Montreal: LR: Crazy Francophone Sex
8/08/05
Saturday July 30th… This post details my first SDL in Montreal. The experience was both very challenging and very rewarding. We’ll call this 22 year old HBfrancofolies. The prevalent theme here is persistence.
I’ve encountered a couple people that assert that Québécoise (French-Canadian) girls are “easy.” In my experience so far, I disagree. I’ve had plenty of girls not open up whatsoever and I’ve lost plenty due to ASD or bad logistics. However, I offer the following observations on Montreal:
--PDA (including girl-girl PDA) seems a little more socially permissible.
--I’ve noticed a disproportionate amount of hot chicks with ugly guys.
--Prostitution and ‘contact’ strip bars and sex shops are commonplace.
--The city is huge; there’s a lot of intermingled cultures and festivals every summer night.
It really appears to be a laid-back chill kinda place that seems remarkably socially tolerant. One of the first things I tell new people I meet is that everyone I have met so far has been really kind, open, receptive, and responsive. I believe it sets the stage for them to be the same. A few more observations:
--Québécoise girls respond to me in spite of the fact that I am American, certainly not because of it.
--Francophone girls respond to me in spite of the fact that I speak no French, not because of it. (In fact, it downright annoys some to have to speak English.)
--Speaking English in addition to French is a matter of attaining a proper education. It has been explained to me by several people that the francophone have resentment for going to a poor school or for having not done well in school to be truly bilingual.
--Quebec has its own sense of regional pride. The Québécoise express disdain for the United States, as well as other Canadian province, especially Ontario. And also the “from-France” French.
--Quebec has its own laws (including those enforced by “language police”), customs, music, cuisine etc, etc.
--Virtually no one can tell you how many states are in the US or how many provinces are in Canada. No one cares.
--Monday, one day shy of three weeks in Montreal, I officially lost my tourist-aura; three people asked me for directions. As such, my stories as a visitor are much less potent.
So what about the fucking lay report?!? Onward…
I’m at this street festival called FrancoFolies. It’s a huge free event that features seven stages of francophone musicians. Very diverse crowd. Very crowded. Very loud.
I’m watching this French hip-hop group end their set. I pass behind the stage (it’s in the street) to avoid the crowd at the front and make my way to a different area. I notice that there are actually young teenage girls with little autograph books waiting. A few meters away there is a really cute blonde standing alone at the side of the stage. Average height, average attire, fit body, but her face is really super beautiful. I notice she has a laminate around her neck.
“Hey are you waiting to get an autograph? Are you a groupie?” She misunderstands. She’s telling me to go behind the stage if I want an autograph. I drop the thread. “Hey what’s this for?” I grab her laminate. “What’s your role in all this?” She tells me to speak French. I tell her that it’s International English Day and everyone worldwide is speaking English today and she can go back to French tomorrow.
You know how Mystery says that the most important state to be in is talkative? And Juggler says that you have to be willing to carry 90% of the conversation in the beginning? Well, it’s not always the case. But with the francophone, I think it’s mostly necessary—and I just keep talking. I’m telling her how much I like the city and how nice everyone is and how it’s so nice to have stumbled upon this festival and how I need a tour guide and a French teacher.
Finally she asks where I am from. Finally she tells me that she works for the record label that handles the rap group that we just saw. So you do know some English, you bad girl. She tells me that she has to go meet someone at another stage. I’m like, “Cool. What band? Are they any good? I’ll go with you. What a beautiful night…” Blah blah blah… We walk to the other stage. She asks my name and we shake hands. I tell her to spin and she’s reluctant. I tell her to lighten up and smile.
HB: “Look, I’ll hang out with you. But this isn’t going to go where you want it to go. I have a boyfriend.”
GS: “Cool. Don’t make assumptions. I’m just here to smile and laugh and enjoy the moment. That’s it. Be nice and I’ll treat you to the captivating company of a perfect stranger. Hey, you going to the fireworks competition? I was about to go to the Old Port…”
HB: “I know a better spot. We’ll have to take the Metro though.”
GS: “Okay, but if we miss the fireworks, I’ll be so disappointed and I’ll go find a new best friend. Hey, what’s ‘fireworks’ in French?”
Honestly, at this point, I think it’s a loss. She’s really standoffish with her arms crossed and such. I figured we would separate once we got to the vicinity of the fireworks, where I wanted to mingle anyway. But I still get this oh-so-slight vibe of interest even though her demeanor changes not at all. Damn she’s cute. And this poker face is so alluring.
