Awkward

It may be some sort of sign that I should try not to pick up so many of the same 'type' of older man. How awkward is it, sitting in a restaurant with much adored older lover, when an ex-older lover with a new woman (closer to his own age) sidles up to your table to greet you with such familiarity and intimacy that no one in the vicinity of your table, let alone your lover, can doubt what kind of history you had? Maybe I should try artistic types that never have any money to go anywhere and just stay in their studios and apartments all day, having sex, knocking up a quick meal, having more sex, then making some art. Like teachers, only they spend all their time doing marking and reading awful essays. Or maybe we should stop going out to nice places. I'm going to get some kind of ridiculous reputation. Richard has asked about my dating history. I admit that majority if not all (save some interesting failed experiments) men I've ever slept with have been much older than me. He only sort of 'hm'-ed and didn't say much more. Oops?

Any minute now he will tell me I'm some sort of liability to his reputation and I will be dropped.

Especially after that fight at his pub. God. Embarrassing.

I bring adolescent drama into his wonderfully mature, adult life. And that's not a good thing.

Perhaps I should be grateful that I have not been punished and have not been deprived of sex.

It would be a terrible waste of cute new lingerie.

Bother

I have no idea whether anyone is actually reading this diary/blog anymore.

Should I stop? I was hoping I would get some advice, insight and opinions from other passing bloggers and blog readers, seeing much of this stuff I can't talk to my friends about. Plus a lot of them don't want to hear it anyway.

I don't know. I started it when I had a bunch of possibilities going and now there's currently one man demanding exclusive rights which I'm happy to give in one way, but still ever curious and unwilling to settle in another. There are so many gentlemen in the world and a recent discovery that men even only 10 years older can hold a potential attraction (or at least just a change of pace in terms of sex)...it is as though the decision to keep blogging is tied to whether or not I try to focus only on Richard for as long as I can. Tame the wandering eye. Stop flirting with other men all over the place. Focus on Richard, stop blogging (he keeps asking me what the hell I'm doing on the computer all the time). Keep Richard and my options open, continue blogging.

Tell me what to do!

Taste

Doing a boob-fuck is awfully tricky if you have firm Asian breasts, as opposed to softer, floppier white breasts. You really have to squish them hard around a cock to get good coverage so your partner is properly enveloped in flesh. But spit won't do and vaseline can get quite sticky and the KY was within reach so inevitably I was squirted with that before we began. I'd not done it before, because, well, there are always more interesting places to stick a cock in. At first it was annoying, just lying there, squishing my breasts together around Richard's cock, seeing it pop in view suddenly as the head pushed past and bumped me on the chin. Not even within reach of my mouth. But when his big hands closed around mine and brushed my nipples with his thumbs with each stroke, I started to see the point. It's incredibly dirty and hot, and makes you feel nicely used, but at the same time drives you crazy because it feels good but no one is paying you any attention between your legs, though you're tingling down there like crazy.

I like Christmas-time, and I think I'm more enjoyed around the holidays because I'm absolutely in the spirit of giving.

Richard pumped hard, and maybe it hurt a little but then he was pinching my nipples too and I thought I could come without being touched if he kept doing that and I rocked my hips enough to rub my panties against my clit. I nearly did. But then Richard was making those lovely deep groans and I could see his head was deep purple and ready to go and rather than have a face full of come I lifted my head up and wrapped my lips around it.

KY lube tastes like fifty packets of artificial sweetener mixed with water. Which absolutely ruined the taste of come. I would not recommend using it if you intend on putting anything in your mouth!

Richard looked so tired after and I was prepared to go without this once but then he asked me to touch myself in front of him and I couldn't refuse. I lay back comfortably on the pillows as I placed the chair I usually dump my still-in-use clothing on at the end of the bed, propped each foot on the mattress and slid two fingers inside a very wet slit. I've masturbated in front of a camera so many times for porn shoots, so I knew how I looked to Richard and the combined pleasure of him enjoying me and me enjoying myself pushed me very close to the edge. But I held back and circled and spread my lips to prolong the pleasure before I let myself go.

I think I must be tiring Richard out awfully; his pub is absolutely insanely busy with all the wonderful functions it's hosting and the massive amount of organisation for the annual Christmas eve lunch. But I can't get enough of him and thankfully he can't get enough of me.

Going to be the best Christmas ever!

Christmas is coming

Should I be getting excited that I've been officially invited to the pub's Christmas Eve brunch by Richard? Yes. Of course there will be people that will look at me and think I'm some sort of stupid tart trying to get something out of Richard before running off. Which is only half true. What Richard gives, he does so willingly! This wonderful attitude has made it possible to explore many fun activities with him, knowing that he won't take me for granted.

Desk sex has become such a cliche, with all this boss-employee, teacher-student themed porn fantasies all over the place. I've had my fair share, whether at school or University, and now the 'boss desk' has been ticked off the list too. Admittedly there are problems with this scene:

1. Hard desk very hard on knees

2. Papers covering desk are slippery

3. Knocking things off desk always draws attention from someone in the hallway

4. If you don't have a particularly wide desk, girl will potentially fall off slightly in the middle of hard thrusting.

Tricky tricky.

Actually speaking of desks I found the email address of an old literature tutor from Uni and tried it to see if he was still alive (not because I thought he might have literally died but because he just stopped talking to me one day). He did reply, he said all was well and that he'd returned to the UK for work and thought of me occasionally. He had of course had other students since me, his wife either still ignorant or happy that he was occupied and not bothering her. It was nice to touch base. Watching Californication sure brings up memories of this time when I was 19. Nothing as clever or obvious as that of course, seeing he taught modern global literature, and though there were often sexual topics in our books, they weren't discussed terribly much.

