Introducing Milica

I met Milica on Seeking. She was interested in stretching with me. I don’t any longer recall whether she reached out to me or I reached out to her, but very quickly we established a rapport. Based on her photos, I told her that I thought she looked like the porn performer Eliza Ibarra.

She was not familiar with this performer and looked her up and reported that she could see what I saw, but that Eliza Ibarra’s proportions were quite different from hers.

This all happened prior to the first time we stretched, and so I didn’t really know what she was talking about, except that her Seeking profile indicated that she stands 5’11” tall, and her screen name reflects this.

When we met, she was in a well-appointed gym with lots of exercise equipment. It wasn’t clear whether it was a small hotel or apartment building gym, or a large and fancy private home gym. It turns out it was the latter.

Milica is smart, confident, matter-of-fact.

She is slightly bratty – or maybe not so much “bratty” as strong-willed. At the same time, she has been delightfully, perfectly, compliant with my requests.

We’re moving forward slowly (or we were, when I wrote this).

I’m restraining myself, not indulging my ardor. I know of my tendency to seek too much too quickly. I know I can push a woman away when what I want is to pull her close. It wasn’t until after the second or third time that we stretched that I first heard her come for me – a seven-minute affair in which she told me she held her phone with one hand, reading my account of this evening with Charlotte, while the other hand played with her clit and slid fingers into her cunt.


We talked a bit about how she gets herself off, about her enjoyment of anal sex and of anal stimulation when she’s on her own. She told me she has several butt plugs, that for a long time she imagined anal sex would not turn her on, and she was surprised to find that she actually prefers it to other forms of sex.

As we stretched recently, her pajama top slid down as she bent over and briefly threatened to reveal a breast. I don’t recall her exact words, but as she adjusted her top to hide her breast, she made clear that the reason she didn’t want to show it to me wasn’t that she didn’t want to show it to me, but that I had not asked.

I can’t think of a hotter reason not to see a breast.

We talked a bit about the kinds of photos she likes to take, about the kinds of photos I like to receive.

We talked about my penchant for obstacles, about fishnet stockings, about the male gaze. She asked me why I think obstacles are hot in general – not why I find them hot, but why humans seem to. I theorized, pulling ideas out of my ass. Maybe, I said, it’s because if I’m going to leave my semen in your vagina, I want to have some sense that there’s not some other man’s semen already in there. That if you end up pregnant, if you have a child, it’s my child and I will be able to know that. And if I imagine that there are no obstacles to depositing my semen in your vagina, then my paternity is far less certain. We discussed whether and how this theory might apply to women appreciating obstacles.

As we ended our stretching session, I told her I would like to see her as she dressed that day. We clarified exactly what I meant, and a couple of hours passed and I still had not seen any photos. I texted her, “Are you not dressed yet?!?”

I can’t always restrain myself: I was eager, hungry. Even as I write this, I’m waiting, hungry, for two shots she’s promised me of her thighs open wide, one in panties and one in her black jeans.

In any event, she responded to my text by saying, “I just got dressed!” And that followed with several very hot photos, which made me familiar with her body in a way that the leggings and shorts and pajama top and jog bra in which I had seen her thus far had not yet made me familiar.

Her body’s pretty spectacular. I would guess her breasts are “B” cups. Her legs are insanely long. I said she stands 5’11”. I would guess fully four feet of that is legs and hips. Her ass is round and curvy. Her waist is narrow. Her hips flare out, not dramatically, but a bit. As you can see!

I’m trying to figure out her personality.

She’s simultaneously incredibly forthcoming and somewhat reserved.

She has a small roster of men with whom she has sex regularly, and she thinks herself a slut. We talked about the definition of the word, “slut.” I use the word on the banner of this blog, but I’ve come to realize that the way most people think of the word, it doesn’t really apply to me: I’m a man in my 50s. I’ve been having sex with women for most of my life. I necessarily, then, have had sex with a lot of women. I couldn’t count the number.

Does this make me a slut? I don’t think so.

I don’t think so because, for example, I’ve known the name of every woman with whom I’ve had sex (even if I can’t recall them all today). I’ve known virtually every woman with whom I’ve had sex well enough to feel that I really like her. There are very few women with whom I’ve only had sex once, and when that’s happened, it’s invariably disappointed me. A one-night stand is, if not a disaster, certainly never my goal.

Maybe I am a slut. Maybe I’m not.

Regardless, it seems that what Milica means by the word slut is someone who really likes sex and is not particularly constrained by shame or the need to situate sex within relationships.

As I write this, as I said, I’m waiting to see Milica’s crotch shot.

She’s promised me that sometime tonight or tomorrow, I’ll receive an application to my “girlfriend wanted” posting. My instructions to her were to respond in a way that communicated what turns her on about what turns me on.

I can’t fucking wait.


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