And she asks me if I have ever had a Queque de Castor (Beaver’s Tail). It’s a flat deep-fiend pastry topped with cinnamon and lemon juice (or other confections). I have not had one, but they have been recommended to me. She tells me that she is addicted to them. So we stop walking and I thought she was going to order one and give me a bite. But she orders two. Cool. I thank her for being such a sweetie and I give her a big hug.
We eat our snack and head to the Metro. On the train, I just keep conversation light and playful and I continue smiling at her. I ask her words in French, which gives her a chance to correct me and make fun of me. We get to Papineau and “it looks like everyone knows about your secret spot.” The sortie for the station is so densely packed with everyone coming to watch the last night of the Fireworks Competition.
I extend my hand to her. She shakes her head and says, “No.” I grab her hand and lean in and say, “So we don’t get separated.” I’m holding her hand and I initiate a little light finger rubbing. It is not returned. But she continues to hold my hand after we are out of the crowd. The whole area is chockablock. I casually let her hand fall.
We sit and chat a little. She’s frustrated that I can’t speak any French. The fireworks begin and the crowd falls silent. It’s a half hour show. At one point I take her hand and put it on my knee. She pulls it away, “Why is it so important to you?” I say, “Because it’s fun and it makes you feel good. This isn’t going anywhere, so we might as well be close for the few minutes that we are together. Just pretend.” I take her hand again and give her a big grin.
I hold her hand between both of mine. I look to the sky, not at her. The show is amazing. I start, ever so lightly, rubbing my finger in circles across her hand. Slowly building in pressure and variance. When I stop--what do you know--she’s ever-so-lightly rubbing my hand.
After the show, I spin her and hug her and thank her for showing me such a wonderful spot. We walk to a Depanneur to get some water. “What next?” I ask if she wants to get a beer or a coffee. She says she just wants to sit and talk. It’s Saturday night and people are everywhere and she wants to get out of the crowd. I ask if she knows of a little park. We walk to one she knows of and it is blocked off for the night. I lead her to this concrete railing big enough for us to sit upon.
Oh yeah, right before this, there was another point where I almost walked away:
HB: “Don’t touch me. I told you I have a boyfriend.”
GS: “Sure, okay. I only have a couple days to enjoy the excitement and energy of this city. You seem pretty cool and I’d like for you to just relax and show a little enthusiasm in these moments that we have together. There is nothing that I expect from you except that we just show each other mutual respect and, you know, smile and laugh. Like this!”
HB: “I don’t really care. I could be all like this flirty tour guide of yours and say ‘Look at this! Look at this!’ but I don’t feel like it. I don’t feel comfortable with you.”
GS: “No problem. I’m sure you are tired, we can talk, or maybe I should go off and find someone with a littler more enthusiasm and energy. I rather enjoy your company and your perspective on things, but I’m only here a couple more days…maybe we can do something tomorrow. Do you have email?”
HB: “This isn’t fun anymore. I have to go.”
GS: “Sure, let’s just sit down and talk for a minute…”
So we sit on the concrete railing and talk. I tell her that she seems a lot different than me and that we butt heads too much. Bu if we had like a whole day to just focus on getting to know each other we’d be the kind of people who align their energies and just “get” each other and we’d be best friends. “Hey let me show you this cool visualization exercise. Once I tell you the secret it will be something you’ll want to share with all your friends. Most of all it will let me know of you are the kind of person I’d really enjoy spending time with…” So I introduce her to The Cube. Spot on.
I love when you’re with a woman and you can see the transformation taking place. Like the walls, the barriers are just melting away. She’s laughing more, she more open and expressive, she’s more receptive to touch. I love that.
So we continue talking and I ask some fun questions. She’s comfortable holding my hand. I feel its time to kiss her. I go in and it is eagerly accepted. Devoured.
Suddenly things are comfortable and fun. I spin her and tickle her and we kiss some more. We talk about getting a drink or bungee jumping off the Olympic Stadium. We walk hand in hand. It’s midnight and the Metro will close soon. I find out that she can drive and that she has a car (kinda rare here). So I say, for us to hang out, we either have to get my car and drive downtown or go get your car and drive downtown. Or we’ll be stuck until the subway opens in the morning. We look at the Metro map and decide to get my car. We sit outside the Metro and hold each other and chat.