Fucking a tutor is a very good way to get out of hanging out with University boys, unless of course those boys are your genuine friends. But they were usually out chasing their own boys or girls during free periods or lunch hours. Even though the office is usually a tiny, dark closet with one window, having a personal haven on campus is wonderful. Sometimes if the weather is too cold I skip afternoon classes to go home to my apartment rather than bother staying out. But that semester I had a key to his office so with two coffees I'd let myself in, sometimes waiting, sometimes not. He probably could have done without the distraction, because he'd usually have stacks of assignments to read or notes to compile for classes, but instead it would be me on the desk making a mess of everything as I made room for hands and knees or me curled up under the desk, head under a coat draped across his lap in case anyone poked their head in his door without knocking. If you genuinely care about your man, you will give him a lovely drawn out blow job under his desk! And to make up for making a mess of his office, I would always swallow it all down, so there would be nothing to clean up. Except me.

Always keep extra pairs of panties in your satchel.

Hm. There I was about to expound on lovely desk sex with Richard and I veered off topic into dirty memories. Must try and focus on the present. Probably need to eat.

Off my chest

So I never expanded because I was trying to block it out. But to summarise, one night I was hanging out at Richard's pub, chatting to one of his lovely bartenders, Ben, who is becoming a friend especially since my two best friends have accompanied me for drinks a couple of times. Not only is he a great mixer, but a very funny and generous server. I digress. I was on my own that night, eating some dinner and hanging around waiting and hoping that Richard would get his duties over and done with early. Anthony came in with some workmates. I had no idea he ever came into this pub, considering I hadn't seen him all that time. They'd clearly had a few by that time, and Anthony broke away from his group, swaggered up to the bar and threw an arm around my shoulder and said to Ben that he would have a beer and that I could have whatever I wanted on him. Ben, absolutely professional to the end, poured his beer and then another glass of cranberry and soda for me and made the exchange without a word. Anthony was squeezing me very tight and I was pretty alarmed and everything and didn't know what to do. Ben tried to remove me by squinting obviously to the back of the pub and said 'Oh I see our friends have arrived, why don't I walk you over?' but Anthony just said 'No, no. She's with me. You're going to have a drink or two with me before we go home.' Oh God it was so awful and shaming and I thought I'd cry from sheer embarrassment. To summarise it was something like that for another 20 minutes before Ben tore away from the bar to get Richard, which in retrospect probably wasn't the best idea. Richard came downstairs looking like thunder, pulled Anthony's arm from me and ensued an argument that became very loud and very rude. It ended with shoving, attempted punches and then the pub's lone security guard and two waitstaff dragging Anthony outside as his group of mates meekly followed.

Yes it was awful. And then I was taken upstairs to Richard's office to have a drink and calm down. He looked quite angry and I got yelled at rather badly, which doesn't happen to me often, and frankly terrified me. It's one thing to have a woman yell at you, but when it was a man and one that I cared about very much, I felt quite frightened and like I wanted to die. Mostly it was about consorting with the wrong sort of people and being careful and that he hoped now that he was around that I would never try it on so easily with another man again. I couldn't promise him anything obviously. He has some claim on me now, but that's hardly going to last forever. I got bundled into a cab and sent home.

Richard came by later, around midnight and when I saw him I cried (like the pathetic girl I sometimes am) and he held me and we went to bed. Having sex when your heart feels broken can be mending.

Vision of a perfect life

Living

I didn't think it would get so out of hand but this relationship - I am indeed allowing myself to call it a relationship - is causing me to be unable to report on my favourite details on this blog. It's awfully tricky. There's Richard, there's sex, there's work, friends, chores, more sex, cooking and shopping to do. It's a tricky part of the year. But what a treat to have someone to spend it with. Not one of those desperately sad Christmases where I spend one day with beloved but small rest of family (I do miss seeing my brother and he only comes down for the holidays) but the other, usually Christmas day itself, there are so many parties but always a someone attending his own family party, replete with children and wife but not lover. No more married men. Never again. They're an absolute drainer and though they always give you a good gift to make up for their necessary absence, you never get to give them what you want.

The first year, when I finally turned 18 and had prepared my body and the metres of red satin ribbon, my teacher bailed when his wife declared that she would accept him back home as long as he could remain faithful forevermore. As far as I know he has been.

This year will be different. I'm sure of it.

Also, not quite sure what the point is of buying me new pairs of panties all the time, when every morning I seem to wake up without them, whether or not company remains till morning.

Lessons Learned

Awful day at work. How many people can come in sick? How would such an excellent chef get such incredibly bad food poisoning? On the busiest breakfast day of the week too. I'm certainly in a better mood today, after seeing friends and avoiding seeing other people. My last post was pretty bleak. I didn't mean to sound so incredibly melodramatic.

Suffice to say I've learned a few of lessons.

1. Tall, dark, handsome, older men who at first seem lovely and gentle and sweep you off your feet, could potentially harbour a malicious, jealous, violent streak.

2. Eventually hanging out at the place of work of your lover will result in some kind of scene, because it will happen wherever you happen to be.

3. Being yelled at is incredibly frightening when it's coming from someone you respect and quite like. When it's someone you're angry at, however, it only makes you angrier.

4. Sex post-argument is rough, violent, extremely satisfying and will possibly occur in a very unusual place.

I'm starving so I'm going to knock up some pasta. One of the boys is here. He insists he isn't reading over my shoulder as we walks past me, but I know he's lying. Hello, yes I'm talking about you.

Trouble

It's only been a week and already I'm in big trouble. I've never been yelled at like that before. Not by any man. Not even a teacher. Last night was an odd night. I am slightly bruised and very embarrassed. I got let off from work early because I didn't have any sparkle on the floor and customers were noticing. Plus there was the bloodshot puffy eyes. I'm not in trouble with work though. My bosses seemed sympathetic, though ignorant of what was wrong. It's lovely working for a group of women. Most of the time they just know when you need some time out. I've been there for a couple of years and they take care of me. Speaking of being taken care of, I'm going to go sit in a hot bath and have a long think.

Good Haul

So it's not exactly been the nicest weather for shopping. Certainly warranted many cold drinks and stops to sit down and be obscenely mismatched in public, but still it was a pretty good haul!

We escaped the blustery city streets in many a lingerie shop, but it took a little convincing for Richard to get me the stuff I like. I've not totally graduated to the very lady-like lace and silk wear that most men seem to get a kick of buying for women. I still like panties to be cotton and colourful and fun to look at.

