Fun And (Phone) Games

Not every story is one of boundless bliss.  In my case most of my stories are more of sexual misadventure than they are of sexual triumph.  They’re remarkably amusing though, so I’ll share them as the mood takes me.

This story starts “I was browsing Craigslist one night”, so you already know it’s not going to end well, however… get yourself comfortable.  It’s a long one (that’s what she said).

So, I was browsing Craigslist one night and I stumbled across an advert that grabbed my attention.  The guy mentioned that it was incredibly difficult for him to meet anyone as he lived in a very insular community where movements were closely monitored.  I figured he was probably in jail, and I messaged him to find out.

As it happens he wasn’t in jail.  He was a randy Canadian on the Isle of Man, which I suppose is close enough.  His name was N, he had an upcoming flight to Liverpool booked, and he wanted to meet up with someone who only had 5 toes per foot.

We messaged a short while, we got on relatively well and he made me laugh no small amount.  We went into great detail about expectations: long weekend, turn up at the hotel Thursday night and don’t leave the room again until Monday morning, a non-stop feast of carnal pleasures, maybe occasionally throwing on a bathrobe when room service bring some sustenance but otherwise a full-on naked dirty long weekend.  We talked about how arousing it is to watch a partner masturbate, which genres of porn we most enjoy, how we would at some point enjoy watching porn and masturbating together, if we could keep our hands off each other long enough.

I liked what I’d heard and seen, so I booked the Friday and Monday off work, sacrificing two days pay.  I’d been single a while and hadn’t had sex in a couple of months; I was extremely horny and it seemed worth that cost.  I booked the hotel at the airport, and basing my numbers on a four night stay, having sex maybe once every three hours, bought 36 condoms and new batteries for my rabbit.  I figured that would probably be enough, but that we could always buy more if needed.  I did the maths.

Thursday arrived.  I went straight from work in the suit I’d been wearing all day, with my bag full of stockings and heels I can’t walk in, sex toys and condoms.  Booking myself into the hotel and putting a key behind the desk for N I texted him the room number, took a shower, dressed in some provocative lingerie and arranged myself attractively on the bed ready for his arrival.

In a move that promised great things for the weekend he arrived, took one look and started to shed his clothes.  He put a condom on and fell upon me.  I orgasm extremely quickly, intensely and frequently, so I’d already started to climax when he came after half a dozen thrusts and rolled off me.  He went to tidy himself up in the bathroom and started pulling clothes back on.  When I queried this move he said that he’d not had dinner and would like to see Liverpool.

This was news to me; having discussed a naked weekend in the room I’d not taken any clothes other than the suit I’d worn all day in work.  We compromised by going to the hotel bar, where he wanted to sit and have deep and meaningful conversation over a bar pizza.  By 2am I’d had quite enough of how everyone in his life was inferior to him but through some freak of fate was doing better than he was.  We returned to the room, I stripped alluringly down to some blindingly gorgeous 1950s-style lingerie, only to find he’d already fallen asleep on the bed.  Maybe he had jetlag from the 20 minute flight, who knows?

Friday morning I woke up to find myself alone in the room, and a text from N to say he’d walked the mile or so to the nearest Starbucks, where he was looking forward to seeing me.  Once more I dressed in Thursday’s suit, then got myself to Starbucks.  We sat there most of the day, while he told me about all the things he hated, the people who’d done him wrong, all the injustices he’d faced in his life.  We ate dinner in the garden centre on the way back to the hotel, had a very short sexual interlude and he promptly fell asleep.

Saturday followed a similar pattern; waking up to find him in Starbucks.  I wasn’t up for another recital of all the ways he’d ever been injured, so spent a couple of hours reading before heading off to join him.  OK, I was reading kindle smut.  And yes, I had my hand between my legs.  I take my fun where I can find it.

He insisted on going into Liverpool for dinner, so mid-afternoon we headed into town.  I was sick of the sight of my suit (now in its third day of wear), so the first stop was to a shop for me to buy an outfit.  Fortunately I’m a quick shopper, so fifteen minutes later I was wearing black jeans and a decent top, only for N to complain about the necessity of it.

Brushing the complaints aside I showed him some of the architecture of Liverpool (nowhere near as imposing as other cities he’d seen), the oldest building in the city centre (felt like a school canteen), some of the quirkier bars (more expensive than Wetherspoons) and a couple of my favourite cafes (not as good as Starbucks).  We had dinner in a bland chain restaurant in Liverpool One (a bête noire of mine in a city filled with unique and quirky venues), then back to the hotel.

In a change to the regularly scheduled program he stayed in the hotel bar while I went to bed, masturbated and fell asleep before he came back to the room.

I’ve never really cared for Valentine’s day, even when in a relationship, so it came as a shock when I met N in Starbucks on Sunday morning to find they were giving out free chocolates and heart-shaped cookies as it was February 14^th.  Ever the Scouser, I took them (they were free, after all), despite being in no way in the middle of some romantic scene.  Very much the contrary.

Once again we headed into town for dinner.  Quick recap: it’s Sunday night, it’s Valentine’s day, we don’t have a table booked and we’re looking for a table for two in Liverpool city centre. Yes, that was my thought too.

After knock-back after knock-back (“what name have you booked under?”, “No, no space for a walk-in”, “have you booked?”) we finally found somewhere that could fit us in if we were prepared to vacate the table inside 40 minutes in readiness for people who had actually booked.  “No problem,” says N, “we should go to a movie afterwards”.

I racked my brain trying to think where the adult movie theatre was in Liverpool.  I could think of a few strip clubs and even a swinger’s club on Wirral, but no adult movie theatre.  I was quite looking forward to it though; it struck me as excitingly seedy and I was well up for a bit of sleaze.

Of course that wasn’t the plan at all.  I found myself watching Deadpool.  It was great fun, but absolutely not what I’d expected or planned for my dirtiest of dirty long weekends.

We finally arrived back at the hotel, and I had decided to really go for it on the last night (don’t forget, I still had 34 condoms to use up).  Walking through the door I started shedding clothes, and before either of us could fall asleep or walk to Starbucks I had us both naked on the bed.  He reached for his phone as I reached for my rabbit, and I froze – in all our discussions I’d never once talked about being filmed or photographed and I wouldn’t trust anyone with explicit images of me.  Mind you, nor had I ever talked about going to the cinema so our previous discussions didn’t seem to have much bearing on the actual events.

I needn’t have worried: you can imagine my incredulity as the sound effects to Candy Crush started to play.  The particular rabbit I’d picked out is a favourite; huge and blue, it is impossible to miss and sounds like a lawnmower when the motor is running.  I fired it up and set to work, only for N to turn up the volume on his phone.  I’m not a subtle person, and I’m sufficiently noisy that nobody has ever needed to question whether I’ve had an orgasm.  I lay there writhing and moaning and putting on quite a show, and he lay next to me engrossed in Candy Crush.

Eventually I figured the random sounds of “sweet” and “delicious” were all the encouragement I was going to get, and I had the weirdest wank ever.  I did orgasm though, which is the main thing I guess.

Key learnings for me:
If you’re going to spend a couple of grand to get laid twice, hire a pro (between two days’ wages, four nights in the hotel, assorted drinks and a metric shit-tonne of coffee, the experience cost me around £2k).
Don’t spend 4 days with someone unless you know you like them
No matter what a man says, the most reliable partner in my life is my rabbit

A while back I was watching some random tosh on TV and Candy Crush was advertised.  As soon as I heard the sound effects on the advert a wave of annoyance washed over me.  I’ve always thought of Canadians as a very polite people, but there’s nothing polite about playing Candy Crush while a girl lies next to you wanking.