She’s close but she’s still telling me how she has a boyfriend and she lives with him and she can’t do anything with me and she knows she is passing up an opportunity. I just smile and nod. She goes on to tell me that she wishes it didn’t have to be that way…she wishes that we didn’t have to be so exclusive and monogamous. I say “It doesn’t have to be that way; you just ended up with someone who’s not me. I would have so much to teach someone as open and adventurous as you. It really is too bad I can’t let this happen.” (Notice that I act as if it is not going to happen for my reasons.)
So I talk about how I screen women for good energy and intelligence and high self esteem with The Cube and questions that I ask. I talk about how for the right woman, I provide fairytale romance. I put her on a pedestal and treat her like a queen. I tell her that even if out time together is short, she will be adored and fulfilled beyond her dreams. She tells me that she knows she is missing something, but she just can’t. Okay. She tells me that her relationship with her boyfriend was open and rewarding long ago, but now they are in a lease together and he’s the jealous type, etc. She also tells me that she has been with women and I ask her what she finds sexy about women.
I tell her that there is someone she has to meet. I tell her about this gorgeous and passionate woman that will just love her. And even though I will be gone and never get to see this, I will put them in touch because I know they will enjoy each other. I’m trying to get her to accept the idea of cheating—just not with me. (Another woman—that doesn’t count, right?) I borrow her phone and call HBcafe.
GS: “Hey sweetheart, I have someone I’d like you to meet…”
HB: “Is it a girl?”
GS: “Mmmhmmm…and she’s absolutely adorable. I could just eat her up she’s so gorgeous. You will like her. She’s so breathtaking and passionate and she’s an amazing kisser.”
Anyway, I’m stroking HBfrancofolies face and kissing her while I talk to HBcafe. She tells me that she is already drinking, is going to get hammered, and can’t meet us. But she tells me to have fun and come see her one last time on Sunday. I agree. Meanwhile, HBfrancofolies reminds me that we have to rush and catch the last Metro. Okay.
So there was a minute of deliberation and she talked herself out of going to my station to get my vehicle. Okay, I’ll come with you. There’s still hesitation. “We’ll go get your car and drive back downtown and have a drink. All in casual fun. Don’t you have a CD that you want to give me?”
So we get to her place. Nice loft apartment, kinda messy. She gives me about ten promo CDs. We kiss a few times and share a Corona. She plays some music and shows me the hammock on her terrace. When I try to take things beyond kissing, she says, “No. I told you it wasn’t going to happen. I have to drive you home now.”
“Okay cool, what do you want to listen to on the ride? Pick out a good CD.” I know it seems like I got rejected. But somehow I’m thinking…she just doesn’t want it here; it’s his place too… when we get to my wheel estate, I have home-court advantage. It’s ON.
So we drive across the city. We’re just talking about music and travel and such. I have her park next to the van. I hop out and pull my computer out of the van and I tell her I am going to show her some pictures. I show her a few shots outside the van, and then, noticing that it is lightly raining, I invite her to come into the van.
Of course she thinks it is cozy. She divulges that for like a year she crashed at the apartments of different friends while all her belongings were kept in her car. A little different than my story, but relative. I like her openness now. So I show her a few pictures and close the computer with some Bonobo running.
I pull her close and we proceed to make out. She reminds me that she can’t do anything even though she really wants to. She says I am “cute” and that she knows it would be really amazing. Okay, cool. Now is the time that I break into sensual talk. Seemed wise to save it until I could get her close and in isolation. We’re lying down with our limbs intertwined. I’m whispering in her ear. Themes of sensuality and desire and arousal. I describe how aroused I know that I have her and how I can tell she is wet without touching her.
We’re kissing and caressing each other and I’m not blocked reaching into her jeans. Of course she is soaked and I tell her so. She reminds me of the boyfriend one more time. I say, “At this point there are only two options, either you leave him for more fulfilling options or you allow yourself this intense, passionate, juicy secret that you’ll remember and cherish for the rest of your life.” I slide my finger deep inside her and whisper, “I want to taste you…”
“Do you have a condom?” This was actually unexpected. I said, “Of course…I wouldn’t have you any other way…but, right now, I just want to taste you.” So we rip each other’s clothes off and I tease her while she is literally begging for cock. “I want you in me…I want you in me…now…”
She says, “Don’t you leave a trace of this on me.” And it was wild. Very intense, thrashing about kind of sex. She was quite verbal and obscene, which I like. “This is so fucking amazing…I love the way you fuck me…” alternating with a few French expressions.
When we were done, she dressed, then drove away with this devilish grin.
