Cathy - vanilla and BFE

For the next week or so I'm in a different city, and I'm living in my ex-wife's house and looking after my kids while she's... away. That's all you need to know. As a result, I won't be getting up to any mischief. But for the sake of continuity I'm going to write about two situations I have going at the moment. Both interesting, in their own ways. There's Oona, and there's Cathy.

I met "Cathy" (not, of course, her real name) earlier this year. She had messaged me on a fairly vanilla adult site I'm on. The profile I have on there is pretty straightforward - there's a picture of my smiling face, then a short paragraph about what I'm looking for.

She sent me a short message along the lines of "hello there.. nice profile, care to chat?". I looked at hers. No pic (which is fine), 40ish, single, looking for a bit of adventure. A very short profile and all the better for it - as I read it I thought "she's completely on the level.." and I was excited at the prospect. I'm sick of princesses. I wrote back, then another message from her, I gave her my phone number, she called up and we arranged to meet for coffee - her work sometimes takes her near my building.

What I liked about this was that it all took about 4 or 5 days from the initial message to the coffee date. She wrote in clear coherent english sentences, she seemed to know what she was doing, when we spoke on the phone she seemed organised and sensible.

So I went to meet her for coffee. She was pretty much exactly what she had described: 40ish, nice-looking, good bod. We sat for a while and talked about ourselves - she'd told me on the phone that she'd never met anyone from online before, and I wanted to impress on her that I was disturbingly normal. We sat an hour chatting, had another coffee. We were extremely compatible. We each had careers, kids, ex-spouses; we each also had little surprises for each other. I liked her a lot.

As we finished our coffee she said "so do you want to see me again?" and I said "Yes!'', quite emphatically and without a monent's hesitation, which she thought was quite amusing. We arranged to have dinner the following night.

I picked a restaurant about 15 minutes from my place and met her there. We had an excellent meal, talking all the while (while we waited for a table I took her to a cocktail bar nearby where I demonstrated to her my technique for ordering cocktails, which involves getting chummy with the bartender and then getting him to suggest or invent something for me, based on mood and general descriptions "tall", "fruity" etc. The drink, not the bartender.)

As we finished dinner I started getting a little anxious. I assumed I had to close the deal, and it's not something I'm great at. And I was a little off-balance because I liked her almost too much. I paid the check, we stood outside, she put me out of my misery by saying "so.. back to your place?". I whisked her into a cab and took her back.

As we rode back in the cab I was thinking. She hadn't said anything on her profile about what she was into, and we hadn't really discussed it. On my profile I'd ticked quite a few boxes for things like roleplay, bondage, anal, fisting, watersports and whatnot and she hadn't said anything about any of those. Maybe she hadn't read it, or she'd forgotten what a louche and perverted old thing I said I was.

When we got to my place we walked in without my turning on any lights. My place is next to a little park which is quite brightly lit and we ended up at the open window, next to each other, leaning on the sill. She told me about a study she'd once been involved with on homeless people in my neighborhood. I put my arm around her and kissed her; she stood straighter, held me and we kissed.

Two people, dark apartment, kissing.. pretty soon we were fumbling around, exploring, getting each others' clothes off. I so love that with someone new.... I took her into my bedroom and we started fucking almost immediately. And for the next few months, that's all we did. Huh? I can hear you ask... what about the fisting, the anal sex? What about the cuffs and ropes I have in the closet?

Here's the strange thing. That first night, we fucked. It was very old-fashioned. She lay there, I was on top of her. And that's it. No doing her from behind, no getting her on top... just very old-fashioned missionary position sex.

Now normally if I'm doing that my mind's racing. I'm wondering what I'm going to do next, I'm thinking about wet celery, egg-beaters, I'm wondering whether she'd like to lie down naked on a cold linoleum floor while I roll hard-boiled eggs at her (I exaggerate slightly here). I'm thinking what I can do to keep it a bit challenging for her, and to keep it interesting for me.

But with Cathy, lying on top of her, fucking her... it was perfect. I'd fuck her slowly, then quickly.. I'd fuck her for a little while with my cock only in a little bit, get her talking.. then slide it all in and watch as her eyes rolled back in her head and she lost the ability to speak... she'd come, and come again. And I was doing all this with my cock.. just me and my cock. No props, no elaborate setup.

There was some freakish combination.. we had had a very strong connection for some reason anyway, but there was some other physical thing as well, our bodies (or, more specifically our genitals) fitted together in some weirdly symbiotic way, the angle was always just right, it was very comfortable.

Like most men, I get satisfaction from doing things, and seeing that they're done well. Putting up a shelf,or assembling flat pack furniture. These small things burnish our male pride. So as I was fucking Cathy and doing such a superlative job of it (she kept coming, it was like I was controlling her with my cock) I was probably incandescent with pride and fulfilment.

She told me after we'd finished that night that it was by far the best sex she'd ever had, and that she assumed it was because of some skill that I had. I had to set her straight. "Its not me", I said, "it's something about you and me.. it's us".

We hooked up every week or so for a few months. And each time it'd be the same. Sometimes we'd have dinner, sometimes we wouldn't, but we'd always end up at my place, in my bed. She lying there on her back, me on top fucking her. And it was still the same... her nickname for me was "BFE", Best Fuck Ever. I liked it so much I used it (the acronym, not the whole fucking thing) as my handle in our office football tipping competition. The people I work with guessed what the "F" stood for.

Then I went away for a while, and when I got back she went away, and when she got back I was recovering from surgery so we didn't play for a while. I have a short attention span - wait! what's that shiny object over there! - and we had a couple more tries and I ended up telling her I had started to see someone and it was getting a bit serious so I couldn't play anymore.

She was susprised but, I think, not hugely surprised. When we first talked on the phone I'd mentioned to her something I'd recently heard about the "six-week rule". A friend had advanced the hypothesis that fuck-buddy relationships only last about six weeks before you either get bored, or too attached, or one of the parties involved peels off into a relationship. We'd joked about this a few times, but in the end it was about 12 weeks. Which, when you think about it, is pretty good.

We stay in touch, and catch up for coffee once in a while. But recently things have taken a surprising turn. Which I shall write about in our next installment....