These are a selection from today! I tried all the pairs on in pretty quick succession once we got back to my place, so they're a bit rumpled from that! It's just as well because we were in such a rush to leave I forgot to hang out the washing. I think my favourite is the white and pink pair in front. Very pretty and delicate. It's not even been a week and I already got presents!

Richard has gone to the pub to oversee dinner preparations. I actually don't think he's coming back tonight, which may be just as well, because it's a mess here. And in truth, too much sex can become a bad thing. I'd like to be able to sit comfortably for more than a few minutes at a time for starters.

OK. So Friday night I did go to the pub and maybe in retrospect it was quite awkward. It was around 6 and dinner service was starting up, mostly families and older couples in the dining room. When I asked a barman where Richard was, he must have thought I was applying for a job or something because he led me upstairs to his office behind the wine storage and told me to sit and wait. I felt quite foolish really. I didn't really give myself time to back out, not that I'm complaining now, but it had been terribly impulsive. He could have been some kind of psycho-killer. In any case he didn't come up for about 15 minutes so naturally I did as much snooping as I could from my chair. Picture of himself and someone I can only assume is his brother because they looked terribly similar, stacks of paperwork and order forms, a mix of fountain pens and biros etc. Some golf trophies. I hate golf. A weirdly addictive sport for men that causes them to forget that you can do fun things other than golf on the weekend.

Anyway, Richard knocked on the door, which was weird because it was his office, and I stood up suddenly, feeling as though I'd been caught out. He actually looked nervous for a second, then smiled gently and gestured for me to sit down again. A lot like being sent to the principal's office really. He asked me how my day had been, and made general small talk. I wondered if he thought this had been a mistake, that like so many older guys he had spent the day thinking it through and decided that I was too much of a risk to his current life to take on. It's a ridiculous misconception that older men will always take up the offer of a reasonably attractive young woman if they have the opportunity. It's of course much worse when they sleep with you once and decide immediately after than it's never going to happen again. I digress. He said he wouldn't be able to leave the pub for hours at least, so I could have dinner down at the bar, and then he would meet me later. It's an amazing gastropub, how could I say no? Suffice to say all the staff watched me as I ate, especially when Richard came by to ask how I was going. They were all boys. Why? Women in service certainly soften and lubricate the dining experience a bit. I know they were an interesting choice of words but it's genuinely what comes to mind.

Oh god I take forever to write stuff. Skip skip skip. Home, undress, shower, trim fuzz patch, run around like a madman tidying up (making extra care to make sure couch was semen stain free). I couldn't decide between casual home or something of more interest so I just picked a white camisole, red spotted panties and a grey oversized cardigan. Turned up at 10. It started quite shy, really. He sat on my little couch and pulled me down to sit across his lap, stroked my cheek, brushed my hair back, pinched my chin. Very daddy-like. Admittedly, that got me completely. Unlike so many others, he kissed me first, chastely with closed mouth then with the slight slick of his tongue. I carded my hands through his hair and was pleasantly surprised to find the short hairs thick and bristly. He rubbed his nose down my neck and kissed my collarbone, his hands rubbing my thighs in circles. His hair smelled nice; a bit smokey and boozey from the pub. When he started to rub his nose down my chest inbetween my free and comfortable breasts, I thought 'I really want to stop having so much sex on this couch'. So I stood up and pulled him to my room. Changed the sheets specially. Determined to make him know that I'm a giver and not just a taker, I unbuttoned his jeans and found a very thick cock with a small pointed head that smelled a little sweaty. It certainly tasted sweaty, and salty and maybe like he needed a wash, but that was OK. Richard flopped back onto the bed and sighed. I couldn't get more than half down my throat so I gave up and just licked up and down. His cock has large purplish veins that I could feel pulsing against my tongue slightly. He made such lovely deep groans that seemed to vibrate the bed, like a big cat. I love the sounds men make when they're enjoying themselves. He didn't hold my head, which I appreciated and felt free to suck his fuzzy balls. I wriggled out of my red panties and threw them at his face. I think he might have taken them actually because I didn't see them in the wash. I'd been fairly damp all day, and his deep purrs were making me drippy so I climbed on top of him, hiked up my camisole and dragged my slit up and down the front of his cock. He reached up and tweaked the same nipple he had earlier today, I felt a rush of guilty pleasure. Eventually I let the pointy cockhead nose at my entrance and it popped in and out. He's too thick to take quickly, so I spent some time just rocking back and forth, Richard's cock pushing in little by little, making me feel so stretched and full I could hardly think straight. I don't think I took all of it in. It hurt a little as I thrust downwards. So full. Too intense to do anything else but bury my face in his chest and rock back and forth. I think I was noisy. I certainly couldn't help it. Our genitals were very wet and sticky, our fucking making slapping and sucking sounds. He held and kneaded my bottom, I ground down and rubbed myself in his hairiness. I bit his chest as I came and started fucking down on him harder and faster, making the feeling last longer. Next thing I know I've been rolled and Richard was on top of me, ripping his cock out and coming on my sweaty tummy. A simple and lovely fuck. He wiped us both clean and napped with me a little but left around 2 am. I remember he brushed my hair back and kissed my forehead when he left. Again, like a daddy. I know I have issues. I can't help it. It made my heart swoon a little and I didn't want him to leave.

To summarise since then (because it's getting very tiresome trying to catch up):

I worked the weekend. Richard came over Saturday and Sunday night. Super sex. Slept over Sunday night.

Anthony brought his girlfriend to breakfast on Sunday. I have to admit she's stunning. Surprisingly blond with short cropped hair (I love this on girls!) and quite petite and tomboyish. I wanted her for myself really. What do you think I did? Sure service was busy but boy did that girl ever receive the best service she will ever have in any cafe anywhere. She called me 'a darling'. Anthony nearly died in his house-made baked beans. He genuinely doesn't deserve anyone that cute. Her name absolutely doesn't suit her. I would call her Heather. She'd only be about 5 years older than me. Anthony will probably never bring her to my work again, but I'm sure she'll insist.