Love Life. GoneSavage
Saturday July 30th… This post details my first SDL in Montreal. The experience was both very challenging and very rewarding. We’ll call this 22 year old HBfrancofolies. The prevalent theme here is persistence.
I’ve encountered a couple people that assert that Québécoise (French-Canadian) girls are “easy.” In my experience so far, I disagree. I’ve had plenty of girls not open up whatsoever and I’ve lost plenty due to ASD or bad logistics. However, I offer the following observations on Montreal:
--PDA (including girl-girl PDA) seems a little more socially permissible.
--I’ve noticed a disproportionate amount of hot chicks with ugly guys.
--Prostitution and ‘contact’ strip bars and sex shops are commonplace.
--The city is huge; there’s a lot of intermingled cultures and festivals every summer night.
It really appears to be a laid-back chill kinda place that seems remarkably socially tolerant. One of the first things I tell new people I meet is that everyone I have met so far has been really kind, open, receptive, and responsive. I believe it sets the stage for them to be the same. A few more observations:
--Québécoise girls respond to me in spite of the fact that I am American, certainly not because of it.
--Francophone girls respond to me in spite of the fact that I speak no French, not because of it. (In fact, it downright annoys some to have to speak English.)
--Speaking English in addition to French is a matter of attaining a proper education. It has been explained to me by several people that the francophone have resentment for going to a poor school or for having not done well in school to be truly bilingual.
--Quebec has its own sense of regional pride. The Québécoise express disdain for the United States, as well as other Canadian province, especially Ontario. And also the “from-France” French.
--Quebec has its own laws (including those enforced by “language police”), customs, music, cuisine etc, etc.
--Virtually no one can tell you how many states are in the US or how many provinces are in Canada. No one cares.
--Monday, one day shy of three weeks in Montreal, I officially lost my tourist-aura; three people asked me for directions. As such, my stories as a visitor are much less potent.
So what about the fucking lay report?!? Onward…
I’m at this street festival called FrancoFolies. It’s a huge free event that features seven stages of francophone musicians. Very diverse crowd. Very crowded. Very loud.
I’m watching this French hip-hop group end their set. I pass behind the stage (it’s in the street) to avoid the crowd at the front and make my way to a different area. I notice that there are actually young teenage girls with little autograph books waiting. A few meters away there is a really cute blonde standing alone at the side of the stage. Average height, average attire, fit body, but her face is really super beautiful. I notice she has a laminate around her neck.
“Hey are you waiting to get an autograph? Are you a groupie?” She misunderstands. She’s telling me to go behind the stage if I want an autograph. I drop the thread. “Hey what’s this for?” I grab her laminate. “What’s your role in all this?” She tells me to speak French. I tell her that it’s International English Day and everyone worldwide is speaking English today and she can go back to French tomorrow.
You know how Mystery says that the most important state to be in is talkative? And Juggler says that you have to be willing to carry 90% of the conversation in the beginning? Well, it’s not always the case. But with the francophone, I think it’s mostly necessary—and I just keep talking. I’m telling her how much I like the city and how nice everyone is and how it’s so nice to have stumbled upon this festival and how I need a tour guide and a French teacher.
Finally she asks where I am from. Finally she tells me that she works for the record label that handles the rap group that we just saw. So you do know some English, you bad girl. She tells me that she has to go meet someone at another stage. I’m like, “Cool. What band? Are they any good? I’ll go with you. What a beautiful night…” Blah blah blah… We walk to the other stage. She asks my name and we shake hands. I tell her to spin and she’s reluctant. I tell her to lighten up and smile.
HB: “Look, I’ll hang out with you. But this isn’t going to go where you want it to go. I have a boyfriend.”
GS: “Cool. Don’t make assumptions. I’m just here to smile and laugh and enjoy the moment. That’s it. Be nice and I’ll treat you to the captivating company of a perfect stranger. Hey, you going to the fireworks competition? I was about to go to the Old Port…”
HB: “I know a better spot. We’ll have to take the Metro though.”
GS: “Okay, but if we miss the fireworks, I’ll be so disappointed and I’ll go find a new best friend. Hey, what’s ‘fireworks’ in French?”
Honestly, at this point, I think it’s a loss. She’s really standoffish with her arms crossed and such. I figured we would separate once we got to the vicinity of the fireworks, where I wanted to mingle anyway. But I still get this oh-so-slight vibe of interest even though her demeanor changes not at all. Damn she’s cute. And this poker face is so alluring.
