The Inner Slut

I finally saw my Dale last Saturday. He was so romantic, kissing my hand when I got to the meeting place. He'd put on a few more pounds and so contented himself with a bowl of fruit for lunch. Of course, he didn't offer to buy me lunch, the cheapskate. But we had a great time at the motel.

Again, no dry spot on the bed to lie on. We had to spread the blanket over the bed to lie in it. He was so hard, the hardest I've ever seen him, and he fucked me really hard with his dick. Deep, hard and ferocious fucking. But it didn't last long. Back to the ol' finger-fucking, then. This lasted for a far longer time.

It was different this time, though. First, he finger-fucked me twice while I lay on my tummy, which made me squirt, surprisingly. Next, my orgasms were deeper, more explosive. They were so intense. Thirdly, I played with my clit. It was so hard and so erect. My Dale couldn't get over it, watching me rub my clit. He got very excited. And lastly, I had a continuous flow of cum oozing out of my pussy the entire time we were at it, increasing now and again as I played with myself, and squirting through Dale's fingers as he finger-fucked me deep and hard.

When finally he came, he shuddered as he released his "spunk" on my breasts.

We laughed at the words that Americans use in England, like fanny and rubber and spunk, unaware of what they actually mean to a Brit. Fanny is butt for Yanks but actually means pussy for Brits; rubber may be condoms for Yanks but means a pencil eraser for Brits; while a guy's cum is spunk in Britain. You can just imagine the effect of a statement like, "That guy's got a lot of spunk in him!"

He said that "flat" is actually a shortcut for "flatlet," perhaps from a "flat space to let." He's not sure.

So, I asked, if there's a flatlet, does that mean there's a "flatfull?" Noooo, he groans. I was so mellow, I was corny.

We just lay there, talking about this and that. Once in a while, he'd kiss me on the forehead or cheek. I could tell that he missed me a lot. And he kept wrapping my hair around his hand. He also grabbed my hair while he was thrashing me around on the bed, mashing one of my tits and sucking on the other. It was intense. I really missed my Dale.

Sunday, I was with Tom. We had lunch at a Chinese place, good food. Then we went to play pool for two hours. He was a good teacher. The engineer shining through. I managed to put up a fight -- or at least muddle the game. We both had a grand time pissing each other off. Then we went back to his hotel and looked at the new toys he got for us. I asked him to get finger sleeves and jelly cock rings. They were so cute! And definitely looked fun. While admiring our loot, Marge called to say she'd drop in around six that afternoon. We planned to take Tom out to Roxas Boulevard, on the Baywalk along the breakwater.

We took a shower and cooled off the humid stickiness from walking under the midday sun. When we got back to the bed, the sun was just so golden and mellow, shining in through the large windows that Tom grabbed his camera and started taking erotic nude photos of me on the bed. They turned out really good, too. The light was so diffuse, the skin tones just came out perfect, smooth and creamy and just perfect. Beautiful. I took some of Tom, too, but at that point, the sun had already sunk a little lower and there wasn't much light left, and using a flash just lit it up too much. He has an artistic eye, Tom.

I was tempted to call him, myTom, just now. A few months ago, we had a little misunderstanding, him and me. I said goodbye and swore I'd never see him again. Marge and I noticed that Tom hedges a lot. That was how it started with him and me. He would hedge, and give the impression that he lies. He really doesn't, I realize that now. It's a cultural thing. He's an American and, as such, values his privacy the way only Americans know how. Marge especially was too inquisitive about the other woman she introduced him to, Kaye. Tom found Marge's questions too prying. If for Filipinos, the questions were just everyday, humdrum questions about relationships, Tom found them very intrusive.

The problem with Tom is that he doesn't know how to tell the other person off. He's scared to offend, especially friends. So he would hedge and give equivocal answers to prying questions. Marge, it seems, can't take a hint. I know better now.