Up On the Roof

The other night I was at a small rooftop gathering having a fine time, but a little annoyed with this guy I’d been kinda dating for canceling on meeting me there.  I had a lot of fun anyway though; the hostess is a good friend and the other guests were a lot of fun.  As the night wore on we saw another party a few roofs away.  By way of shouting across courtyards we learned they had run out of beer so we invited them over for a drink.

Among the few that took us up on the offer was the Unmarried Man who, ironically, realized he had seen me on a certain website and had been following my activity.  Apparently, although I didn’t remember it too well, we had commented back and forth at each other a bit.  How funny!  He mentioned it had gotten him in trouble with his live-in partner.  Upon seeing my messages and picture on his profile she’d given him the third degree about who I was and why he was talking to me online.  Whoa, touchy!

This opened up a whole can of worms that became a small group of people discussing healthy relationships and listening to his relationship woes, which were obviously weighing heavily on him.  Somehow people kept looking to me for the sage wisdom, which is laughable since I can’t even seem to keep a fuck buddy much less a boyfriend. But I’ve been through a lot and learned from it all, so I shared what I believe to be truths about love and partnerships.  Unmarried listened to me in earnest, concentrating on my every word as if he never wanted to forget what I was saying.  The conversation was lengthy and one by one all the guests trickled away and then even our hostess took her leave, asking me to lock up the roof door on my way out.  I told her we wouldn’t be a few minutes; we would just finish our drinks. 

No sooner had she locked her apartment door behind her, Unmarried touched my knee and said he wanted to show me something in an adjacent yard.  The hand placement was curious, but I wrote it off, figuring he was just using body language to solidify our new friendship.  I followed him to the far end of the roof and saw the prettiest rock garden a couple hundred yards away.  When I felt his hand on the small of my back my heart sank, my eyebrow raised and I turned toward him and noticed for the first time…damn, he was hot.  Slim but not skinny, tall but not lanky, light on the body hair, a contemplative and handsome face, real thought and understanding in his eyes, and when he opened his mouth intelligent things came out…  If I had a type, this would be it.

I asked him what he was doing, what he wanted.  “I just want to touch you,” he said plainly.  “Is that alright?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” I said with a a little grin.  The way he said it made me think he didn’t have the balls to make a real move on me after a two hour discussion circuiting his partner of almost five years.  He beckoned me to sit next to him on a ledge.  I sat and we talked a little more before he started rubbing my neck.  Always carrying so much tension there, I sank right into the massage and without thinking (really–I was  a little drunk) I moaned, “Ohhh that feels so goooood…”  As soon as it came out of my mouth I realized that breathy moan was not my best effort at promoting fidelity.

“Good,” he whispered into my ear.  He pulled my mouth to his and kissed me long and deep.  His hands left my neck and one, his right, moved to my knee and started massaging my inner thigh under the hem of my red strapless dress.  I kissed him back just as hard, enjoying every moment, but the nag in the back of my head wouldn’t shut up about his damn girlfriend.  When he started tugging to get his fingers inside my panties I pushed away to check in.

I peered curiously into his face.  “What is this about?  Is this some kind of retribution thing?”  Earlier he’d said his partner had had an affair.

“No,” he said thoughtfully and decisively.  “This is about you and how you’ve been driving me crazy all night.  You’re so fucking sexy!”

“And what about your partner?”

He buried his face in my neck and I felt his warm breath through my hair as he laughed.  “Well I wasn’t planning to fuck you.”

“Nobody ever plans these things really.” When I’m turned on my voice always sinks into this low, smooth phone-sex-operator voice.  I can’t help it.  I was trying to fight it and speak matter-of-factly, but it wasn’t working.  Instead I’m quite sure it came across as a go-ahead since his hand dove between my thighs again and he tugged my dress down in the front, exposing my breasts and burying his face in them.  I was half in his lap, leaning back over the little ledge with my arms around his neck for support.  I gasped as he rubbed from my asshole to my clit through my cotton panties and then pulled them aside so he could fuck me with his hand.  Tipsy as I was it felt like a dream, and I let go.  I stopped trying to fight.  I relaxed and let my selfish body tell me how to respond.  I heard myself mutter in that buttery bedroom voice: “Are you sure you don’t want to fuck me?”

