Thursday, October 16, 2003
My Biker Boy
My meeting with Bond didn't push through. Neither did the Saturday tryst with Art and Anna. Art's not even calling up on the phone anymore. He did once this week, after I had sent him SMS. Ana's gone to Singapore for the week. She's coming back this Sunday. They're a couple of pretentious people but if I can take Mara, I can take these two. Besides, I'd love to see what Art has to offer.
Dale
My Biker Boy. He's 47, around 5'5", stocky, balding. The GM for this garments business that supplies garments for Anne Klein. Whoa. So the first thing I asked him was to inform me when the next surplus sale at the factory was going to be. He's also a member of the biker group, Mad Dog.
It was the most amazing three hours of my adult life, the time I spent with Dale. He didn't fuck me with his cock, but I came so much in a way I never experienced in my entire sex life. He used his fingers -- all of them. He'd eat my pussy and suck on my clit, and then he'd fuck me with his fingers. It was amazing. I came so much and my cum was so different: not creamy and oozing, but wet like water and flowing. I squirted cum through his fingers, splashing it all over my tummy and thighs. I couldn't believe it. And I came so many times like that, not just once. Or twice. Or thrice, even. I must've cum like that at least ten times. The sheets were so wet, there was hardly any dry spot left on the bed to lie on.
Days after that, I swear I didn't think of sex at all. I felt all aglow and so at ease with myself. Hallelujah! It's a miracle. So that's how it feels to be so sexually gratified. Now I know. My standards seem to be going up. It's gonna be difficult to get a guy who can perform like that.
Dale is the sweetest of men. The attention he gave me was amazing. I didn't get up for anything. Everything was handed to me: tea, towels, soap, everything. None of the men I've met so far had been this attentive to me. Not even Bond. Free spirit that one was, but certainly not a gentleman. Oh, well. It does take all kinds.
Dale
My Biker Boy. He's 47, around 5'5", stocky, balding. The GM for this garments business that supplies garments for Anne Klein. Whoa. So the first thing I asked him was to inform me when the next surplus sale at the factory was going to be. He's also a member of the biker group, Mad Dog.
It was the most amazing three hours of my adult life, the time I spent with Dale. He didn't fuck me with his cock, but I came so much in a way I never experienced in my entire sex life. He used his fingers -- all of them. He'd eat my pussy and suck on my clit, and then he'd fuck me with his fingers. It was amazing. I came so much and my cum was so different: not creamy and oozing, but wet like water and flowing. I squirted cum through his fingers, splashing it all over my tummy and thighs. I couldn't believe it. And I came so many times like that, not just once. Or twice. Or thrice, even. I must've cum like that at least ten times. The sheets were so wet, there was hardly any dry spot left on the bed to lie on.
Days after that, I swear I didn't think of sex at all. I felt all aglow and so at ease with myself. Hallelujah! It's a miracle. So that's how it feels to be so sexually gratified. Now I know. My standards seem to be going up. It's gonna be difficult to get a guy who can perform like that.
Dale is the sweetest of men. The attention he gave me was amazing. I didn't get up for anything. Everything was handed to me: tea, towels, soap, everything. None of the men I've met so far had been this attentive to me. Not even Bond. Free spirit that one was, but certainly not a gentleman. Oh, well. It does take all kinds.
