#56: Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

I was sat on my bed feeling rather nervous. It was always this way when it was do-or-die: either she would be on or I’d fall flat on my face. It was going to be one of those nights. I really did hope that she was coming to meet me on my terms. Not because I was desperate to get this particular lay. More because I didn’t want to appear foolish. I was paranoid that my invitation had been taken as a friendly one.

I’d been killing time and it was finally 7:40pm. Ten minutes to get ready. Ten minutes to walk to the meeting point.

I rose and slipped on my jumper. I went over to my bookcase and gathered up my rings, bracelets and watch and put them on. Next was my leather jacket. Nearly there. Fingerless gloves. Nearly there. Headphone jack inserted, I hit ‘Play’.

I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things

We can do the tango just for two…

I reached up and flared the collar of my jacket. I sneered. The transformation was complete.

*****

Ding! Ding! Ding! I looked up over my shoulder and noticed the little bell which hung over the door. Bleak winter sunlight flared overhead.

“Hi, how’s it going… Flat white please.” I took a stool at the espresso bar.

“Excuse me… hi.”

I looked to my right and a girl was there. I recognised her. Her name was Lauren. She was 20 years old. Average build, not slim. Shoulder length mousy hair. Nice tits. They weren’t huge but looked firm and were still a good handful. Her parents were French but she was born and grew up in Portugal then moved away when she was a teenager. She had an American accent.

Lauren was a friend of a Ukrainian girl I used to see named Anna. Things had fizzled out between me and Anna and she had eventually found a proper boyfriend who lived in the same city. I was genuinely happy that she had found someone who could offer her a complete emotional connection.

“So how are you? Funny running into you in here again,” Lauren said. I’d bumped into her in the same coffee shop five months previous.

“Yeah, I’m good. How about you? How’s Anna doing as well? I saw she had a new boyfriend.”

“Yeah. They’re a really cute couple.”

“Mmmm, I saw the pictures. I’m genuinely happy for her. Relationships… they’re not for me really. I can’t be pinned down,” I smiled and gave the smallest hint of a smirk that I could offer. “Please. Sit down.” Lauren took the stool next to me. Her leg was immediately touching mine. I continued:

“Relationships aren’t for everyone. I’ve actually been meaning to watch that new Louis Theroux documentary on polyamory. My friend watched it and confirmed how I thought it would go: one of the people is happy because they’re the one getting laid; and then the other is like ‘yeah this is really great’ and of course they actually hate it.” I paused for a moment and looked away. She had been leaning in as I spoke. “So what’s going on with you?”

“As in my love life?”

I smiled and looked away for a second to indicate for her to continue.

“Well I’ve been with my boyfriend for two and a half years.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Two and a half years… that’s a long time. That’s quite serious.”

I looked her up and down as we talked. She did have nice tits. Nice tits indeed. I hoped that she noticed me noticing her.

“So what’s in these?” I asked while pointing to her bags.

“Oh I got these Scandinavian pastries. It reminds me of this place in Edinburgh called Soderberg.”

“Sodomy-berg?” I love childish jokes.

She laughed. “No! Soderberg.”

“Ohhhh,” I exclaimed, “you know it’s just my mind. It hears one thing then thinks another.” I grinned.

Lauren went on to show me a picture of all the pastries they had had on display.

“You ate all those?!” I looked her in the eye. “You are a naughty girl.” The laughter caught in her throat as she came to terms with the audacity.

I was so tempted to go for it. And so what?! I wasn’t seeing Anna anymore. This might open up a can of worms… But it could be so funny. The drama… my goodness. The signals were pointing in my favour.

“Do you want to grab a drink later?” I asked.

“Okay.”

*****

I waited for Lauren at the train station and at ten past eight she arrived. In girl-world she was bang on time. Lauren was wearing tight, black ripped jeans, a low cut woolen top and a black overcoat. Earrings, as well. And perfume. I smelt it as she got within touching distance. I noticed that her eyes were accentuated with a reddish eye-shadow.