I think I mixed the days up a bit on earlier posts. It was definitely Thursday that all that shit with Anthony happened. Friday I hooked up with Richard. Wasn't meant to work Friday but I did. Worked all weekend. Saw Richard both weekend nights. Day off Monday, late shift Tuesday...OK. I know where I'm at. I'm really just noting this for myself. If I don't at least know what happened when, I'm basically lost in my own ridiculously over-sexed life. And if I don't keep track, I'm going to get in lots of trouble.

Morning Glorious!

I should be at work but I did a swap with a girl who owes me 10 so I will be working tomorrow and the whole weekend again. God damn rotating roster. I'd love to have permanent days, but as Christmas draws closer, the store just gets busier and it's all hands on deck. But losing the weekend is so worth it, especially seeing Richard will be busy overseeing his pub on a typically busy December weekend. I love a man who treats his girl properly. Even if Richard junior is not up to a morning screw, it doesn't mean Gina gets left wet and frustrated. You can't really blame him when he managed a very nice long screw session last night. He fucked me about four times but didn't come until the last. It must have hurt him a bit. How does he manage to stop I wonder?Didn't affect me though. And the other reason to stay home is a panty wash because I am pretty much out of clean underwear. Richard says he'll just take me out to get more this afternoon, but you can't leave a hamper full of wet knickers just sitting there can you? It comes from my insistence to wear underpants when not actually in that moment in the middle of a screw session. To make a point of difference. And to stop wandering hands being too tempted, thus distracting me from important tasks like cooking, brushing my teeth and talking on the phone. This chair has an odd pussy-ish smell now; see what happens when I'm lax? As long as you have panties on, you can focus. Although cooking with a shirt on would have been a good idea too. Little oil burn next to tattoo under collar bone. Ouch!

So I said I wouldn't fuck Richard, for all the complications it would cause. But I have, multiple times, and have now made my life incredibly complicated. I may have a tendency to sabotage myself. I stand at the crossroads, look between the signs for 'dangerous but fun' and 'right but slightly boring' and choose the former nearly every time.

To summarise last Friday (if I don't shorten my accounts I will never get properly up to the present), Richard came in early to treat himself to a hot breakfast, I opened to store so was the only waitress to serve him (and the 9 other all male early customers. Why is always men first thing?). Very much wanting some attention I flirted shamelessly, he responded in kind and when I daringly boob brushed him as I collected his dirty plates and glasses, he reached across and pinched a nipple through my shirt. Non-padded bras give everything away. Luckily my back was facing the open kitchen or I would be in a lot of trouble. That kind of behaviour generally deserves a slap, but Richard really is so lovely and I am a pathetic attention-whore, and I think maybe I have been harbouring a great big crush on him but trying to deny it. I felt quite giddy and sort of gasped and probably turned quite red but I was clearly responsive. I went to the kitchen with my dirty plates. When I returned to the counter, who should have slipped in but that terrible Anthony. I called him 'sir' rather than by his name, perfunctorily put his coffee order through and ignored his attempt to make conversation by walking off. I brought Richard an unnecessary glass of water and asked if there was anything else he wanted. You can probably guess the stupid sort of flirty thing he said, and he said it quite audibly, but he and Anthony were probably the only customers there that knew that kind of suggestiveness actually gets you somewhere with me. Seeing Anthony watching us I smiled quite horribly at him before I bent down and told Richard that I would come visit him at his pub after work. Don't think that I'm doing this to spite him. It's just that it was all timed quite conveniently and it's working out pretty well for me. More on Friday night in a moment; breakfast is served! Men who cook are incredibly sexy. In fact, I wouldn't mind trying a chef. They would be quite intense I expect.

While he takes a shower

I would be able to write more entries on here, if only I wouldn't receive so many visits. Not that I'm complaining. God I'm really not. He's taking a shower now as I sit here sweaty and wetly marking the blue fabric of a dining chair but I am far too shagged to care. If I show it to him, he might take the chair home with him and bring me a new one to replace it. It's Wednesday and I haven't even gotten to talking about last Friday. Screw it for now. Oh he's such a scream! I said that out loud and he called from the shower 'In a minute dear'. Where did I find him? This is crazy fun. Friday was a good day. I was incredibly cruel to someone but at the same time was swept off by someone else. Wonderful shags, dinners in, generous flirting, genuine sweetness.

He's turned the water off. Got to go! Don't wait up. If I don't have a very sore pussy and very raw nipples tomorrow, I will be very surprised. Tell you about it tomorrow maybe!

Good morning!

Never got back to my laptop. Dinner with friends was lovely. Ending with bottles of wine and many confessions. I can feel myself becoming incredibly crass and honest when drinking, and I know I should hold back with whatever I'll say, but I say it anyway. It's not like my friends don't like hearing about my sordid little life anyway. We've all got some strange kinky issues.

I left off telling you about my miserable Thursday. Later on my own in bed I did something quite strange. I had been wondering about my surprising flash of attraction towards Dan, who is 22 and a few months younger than me (according to half reliable sources), which is already tipping the scales way opposite to my usual. I was very frustrated from not having come when horrible Anthony fucked me, so I'd stripped off and was concentrating on having a little self love. I felt oddly guilty as I pictured Dan, as though I was somehow not allowed even thoughts of him. I don't know how fantasies start; they just sort of spawn of their own accord. I hate walking through bushland, but that's what I imagined us doing hand in hand, down a valley the scrub getting denser and whipping at our bare legs. We stopped in front of a enormous fallen tree, climbed over it and settled ourselves in the shelter behind. I undress him first, unbuttoning his shirt, undoing is belt and pulling down his trousers and I imagine that he has a wonderfully long and elegant looking erection with a head just slightly wider than the shaft, smelling very clean and sweet. He falls back onto his elbows and I bend over him, knees pressed painfully into twigs and leaves but I don't care and take his cock in my mouth and move it up and down slowly but firmly flicking the head with my tongue. It's strange because even in fantasy I rarely take the lead; I prefer to be taken while surprising my partner with my generous attentions in between. Dan smells clean right down to his fluffy, curly pubic hair, of which there is a lot. I enjoyed this but with all fantasies it starts getting out of hand as soon as you get into it. Dan became Charlie, pulling my lips from his cock and pushing me back into the dirt to remove soaking panties and sniff appreciatively. Charlie having licked me to dripping guiltily became Anthony with his beautifully thick cock pressing at my entrance but not in the brutal way he had done earlier. I was rubbing my clit hard and felt so bad at thinking of him and so he morphed into Nick, or Mr Fleming, where or my fantasies go to finish, no longer in the bush but in my old school's library store room, smelling dusty and dry. Back against musty carpet, Summer gingham skirt pushed high around my belly as my old English teacher fucks me with the wet slapping of generous balls against my bum one hand pinching a nipple through my uniform while a thumb circles my clit and I always come when I think of this and imagine Mr Fleming coming too, inside me like always despite the risk and I say 'Mr Fleming' maybe out loud. What I would give to see that grey head looming above me again, fading green eyes just slits as he rocks back and forth, slight pot belly pressing into the concave space I leave for him, his lovely slightly hooked nose nuzzling my ear. It always ends where it all started. I wish I could see him again. Or at least just know he's seen me and seen all the things he's inspired. I have to go and think. And change my panties for the second time in 11 hours. I'll come back later.

