would talk about meeting tonnes of different people with different personalities in my work. Then I talked about wanting to quit my job and how I valued freedom above everything else. The fascinating thing about these kind of speeches is that it is child’s play to frame them correctly. It’s so easy to construct a personality DHV in this was which she can’t help but agree with. Who doesn’t want to be free?
The makeouts were becoming more frequent and her breathing was getting heavier, but like Julia she had pretty much stopped drinking while halfway through her drink. Time to get things moving.
“I haven’t actually had one of these before.” I said while picking up her drink and taking a long slurp up the straw. “Look, it’s like one of those American diners where a couple drink a milkshake together.” I pointed the other straw towards her and we finished it. I think I had 90% of what was left. “Let’s go.”
“For a walk.”
I took her hand and lead her home. It didn’t feel like qualifying, holding her hand, even though she had mentioned chivalry. I’ve had girls mention it before, and found that the best way to deal with it is to do the chodey things, but to do them tongue in cheek. Really it’s just a creature comfort for the girl which greases the train tracks and allows smoother passage to the lay.
We got inside and sat down on the sofa with a drink, and after a few minutes, I pulled her in to begin escalating. She was breathing really heavily; I was sure that it was on, right here right now, but when I went to unzip her top she grabbed my hand. Just some token LMR. But it went on from there. I relaxed and laid off for another few minutes then went for it again. Once again she cut me off.
Then another interesting thing happened. I went for it the third time but this time I did it while telling her:
“I’m just taking your top off.” And whoosh, off it went immediately.
The reason why I found this so interesting is that, normally, when I’m confronted with LMR, I roll off until she’s breathing heavily, and then it’s full speed ahead to the lay. In this case, it was stop start, and at each stage I said “I’m just taking your X off.”
We were down to our underwear and on my bed, but I couldn’t crack the last hurdle. She said she should go and I agreed, so she got up and went back to the living room to get back into her clothes. I had resigned myself to defeat, but when I came in she immediately hugged me, and cradled herself in my arms, waiting to be kissed. No! I’m not giving up here!
“Look, it’s late. Stay here and in the morning I’ll make us an English breakfast.”
So we got into bed and I turned the lights off. I gave it 20 breaths, and then started kissing her again, and again I was using the “just…” line to move forward. First it was “just rubbing your clit over your pants”, then it was “just want to feel how wet you are”. All the while she was “just” wanking me off but I knew I shouldn’t cum otherwise I’d lose my drive and possibly not be able to get it up if we started fucking.
She wouldn’t push her pants down though, so I told her “I just want to feel your bum”. It was a great bum, to be fair. Oh, and did I mention she had fake tits?!
Then I finally had the key to the whole thing. I could feel a panty liner underneath her pants, but even when I’d touched her super wet pussy earlier my finger hadn’t come back out soaked in blood.
“It’s okay, I know what’s going on. I understand.” I said that as I finally pushed her pants down and it was officially onnnnnn. It had taken around 90 minutes to reach this point from when we entered my flat. She threw herself into it and started biting my shoulder, before running her tongue up inside my ear and biting my earlobe.
Finally, my moment of glory! I pushed her legs apart and got ready to put my cock in, and… her pussy was excruciatingly tight. I could only get about two thirds of my cock in! She was loving it but I was constantly trying to reposition myself to get deeper. Eventually I just gave up on trying to get the whole thing in and just fucked her with what I could.
I came and fist pumped. This is muh-plus-one!