Minutes later I was lying on the upward slope at the front of the building, moaning and staring up at the moon while he sucked my clit.  Hard.  Wow, really hard.  He licked his pinky and gingerly slid it into my asshole, groaning when my pussy clenched down tight around his other fingers.  I somehow manipulated the situation to give my mouth access to his cock.  His precum tasted really good and I told him so.

He kissed me again and told me to tell him how I liked to be fucked.  I went for the gold and told him I wanted it hard and rough, that I wanted my ass slapped and my hair pulled and to be pushed around and held down and called a whore (I just can’t not love being called a whore).  The way I saw it either that would scare him away (no harm no foul) or the sex would at least be worth the damage to my soul for enabling his de facto adultery.    I really expected him to be a little freaked out and to stop.

He didn’t.  At all.  He pulled my head back by a handful of hair, pushed one of my legs up, pinning me down with my own knee, and pushed his dick into me.  He didn’t even ask–he just took me.  I used to beg my incredibly vanilla ex to do that but he never did…I spent a long time with someone who would barely talk during sex and now here I was on a rooftop at 5 a.m. getting fucked rougher than I’ve been in a decade by some guy I just met.  Woo!

After a brief interruption (but not discovery!) by a noisy neighbor below who had lost his key he pushed me against a wall and ravished me from behind.  We were really too drunk to be very successful at that sort of thing though, and the booze had left us both a little dry (I’m feeling sore today and I’m not sure if it’s from the lack of lubrication or from how hard he was fucking me, but I think probably some combination of the two.

We wound up back where we started, sitting at the table and swigging wine out of the bottle.  We talked mutual media interests.  It’s ironic for someone who minutes before had bent me over and slapped my ass so hard there was an echo, but his voice was really timid when he asked me if he could see me again.  I said I wasn’t sure when because of work stuff, but I’d get back to him.  Then he pulled me into his lap, onto his erection, and I rocked back and forth while he rubbed my clit and whispered “come for me, baby,” until finally I did.  As I arched my back and let out a gasp, my body shuddering on top of his, I noticed that the sun was rising.

We’ve been texting back and forth since.  Today I gave him my IM screen name and he’s been chatting me up all day .  He’s out of town for business now, but he very clearly wants to fuck me again.  And I know it would be better on both ends with less alcohol involved.  And even though I like him a lot I know he’s off limits for a relationship and vice versa since he’s already in one, even if it is going down the tubes.

I don’t know though…I know that this isn’t supposed to be right, but it seems kinda okay.  I don’t want anyone to get hurt but I’m really curious to find out more about what’s going on with him and his weird relationship.  It’s almost like getting sucked into a really good tv show.

What do you think?  Is this a bad idea?

Une prostituée pour le Grand Marnier

I’ve been on a few dates with The Romancer, who is quite taken with me.  He’s funny, smart, incredibly romantic, terribly good to talk to, but (and I know this is shallow) his looks just don’t do it for me.  And he’s a bad kisser.  But last night marked our third date, which just happened to coincide with my inclination to cut BC loose, so I resolved to take action.  I resolved to go on the date and drink enough champagne that I didn’t give a rats ass about looks.  I decided to take advantage of a perfectly legitimate opportunity to get fucked.  After all, BC really isn’t that attractive to me, but I still found myself begging him for more and more…maybe the Romancer would provide me with an equally pleasant surprise.

