First Date
As is well known by now about my nymphomaniac, Lo, her desire outstrips my ability to keep up. And so she turns to other gentlemen (and, on occasion, ladies) for her fill — all with my permission, even blessing. She is what is known as a “hotwife,” in the parlance of our times. Even though she is not married (to me or anyone), this is still the newly coined term for such a one-sidedly ‘open’ relationship. And, as you all probably know, Lo occasionally takes out ads on Craigslist to find her fuck-buddies when the urge takes her. And it takes her frequently. A long while ago she heard from a man named Hunter. He sent an e-mail along with a captivating pic in response to one of Lo’s personals. For some reason, not for lack of trying, Hunter remained dormant in the e-mail box until, unexpectedly, he wrote saying he’ll be in the area and would like to meet up.
Lo is insatiable, but not insensible — not usually anyhow — and so she insisted on a phone call first. This is her modus operandi; she talks with her gentlemen callers first to see if they sound safe and also to confirm that they mean business; then she meets up; then she hooks up. Lo also has an incredibly sexy phone voice that drives me wild. I’ve never been one for phone sex. . . until I had it with Lo so many years ago. Not only her tone, but the dirty things she thinks of and the way she phrases it drives me wild.
Again, out of a concern for privacy, safety, and to err on the side of caution, Lo never gives out her phone number. She asks for the fella to send his and then blocks hers when she calls. So, late one night as we lay in bed naked next to each other, she made the call at the agreed upon time. He didn’t answer at first. Rather, Lo go got his voice mail that had his real name in the greeting. Odd. She tried the number again a few moments later. This time he picked up. They talked. I listened. Lo masturbated. She came and came and came again. However, disappointingly, Hunter was not too skilled in the phone sex banter. At one point Lo covered up the phone and whispered to me (as I was between her legs lapping her up), “He’s such a tool!”
Despite this initial disappointment, the photo he sent along as a response to Lo’s ad was intriguing for Lo. She couldn’t believe that it was a photo of a thirty-something year old guy. It looked more like a guy in his twenties. It was a pic from the gym with his shirt off. He had hard abs, bulging biceps, defined pecs. Everything Lo likes. She asked for more eye-candy and he obliged. Now that he had spoken with her, he was a little more daring in his display. He sent a pic of himself naked. When Lo’s eyes saw his cock languidly hanging almost down to his knees, she didn’t care what sort of conversationalist he was; she licked her lips with her tongue and began typing out the most seductive e-mail she could muster to get his attention, including with it a number of sexy pics of herself.
Suffice it to say that Lo was successful in her hunt of Hunter. She managed to nail down a time and a place for them to meet. Again, erring on the side of caution, she chose a very public place — a swanky restaurant that is always crowded, always glamorous, especially on a Saturday night, which is when she chose for her rendezvous.
During the week leading up to this meeting Lo expressed a number of conflicted emotions. You see, unlike her other gentlemen callers, Hunter was hitched. He was very open on the phone and in e-mail about his marriage, which was decidedly not “open.” His wife had lost interest in sex and she paid him no mind. They had three adorable kids together and he was dedicated to the kids and to the integrity of the family, but a guy has got to get his rocks off somehow, and his method of choice was finding willing women on Craigslist.
This tugged at Lo’s conscience and she debated aloud with me whether or not to go through with the meeting. But, despite this hesitance, each and every night when I came to bed, she would first check her e-mail on her phone and see if Hunter had responded to her, and then she would go to his naked pics, open them up, and look at them in front of her, licking her lips, as I filled her from behind. She clearly lusted after this cock and her cunt has a way of overpowering her conscience.
On top of his beautifully sculpted shlong, Hunter continued to entice Lo with pics of his vintage hot-rod. As if that weren’t enough, it turns out he built the machine himself. Lo is a total sucker for a guy who knows how to use his hands. Add to his mechanical skills, the fact that he also plays guitar and builds furniture and his own instruments and Lo was creaming in her pants morning, noon, and night! As if that weren’t all, this Hunter fellow also had a good education and, unlike most of the prowlers on Craigslist, he could actually string together a number of words into a sentence and those sentences into stories that got Lo off — and hard!
So, in the end, Lo’s erogenous energy won out over Lo’s ethical principles. (Really, there was no contest given all the assets that Hunter brought to the table.) So she very, very willingly agreed to meet him on Saturday.
Unlike our previous encounters with other men brought into our relationship, this time Lo asked, begged, pleaded, almost insisted (but she knows better than to do that) to meet with Hunter alone. In other words, without my presence as her chaperon. I was very hesitant to concede to this. It was one thing for Lo to meet up with other women for amorous intrigues without me, but with another man? Call it sexist. I call it cautious. I understand Lo’s wanting to meet up with other women without me — she wants them all to herself and she’s not willing to even entertain the idea of my being with them in any way, shape, or form. That’s fine. But another guy? I don’t care how frequently they talked on the phone, communicated through e-mail, or even that Lo, as a precaution, searched him using the facts she had gleaned, and was able to find his business’ website and his Facebook page. This was literally a dangerous liaison.
In addition, he had promised to take his hot-rod to the meeting so Lo (who had seen pics of it through e-mail and had masturbated to them — yes, she masturbated to pictures of a car!) could see it in person. So, if I were to consent to this unprecedented request (and, I’ll admit, part of what bothered me about it was that it was unprecedented; why this guy?) there had to be clearly established ground rules. I sat Lo down and I had her not only listen, but write them down in order to communicate the rules to Hunter:
1. You are not allowed to have sex with him.
2. You are not allowed to go for a ride in his car.
3. You are not allowed to even get in his car.
4. And you definitely are not allowed to fuck him.
“May I see his car, Daddy?” she asked.
