Lockdown has had me reminiscing. Here’s a fond one—the start of the best sexual relationship of my life. It takes place around 2009, when Craigslist casual encounters was still a thing that existed. I was living in a large city in the USA. American dating confused me entirely (I’m British). I didn’t want to stay in the USA, I didn’t want to settle down, I just wanted to sleep around—why did we have to spend several evenings pretending otherwise before we got to bed? What was wrong with the British method of getting blind drunk and waking up the next day beside someone you barely knew with regrets and a hangover? Anyway. Casual encounters was good to me.
I posted ads intermittently, so I don’t remember the exact content of this one, but in general I tried to be articulate, smart, human, and give the impression of being good, giving, and game—to mirror what I was after myself, essentially. So, I posted, waited, deleted the obvious spam . . . then an email arrived, with the subject line “lets see”. The message was brief: “hey, you sound like a nice person, send me your pic and we’ll see. I love getting my pussy suck.” OK. This sounds like a real person. This is a response I can work with. And then the attached picture was . . .
I couldn’t believe the picture. I couldn’t believe someone was sending *me* the picture. I guess some of my reaction was because for me, at least, nudes and such were far from everyday. It was 2009: no smartphone, no Tinder, no easy way to take and send photos. If you did get—or send—one, it was usually poor quality, badly framed, prosaic. I sometimes wonder how I’d get on today—part of me thinks I’d be thrilled to be exchanging photos so easily and so often, part of me wonders whether the ease and plenitude would diminish the thrill. But you know, even if I were getting nudes all day every day, this photo. . . this photo would have got my attention.
Can I do it justice? I’m not sure. It was cropped to eliminate the head, so focussed just on the body. It was high quality, well lit. Portrait, filling the frame, a black woman three-quarters to the camera, wearing heels, her back leg cocked forward, hands on hips with elbows back. The pose was calculated for effect: tensed, taut, on display. And what display. Apart from the heels, she was wearing simple, skimpy matching grey underwear, knickers barely there, bra half-cups. Smooth strong thighs flowing deliciously behind into a prominent curved ass, looking firm and tender at once. In front, the same thighs were poised just right to ease the eye to the scrap of grey material tantalising where they met. Her stomach was flat, the breasts trying to spill out from the bra were full and soft. But it wasn’t just the body. The way she stood, the way she looked, was confident, sexy, inviting and demanding. She knew that this photo would get attention, she knew she wanted attention, she wanted to know if you deserved hers.
I was hot. I was nervous. I *badly* wanted this to be real and I badly wanted to make sure I got to see that body in the flesh. I’m . . . I look (looked!) OK, if you like the type. Tall, white, skinny, longish hair, beard. My stronger suits are my mind and my attitude. But she wanted a photo. I sent a photo—bland, poorly lit, best I had—and I confirmed that I was, indeed, happy to suck her pussy. Amazingly, she replied. Brisk, no messing, a quick back and forth over a couple of days: when was I free? Where did I live? Could I host? (most times, central, sure!) How long could I go for? That one made me think it was getting away. I answered honestly: I’m no stallion, I can’t fuck for hours, no point in bragging. Turned out she meant to ask whether I was happy to go down on her “for more than like 2-3 mins”—she emphasised again that she only wanted that, nothing more. Fine, fine with me, I was happy to give. That’s fun in itself. Last question: did I prefer shaved or unshaven? “It’s your body and your hair, you can do what you want, I don’t mind”. All set. Day set, time set, she’s coming round in two days. I couldn’t believe it. I wasn’t sure it was real still.
