Lida and I had a smoking hot date.

There were a couple of elements that were less than smoking hot – most notably, the chaste kiss hello and good-bye. Were these indications that she wasn’t into me? That the chemistry I felt wasn’t reciprocated? Or were they something else? Something having to do with the passage from fantastical into real? Or simply the fact of our being in a public place? I didn’t over-interrogate these questions. Our conversation was hot. She did, after all, remove her panties for me, and she did, after all, tell me she would suck my cock just a few days hence.

And in the hours following, she sent me her next orgasm. I can’t even count how many times she came for me in the very few days between when we first corresponded and this last one, sent less than two hours after we’d said good-bye.

But I knew something was off. And she confirmed this, just a day later, when she told me that somehow, the excitement she’d felt, we’d both felt, prior to meeting hadn’t survived our meeting in person. Was she sparing my ego by giving me an explanation that had nothing to do with chemistry, one that was all about the dynamics of transitioning from fantastical to real? I can’t, honestly, know. What she told me was that, somehow, once the fact of my drenching her cunt was no longer “private,” “secret,” now that we had seen one another, had been seen with one another, the compulsion she’d previously felt to suck my cock had diminished.

I had ideas. Ways we could re-emphasize the secret elements. Ways we could step back from the “public.” We wouldn’t speak. I would tell her what to do at a distance. She would wait for me. Or I would wait for her. Wordlessly, we would consummate the fantasies I’d been hatching for days.

I could share them all with you, but you could, honestly, guess them. You’ve read enough here to know what I like, how I get off on the tension between the public and the private, the shared and the secret.

Anyway, the bottom line is this: I will not, it seems, feel her mouth on my cock. She will not feel my tongue on her clit. And as sweet as they smell, I have no use for her panties. I’d planned to return them. But it seems I won’t get the chance. What does a boy do with a pair of panties he won’t have the chance to return? When I was younger, I actually had a collection. Nowadays, I don’t. I found myself simply disposing of them.


Shame, that. I’m kinda heartbroken. I haven’t entirely given up. I have at least a little hope that she may yet change her mind, that she may yet decide that what I have to offer is compelling. But it’s just a little hope… Not much.

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