Tonight I am seeing Yacht Boy for dinner, followed by music.

I look forward to it, as I haven't seen him in over 2 weeks. A weekend work commitment prevented me from joining his latest sailing adventure (the weekend before was spent with his parents), and I will be away again this weekend, so I am grasping the little time we can spend together with both hands.

Irritatingly, a friend of mine wants to crash on my sofa this evening... I don't know why I keep doing people these sort of favours! I told him I will send him a big invoice soon, and I will. This is a personal favour, and he is a great person to know, but work and personal favours keep blending into one and I feel torn with the constant demands.

I will just have to drop into the conversation with Yacht Boy that the Friend is gay. He is, but he acts straight.

Anyway, they will most likely never meet- YB lives in the depths of South London, and I am not sure I will get the time to tidy up my pad this evening... I am just hoping for divine intervention which will prevent the Friend from taking advantage of my offer!

I have realised that the most important factor when it comes to me fancying someone, wanting to spend time with them and eventually falling in love with them is attention.

KB wasn't my type physically (although he did have very pretty eyes), but he was reliable, went the extra mile for me (a 7am airport drop-off 2 days before Christmas, when he had to be at work that morning!), lent me money before he even knew me properly, spent ages chatting to me online, listened, called when he said he would, and showered me with (tasteful) affection.

So, in the end I was snared. From an open ear to his open arms, and I sometimes still miss him terribly. From his cooking, to watching DVDs together, attending York races (which never happened) to scouring yet more charity shops together, I wonder what we would be doing now... and whether he might have changed his mind about marrying me yet.

Blog Boy could do one thing well, too: pay me attention. Woo me, flatter me, wow me with his humour and intelligence, and in the end, get me to agree to meet with him. Only he forgot to mention his girlfriend... who was obviously not available to his attention during working hours (and, judging by her criticism of his libido, neither at night).

Channel man, although an eccentric drunkard prone to bringing up his 21-year old model-cum-law-student ex every five minutes, grabbing my bum in public and embarrassing me by singing Nazi songs, again showered me with attention, phone calls and champagne (if not flowers- despite repeated promises).

The Colonel, an overweight, two-timing charmer who possessed a loud American voice, arrogance boardering on obnoxious self-obsession, a faible for unprotected anal sex (no thanks!) and seduction techniques which involved a bottle of wine (mostly puked up over his toilet) and the promise of love and romance, backed up by an overdrawn bank account and the doubtful pleasure of making love on Rohypnol, was another attention dealer to my desperate junkie.

All bullshit. But it works so well!

On the other hand, there is straight, sincere Fencing Boy- admittedly passionate and jealous, still afraid of marriage, very involved in his own business, with a busy sporting life and good social connections. A top notch lover with an attractive face and body, a generous spirit and his own house... who thinks it is perfectly acceptable
-to call me on a Saturday to ask me out that night
-not to see me for 2 weeks
-to text instead of ring me
-to let me down at the last minute when I expected him to turn up at a venue, which wouldn't let him in by the time he finally rocked up 2 hours late
-to suggest a duel with Chelsea Boy, even though he and I aren't even in a relationship.

Also, there is cute and funny Yacht Boy with his passion for wind and water, his own boat, who introduced me to his brother on our second "date", who bought me a book on sailing, asked me on his holiday, let me steer his most prized possession, paid me lots of compliments and
-lied about where he lives
-didn't call me at all between May and August
-doesn't always reply to my texts
-and is ALSO ONLY TWENTY-NINE!

I am supposed to see Fencing Boy tomorrow, but doubt this will happen now because of my early flight on Friday. It may also be just a little too confusing: after all, the first time I slept with FB, I went on that sailing trip with YB the next day (but nothing happened there). Maybe that was a good thing, as I didn't want to rush it with YB and may well have done if I had been hornier.

They are both nice guys, and would never dream of asking me if there was anyone else. I wouldn't ask them either: it's just too early for that.

But why am I never attracted to someone 10 years older, or someone who DOESN't call me all the time!?

I have been taking a break from writing, and it feels like an age although it's barely been 2 weeks.

The whole episode with "Blog Boy" Jonny the liar (or truth-selector, if leaving out the fact you are living with a girlfriend can't be called "lying" as such) has really drained me, as has the job search, and the pressure I sometimes feel to read and comment on other blogs as much as people appear to read and comment on mine.
It just can't be done, and I am also frequently just not that interested in everything people write... or I feel an overwhelming responsibility to say just the right thing, and be genuinely helpful (although it's just some words on the net).

I am also not sure how comfortable I am in the knowledge that a select group of people know the exact detail of what I get up to. Open to all is a good policy, just as anonymity is a good concept, but again I don't know how realistic either of these are and occasionally I feel just a bit claustrophobic writing lots of "friends only" posts.

Although there is nothing wrong with any of my friends, it is starting to feel a little "closed in" to just write something a select few can read- however, opening it up will leave me open to idiots like that Jonny, and moving elsewhere, without a close support group of really nice people.

However, the sex I have been having recently was great: as I mentioned before, Fencing Boy (FFT) had an explosive night following a gig in Camden, and after I lured him into the shower we were all over each other on my bed.
I love talking to him as much as I love fucking him, and we had a really interesting chat whilst we rested and waited for his cab.

Owing to a misunderstanding (I had asked what his little finger was doing inside me, but he took that as an invitation to insert his finger into my anus- something I wasn't really expecting and don't usually like), I found myself exploring certain "back passage pleasures"... what is it with posh boys and rimming!?
KB liked to do it to me, too... Although clean from my shower, I found myself wondering if he thought I
1) genuinely enjoyed that?
2) would do it back to him (as seen on SATC)!? Not bloody likely!

In any case, it was very nice. His dick didn't leave me sore (or maybe that was because we used MY brand of condoms this time) and I felt that we are equally passionate, giving people who moved in unison bathed in each other's sweat.

The next morning I discovered by the stains on my sheets and duvet that my period was about to start- good news after all!

A few days later, Channel Man was in town. Lunch at Nobu was followed by shopping on Bond Street, although in this nice, sunny weather I would have preferred a walk in the park.
He seemed on first-name terms with all the managers in various designer boutiques, but although I patiently followed him around the guys' sections of everywhere from Gucci to D&G, he took my advice and spent hundreds of pounds, he didn't think of getting me anything. Maybe that is wrong, he got our lunch and he did buy me a glass of champagne at DKNY, mocking me for looking but not buying anything... yet ignoring my comment that if I want to spend money I go to Primark, not Prada.

I got quite annoyed with his ribs actually. He had had 3 bottles of warm sake with lunch, so wasn't exactly sober, but I found his "humour" harder and harder to take.
From my choice of footwear ("how far is the beach!?"- alongside 70% of the female population on that hot day I wore funky flip flops, but carried evening shoes in my bag for later), to my lack of tan (well, who wouldn't have faded slightly after 3 weeks back in the UK!?), to finally coming out with: "You come across as quite daft" (I was shocked and made a sulky comment about that, to which he replied: "Haha, I can't believe you bit, I am just winding you up") really stretched my patience.

As they say, I grinned and bore it, as every time I defended myself (well, it's not really a joke if only one person's laughing, is it!?) he just acted offended and didn't "get it" either.

Back to his hotel in a cab with his purchases, and to give me a chance to try out that pool. Now this was fun!
He showed me some tricks in the water (he used to swim competitively), then followed me into the jacuzzi, which by now we had to ourselves.

He kissed me deeply and passionately, to the point where I got really turned on. My crotch sat right on a stream of bubbles- a very nice sensation!

He stroked his hand down my body and between my legs, massaging my clit through my bikini bottoms, then pushing them aside and slipping his fingers inside my wet pussy.

I could tell he was hard, and before I could protest, he had got a hold of his dick and pushed himself inside me.

I was torn: this felt so nice-and-naughty, I was hotly turned on and a voice in my head just begged for a good fucking, but there were people swimming below, and a pool attendent and cleaner milling about somewhere. It was still daylight, after all! I also wasn't liking the fact that this was our first time together, and he had just totally foregone contraception or safe sex.

My eyes wide, I looked at him and clutching my hands to his back, told him that we couldn't do this. "Why not?" he grinned, grinding into me and pushing me down further onto his hard cock.

"You don't think", I whispered, "that I am having sex with you in full view of people, at a hotel and without a condom!?" I disentangled myself and pushed back to sit on the bench opposite.
His explanation was ludicrous: He didn't have casual sex (as he'd only had 3 relationships during the past 18 years), and in a small place like his people didn't think of STD's!

Well, honey, I have news for you: this is London, I don't really know you, and who's to assure me that your ex girlfriend (who you keep going on about) wasn't having sex with other people behind your back? And what about the other ex, the former model you just visited in South Africa- did you not sleep with her, and isn't there a heightened risk of AIDS in African countries?

Of course, I didn't say that- but I should have done.

Turned on as we were, we dried off and went back up to the room, clad in vast white bath robes.

He tried it on again but I insisted on a condom and had thankfully come prepared.

Afterwards, we jumped into a taxi to go to the theatre, which we just about made-thanks to our little interlude between the sheets.

We had dinner and a drink in the hotel bar, but my patience with his "jokes" and offensive remarks had now really come to an end. I don't want to go into it too much, but I ended up leaving him with two mostly-full glasses of Bellini at 1am in his room.

I then joined some friends in the West End for a boogie.
Men!

As I find myself in the situation of going on a serious job hunt, it remains a puzzle to me that some employers don't appear to want someone intelligent, interesting, articulate and educated- preferring quiet, boring, slightly dumb people who could double up as mannequins with typing skills.

How else would should I explain being turned down from one job because I "may not find it stimulting enough"? My current job is hardly stimulating, most of the time!

Why do recruitment companies call and ask you what you are looking for, only to trip you up when you elaborate about advancement in your current industry, by telling you they have a job in a different (if equally interesting) industry lined up which they will now not put you forward for?

How does anyone keep a straight face when being interviewed by a 28-year old MD who tries to rattle you with "business speak", only to then be unable to translate it when you politely ask him to elaborate?

KPR's, anyone? Um, he meant KPI's? That translates as Key Performance Indicators, for all you mere mortals. Any corporate zombies out there will of course have guessed what he was on about long ago. Probably before he was even born.

Well, we can't all have uncles who found companies for us! Now, there's a thought- what was my uncle's number again? Not the one who went off with my cousin of course, and who my aunt divorced as a consequence... However he is the only one with any money (all stashed in Swiss accounts of course).
Then again, I better not call him, in case it's not my business sense he is interested in!

Had new friends requests, but no idea how to process them due to the general confusion of the chaotic new layout.

Feeling washed out.

Job hunting proving more stressful than it's worth, and after registering with six or eight new agencies and passing various typing tests and tedious interviews, I am well and truly fed up.

I just don't care anymore.
Wanted to sit at home tonight, quietly watching DVDs which have accumulated from my free LoveFilm trial, but just remembered I have a business dinner for a project I will be overseeing on the weekend.
Phew!

Would rather go sailing with Yacht Boy... roll around my sheets with FFT (or Fencing Boy as I'd like to call him- not because he builds fences, but because he can use a foil)... get spoilt with pink champagne all day by Channel man (even if it does mean having sex in the jacuzzi again in full view of all hotel staff- oh so much I need to catch up with on this blog!)...

In any case, it's extra money, and in times of job insecurity and potential hardship, this is all that counts.

Sooo tired though.

Hailing from a country commonly mis-perceived as the last bastion of hairy women, it puzzles me that all those unshaven, scraggly-haired ladies I encounter in pool changing rooms apparently fly under the average English guy's radar undetected.

Are they all lesbians? Single? Married to guys who watch shaven-pussies porn but unwilling to ask their wives to do the same (to their muffs, that is, not to other guys)?

Having got used to my own bare lips and small strip of hair on top, large triangles of primeveal forest on women under 60 often surprise me.
I guess that guys faced with a pussy, any pussy, just get on with it and use their tongue to separate that forest to get at the goods -or go home and wank. It reassures me that there are natural, hairy and apparently happy women out there who don't all subscribe to that Lindsay Lohan, "my-face-looks-20-but-my-vagina-looks-5" philosophy.

Ok, mostly it's not so bad: Their thatch of pussy hair is often quite light and looks short enough to get tucked into their bikini bottoms in its entirety, but more often than not, one encounters a fellow naked woman with a thick, bouncy clump of hair between her legs that looks like a small guy with an afro is permanently going down on her.

Or one sees wet strands of hair spreading onto thighs and stomachs, or forming a small funnel between their legs, making it look like they are peeing in the shower.

Do I try not to look? Not really- I am far too curious for that, and intrigued by big bushes- but I pretend I am washing my face or something, and peer out between my fingers.

Occasionally, a lady lifts her arms to wash her (scalp) hair, and displays two small forests of pit hair for all to see. Again: aren't we as Germans supposed to have the monopoly on that? Or the stereotypical French woman?

Truth be told, in German saunas and pools I encounter mostly completely shaven or Brazilian-waxed women, who wouldn't know an armpit hair if it landed in their tea.

I blame 1970's porn films. After all, isn't that where most teenage boys of my generation first encountered nude German women?
We can safely discount the naked hippies on the beaches of Europe: everyone knows that hippies just like to be hairy, without regards to their nationality.

Under topaz London skies I dive into my oasis of blue, surrounded by hunky men in trunks and the odd sun ray. The water calms me and the close-up of strangers' cellulite reassures me in an odd way.

Bathed in sunlight I bake on the terraces, watching said hunky men (and the odd dog) and wishing for a strong boy's body, bronzed and around 19 years old, so I could cruise them properly. Or a tall and slightly paunchy one, with wide shoulders and that man's pattern of hair, like my Tall Boy's.

Tall Boy has reported back from the locker rooms, and I am curious if such things are possible to go on between men and women, anywhere in London.

He mentioned his curiosity at checking out a well-known "sauna" together, which is essentially a swingers' club. I think I would be too jealous. After all, who wants to see their ideal guy (if it wasn't for that thing between his ears) cosying up to some size 10 beauty? Who wants old ladies lusting after his perfect dick? Who wants to watch him, watching me getting fucked by someone whose face I don't care to see again?

Frustrated from recent disappointment (are there no decent men? None?) I am back with what I had before: an assortment of men, each perfect and flawed in their own way, and none of them willing to commit.

Looks like I was -unwittingly and unwillingly- cast in the part of the Other Woman.

Here is what his girlfriend had to say:

"Well...I am that one..I am his girlfriend living together with him. Thanks to Sienna (which I am thankful for) I found out last weekend. B.t.w. he did the same before by contacting another girl trough this blog. And a few others here in ___.
He seems to enjoy to fuck things up..hiding in a virtual world, without working, spending hours reading other peoples stories."

I feel very sorry for her.

In another comment, she even mentioned his full name, but in the interest of mutual anonymity I have decided to screen that comment.

How can it be, that two such nice, lovely women (as we appear to be) have been hoodwinked by one slick charmer living in a dream world, who confuses boundaries worth crossing with those that should be left uncrossed?

After all, I am not dumb- I was onto him as soon as he refused to reveal his full name, but what on earth stopped me asking him if he was currently unattached? I suspect he would just have lied anyway.

But he knew he was leading me up a garden path and stringing me along. It's not like he was just casually dating a few people to find out which one might be most compatible with him, no, he has actually made a commitment by moving in with somebody in a foreign country!

And whilst that poor lady is out to work, he plays around online.

Shame on him!

He didn't respond to my last text or email (which were just to "wrap things up" anyway), and I wonder if she has kicked him out yet.

Unless (as the phone book evidence would suggest) it is his flat, and the poor girl is now out on her ear herself!

God, what did I start!?

No, Sienna: YOU didn't start anything. It was BB's fault for being so convincing, charming and utterly useless.

He'll want to meet for "coffee". After all, that is harmless, isn't it. ("Darling, it was JUST COFFEE with a friend...")

He won't reveal his full name, phone number or address. What's he scared of?

He'll be very sweet and kind, even if you have behaved somewhat nutty. He'll say you're a nice person and wish you a nice life rather than risk incurring your wrath.

He won't show you pictures of his family or family events.

He won't always admit to having children.

His mobile will be switched off at odd times.

He'll tell you everything you want to hear. After all, he has nothing to lose if you're not interested so he can lie as much as necessary to snare you.

He'll make one mistake. Here, you'll need to keep your ears open.

If you know he's married/involved and want to date him anyway, good luck!

Belgian mobile confirmed it.
Message in his voice, stating his full name.

So, who was that woman at his flat?

I feel like such a fool.

Still, I guess it's better I know now than if I actually met him and fell for him.

See, not all women are dumb and gullible. Just very, very disappointed.

So basically I re-arranged my evening to slot in a first date/meeting with BlogBoy (is this what I shall call him, seeing as he has never written a blog? Anyway, he read mine and that's how we got in touch), and now he's let me down.

Thanks for nothing.

"Coffee", says the boy. Casual, like. Is there such a thing as casual anymore? After you spent time chatting and getting to know that person a bit, building up your interest and keen to meet them in person because you discover many similarities in your attitiudes and expectations?
Afer all, if it is "just coffee", just drinks or just to satisfy his curiousity, is that worth my time? The risk to my safety, my anonymity? No. If I meet someone like this, I am, like any girl, making a judgement about a person but still taking a huge risk.
Especially in the light of recent stalker activity, which is now with police (and was probably brought on by Tall Boy losing his phone).

Normally, I would Google someone, tell a friend who I'm with (including that person's number and the place where we are meeting) and expect more potential in that meeting than "just coffee".

Would I meet the potential love of my life like this and run a few calculated risks? Probably.

Would I go to a "party" someone's offered me a few hundred quid for? Probably not. It may be fun, but in the end of the day it's not really worth it (and it's not really me, either. I guess everyone has their price, but that ain't it. Not to say I am not curious, but I could go to "parties"/get paid in other ways).

Basically, BlogBoy has got cold feet although he denies it. