After our trip to the sex club I didn’t hear much from The Fisherman. In the first week that was fine because I was sick and not feeling very sexy.
In the second week it was my birthday and I was hoping for a birthday bang from him, but not counting on it because of his weird shift-work schedule. The Fisherman sent me a happy birthday message and told me he would see me very soon but was tied up with work and family activities over Easter.
In week three he told me he would be able to get Friday night off and wondered if I was going to be free. I told him I was, and would look forward to getting together to reap the benefits of our outing to the sex club. He mirrored my sentiments and I began to let go of the concern that he had got all he wanted from me with our sex club adventure.
I had hoped that we would see more of each other following the experience, but instead we were in our longest stretch yet of not seeing each other.
Friday arrived and I messaged him in the mid-afternoon asking if he was still coming over. He read the message and took a long time to reply.
“I’m having some worries at work and I’m not feeling very amorous.”
Oh for fucksake. Here we go again.
“I’m sorry to hear that, and I hope you feel better soon.”
I let go of the hope I was going to see him and started flicking through my list of saved movies and formed a new plan for the evening.
We continued chatting and soon the messages became more flirty and sexual. I teased him with promises of what I would do next time I saw him, careful not to give him the impression I was trying to change his mind for that evening.
After a short while his funk lifted and he asked if he could still come over and I agreed.
“My brother is coming over for dinner so I won’t get to you until about 10pm. Is that ok?”
I had no plans for Saturday so I agreed, realising that if he had dinner plans with his brother then he really had no intention of coming that night and had waited for me to contact him before cancelling. If we were in a relationship I would have been furious, but we aren’t. We just use each other for great sex and that is what I wanted so I let it slide.
The Fisherman arrived at 10pm as he said he would. Based on our earlier flirty conversation, I opened the door wearing just a pair of lace panties and a sheer button up shirt, with not many of the buttons done up.
“You look gorgeous” He smiled and kissed me enthusiastically in the open doorway and I hoped my neighbours were all tucked up inside at this late hour.
We sat on the sofa and cuddled and kissed. I didn’t ask him about his troubles, just telling him I was glad he decided to come over. We barely spoke about anything other than our memories of the sex club. He was here so we could revel in them and utilise them to turn each other on. So that is what we did.
I straddled him on the sofa, his face level with my barely covered breasts, hard nipples tickled by the sheer fabric of my shirt, his hands on my hips, snaking their way over my lace covered cheeks, squeezing and massaging my protruding ass.
We kissed and whispered our desires to one another until I stood up between his knees. I dropped a cushion on to the floor and knelt down on it, unzipped his jeans and took his lovely hard cock into my mouth, looking up at him the way I know he likes.
After a while he motioned for me to rise to my feet and we stripped each other naked by my window before he led me to the bedroom.
For the next few hours we did everything we could to please each other. The Fisherman took me to the edge of orgasm over and over, demanding that I tell him if I was going to come so he could stop and prolong the pleasure. It was extraordinary and I never wanted it to end. Over and over and over, I approached the cresting waves of climax before he pulled me back. Finally he entered my tingling body and the waves exploded all through me like a tsunami. My breath escaped me and I panted desperately while my vision blurred and the room swam around me. It was one of the most intense orgasms of my life.
And after a few minutes of lying together across the bed, he did it again.
We fell asleep for a little while afterwards and when he stirred I invited him to stay over. It was 2am and he was obviously very tired. I knew it meant I wouldn’t sleep well but it would be nice to have him there. The Fisherman was adamant he had to leave at 7am, and I assured him I didn’t mind, so he set his alarm and we drifted off spooned together.
As the sun rose, his alarm went off and he quickly turned it off and rolled over to kiss me sleepily. I expected him to get straight up and shower and go, but instead his hands began to wander and he took one of mine, placing it in his rock hard cock. I wordlessly stroked it, softly and teasingly, while his fingers caressed my ravaged pussy. We kissed in the soft morning light until we could both stand it no longer. The Fisherman climbed on top of me and we fucked in all our messy, sticky, early morning glory.
Since I saw him last Friday night I have been overwhelmed with feelings of hopelessness. Once again, I feel like I am not destined for love and true partnership. What I have with The Fisherman is fantastic but it will never be love, and when I gird my loins and open the dating apps hoping to find something more conventional, I am routinely disappointed with what I find.
I don’t feel like I have another option other than being by myself for the remainder of my life. Very-fucking-fortunately I am comfortable in my own company, because I have spent many of my recent days alone, not speaking to a soul who wasn’t a shop assistant. I despair at the men I find and their unfailing desire for “nothing serious.”
Life is fucking serious, buddy, and you only get one shot. Do you all really want to be alone for your whole lives? Do you think fucking a lot of people is better than being truly intimate with someone who thinks you are worth their time?
I can’t even look anymore. It just makes me sad.