He and I chatted over the next few months. About a cocktail I was trying to make out of a Thai Chile Jelly I made. About the “Ethical Slut.” He was a good fairy to me.
I told him about this blog. The first guy I had felt comfortable to tell.
“I am sex positive and if you had a different partner every night I would celebrate it! I have negative jealously.
Ok so first off, I really enjoy reading your sex stories. Not jealous in the least bit. They turn me on, and even more so because I’ve been with you. My gf and I tell each other stories like those about our other escapades in detail like that all the time and sometimes in even more detail. Second off, I have a bunch of notes and critiques and suggestions about the writing, you personally, and the blog in general, but maybe we should do that in person as there is a lot to go over. Third off, after reading that you got me hard as a rock right now. You have me imagining my own story with you. I’m lying here naked in bed imaging me ripping off your panties and pushing you down on your bed and pressing your face in the pillow as I fuck you from behind.”
We had a second date, again in Napa, about six weeks later to continue the conversation.
“Italian food will hit the spot, but honestly I have been craving the taste of you all day.”
“You remember what I taste like??”
“I do 100%. You’re fucking delicious.”
We talked about monogamy. About what I was reading in the “Ethical Slut.” About the acronyms on “Feeld.” WTF is “soft swap,” “full swap,” “GGG”? It felt like the first day of school. He was a patient and interested teacher.
I had gotten so worked up at all the sex talk I could feel my wet panties.
We went right back to my apartment and jumped on each other. Rushing to unbutton, unzip, untie.
I finished first and laid naked on my back on the bed. He stood at the side, grabbed my calves, turned me toward him and pulled me to the edge. With my legs dangling on either side of his, he grabbed my ass and thrust in to me. The feeling of his hard cock inside me surged an electric pulse of pleasure from my pussy, up my legs, over my chest and arms and to my brain. I arched and gasped.
Again, he finished first, withdrew and got on his knees at the bedside.
The next morning he left early.
“Your body is fucking sexy btw it’s just on my mind driving home.”
We texted periodically over the next three months trying to coordinate a time for the three of us to get together again. My work sent me to a two-day conference in Sac so I reached out again.
“Hey, I’ll be in Sac for a conf mon and tues…are you and your lady free for a drink or dinner mon night by chance??”
“Yes, we’ll take you to dinner!”
“Should be a fun night!”
“She is still able to join us for dinner, but she has a late appointment afterwards. ☹️ We will see you soon!”
That’s curious. What could she have to do after dinner on a Monday night? And I guess a threesome was out for the evening…fuck!
They were late. I was at the bar when they walked in. He looked his normal self. Well-groomed. Casually well-dressed. Wide grin.
She looked like a bag lady. Literally she had 3-4 shopping bags, stuffed with shit. Her clothes, hair, face, and mannerisms were all disheveled.
We sat at a booth. Me across from them. Her on the outside.
I order Pinot. He a cocktail. Her a double gin and tonic. Her bags piled up some between them, some on the floor under the table.
We ordered dinner, and started casual conversation catching up on the past few months. They went to Idaho to visit family over Christmas. Yada, yada, yada.
All the while I was distracted by her behavior. Nervous. Twitchy. Like she had never sat a dinner table in public before.
She got up, grabbed her bags, and moved toward the ladies room. He and I continued chatting, and chatting, and chatting. Probably 15 minutes went by. Dinner arrived and she was still in the bathroom.
She came back in different clothes. Then she dropped the bomb.
He asked her to talk about her experiences with polyamory. She pulled out her phone, opened an app, and showed me her profile. I didn’t recognize the app. Her pics were pretty well naked, and there were a lot of acronyms. And a rate.
She said this was the second app she was on. The first one was shut down.
I held the phone and my wine glass in opposite hands. I stared at the screen. It got blurry as did their words. I didn’t want to look up.
She was a mother fucking prostitute!
My face was straight, but my mind was silly string.
It all came together, and I was pissed. I can’t believe I fucked this bastard twice, trusted him with the contents of this blog at the time, and he didn’t have the fucking pussy to tell me his gf was a prostitute. Did he think I was going to be sex positive now?
She ate her food like a horse. I maintained my composure and sat politely through dinner. She said she needed to go, took her food in a box, and he rushed to pay.
Outside the restaurant, I talked before they could. I said thank you, gave her a hug, and then him before he could suggest we go for another drink or back to his place or my hotel.
On the way to my car, I was saddened. Maybe she really did love it, and maybe they enjoyed telling each other about they sexcapades. Guess I was blind.
However, my mood quickly turnaround after realizing both times with him I played it safe and that my last battery of tests were clean. On to the next fairy.