My Dearest Casual Encounter,
We met on Plentyoffish. You were the one with the sensual, alluring title – “Ram your **** inside me and spurt your hot load!”. I knew you were the one for me by the way you typed in ALL CAPS and listed enough conditions to make a contact attorney proud. Your policies of “FACE PICT *ONLY*! NO **** SHOTS!” and “NASTY, OLD PERVERTS NEED NOT APPLY!” really resonated with me. And you chose me. of the 357 responses you received, you chose mine. I like to think it was my charm, wit, and carefully crafted prose. That or the Abercrombie and Fitch model I chose for “my” picture.
We both were in relationships, but we needed something more. We needed each other, if only for that one afternoon. So I took off work early. Wasn’t feeling well; going home to rest. You just left a note on the counter – “out shopping”. Why wouldn’t he believe that?
I lust you, but I don’t trust you. I can’t let you know where I live. You don’t care, but he could be home any minute. And I certainly wouldn’t want to be around for that. Motels are so cliché. (OK, really we’re cheap.) Besides, wouldn’t it be totally hot to do it outside, totally exposed to the whole world? I’d never done such a thing before. Neither had you.
So we met at the park at 4. The sun was just starting to go down. The light though the trees was sublime. You in your easy-access summer dress. The shine of your hair. The look in your eye. I wanted you. I needed you. I simply had to have you.
But where? Had to be close. No time to wander around when sex is imminent. Somewhere out of the way. Others can’t see. Up that hill. In the trees. Underbrush all around. I pull it aside for you as we make our slow progress trystward. You do the same for me. Then an opening. Nestled into a copse. Surrounded by scrub brush. Perfect.
The blanket goes down and 3 seconds later your tongue is in my mouth. So warm. So soft. So wet. I can no longer think. All the blood is in my cock. I reach my hand down your pants. It’s like my toiletry kit fresh out of Miami baggage claim – a hot, wet, sticky mess. You moan and I’m inspired to keep going. First one, then two fingers. Thumb on your clit. It’s not long be you’re there. I keep kissing you the whole time, but really I’m staring at your face. At the look of pure pleasure. Then you go silent. Your body tenses and arches and I can feel the intense contractions inside you.
You reach for me and I’m ready, clothes off in 6 seconds. After witnessing your performance, I’m already close. Really close. You stroke me. You lick me, and less than a minute later I black out for the longest 5 seconds of my life.
Back into focus, and my gaze lands upon your face. We exchange an awkward look, like we’re back in high school and aren’t sure what to make of all this. You pull your hand back looking with concern at the mess on it. I pull out a Kleenex and push it at you while I use another to deftly wipe off my stomach.
Nothing left to say, so I get up and start putting on my clothes. You pick up the blanket. I make one last effort on the way back to the cars; I gently brush the cruft out of the back of your hair. You turn half-way toward me and give me a tight-lipped smirk.
That was yesterday. Today I am itchy. And swollen. I have splotchy rashes on my body But my cock is the worst. It’s bright red, raw, and about 50% bigger than normal. Now I know the secret of those spammers who claim to increase your girth – poison oak.
I’m sorry, Casual Encounter girl. Sorry if I got poison oak on you like you did to me. Or worse, in you. I’d like to say it was worth it, but I can’t. Not now. Maybe in a few days this will be more funny than painful. I hope so. But I do know that next time, we’re splitting the cost of the motel.