My heart rate slowed immensely. It’s typical of a psychopath: when tensions rise they find themselves in their element. I felt very calm. The moment was here and I just had to face the music.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hi,” I smiled and gave her a quick hug, then used the momentum that created to turn her around. I pointed her in the right direction. I had thought that since there was plausible deniability in our meeting that I could push my luck with the venue. I frogmarched her through the cold for 12 minutes.

We entered the pub. To call it a pub is not wholly accurate. It’s somewhere between a pub and a bar. It’s lit by a few candles and some surface level lighting. The colour scheme is dark green. It looks like somewhere you should be able to smoke in. I shepherded Lauren over to a space on the cushioned bench which ran the length of one of the walls. We would be sitting next to each other immediately.

“What would you like?” I asked.

“Well I’ve given up alcohol for November but… I was thinking about this earlier and I suppose I could have one drink.”

I came back with two beers. A pint for me and a half for her. I loved the way that this establishment chilled the glasses before filling them. It made them look great hunks of ice filled with electric nectar. They lasted us roughly 45 minutes.

I was cautious with my escalation and stuck to the purely physical. At each stage I thought she might put a stop to it and remind me of her boyfriend. I wanted to boil the frog.

I went from simply poking and prodding her, to touching knees and asking if they were cold, to comparing hand sizes. We leaned forward to see something on the table in front of us and I put my hand on the square of her back. No reaction. I leant it along the back of the bench. When she leaned back we were in full contact and so I went further and caressed her arm a little. I sat an inch closer and leaned like leg against hers. No reaction. We finished our first drink and I pulled her into me. Looked her in the eyes, then moved forward and kissed her three times. No tongues. Her mouth was semi-open the whole time.

“Is that my reward for finishing my drink?” she asked.

“You could say that.”

Lauren went to fetch the second round and I amped up my escalation. It was odd, though. It was like a regular date in reverse because I was doing my verbal escalation second.

“So what do you find attractive in men?”

“Hmm. Facial hair. Really tall!” she giggled, “and confidence.”

“Okay, your go. You ask me something,” I told her. This is how I start the Questions Game.

“Same question.”

“Well of course I like feminine girls. But I like girls who understand that everything isn’t how it seems. As in, there’s a level of communication here,” I put my hand on the table, “and another here,” I raised my hand. “It’s a kind of game. For example, if I take some of your hair and do this,” I kissed her and squeezed a handful of hair. She drew a breath in. “You know I wouldn’t go too far, but you still like it because it seems that way.” I paused. “My go: what turns you on?”

She laughed. “As in in general or a specific action?”

I licked my lips. “Both.”

“Hmmm. I really like to be… choked. I like it when a man takes control. I like to be manhandled.” I fought back the urge to ask her whether that was instead of being woman-handled.

“Mmm. I like that.” I kissed her again and then turned her face to the side and bit the top of her ear. She drew in another breath.

“You seem very relaxed,” I told her, “ do you feel as if you’re melting? As if this part of your brain has taken over?” I pointed to the back of her skull.

“I feel as if my brain has switched off completely.”

She was having trouble finishing her second drink. She kept on saying how she could usually handle more.

“Look. I’ll finish this and we can go have a cup of tea.”

“Sure.”

I finished it in one. We got up and left. Two minutes and one stop off for milk later, we were in my kitchen.

I left Lauren in there while I went to pee. I stopped off in my bedroom first, pressed record on my dictaphone and hid it in a drawer. I’d tested it earlier that evening and confirmed that it could pick up conversation even while hidden. My main fear was that we’d have sex, she’d regret it the next day and then confess the act to her boyfriend but sell it as rape. You can never be too careful.

The LMR took twenty minutes to bust. I got her down to her underwear with no hitches. Underneath her clothes she had special underwear on. She took off her earrings and set them down by the bed. She looked into my eyes.

“I’m not sure about this.”

“That’s okay. Look. Let’s just lie down.”

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” she said as she slipped under the covers. Luckily I’d flipped the sheet earlier that day and so she didn’t see the small period stain.

“I’m very trustworthy,” I said with a smile as I too slipped under the covers.

We spooned and talked about the music that was playing. I ran my hand up her leg and started to play with her clit. She was wet. I pushed her pants down and undid her bra. They were nice tits. I stroked my cock a little and got hard. I positioned myself to enter her.