The day came, I was nervous as hell, trying to wait patiently. The time came and went. She rang to say she was lost. First time I heard her voice: throaty, warm. She found the place. She came in. She was stunning. She was wearing a tight dress that clung to the curves. Her hair was long, wavy. She had bright eyes, a roundish face, a mouth with a bit of lipstick and a smile ready to break. In person she was all that had been promised and hoped, but she seemed nervous too, which I hadn’t expected; the tone of her email had matched the photo in confidence. We made awkward small talk—turns out she’s from the DR and English is a second language—we drank some tea,we somehow stumbled through that to the point where we were in the bedroom, still awkward, her asking, how shall we do this? (I found out later she was totally new to casual encounters, though clearly not new to sex, and it is a new thing to negotiate, that first time with someone who you’re meeting just for this)
We could kiss, I said, and we did. She was hesitant and then she wasn’t. Our lips met cautiously, then firmly, then we were inside each other together, she kissing me hard, moaning a little, and now her hands roaming over my body. I was stroking her back with one hand, moving it down to the base of her spine, while the other hand was caressing her thigh and inching the hem of her dress higher. She wasn’t nervous now; she stopped me and pulled her dress over her head, then unclipped her bra. I pulled my t-shirt over my head and took off my shorts—I knew she was there for one thing, I said, but I was hot and I was going to get hotter. She laughed and lay back, and I took the invitation to kiss her breasts, sucking on each of her nipples, flicking back and forth with my tongue. She was enjoying it; her little mmms of satisfaction were escaping without her thinking. I moved down with my mouth, exploring her belly, gently tugging down her knickers at the same time, until they were off and I was poised above her pussy (which was trimmed but not shaved). I gently lowered my mouth to the top of her labia . . .
Now, I don’t think I’m **amazing** at cunnilingus. I don’t have some magical trick. But I think a lot of men are really bad at it, so I get to look good by comparison. If you’re patient, responsive, gentle (until told otherwise) and you suck as well as lick—then you’re usually golden.
. . . so, anyways, I start slow, running my tongue slowly up and down her lips, teasing them apart gently, moving off to kiss her thighs from time to time. She’s making little sighs as I settle my mouth at the top of her labia and move my tongue between them and gently flick it over her clit. She moans slightly as I gently, slowly, rhythmically wash my tongue over it, little movements, steady, she’s moaning louder as I get a little faster and move my mouth so my lips are surrounding her clit, and then I close them round it and start to suck, and things really start going. She’s making loud, loud ahhhs sounds interspersed with interjections in Spanish, que rico, as I suck her and lick her with larger movements now, and I can feel she’s building fast and soon she’s bucking her hips into my face as she comes with another loud ahhhhh.
I hadn’t expected her to come so fast, but there was no way I was done yet, because I could tell she had more orgasms in her, and I love, love, love that feeling of controlled power as you bring your partner to the top again and again. I checked quickly to see if she was happy for more, and damn she was, so I kept going just as I had been, but alternating my tongue between strokes and whirls and quick little laps, and soon she was coming again, and again, riding a wave of orgasms and moaning so loud and her hips rising to me. She seemed to be losing control of herself almost, and I slowed down and eased off . . . but then gently asked a tactile question with two fingers, and when I got a positive response, eased them into her pussy, which was totally ready to take them. She sighed and laid back. I began moving them slowly and steadily inside her as she moved with them, and then lowered my mouth to her clit again and started sucking gently and matching the rhythm of my tongue to the rhythm of my fingers. She was moaning loud and again and thrusting her hips in time as I went going harder with my fingers, thrusting deep and cocking them to hit the back wall of her pussy as I brought them back towards me, the same insistent and harder rhythm being matched by my tongue, I could tell she was building to a big orgasm, que rico and grabbing the covers with her hands, and then she totally lost it, hips almost spasming and she’s practically screaming and I disengage and she lies on her side shaking. I mean, literally. I lie beside and kiss and spoon her as the shakes subside.
I was surprised at what came next, I can recall the words exactly: “we can have intercourse now if you like”. I hadn’t been expecting that as she was so insistent she didn’t want to, but I guess my silver tongue charmed her. So . . . we did and it was fine, the sort of fairly bland and fairly quick sex you often have the first time with a new person. We had much, much better on other occasions. The head was the thing this time.
She had to get going; she pulled her clothes on, used the bathroom, got ready to leave. She asked my name, I asked hers; she was surprised I’d used my real name to answer mail from Craigslist. And then she was gone. But I think we both realised that this was one of those happy, miraculous times where you find someone who is just made for your style and you for theirs, a perfect match, one to keep. And so she was back in touch soon, and . . . well, another time, maybe.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/gwnk5t/that_time_i_met_my_new_craigslist_fuck_buddy_and
Great story