Long time no honest outpouring...

Not writing on here for a while is a bit like forgetting to do a diary entry. I feel full to bursting with things to say but don't quite know where to begin. Then a lot of stuff gets culled because once time has passed it seems irrelevant to talk about. There are only two good reasons to be busy: lots of work and lots of sex. Happily (or not), it's been both. I can't believe this blasted cold going round. It's not cold outside! It's bloody sunny! But two girls called in sick for a few days so guess who was called in to pick up the slack. Thank goodness there's no more school or I would be dead on my feet.

So as to that unbelievable git Anthony...something happened. Would you believe he has a girlfriend at the office, whose friend and co-worker saw Anthony and I in the organic grocers that night and watched as he led me to his car? No? That she then told Anthony's girlfriend who confronted him, he denied it and insisted that said friend was a lying bitch? It sounds like such a typical, cliche story but it's the reason he gave. So apparently he was 'lying low' lest the friend catch him speaking in anything less than a professional manner to me. One of his office mates fancies this friend of his girlfriend so he thought he'd better damp it down there too. Gah. Are you confused? I am a little. But no matter. I shouldn't have given in. No no no. But I did because I am a pathetic moron of some sort. This was Thursday (I mistakenly put Friday here earlier. The days just blur into one...). For office people, that's the second best day of the working week. For hospitality kids, it's just the day before the ultra-busy, arse-kicking weekend. Fridays it gets busy like a 'weekend eve'. Lots more people come in for breakfast. I was meant to have drinks out with my two best friends and some others, but I bailed like the disgusting slave-to-sex I am. Not that they were terribly surprised. I really should have gone out with them instead.

Anthony asked me very sweetly to meet him outside this very new and cool bar/restaurant that had opened in South Yarra. I agreed and hopped a tram there straight from work. Waited outside for 15-20 minutes, feeling like total loser as people streamed in and out the door and peered at me from the window. Considered just leaving when finally the bastard turns up. We don't even go inside! Led to his car, jump in, get driven to my apartment. No need to ask him up, follows, one foot in the door and one hand lifts my skirt up from behind as the other closes the door. I hope to god that my neighbour wasn't standing at his peep hole just then or he would have gotten an eyeful of panty-clad bum. He is creepy and over-friendly enough as is. Panties peeled off before I've had a chance to remove my shoes. Hurried to my little two-seater couch, pushed to sitting. Pulled my t-shirt off, resulting in very mussed hair, skirt shoved up around my waist. Instead of the very pleasant sensation of being furiously tongued as I was expecting, Anthony stood in front of me, pulled down his own trousers to reveal beautiful and thick erection, which is promptly shoved in my mouth. Generally, I don't like that. Because it makes me feel like a used slag. I mean, I love giving head, but I like to take my time about it and really give pleasure, rather than have my mouth used like a pussy. I mean, that's what my vagina is for, right? But this was already feeling a bit wrong and maybe I was desperate to get things on track, so I just got the saliva glands going and at least tried to massage him with my tongue and suck nicely on the head as he thrust in and out. With two fingers I circled my clit wetly and stroked my lips, unwilling to miss out. Suddenly he pulled out, flipped me over and I was flopped over the back of the couch. He entered quickly without giving my little pussy time to adjust to the size of him. Hurt a bit, though I was wet. Felt terribly stretched. Fucked hard and fast, which was a lovely change, but slightly alarming. Anthony let out an enormous groan and pulled out, coming hard all over my bottom and on my skirt. I flopped back onto the couch cushions, awaiting my turn, but nothing! Found him wiping himself off with tissues then pulling his pants and underpants back on. Said he had to get home before his girlfriend came round for late supper and was I free Sunday night? Was terribly polite though furious and helped him get his things together as I walked him to the door. I told him maybe. Of course I'm not going to see him again. Bastard! I always come first! Was far too angry to sit down and finish myself off at that moment. Did not sit down and cry. Plotted how I would get him back when I went to work on Tuesday. The opportunity actually came earlier, on Sunday. Cheered myself up by making gorgeous fresh pasta. Saved some to give to boys when they came by later, drunk and starving. Never totally neglect my friends. They enjoyed it and fell asleep on the floor later.

I feel very sorry that the first man I describe on here turns out to be no good. Sex the first night was amazing but that doesn't give Anthony the excuse to just use me after.

More on Thursday later tonight hopefully; must start dinner. Having friends over.

So much to catch you up on!

What if...

...when Anthony was sick at home maybe he was surfing the net and saw videos and pictures of the stuff I've done with other girls? And that's why he doesn't seem to like me anymore? Perhaps he's disgusted by it. Or he thinks I'm some complete slut. Should I feel regretful?

NO. I refuse to. Oh I don't want to go to work tomorrow...

I thought that by tangling with adult men I would avoid all this angsty, awkward crap. Maybe it's just me. Of course it's just me. A completely one-sided freak out over some man who I had a lot of fun with but has now lost interest in me. After one night. Do I smell or something? I take really good care of myself man. Did I say something in my sleep? He was pretty sweet in the morning really. Oh I don't want to go. This is so unfair. I am not a child!

