Despite this blog being all about blowjobs, anal plugs, and bisexual contortionists… my readers are very, very romantic. To the point of being able to look beyond the surface of things and read directly into my heart.
HoneyEyes was important to me, and this didn’t escape Giulia: the most romantic of my romantic readers. A few hours ago, she wrote to me all worried about her disappearance from the blog.
Half an hour later Contessa writes to me, another romantic: often mentioned in this blog, but never the subject of a story. And that’s exactly why she writes to me, to scold me. Let’s say it’s a self-referential romanticism, but it fits.
I translate and make explicit the subtext for those who don’t understand aristocratese: “Hey, I’ve seen you 4 times and, despite you being a jerk, I even left you a very romantic goodbye letter on the table. And you… don’t write about me? Next time, I’ll put the anal plug in you! “.
HoneyEyes I liked a lot (if you don’t remember her, reread the story).
The second date was all about sex and connection, to the point that I decided to see her regularly, several times a week.
Clearly, right after we saw each other, she disappears for an entire day (as usual). I imagine she went to get some dick around.
I live my life, see someone else, don’t pay much attention to her messages. She, of course, comes back. I invite her again for the third date, on Thursday.
I ask her to come dressed at her maximum level of sluttiness. I adore free, provocative, bold women, aware of their power and eager for sex. I deeply respect them, I worship them, I find them a gift from God. I don’t appreciate moderation, compromise, balance in any field. In art, I prefer rococo to the boring harmony of neoclassicism. I love classical music, but better if rearranged in a metal version with electric guitars.
She arrives. I open the door in an apron, with a wooden spoon in hand, since I was cooking.
Every time our eyes meet, it’s joy from the depths of the heart. She skips inside the house, chirping happily. At the end of every sentence, she always repeats “How silly!” It’s a silly thing, but I adore it. And this makes me realize that I like her a lot.
She opens her coat: fishnet stockings, a mini skirt with a thigh-high slit, a push-up bra, and a transparent blouse.
She apologizes: “I had decided to come in lingerie, covered only by the coat. But, since we don’t know each other well, I wasn’t sure it would be appropriate.”
“I swear if you had done it… I would have gotten on my knees and asked you to marry me,” I reply, mimicking the gesture.
I continue, laughing: “You did wrong to say it and not do it… you lost the surprise effect and the marriage.”
I let her put her things in the entrance closet and run to flip the bacon in the pan before it burns.
She approaches, looking me straight in the eyes.
She lifts her skirt, allowing me to admire the geometric patterns the fishnet stockings draw on her ass.
She moves my apron aside.
She pulls down my pants with force.
“I really want to suck your cock, can I?” she says, in a very aristocratic tone, like Bridgerton.
I don’t have time to utter a word before my dick receives contrite devotion and sincere veneration.
I lift my head upwards, as if seized by celestial devotion.
Meanwhile, Solomon, my flirtatious dog, intervenes by inserting his snout into the fishnet stockings, happy not to be shooed away for once… HoneyEyes is captivated.
Some suck it for a living, some choose it to give pleasure… HoneyEyes neither, she did it as a calling.
I, between ecstasy and rapture, admire the scene smiling, still with the wooden spoon in hand and leaving the bacon sizzling like a damned soul in the flames of hell.
While she sucks, she looks me straight in the eyes. There’s as much purity in her gaze as there is sluttiness on her lips. I would call her a “living oxymoron” if it weren’t for the fact that there’s no contrast between these two souls: they are each other’s natural complement.
HoneyEyes is Woman, in the fullest sense of the word.
Her face is disarmingly beautiful, when she enjoys, she is living poetry.
I feel a strong emotion for her.
We have dinner.
I ask her: “What do you think about our relationship?“.
She: “I really like that you cook, that you take care of me. If I have to find something wrong, it’s that… in messages we’re cold, we don’t show interest, quite the opposite of how we are in person. Sometimes you disappear, it seems like you’re not interested in me.”
Maybe I behave like her too. In the end, we’re very similar.
