Jun 262015

Time was short. Circumstances were constraining.

I didn’t want to come. She did. We each got our wish.

We had corresponded for over a year, but never met. Our drink was quick.

She is pretty, sexy. Her eyes danced with nasty thoughts. Her skirt was short. It was less than an hour between when we met and when we said goodbye. She left flushed, a big smile on her face, and an appetite for more – of my tongue, of my cock. And she left me similarly hungry for more – of her mouth, of her cunt.

Circumstances haven’t conspired to give us the more we crave, so we satisfy ourselves with terminal anticipation.

Jun 262015

“Had I not met you I never would have had the chance to explore parts of myself that I never knew existed. It’s been a win win. 

Or perhaps I knew somehow that they existed but never thought I could set them free.”

Thank you, Isabel.

Jun 252015

Her denim shorts are short. Her ass emerges from beneath them in all its round fullness. Her legs are dark, tan, muscular, meaty, lavishly, if monochromatically, tattooed. She wears a black crop top, pulled taut by her C-cup breasts, also tattooed. And around her belly is some jewelry.

She presses her thigh against my elbow as I sit, placidly, next to where she stands. At first, I think it’s a mistake, her distraction as she listens to her “Beats by Dre” headphones. But as she sidles back and forth, as she presses her thigh against my arm repeatedly, in this relatively empty subway car, it becomes increasingly clear she’s taking something from me, she’s collecting sensations from my arm. I’m sitting still. My arm isn’t moving. But she’s engaged in something like a dance with it. She’s not humping it – it’s the outside, not the inside, of her thigh. But she’s visibly, unapologetically, collecting touch from me.

Across from me, a sixty-something Caribbean woman watches, a scowl on her face. Is it directed at me? At my molester? I can’t tell. I turn my eyes up, multiple times. She’s not engaging. I’m not interested, but I’m fascinated. This isn’t going any further, but I’m astonished at how far it’s gone.

Jun 252015

The vast majority of dates I’ve been on in recent years have been something like “sure things.” Between my blog and my general propensity for repeat encounters, as opposed to first dates, I generally know not just that I’m going to end up with my cock in my date’s mouth, but when, where, how, even what she’ll be wearing. (And because I’m writing about “sure things,” here’s a little glimpse into the etiology of my name, from “The Sure Thing.”)

Once in a great while, I have a first date. But even then, because of the blog, my dates generally are with women who’ve “vetted” me. They may not know what I look like visually, but they, generally, know that I make them wet, that I turn them on, that we have chemistry, and that, unless I look radically different than I’ve led them to believe, we’re going to bed together.

Shortly, though, I’ll have a date with a woman of whom none of this is true. We’ve had a few brief interactions on OKC, but they’ve not been via my blogger profile. As far as I know, she knows nothing of the existence of N. Likes. She knows a bit about me, but what she knows is circumscribed, limited. We haven’t ratcheted our interest, we haven’t established that she’ll want to do as I ask.

There’s at least a sense in which I strive very hard to avoid this very situation, as it brings with it the possibility of rejection. Rejection not just of my looks, or of chemistry (which, honestly, I can weather fairly easily), but rejection of me.

That? I find much harder.

Jun 252015

Isabel is shy.

Whenever we meet, she’s anxious. Anxious she’ll be seen by someone she knows. Anxious someone will overhear as I tell her that I can’t wait to feel her mouth on my cock. Anxious, to be honest, that someone will know what we’re up to.

On this particular evening, an unseasonably chilly evening, she wore the black cutoff shorts I’d requested. (I’d coincidentally run into her on the street just two days earlier, and I’d liked what I saw. “Wear those,” I’d said. Her ass – not small, but perfectly round and delightful – looks utterly spectacular in those cutoffs. And I wanted that.

So she walked in to the bar – a noisy yuppie place where I know the bartender. We didn’t sit immediately. All the stools were taken. I warned her that I know the bartender, that he knows about the blog. I playfully threatened to introduce her. Her self-consciousness was in full flower. She pulled her hair over her face. She was worried. Worried that he’d recognize her somehow, worried that she’d run into him some time in the future. She continued in her fear that we could be overheard, that anyone else in the place cared what we were up to, what we were about to get up to. And I continued, playfully, gently, to prick at that fear, saying the word “cock,” or “cunt”, looking at her lasciviously, appreciating, anticipating, what was to come.

After our second drink (Johnnie Walker Black for me, Jameson neat for her), we moved toward our next destination. In the cab, I told her not to look at me, to look out the window. As she did, I unbuttoned her shorts, and slid my hand down under her panties, against, into, her (very wet) pussy. I fingered her a bit as the cab moved slowly toward our destination. And as we approached, I slid my finger out, licked off her juices, and instructed her to button up. I settled with the cabbie, and we went into the hotel. I asked Isabel to wait for me, in the room, on her knees. Good girl that she is, a few minutes and a cookie later, I found her waiting as instructed.