“Don’t you think we should use a condom?”

I stood up and fetched one. I put in on and got back in place. I was just about to enter her and she tightened her legs.

“I want you to finger me.”

I started fingering her. She began to moan and grab at the sheets. I looked down at my dick, now with a condom on it. If I didn’t use this soon I’d lose my wood and that would be a condom wasted. Very cost-ineffective. I wanked myself off a little to stay hard and then simply guided my cock in using my fingers as a shoe horn.

She managed to tell me, in between moaning: “I like men to be vocal.”

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“Uhhhh.”

“I bet you do you naughty girl.”

“Uhhhhhh.”

“You’re my naughty little girl.”

“UHHHHH. YES.”

“You’re my filthy little whore.”

“YES!”

“Say it.”

“I’m your filthy whore.”

“Again. Louder.”

“I’M YOUR FILTHY WHORE.”

“You’re Tom’s filthy whore.”

“I’M TOM’S FILTHY WHORE.”

“Good. Keep saying it.” She did until she came. Then she went kind-of flat.

“We’re not finished until I cum,” I told her, “turn around.”

She lay flat on the bed. I mounted her. I spanked her a few times for good measure. I placed one hand on the small of her back and grabbed a handful of hair with the other. I ploughed away until I came.

We lay next to each and she seemed very pensive.

“When did you know you’d have sex with me?”

“When you asked me for a drink.”

“Hmmm. And who did you tell about meeting me?”

“A friend… and my boyfriend.”

“… Your boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Ohh so you said you were having a drink with a friend?”

“No, we’re in an open relationship.”

“Ahhh I see. You seem a bit distant. Do you feel guilty?”

“No I don’t feel guilty. I feel as if I should feel guilty though…” her voice trailed off. She certainly looked like she had a lot to think about. “It’s just that it feels so sudden that we’re not in the same place anymore.”

“Mmmm, I know what you mean. I was in a long distance relationship once but in all honesty I was quite clueless. She could have been up to anything and I wouldn’t have known…” My voice trailed off too. I wasn’t quite sure the point I was trying to make. “I’m in an open relationship too.”

“You’ve got a girlfriend?”

“Not quite. We’ve never declared it, but we’ve been seeing each other for a long time. I love her and she loves me.”

“She doesn’t love you?” she misheard me. Perhaps she thought I had unrequited love for Anna.

“No, she loves me. But I couldn’t be monogamous because it would make my life feel too ‘set’.”

“I want that though. ‘Set’ sounds good.”

“Do you love him?”

“100%”

“Okay well let me tell you: he only loves you. It’s a quirk of men because of their egos. They can have sex with multiple girls, but they’ll only love one.”

She thought about what I said.

I continued: “When did you last have sex?”

“Three weeks ago with my boyfriend. If he was living in the same city this wouldn’t have happened.”

“I see. I need the bathroom.”

My dick was doing that annoying thing post-sex when you have to pee and yet you can never seem to get it all out. So it hurts just as if you were mid-pee and stopped the flow and tried to hold it back. When I returned Lauren had her underwear back on. She still looked pensieve. I tried to fuck her again but she didn’t want to have sex.

“I need time to recover. You’re very rough.”

I was taken aback. She had explicitly said she enjoyed being ‘manhandled’ so I just assumed she would take, and enjoy, whatever I gave to her. Was it possible that I had gone so far that girls were now scared off by the ferocity of my sex?

She re-clothed and left. I went back to bed, listened to the recording and masturbated.

Yours unfaithfully,

Thomas Crown

3 thoughts on “#56: Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

  1. “My heart rate slowed immensely. It’s typical of a psychopath: when tensions rise they find themselves in their element. I felt very calm. The moment was here and I just had to face the music.”

    It’s not “just psychopaths” who do this. It is part of masculinity. When a guy is still a boy inside, this doesn’t trigger. But when someone becomes a Man, he gets calm under pressure.

    Even 300 got this right, when the boy got his initiation and became a man, all that tension triggers in him is a heightened sense of things. Listen here after he stabs the wolf:

    Like

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