I reply:
“I’ll tell you my side. Not as a criticism or judgment, but I’ve noticed this pattern of behavior: I can love you this much” I mime with my hands an imaginary line about 50 cm “while you, at this moment, can only handle this much love” I mime 5 cm, “but, every time I give you what you can handle, you get out of sync. In fact, the next day you disappear and go looking for dicks around.”
She insists she hasn’t been looking for other dicks, says she doesn’t see anyone, blah blah blah.
I, calmly, retort:
“But look, it’s not a criticism or an accusation. Let me finish the speech. If you go looking for dicks around or disappear, it comes naturally to me to do the same and look for pussy. Because I’m afraid of being made a fool of. Only then, when I’m with these girls, I think: “Does it make sense?” It seems to me that I’m lowering the bar this way. I like you, I really want to experience you fully.”
And here I add something I never thought I’d say, unless under threat of a weapon or forced by drug use:
“I’m thinking, on my side, of not seeing others.”
After a moment of reflection, I add: “Of course, if I give you exclusivity and you take other dicks… I’ll be hurt and I’ll be the one out of sync.”
She: “Of course, you’re right not to want me to fuck around, it doesn’t make sense, it would be lowering the bar. Anyway, I assure you I don’t take dicks.”
Perfect, I think. But then she concludes the speech like this: “Don’t worry, if I take dick, I’ll let you know!”
??
If I take dick, I’ll let you know?!
Are we serious?!
Countering would be a waste of time.
I understand she doesn’t want to know. And she doesn’t even have the courage to make it explicit.
Oh well, let’s do what we do best: let’s fuck. But this time I’m off my game, because I think “If I fuck her badly, I’ll lose her” and… and obviously I go soft in the process. Not immediately, after about ten minutes, but usually just before she can come.
I understand the message Yogi Tsuro, my guru dick is sending me:
“Buddy, we can’t live like this, in fear”.
In my heart, I decide it doesn’t make sense to go all-in, dedicate myself only to her, not see others, if that’s not what she wants. She’s not ready/interested in giving me what I’m looking for and it doesn’t make sense to want to change her. I take what she can offer me, without too many expectations and without too many problems, continuing to look around for someone who is worth the all-in.
I repeat to myself: “With her, I’m fine, she gives me cuddles and stellar sex… I’ll keep her like this, as long as it lasts and until I get bored or find something better”.
Lies.
The truth is I like her.
I would like to play this game seriously with her.
But I’m scared.
A tremendous fear.
Fear of ending up under a train.
Anyway, with the new mindset the evening becomes perfect again: we fuck well, spend the rest of the time together like lovebirds. She’ll leave the next day after lunch.
Afterwards, of course, she disappears.
Of course, I see another girl, the TransgressiveCalabrian (I’ll write a story about her soon).
My balls are completely empty, I’m satisfied with HoneyEyes, so why the hell do I see another? Maybe because the woman I’m interested in is out with someone and I don’t want to be left behind.
With HoneyEyes we had agreed that we would spend Saturday together, organizing something during the day. Just not to always be stuck at home fucking and maybe do something else, like a walk with the dog.
At 12:00 she reappears. We message about this and that, finally I ask her;
I keep thinking she doesn’t particularly want to see me and so I offer her various opportunities to cancel the appointment (especially since, after the considerations of the previous days, my mood towards her isn’t very positive).
In the audio she tells me “Look, it’s now 1:00 PM, I’ll sleep for an hour and then get ready to come to you.” I tell her “Okay, when you wake up call me and we’ll organize.”
There’s a beautiful sun outside and I feel like taking a walk.
Good.
Hours pass and… she gets in touch at 6:00 PM.
Clearly, I’ve been taking care of my own business. I walked the dog and didn’t let myself be influenced by her.
She had fallen asleep blah blah blah, “I’ll send an email and get ready” and — as is good manners when dealing with me — she acts a bit slutty to be forgiven:
At 8:30 PM she’s ready, made up, but she sends me a video while petting the dog.
Then she starts arguing with her parents about some legal stuff (if it’s true) and blah blah blah.
Basically, she arrives at my place at 10:30 PM, with 7 (seven!) hours of delay.
Seven!
It’s unacceptable behavior: I’ve ditched people for much less.
Normally I would have sent her home with a kick… why don’t I do it now? Why am I calm?
At that moment I think I know what’s happening: every time she receives love, she gets out of sync and starts acting like a bitch, she has to screw everything up, to lose respect for me and not get involved in the relationship. So she’s resisting in every way from coming today.
It doesn’t affect me, but clearly, it bores me.
I wonder “Is it worth it?”
The brain suggests fucking her for a while and then letting her go.
The heart doesn’t respond: it knows the brain can talk all it wants, but in the end, it’s the one that decides.
Clearly, my consideration for her is at an all-time low… and it shows. She comes to me.
She loves that I cook for her. This time I didn’t cook, but I order on Deliveroo. I put on the table a half-full bottle of champagne, which I had opened the night before with the other girl.
She’s very affectionate, I’m a bit more detached, but not resentful.
As she’s about to sit at the table, she sees a wrapper on the floor. She picks it up, shows it to me, and says “This is a condom wrapper.”
Hehe!
I look at the wrapper, look at her, look at the dog and say:
“Solomon, you have to stop hiding the wrappers and digging them up after weeks!”
She looks at me unconvinced, ahahah, I smile like someone who’s up to mischief and wants to emphasize it.
We continue to dine cheerfully, then I say:
“Anyway yes, yesterday I fucked someone.”
She: “You did well, it means you needed it.”
Me: “No, I did wrong. I wasn’t interested in her, I’m interested in you. The reason I fucked her is that I’m scared to let myself go completely with you. I like you a lot, but I don’t know if I can trust you.”
We continue the conversation on the couch.
She sits down and finds another wrapper from the condoms used yesterday.
She shows it to me.
I think my ex was right when she said I should be more organized, ahahah.
I tell her: “Baby, you take two steps forward and one back. See today. It’s clear you weren’t convinced to come here”
She: “But no, if I’m here it’s because I want to, otherwise I wouldn’t have come.”
Me: “I know you enjoy being here, but it’s the usual story: if I give you too much love, you freeze.
It’s not a judgment, everyone has their own. Why do you think I was losing my erection the other time? Because I thought “If I don’t fuck her well, I’ll lose her.” And my dick responded “Then better lose her right away.””
She: “But no, what does it mean, I’m with you because you make me feel good, because I like you, not just for the sex. So it’s okay if sometimes you don’t fuck me well.”
I laugh at the “sometimes.”
Oh God, if I don’t end up in therapy with her, I won’t end up with anyone.
She insists: “Tonight no sex, I don’t feel like it. Just cuddles.”
Me: “Well, actually I would have proposed it myself, I don’t feel like fucking.”
“And I believe it, you must have emptied yourself well yesterday, with the girl” she reiterates acidly.
I laugh heartily and I already know that later she’ll do everything to rape me.
And indeed, not even 2 minutes pass before she says “Okay, tonight no sex, but I need to suck it”.
“So be it,” I grant magnanimously.
She is very affectionate, funny, and with the right manners. I like her a lot.
We play music, sing together, dance with the apartment lit by fluorescent light, laugh, smoke two joints.
I really like this girl.
No way I’m putting her aside.
I want her.
I love her.
I tell her too.
And we fuck.
The dick is hard as a rock.
The connection is through the roof.
The intensity is maximum.
We do something we’ve never done before.
Despite how it ended up, I want it to remain something just ours.
At that moment I hoped it was proof that she was finally letting herself go to the idea of falling in love.
“Surely she won’t get out of sync anymore.
Surely she’ll behave well from now on.
No more games” I thought.
But no, at the next meeting everything will go to hell.
Also because of me.
All my theories were wrong.
But we’ll talk about it in the next episode!!
(Sorry Giulia ;))
