Posted on 6 February, 2008


I’m in the shower on Saturday night and I know what I’m going to do. Know as I throw my head back, run my fingers through my hair,  let the hot water splash over my face. I don’t know who I’m going to let have me. I just know I want rougher hands to be here.

It’s the fear that I like while getting dressed. It’s the thrill. Picking out the kind of underwear to make his eyes wide. I sit in my bra and thong doing my face, gazing at myself in the mirror. I think about the someone who’ll put his lips all over me tonight, whoever he is.


It isn’t easy to go into the pub alone. As liberal and equality obsessed as we are I see the faces looking at me when I enter. I’m not supposed to do this. How do I have the nerve.

I wait, and I wait and when he glances at me I smile. A sweet smile, I hope. A shy one. I lower my eyes, stroke my fingertips, leaning slightly over the table.

He double takes I think, and looks distracted. I’m watching him again when he glances back. I stare, look away, smile and glance back. I feel a little wicked, a little cruel. I like it. He blushes. I love that. I want to take my clothes off for him right now.

It takes him a very long time to come over. I have to keep smiling and smirking at him, coyly glancing up and twirling fingertips through my hair. He’s nervous when he approaches, he tries to hide it. He fumbles his words a little. He talks as if we’ve met before “Hi, How are you?”. I ask him to sit. Tell him I like to talk to strangers. It’s hard to get him to flirt with me, he’s hesitant, making little jokes, uneasy. I almost start to feel foolish until I catch his eye on my legs. He wants me. It warms me.

I toy with him, I tease. I touch his hand. I giggle too much. He’s still looking at me, puzzled, wary, but suspicion is losing out to lust. I get up to find the bathroom, both my hands on his shoulder as I do. He almost growls.


It isn’t too much later that I ask him to walk me home. His friends are open-mouthed and gawping. He’s more nervous again and we’re quiet. I wonder if he’s married, I haven’t asked, he hasn’t said. I push the guilt down ’til I can’t quite feel it as I turn the lock in my door.

He’s here, his palms are sweaty, he ‘s nervous and unsure. He pauses at the door and mumbles, “I should probably get off…”

I come closer, I’m smiling, my body is close to his. He asks me my age for the second time. I reply. “I could almost be your Father”, he says. I’m ready for this. I make my words soft and let my breathe warm his cheek. “Then why don’t you just be my Daddy..?”

Our noses brush a moment before he has his lips on mine. His hands are on the small of my back tugging my hips in toward him. One of his hands slides down to my ass, squeezes my cheek. He howls his pleasure into my mouth.

We move intertwined toward my bedroom, drunkenly waltzing, colliding with the walls, his fingers and lips all over me. I fall back on the bed, we bang heads. He’s animal-like now, looking down on me like I wanted. He tugs down my hipsters moaning hungrily over my ass. I love the sounds he makes, I feel myself wet. He kisses my ass, I hear him fumbling at his belt. I roll over, look up at him, eagerly part my thighs.

He has me naked before he’s inside me then he doesn’t stay inside me long. I’m pleased with this. I wanted him to come quickly. It turns me on. I lay my head on his chest afterward, blissfully aware how irresistible I am to him, gloriously smug about his lack of control. The sight of me, the touch of me, it turns him on too much.

He’s embarrassed, he apologises, I tell him how big his cock is to brighten him up. I get up to get my cigarettes, let him look at me stand, naked. He tells me some things I don’t want to know but he compliments and holds me tightly.

We fuck once more. I get on top of him, take him inside my mouth. I like how my hands look on his chest. In the morning he has to leave and he’s sorry. He wants to see me again, he wants to know all about me.

But I don’t want to be known. I just want to be irresistible.