Home early...

Why is it that the first thing I do when I get home is sit down and turn on my laptop? No assignments as an excuse; everything has been handed it already. Nope, it's to get on this blog and talk loudly to the ether. I have one reader, the Fat Controller. That alone makes it worth it to keep posting this public diary.

I'm boggled. This afternoon has cracked my head open and lightly scrambled the insides. I skipped second class to hang out with other students from the first. The lawn was crowded as always with pockets of students laying about on the grass probably discussing some complicated philosophy or chemical formulas. Alicia, a small, dark and pretty girl in my class who generally I do not like called over a passing friend to join us. Horror of horrors but I found him pretty attractive. It's one thing to find fellow female students attractive, but boys my own age is something else altogether. Dan is tall, broad shouldered, skinny. Long mop of light brown curly hair, greyish eyes, ears that stick out a bit. Like a stretched fairy tale elf. Tolkein-ish. Don't call me a nerd; I am a student of literature afterall. He dressed as most boys do these days: too tight jeans, loose t-shirt with colourful graphic that looks like it has been slept in. Huge shoes, meaning I suppose huge feet. A lazy looking face with a wide mouth and quite a long nose. What is it with me and noses. Completely not what I'm into. Usually I want to be possessed by the men I like. This was the total opposite; I wanted him in the way that I always wanted a puppy when I was a kid, seeing it as something cute to be owned, controlled and loved. I don't know what to think. I'm certainly not going to pursue it. It looks as though Alicia is pretty interested anyway, the way she leant against his shoulder and kept flicking his hair out of his eyes. Adorable and sickening. I doubt he noticed me at all. He doesn't suit my lifestyle anyway. But it's definitely a thought to save for later.

Who used all the hot water?

So much for a bath! I turned the bloody water on and it was hot for all of 5 seconds before it just kept coming lukewarm. Yuck. Just had a rinse off to at least get rid of the stale sex smell before I head out again. Brr. I have paid the water bill. Who is using my hot water? It could well be either of my two best friends using my facilities because they hate the disgusting shower in their respective share houses. If you two are reading this CALL ME FIRST. Yup there is a damp towel in the hamper. Hang it up to dry first you twat!

I'm digressing. So I had this date. Is it obscene to call a night out with an older man a date? It sounds like such an adolescent word. Charlie. Screw the identity protection thing today. It's not like he actually lives here. Charles, actually, but why wouldn't you call him Charlie? He flies in, I get a call, I always say yes and he takes me out for minimum one night, maximum three. He's never in town more than a week. He has been a constant in my life for four years, since I was 19. Sort of a dream-guy, but he doesn't belong to me. He doesn't say, but I know very well there are other girls in other countries where he does business. Import Export etc. Clearly I pay attention to their very serious careers. Tall and wide shouldered and '40' (I'd wager 47 more like). Total silver fox with blue eyes. Like a pilot from an ad for Pan Am in the 60s (I saw this in Cultural Studies). Surprisingly long but narrow cock and very fuzzy with grey fur all over. For some reason he loves standing positions, though it must be a strain on his back. Always comes with presents! Rope sandals from Egypt, smoked salmon, two babushka dolls. I suspect these are things he deals in, but I love them all the same. He picked me up in a hired car and took me to town. Dinner at Bistro Vue, my choice! I wore a short black sleeveless boat necked dress, good for showing off calves, collar bones and tattoos. Ballet flats (I can't walk in heels. I make a terrible girl.) and a necklace he bought me years ago. We were seated in a very plush booth in the corner. I was worried that the staff would hate us because there were only two of us on such a large table, but they didn't seem to mind. Especially later when the bill was paid, already a hefty amount and a very large tip to boot. They would have had a fun night after knock off. Typically we were stared at. Sure I could have passed for his daughter. Or grand-daughter for that matter. If he wasn't big and white or I wasn't small, Asian and still get very suspiciously asked for my ID because no one seems to bloody well believe that I'm of age. Plus the hand on my thigh. That's the clincher. Not talking about food because I won't have a meal like that for a long time and that's sad!

Back to Charlie's room at the Westin Hotel. Could have walked but insisted on taking cab again. Indian cab driver quite disapprovingly silent as Charlie blatantly stroked my thighs under my skirt and brushed his hands against my breasts. He took off very fast when he dropped us off and did not say goodnight. More curious looks in hotel lobby full of people at the bar. Fantastically large suite as per usual. Led to large couch and gently pushed over arm, bottom in the air, head cushioned on the seat. Charlie generally gets straight to business. Usually I remember to bring a spare pair of panties in my bag, but forgot this time. He always has to rip them off, leaving them in two pieces and unwearable. Even after all this time, I still jump when he does that. Felt the scratchy stubble of his cheeks and chin graze my bum cheeks and against my thighs, cool breath tickling at very moist lips that had been tempted and teased in that naughty cab ride. Teeth bit gently at my clit, which I go crazy for, and he sucked hard and I came wetly all over his face. I would have liked to get up and lick my wetness from his nose, but his trousers were down and his surprisingly super hard erection pressed against my entrance and he popped the head in. Charlie knows well to go slow at this because I can be too tight and it takes a while for me to open up. He pinched my nipples through my dress as he slowly rocked in and out. I was making embarrassing sticky wet sounds but he didn't seem to mind. The feeling of being stretched open is always such a revelation, as though I haven't been fucked in a long time and don't remember what it feels like. Gradually he worked his way deep inside. I could feel his head push very insistently at my wall and I felt over-full, almost unable to talk from the puzzling fullness. I suspect Charlie takes viagra. He would have to I suppose when his appetite is certainly larger than male physical capacities should be at his age. He fucked me slowly at first and I would have been noisy if I hadn't had my face muffled in cushions. My still sensitive clit rubbed against the couch arm as he fucked faster and faster. I wondered idly what the cleaners would think of the large wet stain I was leaving on the fabric. The cushions were making my face hot and it was hard to breathe but that just made me feel more delirious and I screamed as he pumped harder, balls slapping my wet mons noisily. He groaned a delicious masculine groan as he came. I love hearing it, and that combined with the rubbing couch arm sent me coming again.