And she asks me if I have ever had a Queque de Castor (Beaver’s Tail). It’s a flat deep-fiend pastry topped with cinnamon and lemon juice (or other confections). I have not had one, but they have been recommended to me. She tells me that she is addicted to them. So we stop walking and I thought she was going to order one and give me a bite. But she orders two. Cool. I thank her for being such a sweetie and I give her a big hug.
We eat our snack and head to the Metro. On the train, I just keep conversation light and playful and I continue smiling at her. I ask her words in French, which gives her a chance to correct me and make fun of me. We get to Papineau and “it looks like everyone knows about your secret spot.” The sortie for the station is so densely packed with everyone coming to watch the last night of the Fireworks Competition.
I extend my hand to her. She shakes her head and says, “No.” I grab her hand and lean in and say, “So we don’t get separated.” I’m holding her hand and I initiate a little light finger rubbing. It is not returned. But she continues to hold my hand after we are out of the crowd. The whole area is chockablock. I casually let her hand fall.
We sit and chat a little. She’s frustrated that I can’t speak any French. The fireworks begin and the crowd falls silent. It’s a half hour show. At one point I take her hand and put it on my knee. She pulls it away, “Why is it so important to you?” I say, “Because it’s fun and it makes you feel good. This isn’t going anywhere, so we might as well be close for the few minutes that we are together. Just pretend.” I take her hand again and give her a big grin.
I hold her hand between both of mine. I look to the sky, not at her. The show is amazing. I start, ever so lightly, rubbing my finger in circles across her hand. Slowly building in pressure and variance. When I stop--what do you know--she’s ever-so-lightly rubbing my hand.
After the show, I spin her and hug her and thank her for showing me such a wonderful spot. We walk to a Depanneur to get some water. “What next?” I ask if she wants to get a beer or a coffee. She says she just wants to sit and talk. It’s Saturday night and people are everywhere and she wants to get out of the crowd. I ask if she knows of a little park. We walk to one she knows of and it is blocked off for the night. I lead her to this concrete railing big enough for us to sit upon.
Oh yeah, right before this, there was another point where I almost walked away:
HB: “Don’t touch me. I told you I have a boyfriend.”
GS: “Sure, okay. I only have a couple days to enjoy the excitement and energy of this city. You seem pretty cool and I’d like for you to just relax and show a little enthusiasm in these moments that we have together. There is nothing that I expect from you except that we just show each other mutual respect and, you know, smile and laugh. Like this!”
HB: “I don’t really care. I could be all like this flirty tour guide of yours and say ‘Look at this! Look at this!’ but I don’t feel like it. I don’t feel comfortable with you.”
GS: “No problem. I’m sure you are tired, we can talk, or maybe I should go off and find someone with a littler more enthusiasm and energy. I rather enjoy your company and your perspective on things, but I’m only here a couple more days…maybe we can do something tomorrow. Do you have email?”
HB: “This isn’t fun anymore. I have to go.”
GS: “Sure, let’s just sit down and talk for a minute…”
So we sit on the concrete railing and talk. I tell her that she seems a lot different than me and that we butt heads too much. Bu if we had like a whole day to just focus on getting to know each other we’d be the kind of people who align their energies and just “get” each other and we’d be best friends. “Hey let me show you this cool visualization exercise. Once I tell you the secret it will be something you’ll want to share with all your friends. Most of all it will let me know of you are the kind of person I’d really enjoy spending time with…” So I introduce her to The Cube. Spot on.
I love when you’re with a woman and you can see the transformation taking place. Like the walls, the barriers are just melting away. She’s laughing more, she more open and expressive, she’s more receptive to touch. I love that.
So we continue talking and I ask some fun questions. She’s comfortable holding my hand. I feel its time to kiss her. I go in and it is eagerly accepted. Devoured.
Suddenly things are comfortable and fun. I spin her and tickle her and we kiss some more. We talk about getting a drink or bungee jumping off the Olympic Stadium. We walk hand in hand. It’s midnight and the Metro will close soon. I find out that she can drive and that she has a car (kinda rare here). So I say, for us to hang out, we either have to get my car and drive downtown or go get your car and drive downtown. Or we’ll be stuck until the subway opens in the morning. We look at the Metro map and decide to get my car. We sit outside the Metro and hold each other and chat.