On the date I found The Romancer’s kissing technique had vastly improved since the last time I’d seen him which, along with several glasses of Brut, further convinced me that fucking him was an excellent idea.  My plan went off without a hitch until we vacated the quiet, romantic restaurant and went back to his apartment only to find he had nothing in his liquor cabinet but some Grand Marnier.  We were tipsy enough from dinner that it was actually quite funny, so we giggled about it and poured the orangey syrup over ice.  He whispered in my ear that he thought it would taste better if he were licking it off me and with a grin I bent over, stuck my ass out and told him he should try it and see.  He got on his knees behind me, slid his hands up my bare legs and under my skirt, then discovered ma garantie de la victoire.  Along with a pair of killer five-inch silver stilettos I was wearing black lace hipster panties, the kind that let the cheeks of one’s derrière hang out of the bottom, comme ça:

(Ce n'est pas moi, mais c'est très belle, non?)

“Oh my God,” he said.  “Well?” I answered in my most velvety come-fuck-me voice, “what about the Grand Marnier?”

He yanked my skirt down and I stepped out of it, then slid my hands down my legs to grip my ankles, ass in the air, lace-covered pussy in his face.  He licked it through the fabric, breathing in its scent and telling me it tasted deliciously sweet.  With a quiver in his voice he asked if I could leave my panties on.  “Of course, darling.  They stretch though…want to see?”  I pulled them to the side, baring myself to him.  He forgot about the Grand Marnier and dove in eagerly, making me come doubled over in the kitchen.

I hustled him back to the bedroom and demanded that he fill me with his cock, giving him just the tiniest taste of a blow job.  He eagerly bent me over again at the side of the bed and tore off the panties, then pushed me down, marveling over the sight of my feet still encased in the glittering peep-toe heels.  I arched my back and wiggled my ass in invitation.  In a moment I was overtaken by his body and he was pumping me from behind harder and harder until my shoes flew off.  Just before he shot a load into the condom he whispered in my ear “I usually have two or three in me…”

And wow, he did.  He kept me at it for three hours, got my pussy so wet I that my cum soaked his nice clean sheets and by the end of it had my whole body shaking uncontrollably.  Ce n’est pas mal.  Pas de tout.

L’inevitable.

I knew it would happen sooner or later.  My one good, solid go-to guy and I had to have the conversation.  You know.  The one where we define what we are.

What a fucking buzz kill!  I loathe this stuff.

So I’ve been doing Barrel Chest (not regularly enough for me to not be seeking it elsewhere, of course) for a month now and, despite a moment where my distaste for thick body hair got the better of me I’ve been having a good time.  He’s really good at the psychology part of domination, he fucks like a rock star, and he’s a great kisser to boot, so I’ve been overlooking a thing or two.

He likes the dirty text message as a vehicle to entice me to him.  After praising me for a vocal performance while masturbating over the phone I was feeling good and enticed, dripping wet and about ready to jump in a car and hightail it over there as soon as possible.  Then he started talking about how he owns me.  I’m his.  That’s fine, that’s all part of our normal dom/sub routine.  Then he says “You’re not allowed to give anyone else so much as a glance.”  Record scratch.  What?

That totally pulled me out of the mood.  I fumbled along for a bit, said some idiotic, snarky drivel about putting some candles out next time I come over (because dammit he just doesn’t get setting the mood), then just stopped talking to him.  Then I get a message the next day saying we should have a talk.  I was at work, so I told him to call me later on.

He called me two hours after I asked him to (as if he has his very own copy of The Rules under his pillow) and started asking me questions about how I feel and who I’m seeing and what I want.  Once it was firmly established that I am not interested in a romantic relationship with him in any way he played an act of benevolence.  He just wanted to make sure I was okay and that I wasn’t looking for more than just a casual physical relationship.  Okay, buddy.  Whatever.  At the end of the conversation he said something like, “Well give me a call this weekend and let me know what’s going on with you.”  I told him I was kind of busy this weekend but I’d call him if any time opened up.  “Oh, so I’m just what you do when you have nothing else to do?” he said, half teasing, half really hurt.

Oh god.

I haven’t heard from him in almost a week.  Then out of nowhere, at 1:00 am on a Friday night I get “Hey there, hope your week went well. I just wanted to let you know that I will be overseas.  Heading out at the end of next week.  So if I don’t get back to you that is why.”

Oh god.  So I have to cut him off now, right?  Right?