We were both a very wet mess, me especially. When he pulled out my vagina made totally embarrassing noises as the air pushed in during hard fucking escaped. My face was burning. It doesn't happen that often. He bent down and gave the area a good suck and the sound stopped. I think I giggled stupidly into the cushions and was there for a little while.

After a few sips from his brandy glass I curled into the large white sheeted bed and he joined me there.

Oh fuck I'm going to be late for class if I don't run for the tram. And now I'm all horny remembering last night. Please no one smell arousal in me, I don't want any of those boys to think I'm interested in THEM!

Back to it!

Back at work yesterday with no trace of cold (not like I was super sick anyway), ah..but who should turn up? No prizes for guessing. I was fairly put out by Anthony's behaviour today. He did drop round the usual number of times for his coffee and lunch. I sold a piece of my pride and tried to draw him out every time with flirtation much gentler than usual. Received little more than some tight smiles and shrugs. What did I do? Feel very red faced and stupid. I'll admit I'm generally an easily hurt vengeful sort of girl. Lunch time came round and when he came in with a group of male co-workers I diverted all attentions to his mate who I had not really registered till now. Older, greying, proper tailored suit with old boy's tie. Very English looking actually, like someone who would play the PM in a film. His hair was probably blond once. My attentions drew a large smile from him and noting his surprisingly even, white smile, I almost felt I could go him instead. Bad bad bad bad Gina! Actually I don't even know his name. Received much return flirtation and maybe a terrifying bum graze though that could have come from anyone. I will absolutely not screw him. Anthony looked generally unhappy and finally made eye contact which I had trouble holding. Got an excellent tip anyway but resolved to give it to the other boys and girls for drinks after work as I had my own date.

I'll tell you about it after a bath I think I even have enough time to review it myself in the water. Just got dropped off in a cab little over half an hour ago.

After that I'm off to Uni.

I have a cold

The bug that was going around has come around and I'm curled up in bed with my laptop today. No work for me. I had the foresight to call last night and say that I had a fever, which I haven't at all, and now have a whole day to myself with pay. Love it.

I've been reading other people's sex blogs but am slightly disturbed by it all. Even some personal blogs seem so commercialised. Half the time when people add comments they're just ads for different porn sites or their own 'blogs' that turn out not to be blogs at all but a group of people posting up a whole lot of porn links that just connects into this maze of unrelated smut. Boring. Boring Boring Boring! There isn't even anything terribly fun to read. Except maybe the Suburban Sex Blog. That guy makes me feel a bit hot. I'm considering staying in bed all day and having a nice long self-pleasuring session. I still have videos on here from those porn shoots with other girls. That was the best website. All natural, no makeup, in our own homes in (and out) of our own clothes. Is it narcissistic to watch a video of yourself masturbating with another girl, touching yourself as she pushes you against a wall and laps at you from below? Whether or not it is, it sure gets me off fast.

Still no call from Anthony. There is a chance that it was all leading up to me being entertained and used once to be disposed of. It's nothing new. I certainly not hurt by it. But it's a bit unfair being shown what you can have and tasting it only once.

And another thing...

I forgot to mention something sort of disconcerting today. When I was clearing the outside tables a little group of business men having an impromptu meeting stopped at watched me until I went back inside. I looked out the window and they were clearly talking about me. One of them was pointing at his own body, the places where I have tattoos. Not just the visible ones either. I have this feeling that they might be customers of that website where I've done a bit of nude work. Nude work? How about full sex with another girl sort of work. The kind of work that is incredibly fun and amazingly well paying. I've not done any for ages, so I haven't really thought about it.

Googled my alter-ego name and lo and behold there are bloody pictures and videos of me everywhere. You don't even have to pay for it! God damn it guys have been downloading all that stuff off the site and reposting it on other pages for people to view for free. Bloody hell. It was all right thinking that no one I know would download stuff you had to pay for, but if it's out there for free, whole other story all together. I loved those photo shoots and the other girls were amazing fun, but I feel funny about the whole thing.

I wonder if Anthony might have seen my stuff already. Maybe that's how he knows how I like to be fucked! Though I wonder if you can gauge that from watching a girl do it with another girl. Hey...for that matter I wonder if any of my customers have seen my stuff. That would be...inconvenient. It's a bit of a disadvantage if they know what I look like with my kit off and legs wide open. Plus it leaves nothing to the imagination so I might not get a look in because they already know what it's all about. Things I did not consider at the time. We're not supposed to ever meet the website customers, though we chat to them on the forums. It's mostly marketed to America and the UK too, so local boys don't tend to buy into the site. Though I did hear about one girl whose tutor at Uni wrote on one of her marked essays that he liked her work on the site. She didn't bat and eyelid though. Wish I could say the same for me.

No love for Gina

I've been attentive on the floor all day, but Anthony hasn't come in at all. It's really weird. He's usually one of the first one's in the door for a morning latte. Maybe he's sick or something. I hope he didn't catch it off me. A cold I mean. It's been going round and it's not as though we have enough staff such that anyone could take a sick day. Hate it. I don't want to get sick. The only good thing about getting a cold is how your voice goes all croaky and husky as you recover. Quite sexy. Maybe it's a weird personal taste. Not a total loss though. Flirted outrageously with genuine man-of-dreams material: early forties, dark hair greying at the temples, big nose, brown eyes that crinkle up when he smiles. And tall and broad in a wooly jumper. Local gastropub owner. Always offers me 'a place at my pub should you ever want a change'. I would, but that would seriously overcomplicate my life. One of the best thing about my work is that it's mostly girls. Sure my bosses have some yummy looking friends, but I would never ever touch. Unless they did first, which would entirely not be my fault. Gastropub owner who we shall call Richard gets a coffee and a pastry in the morning before heading to his own place to oversee lunch set up. It was so quiet for a Monday that I had enough time to pretend to be wiping down the communal table, staying close to his end. Nothing like a few appreciative gazes to cheer a girl up.

