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.