Number 42.

I grabbed his hand and lead him out of the club. We didn’t even say goodbye to the other work guys we were there with. They totally know what happened. How could they not?

Walking the short distance to mine and he started to chicken out – “I don’t know if I’ve got the balls to do this“, “What if I’m not good enough?“, “What if I can’t satisfy you?“, etc. I’d never seen this side of him before. Never, ever have I heard him doubt his ability to do anything. It was an eye-opening experience. That’s for sure.

He’s the guy I talk about in Dipping Your Pen In The Office Ink? And now he’s number 42 on my listYou can’t leave me alone for five minutes. My vagina is ruling my life. I’ve officially fucked a work colleague now. Well technically not – we don’t actually work together anymore. It was his leaving party.

The night is a blur if I’m honest. I can’t remember a lot. I remember him getting emotional and I’m sure I shed a tear or two. I do remember him moaning with pleasure as I rode his cock. I also remember the “Wow!” that escaped his lips as I slid my mouth down the length of him. His lust for me had grown for two and a half years. It was an explosive event. I made his night. From the messages he was sending on his way home after I kicked him out at 5am, it’s a night he won’t be forgetting for a while! I remember the way his hands felt on my breasts, and how hard I came to climax, gushing over his hand as he deftly brought me to orgasm. His earlier emotional outburst had been completely unjustified. I don’t know if it was the two and half years of sexual innuendos working as extended foreplay, but I’m pretty sure we both had a fabulous time.

It was just a one time thing. We both knew that. We said as much before the event actually happened. It probably wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had but I don’t regret it. I had fun. To get over someone you need to get under someone else and all that…. Right? Frivolous, passionate, sweaty, wet, loud fucking. That’s what it was.

He left with scratch marks all over his torso. I’ve got a hickey on my neck. We’re clearly fifteen years old again. How the hell am I gonna explain that? As if the guys at work needed any more reason to believe something happened.

I also think that the event itself may have turned his lust into something else. He’s been texting me all day. He’s flirting with me. It’s all winky faces and requests for round two. I wasn’t going to tell anyone but he’s not that bothered if people find out. I’m pretty sure he’s already told at least one person. I know he wants to boast about the conquest. He’s been trying for long enough. Bless him.

Of course, this all presents me with one more very large problem…. Jock. I messaged him today in my hungover, needy state. I can’t tell him. Oh god no. I want him back. I really do. I messaged him and said that I was sorry for the way it all ended. It’s an opening. We talked for a while. I’m just gonna see what happens. I don’t know what I need from him, or what exactly needs to change for us to work but I’m am prepared to give it another shot. As fun as my night of exciting sex with someone new was, I couldn’t help but pine for the hands and lips of my Beautiful Tattooed Jock. I pined for the warmth of his arms around me when I woke up in the morning.

Honestly though, I’m still in shock over my kinky one night stand. I cannot believe that happened. I’m such a slut. I had no inhibitions either. I was in control. It was my game. We were doing it my way. On the way home, halfway through his emotional breakdown, I stopped on the middle of the street, handed him my shoes, took my panties off, and placed them in his hands. I looked him right in the eyes – “We’re almost there!

Who does that? I know it was 3am and there was no one else around but seriously, who does that?! Well, me clearly. What a tramp. I didn’t feel trampy though. It felt good. I was empowered. He’s relatively inexperienced and I’m pretty good in bed. I know what I’m doing. I knew exactly how to ride him to make him feel the warmth of my pussy as it tightly clamped around his dick. I knew it was gonna rock his world and I played my role as his sock-rocker-offer flawlessly. Well, the stuff I remember all seems pretty hot anyway.

He wants to do it again. He’s made that very clear. I do too. Not regularly of course. But I don’t mind being his booty call if he’ll be mine. It’s something to assist me through my breakup. And it’s fun. Why the fuck not?

Wow. 42 guys. That’s kinda a lot. I really am a slut.

8 thoughts on “Number 42.

  1. Pingback: What’s Your Number? Updated… | Not So Sex in the City!

  2. I guess I don’t gravitate towards women who have a lot of partners…STDs turn me off so I fly straight. Sex always has strings attached, and the way I see people, you are sort of born with a certain amount light…casual sex just steals a little bit more and more until it is gone, and then you are kind of cynical about it all. Still, I’m not criticizing the number 42 😉 It’s your choice, and you really needed to do something other than your jock. You are already looking back through rose colored glasses…. You saw yourself with him…he saw himself with you…with no responsibility or committement towards the things that matter…family and kids. However nice he seems through those glasses, he will never be that guy…. Honestly, the amusement park thing, not to mention that he doesn’t come over when you need him….it really says volumes about what he is truly capable of giving you. His relationship with the step-kid and the ex…. You need to cut the rope now matter how much you miss him. I know it hurts. I have been there, and am actually kind of there now in a way… love yourself and find someone capable of being in a grown up relationship….

    • I can’t think of anything to write back to this comment. I actually agree with what you say. Don’t get me wrong. Not all of those guys were one night stands. I’m not THAT kinda gal. And you are right about Jock. Horrid state of mind right now. Total slump.

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