I lifted her up and threw her on the bed. She played with herself while I tried to make the music thing happen. Not very successfully. I gave up, and dove between her legs, instead. A lovely consolation prize. I removed her shorts, and her panties, and lapped happily at her cunt. It had been a while – too long – since I’d tasted her sweet, musky pussy. I fingered her deep as I pressed my mouth against her clit. I grabbed at her full breasts, and soon, soon, she came on my face, and started writhing in giggles, as she does.

I rolled over onto my back, and invited her between my legs. “Is there something you want?” I asked.

She nodded up and down.

“What do you want?” I asked.

She pointed, coyly, at my cock.

“Say it,” I said.

She shook her head “no.”

“Yes,” I said.

We went back and forth like this. Though she had told me she wouldn’t be this shy forever on a previous date, her shyness, if anything, seems to be increasing, not decreasing, as our time together grows. She warned me that I was approaching her limit, that it was going to cease being hot for her if I continued to insist.

I continued to insist. “Tell me you want to suck my cock,” I said, “and you may, and this portion of the evening will be over.”

She said it. Quietly. So quietly I could barely hear. But she said it.

And so she did. Expertly. At great length.

There was sucking, fucking, more licking, more sucking, more fucking, more orgasms. And finally, finally, I came, gobs of come in her mouth, on her mouth, in her hair.

We lay around engaging in small talk. We cleaned ourselves up. And we were gone.

Jun 242015

I am so very grateful for Sofia. For her pretty body, for her beautiful face, and, of course, for her perfect compliance. She makes my cock hard many mornings, many afternoons, and many evenings.

Some time ago, I suggested she send me a “prompt,” something that would give me something to write about, something that I would have to write about. She came through, you may remember. (If you don’t, click here.)

Well, she’s done it again. In spades. With this short video that feels sooooooooo long – in all the best ways – to watch. To begin with, before the video even starts, there’s the screen grab of her ass in the camera that announces the video in my inbox. Her beautiful, round, full ass, making my cock hard before I press play.

In the very first moment of this little bit of spectacular hotness, you can see her luscious full lips, as she starts her laptop. Lips that it’s so easy to imagine – so hard not to imagine – wrapped around my cock for hours. And then, as she backs up, you begin to get a sense of her body, of her curves. Her tan knees, her long legs and arms, and, as she turns, her round, full, fucking delicious ass. She spreads her thighs for me, bends over, and exposes her ass, her panties, for us. She touches, teases, her thighs, her cunt, and my cock, twitching, aches – aches to slide into her, aches to be in the same room as her.

She knows what this does for me, how much I love to see her touch herself. She hikes the dress up a bit, so we can see her ass more, so we have a clearer view as she rubs her (no doubt hot, wet) pussy. You can almost feel her good feeling as she rocks back and forth, as she moves her fingers more quickly, pressing, rubbing, teasing. And she lifts her feet above the edge of the bed in pleasure, spreads her legs wider, rubs more, faster, bends over deeper, exposing herself more fully for me, for you, as she touches a bit more slowly. And then, she eases back up onto her knees, touches her pussy one more time, turns, teases her breast for just a moment, and reaches forward as she spreads her thighs again, touching herself a bit more, before she crosses her legs and brings the video to a close.


SO fucking hot. (You know what I really am looking forward to? Coming to this video, watching it while I stroke my cock, while I bring myself off to the wish that I could have 3D use of the body she so generously gives me in 2D.)

Thank you, Sofia.

Thank you.

Jun 242015

Miniskirts, tank tops, denim shorts, jogging shorts, yoga pants, sundresses, bikinis, baseball caps, sunglasses, flip-flops, bare feet. Visible thongs, visible panty lines, transparent/translucent/sheer clothing. Un/intended views.


Wicked Wednesday

Jun 232015

I remember Luna.

Her pretty, pretty face. Her pouty lips. Her perfect breasts. Her striking curves.

Her hunger for attention.

What I wouldn’t give to lavish more attention on her, to tie her, spread-eagled, to a bed once again, to press her magic wand against her clit til she’s writhing, til she’s begging for me to stop.

What I wouldn’t give to fill her mouth with my cock, to pound my cock deep into her cunt, to drive her hips as she rides me.

Oh well.

Jun 232015

We took lots of pictures on our date, but can’t share them with you here. Instead, here are some pictures Lexy sent me that represent images/concepts she wants me to bear in mind as I plan our next date together. Not because she wants these things to happen (because I will decide what will happen, thank you very much). But because seeing these images, and thinking of me, makes her pussy drip.

She sent me this:

I want…

Anything you want.

[After the jump, see what that might look like, per Lexy….]

Continue reading »

Jun 232015
  1. My most recent date with Isabel
  2. A scorchingly hot prompt from Sofia
  3. Part 2 from Lexy, in which she anticipates our next date photographically
  4. Remembering Luna‘s pretty, pretty body

All will come. I promise.