The Inner Slut

I don't exactly know how to deal with the past week I spent with Carl. I'm usually pretty good at reading people, getting behind their motives and real intentions, but just when I really need it to work, my instincts fail me. I keep looking for that small sign of a slip-up, that break in character. There was none, or maybe I just didn't want to see it. He's just too good to be true.

He's the typical Aussie: warm, friendly with everyone, always ready with a smile and a "g'day, mate!" or "thanks, mate!" He was game with everything and everyone. Yet, I couldn't help the feeling that something's not right. Maybe it was the money. He runs his own business, yes, but maybe the expense was something of a gamble, an investment. It doesn't particularly make me feel good that he was taking a risk on me.

So is this guy for real? He probably is. And he probably has his own agenda which he's not sharing with me. I think I pretty much know what that is. If he thinks I'd be offended by it, which he most probably does, he's very much mistaken.

I met him at the airport Saturday evening. The plane was late, of course. The passengers came out in trickles. In the waiting area, there was a tv monitor which showed the passengers filing out of the terminal but it was difficult watching the terminal exit and the video at the same time. So I sat there patiently for close to an hour, trying not to curse all the time. Finally, a tall guy with salt-and-pepper hair and beard, wearing a Canon t-shirt appeared, approached one of the airport employees, and motioned toward the waiting area. I froze; I didn't know what to do. But when it became clear that I couldn't back out anymore at that point, I waved. He waved back.

He was a bit shy at first, but I gave him a tight hug, mostly because I was nervous myself and he had such a great smile, although he looked older than the photos he sent me. We took a cab to one of the better motels in the area. He was obviously tired so we just had dinner in the room. We chatted a bit, and I just had to ask him how old he was. I was surprised when he confessed that he hadn't told me the truth. He's 55 this July. He thought that I wouldn't be interested if I knew the real score so he gave his age as 49. I probably wouldn't but after last week, I now have a healthy view of the mid-50s man.

My main concern was his impression of me now that we've met face to face. He said he was smitten. And that I was cute. Cute. Me. That's new.

We fucked that night. Despite the 9-hour flight from Sydney, economy class at that, this guy delivered. He played with my tits a lot, which he would do the entire week we were together, sucking hard on my nipples. He got me really excited. No one's played with my breasts like that for a long time. And he loved to kiss me on the mouth. Now, that's something I haven't had for a long time. That first night, I delighted in him, in his scent, his feel, his taste. He is such a clean person. No offensive odors. And although his body is now a bit flabby, you can still see the back and shoulder muscles, and the long lean legs, of a surfer. And he can be so hard.

He was gentle with me that night. I listened to his groans and moans and delighted in the pleasure he found in loving my body. And he found it again and again and again, till his own body shivered, shooting his cum deep into me. I didn't insist on his using protection. It didn't even come up. It was a given: we were going to have free, unrestrained, natural sex. And it felt right.

The next day, I took him to Old Manila. Monday morning, we got on the plane for Baguio. It rained the whole week we were there, as two typhoons crossed the country. We found a proper bar along Session Road, Rumours, where he had San Miguel Cerveza Negra, a dark lager. Or beer, plain and simple. We dropped in every afternoon at beer o'clock (usually around 5 o'clock) and stayed till 7, then we'd go try a new place for dinner.

Most days, we'd fuck upon waking up in the morning. On our second day in Baguio, I gave him quite a treat. I took his hard cock and used the head to play with my clit. It felt really good, and listening to his moans of pleasure made it even more exciting. I started writhing in ecstasy, all the time still rubbing my clit with his cock's head. My pussy started got wetter and wetter, my body, hotter and hotter. And then it came, torrents of cum. I was squirting all over the sheets. His exclamations of surprise were such a pleasure to hear as I watched him watch my pussy. I felt the juice flowing freely over my hands and thighs, flowing down my ass, wetting the sheets. I just kept cumming and cumming.

He fucked me really hard after that. Like I said, he is such a great fucker for a man his age. He's even a better fucker than most younger men. He knows how to sustain his erection, hold back the ejaculation, and just go for it. After fucking me doggie-style for the longest time ever, I would just roll over on my back exhausted, and watch him as he continued to fuck me till he came. My elbows are actually raw with all that forward-backward thrusting motion. And we fucked like that everyday.

We got along really well on several levels, not just the sexual. He made no promises, although he maintained the serious nature of the relationship. "I don't know where this relationship is going," he said over the phone yesterday, an hour after he landed safely in Sydney. "But it's promising." Promising? What the fuck does that mean?

I couldn't believe how hard it was to stand there at the airport, watching him go inside the terminal, to where I couldn't follow. My eyes felt sad and couldn't smile. There are too many boundaries, too many walls, too many places I can't get to.

Carl's agenda: a domestic partner he can live out his last remaining years on this earth with. Just a partner. He doesn't want to bring up a family again. He's been through that. It's his time now. Time for what he's passionate about: filmmaking. He's looking to sell his construction business, build a simple house in Queensland where the surf is great and not crowded, earn enough money for his and his partner's needs. Plan of action where I'm concerned: fiancee's visa. But that's all dependent on how the other things turn out. In effect, I'm not the most important thing in his life right now. I understand where he's coming from. If anything, I respect and appreciate his honesty.

Do I really want to do this? Why not? Nothing's stopping me. My life's not getting anywhere, career-wise. There's nothing left for me here. Might as well take up life in the bush. Oh, and Carl's biggest fantasy ever? Watching his partner being pleasured by several men all at once. Personally, I find that motivating enough for a change of lifestyle. The Inner Slut would be extremely pleased.