“Yes, Lo, you may see it.”
“Can I get in it?”
“NO. I just said that.”
“Please, Daddy. I want to see the interior.”
“OK, you can get in it, but only to look at it. You cannot go for a drive.”
“Not even to Pleasure Town?”
“Lo.”
“Can I kiss him, Daddy?”
“Yes.”
“Can I suck his cock, Daddy?”
“You’ll be parked on the street. There are no parking garages around there. And you’re not allowed to go anywhere, remember?”
“So I can suck his cock?”
“You’ll be on the street where anyone can see you.”
“That’s alright,” she said as she licked her lips again, just thinking about that cock.
She agreed to the rules with a rapid nod of her head up and down and sat down to compose an e-mail to her paramour explaining the rules to him. According to her, he understood the rules and agreed to them as well.
The big night finally came after lots of pent-up anticipation on Lo’s part (and after she came many, many times — in the bed, in the shower, in the living room, etc.). She dolled herself up real nice and, with a peck on the cheek and a “See ya, Daddy-o,” off she pranced down the street to the subway — a big grin on her face.
The image of her sauntering out the door was indelibly etched in my mind that night. She wore her black, peep-toe heels she loves so much. She had had a pedicure and manicure done that day. Her legs were silky smooth from the long, hot, steamy shower she took. Her pussy, I saw when she was getting out of the shower, was as smoothly shaved as her legs — no landing strip, nothing. It was barely concealed under her black thong and her short black dress that was draped invitingly only over one shoulder, leaving the other one bare and almost exposing one breast. Her hair was done up such that it radiated and twinkled in the light and lightly lifted off her shoulders.
Off she went — my little tra-li-la-trollop — right into who-knows-whose hands.
Even before she arrived at her appointed destination, she texted me to tell me just how wet she was. I could picture her on the train, sitting, looking stunning — movie-star like by comparison to your average commuter — gazing at men’s trousers and biting her lip in tense expectation.
She got to the restaurant early and texted to say that even the waiter was hot and noticed how hot she was. Then I got another text saying that she thought she might be stood up. He was late. I told her not to worry. And then there was nothing — no communication — for a couple of hours. Oh, the silence was suffocating me! I should have never let her go alone! I have just delivered her into the arms of a stranger. My little black riding hood to the Big Bad Wolf! My throat was dry. I was perspiring. I paced. I looked at my phone far too frequently. Nothing.
And then the long awaited text:
“Oh, Daddy. I want him.”
“Lo.”
“Please, Daddy!”
“Lo, we have an agreement.”
“Can I go to his car?”
“Yes.”
“Can I get in his car?
“Yes.”
“Can I go down on him?”
“Yes — but no drive!”
“Yes, Daddy.”
Then, silence again. About an hour later, I got a text. It read: “No drive?”
“NO!”
Then a little while later, I got a text from Lo, “I’ll take the subway. Can you meet me at the corner in a half hour?” I felt a brief relief, but that was not to last, for I immediately put on my jacket and walked — almost ran — down to the corner where Lo would be getting off the train. Sitting at home waiting for her was far too passive for me in that state of mind. I knew I’d be far too early for Lo, but I thought I’d pick up another handle of whiskey to make up for the one I had polished off that night.
But just as I was about to cross the street to the stop, I heard the roar of a thundering engine barreling down directly toward me. I jumped out of the way at just the last moment and saw going up my street the foggy back window of a hot-rod. I knew from Lo’s description that this was Hunter’s “sweet ride” and, if that was Hunter’s horse, then Hunter was in my neighborhood and that was too much to be mere coincidence. Lo must have been close by. I walked up the hill just as fast as I could and I saw the black beast at rest under the shade of a large elm tree in a remote part of the city block. Noticing (and hoping not to be noticed) I popped my collar and walked nonchalantly up toward the parked car.
From ten feet away, through the thinning fog of the back window, I could see the silhouette of Lo’s mane leaning over to the cockpit to lock lips with Hunter. I stopped in my tracks and just watched. She kissed him passionately. He grabbed her hair. She leaned in further. He pushed her head down. Her head was no longer visible behind the silhouette of his torso. I continued walking on. I slowed as I passed the passenger window. I could see Lo leaning over Hunter’s lap and that was all I needed to see. I walked on and turned right down a side street. I waited there in the shadows for what seemed an eternity, but was actually only about twenty minutes. Then I heard the car door shut and saw Lo walking down the hill toward the subway. The car engine roar shattered the silence of the moonless night and the lights of the car turned on as the car made a U-turn, drove past Lo as it slowed, and then tore on out of sight, but not out of the range of my hearing. The decrescendo of that hum was seemingly infinite as I followed Lo from some distance. I got to the corner and saw Lo waiting by the subway exit.
“Hey there,” she said with a big smile.
“Yeah,” I said, “I hope you weren’t waiting long. I just stopped at the liquor store to get some. . .” I said as I held up the bag of whiskey.
She ran up to me and kissed me forcefully with those lips.
“I wasn’t waiting long, Daddy.”
“Really. Good. Glad to hear it,” I said, poker faced.
[Excerpt from the story, “Silver Fox, Mynx, and the Hunter: Part I — The Games We Play,” from the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]