She’s close but she’s still telling me how she has a boyfriend and she lives with him and she can’t do anything with me and she knows she is passing up an opportunity. I just smile and nod. She goes on to tell me that she wishes it didn’t have to be that way…she wishes that we didn’t have to be so exclusive and monogamous. I say “It doesn’t have to be that way; you just ended up with someone who’s not me. I would have so much to teach someone as open and adventurous as you. It really is too bad I can’t let this happen.” (Notice that I act as if it is not going to happen for my reasons.)
So I talk about how I screen women for good energy and intelligence and high self esteem with The Cube and questions that I ask. I talk about how for the right woman, I provide fairytale romance. I put her on a pedestal and treat her like a queen. I tell her that even if out time together is short, she will be adored and fulfilled beyond her dreams. She tells me that she knows she is missing something, but she just can’t. Okay. She tells me that her relationship with her boyfriend was open and rewarding long ago, but now they are in a lease together and he’s the jealous type, etc. She also tells me that she has been with women and I ask her what she finds sexy about women.
I tell her that there is someone she has to meet. I tell her about this gorgeous and passionate woman that will just love her. And even though I will be gone and never get to see this, I will put them in touch because I know they will enjoy each other. I’m trying to get her to accept the idea of cheating—just not with me. (Another woman—that doesn’t count, right?) I borrow her phone and call HBcafe.
GS: “Hey sweetheart, I have someone I’d like you to meet…”
HB: “Is it a girl?”
GS: “Mmmhmmm…and she’s absolutely adorable. I could just eat her up she’s so gorgeous. You will like her. She’s so breathtaking and passionate and she’s an amazing kisser.”
Anyway, I’m stroking HBfrancofolies face and kissing her while I talk to HBcafe. She tells me that she is already drinking, is going to get hammered, and can’t meet us. But she tells me to have fun and come see her one last time on Sunday. I agree. Meanwhile, HBfrancofolies reminds me that we have to rush and catch the last Metro. Okay.
So there was a minute of deliberation and she talked herself out of going to my station to get my vehicle. Okay, I’ll come with you. There’s still hesitation. “We’ll go get your car and drive back downtown and have a drink. All in casual fun. Don’t you have a CD that you want to give me?”
So we get to her place. Nice loft apartment, kinda messy. She gives me about ten promo CDs. We kiss a few times and share a Corona. She plays some music and shows me the hammock on her terrace. When I try to take things beyond kissing, she says, “No. I told you it wasn’t going to happen. I have to drive you home now.”
“Okay cool, what do you want to listen to on the ride? Pick out a good CD.” I know it seems like I got rejected. But somehow I’m thinking…she just doesn’t want it here; it’s his place too… when we get to my wheel estate, I have home-court advantage. It’s ON.
So we drive across the city. We’re just talking about music and travel and such. I have her park next to the van. I hop out and pull my computer out of the van and I tell her I am going to show her some pictures. I show her a few shots outside the van, and then, noticing that it is lightly raining, I invite her to come into the van.
Of course she thinks it is cozy. She divulges that for like a year she crashed at the apartments of different friends while all her belongings were kept in her car. A little different than my story, but relative. I like her openness now. So I show her a few pictures and close the computer with some Bonobo running.
I pull her close and we proceed to make out. She reminds me that she can’t do anything even though she really wants to. She says I am “cute” and that she knows it would be really amazing. Okay, cool. Now is the time that I break into sensual talk. Seemed wise to save it until I could get her close and in isolation. We’re lying down with our limbs intertwined. I’m whispering in her ear. Themes of sensuality and desire and arousal. I describe how aroused I know that I have her and how I can tell she is wet without touching her.
We’re kissing and caressing each other and I’m not blocked reaching into her jeans. Of course she is soaked and I tell her so. She reminds me of the boyfriend one more time. I say, “At this point there are only two options, either you leave him for more fulfilling options or you allow yourself this intense, passionate, juicy secret that you’ll remember and cherish for the rest of your life.” I slide my finger deep inside her and whisper, “I want to taste you…”
“Do you have a condom?” This was actually unexpected. I said, “Of course…I wouldn’t have you any other way…but, right now, I just want to taste you.” So we rip each other’s clothes off and I tease her while she is literally begging for cock. “I want you in me…I want you in me…now…”
She says, “Don’t you leave a trace of this on me.” And it was wild. Very intense, thrashing about kind of sex. She was quite verbal and obscene, which I like. “This is so fucking amazing…I love the way you fuck me…” alternating with a few French expressions.
When we were done, she dressed, then drove away with this devilish grin.
Love Life. GoneSavage
posted by lcf1976 at Tuesday, November 29, 2005
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