I love Fridays

Friday was madness. It's like a dream, the kind where wake up grinning stupidly and are unspeakably wet between your thighs, but you can't tell anyone what it was about. I love being a waitress. It's a skilled job, largely unappreciated, except perhaps by those favoured gentleman customers who come in for coffee and a bit of a flirt. There's always time for flirting - it begets bigger tips - and there's never a shortage of men to banter with. The number of times daily flirting has spawned into a phone number, or an after work drink...I can hardly remember them all. But it's when it sparks an after work something else that is amazing.

This guy had only been coming to our cafe for the last couple of months. I think he started with the accountancy agency down the road. At first it was only once a day with a bunch of other guys, just for morning coffee. Now he comes in for lunch and a couple of afternoon coffees as well. What he does with all that caffeine...

I love big dark haired and eyed, olive skinned men. Like Anthony LaPaglia but without his weird blending of Australian and American accents. I'll call him Anthony. He must be in his early fourties. He always wears suits without ties and the top button undone, which I generally hate, but was willing to accept for the visible abundance of curly black hair on the broad barrel chest.

Fridays are usually flat out, with loads of people in for a pre-weekend breakfast, and business people seem to love splashing out on a good late lunch on Fridays, replete with many bottles of wine. He was there of course, with a couple of office buddies, sharing a bottle of Barossa Shiraz.

They'd had several rounds of small tapas and I'd sneaked them a little bowl of marinated olives. Anthony gave me a long gaze as a placed it on the table in front of them. I 'accidentally' grazed his arm with my breast as I turned to serve another customer.

From there the afternoon passed busily and we sold out of food. I hadn't been able to stay attentive to their table, and someone else gave them the bill and cleared their plates. I was a little disappointed admittedly.

By 6 O'clock I'd dumped my apron and wasn't bothered to change out of my black skirt and t-shirt that made my impromptu uniform. I was ducked into the organic grocers to pick up something quick and healthy for dinner, but who should be in there idly browsing amongst the organic pasta. He spotted me before I could greet him and smiled.

'Look what's in my basket.' He said. There were roma tomatoes, basil, a tub of kalamata olives, a hunk of parmesan, a bottle of red wine, ice cream. He added a packet of pasta. I'm getting fluttery thinking about this. It can't be real but it was. Anthony just took my arm and hooked it around his and walked me up to the counter where he paid. He took me to his car, I got in, as though in a trance, yet at the same time knowing exactly what I was doing. I hardly remember the drive to his apartment but for looking at his large aquiline nose and large mouth and thinking how much I wanted to fuck him.

I don't remember what his place looked like. I know there was a large couch, which is where I ended up suddenly shoe-less. One of my absolute favourite things about older guys, is their willingness to do whatever it takes to make you feel good. The handful of boys my own age I've had, they always want you to suck them off first. They'll eat you out for five minutes before they decide you're wet enough to fuck, and another five minutes of grunting and shallow thrusting and they're done. An incredible waste. It's like hunger; why waste your appetite on a quick, fast food snack when you could have something lovingly prepared with quality ingredients?

My panties, embarrassingly soaked through the gusset were pulled off and spread-legged on the couch, Anthony ate me with ferocity. He has such a thick tongue, muscular and blunt, that laved at my folds and nudged at my clitoris enough to tingle but not over-sensitise. He wet a thick finger and slowly inserted it into my cunt as his large mouth surrounded my mons. I must have been yelling. I have trouble being quiet. He stopped suddenly and turned me over by my legs so I was now crouching over the couch. He started all over again, the point of his nose nudging my anus. I felt his teeth graze my clit and I came loudly and wetly on his face. As I was recovering he licked me clean, pulled my skirt back over my bum and took the groceries to the kitchen.

He cooked a simple and lovely pasta dish. We drank the wine. He cleared the plates and then stood me up and undressed me next to the table. I wouldn't be able to tell you where in the apartment his bedroom was if I tried. I was led by hand in a daze and shoved lightly onto the cool bed. Anthony undressed. He's dark all over with such a thick thatching of curly chest hair and a forest of pubic hair around a thick cock that skews a little to the right. A big hand stroked and fingered me, gentle and probing and I quickly wetted up again. He bent over me and sucked each nipple hard. I hate soft lapping, give me pinching, biting and hard sucking anytime. I felt so small beneath him. I reached for his erection and managed a long stroke before he slapped my hand away. He lifted me under my bottom and I felt the thick, blunt end of his cock against my entrance. I couldn't look into his eyes, I was confusingly shy. It was happening so fast. He thrust in hard and I was a little shocked. It hurt, stretching me fast, but I was wet enough. He fucked me slowly but insistently, clasping me to him by the cheeks of my bottom and I threw my arms around his neck biting his thick ear lobe and mouthing his neck as I tried to suppress my cries. He was so good, so big and absolutely sure of himself. The rubbing of his crotch brought me off again and I screamed. Suddenly he was thrusting harder and faster and I was being bounced back against the bed hard and he groaned into my hair.

We didn't use a condom; I know that's so bad. But there's something to be said for the feeling of hot sperm gushing inside you. I fell asleep a little. Later he woke me up and led me to the shower. I dressed in the jeans and t-shirt I had intended to wear after work and he drove me home. I kissed him for the first time as I said goodnight and excited the car.

I'm tingling all over from writing this and remembering that night. It was better than it sounds. This was definitely a good idea, writing this. I get to re-live as I write, and the little exhibitionist inside me loves the thought of someone else reading this and enjoying it. I know virtually nothing about Anthony, but I hope desperately that he calls or at least surprises me again. I'm leaving this week semi-free in anticipation.

Why oh why oh why...

An endless dilemma, but one I gladly accept as my own. I adore older men; I will date and mate with no one else. I've had enough of people's psychoanalysis of how this came to be. Sure, maybe I do have an Electra complex. But I can't help that. So there's no daddy figure in my life, and I go looking for it in men I meet. I know that, I don't mind. Who doesn't love a little daddy fantasy every now and again?

I plan to chronicle every date, every fuck, every little part of my young life to do with the seeking and screwing of older gentlemen. It's exhibitionism and therapy. I'll come to understand myself better. You could help me.

I'm excited to be writing this. Are you excited to be reading it?