Author: mythrowawaymemories

I once dated a woman who worked as a horse rider a few towns away. She had hazel eyes, a sweet smile, spoke with an adorable accent and laughed easily and often. If I’m honest, she was the tall, brunette athletic type I caught myself dreaming of being with since I’ve been old enough to have a preference.

Our first meeting had been everything I could have hoped for – we went for a hike and got caught n the rain, it was playful, adventurous and passionate, I was obsessed.

Our relationship was only a few dates old and we lived a long drive apart, so after the wild successes of our first meetings we agreed to make the most of it the next visit and sleep over. When I arrived she greeted me at the door in black lacy lingerie and her feet didn’t touch the floor for the rest of the night.

I woke up to her curled under my arm, her head on my shoulder and her dark, silky hair tickling my neck. I kissed her forehead and she stirred, murmuring about a few more minutes rest and wound herself tighter around me like a hibernating snake. I smiled and let myself drift back to sleep as the fingers of my trapped arm traced gently over the skin of her back. Read more »

When I first met her I was newly single and still trying to find my feet again, that I stumbled into her without all my wits about me was somewhat cruel, but that’s life. I’m a sucker for strong women, we had an instant rapport and a lot of fun jousting back and forth through text, I couldn’t know what I’d gotten myself into. The best word to describe her was(and still is) fierce, a statuesque 5’10, slender but strong, busty and with a mane of flaming red hair spilling down her back – she owned herself and her sexuality utterly and loved the power that gave her.

On our first date, I had naively intended to take things slow, but after a long kiss and wandering hands, she told me, clear and cold, that if I left that night without fucking her, I was never coming back. She texted me a photo the next day of my raised handprint on her ass saying “I’ll need that again before this fades.” I had passed my test it seemed. Our sex was frequent and feral; teeth, fingernails, sweat and even a little blood were the norm. Every time she met me at the door with a look that dared me to try and break her and I obliged. I’m an athlete and I take pride in my size and stamina as a sexual partner, I was used to women tapping out, needing time to recover, or not being up to the intensity I could bring. It was the norm that I expected but I was always wrong. I had, truly, met my match. Read more »