Considering where my head has been recently, you may find it surprising to hear of one of the more touchingly sweet encounters of my sexually active life. This was a while back, with a wonderful sweet person who has since moved on to other things.

But I still think of him with deep affection, and a shudder of thrillingly sexy sensation.

Oddly enough, he holds the land-speed record — before and since — for the shortest time between meeting face-to-face, to horizontal naked macarena. Through no insistence of his own, or arm-twisting or any kind of coercion. It was just that I desperately wanted — needed — to feel his arms around me from the second I laid eyes on him, and I knew he was more than willing, so I enabled it.

He was wonderfully charming and very old-school in his attitude.. and while it was clear from our pre-meeting emails and phone calls that he was simply sizzling with lust, (as, I do confess, was I) it was also blatantly obvious that he was not the sort of man to make any overtly forward move, for fear of being thought pushy or impolite.

Fortunately for both of us, I’m not a shy or retiring person, and waiting around patiently does not suit me.

Especially when a man looks at me with eyes so clear and sweet that I could have dived right into them, then and there. And has the sort of loose-limbed, tall, strong and yet comfortable body that just begs to enfold you within a massive bear hug, into which you could feel comforted and protected and lost and safe and warm all at once.

I kissed him almost as soon as I saw him. In other words, he had me at “Hello”. So to speak.

“So how did you get into swinging?” I asked him, as we drove along, his hand resting gently on the gear stick, and brushing my knee each time he changed gear.

“Well,” he said, “It started when the first woman i saw after my divorce told me she had a really strong wish to try it, so I suggested that we try a swinger’s club. And we did.”

“Are you still with her?” I asked him.

“Kinda,” he said, steering the car deftly around a stalled vehicle in the middle of two lanes — no mean feat, considering that each time his fingers brushed my knee, i could sense an almost imperceptible shiver run through him. “We have, as you’d presume for a swinging couple, a very open relationship. In fact, we’re more like really good friends now than anything else.”

“That’s good,” I said. “I’d hate to think I was treading on someone else’s toes, if i wanted to see you again.”

I already knew that I did.


It wasn’t so much that we were unable to keep our hands off each other. In this case, it was literal. I mean, I just up and kissed him, shocking myself at how bold I had become in real life, how brazen i was even out of fantasy mode, and how proud I was of having the guts to be what I wanted to be; what i felt i really was as a person, down deep below the layers of human frailty, and wannabe, and disappointment, and fear and worry. After this initial jump-start on my part, he took the lead and I… well, I let him. It was lovely. He took my little foot in his enormous strong hands and began to massage the heel and instep, all the while continuing to talk.

During the course of our time together (regrettably short on this particular occasion) we talked a lot.

“Wait!” I said, removing my sock quickly, “no one needs to have to deal with that particular item of clothing of mine. Not when it’s raining outside.”

He smiled at me — that gorgeous, winning smile that had captivated me completely.

Continuing to palpate and stroke my foot, his hands slowly moved up to my ankle, and then further up my calf.

Ever impetuous and over-zealous, i shifted my hips closer to him on the bed, so that he could slide his hand further up the leg of my jeans. He smiled that million dollar smile again, and i nearly dissolved into bubbles of happiness. He was just so lovely to be with.

He continued what he was describing, as if his hands were not roaming up my denim-clad legs, smoothly sending tingles of anticipation through me. I tried hard to focus on what he was saying in order to come back with an intelligent (hell, at this stage I’d have settled for intelligible) reply, and managed a highly unsatisfactory “Uhhmmm… mmm, hummmmum.”

He looked me in the eye. Eye contact does it for me, you may have noticed.

“Am I distracting you with something?” he asked, with a twinkle.

I cleared my throat.

“I was just, umm-hmmm, wondering. You know. If maybe i was, or we were, uhmmm…. overdressed?”

The twinkle brightened further, and he removed his sweater.

“Consider that ball a-rolling.”

Minutes later, as we lay, our naked skin touching for the first time from stem to stern, I became very conscious of how comfortable i felt. We’d kissed endlessly as we’d walked into the room, and he’d mentioned something about how easy it felt when we kissed, and how natural it seemed, regardless of the relatively short period of time that we’d spent breathing the same airspace. This only accentuated it.

His hand parted my thighs, and I felt his cool finger brush along my slit, opening it to further exploration. The juices brimmed over the sides, and i felt his finger slicken as it moved further within me.

He sighed, happily. “Mmmmm… so wet. Wonderful.”

I sighed, unconsciously echoing him. “It’s you, all because of you baby…. oh!”

That last exclamation was as his index finger brushed my clit tantalizingly, and then slid straight into me, with two of its friends as company.

And as his fingers found my slippery wetness, so his mouth found my breast. Specifically, my nipple. He suckled, and then at my urging, bit it gently. He sighed with ecstasy at the discovery of this particular kinkette of mine, and responded with enthusiasm. I yelped with joy.

“I’m a great admirer of the female breast, and baby, yours are beautiful. Mmmm…”


It didn’t matter that we didn’t have enough time that day to explore each other fully. I think we both knew that we’d meet again from approximately the first moment we laid eyes on each other.

When we fucked it was an experience unlike any other. Which, while arguably something that could be said of every man with whom I’ve slept, was an unusual and wonderfully unique situation. He was so passionate,and so genuine about it. It was beautiful. As he bucked above me, and my hips moved in response, and we kissed and kissed over and over, mouths moving on mouths and then spilling over onto cheeks, necks, shoulders, holding each other so close it seemed like we might meld at one point, and as his cock thrust into me over and over it was my turn to cry out in ecstasy… it was wonderful.

Vanilla, served as it should always be — horizontally, anyway.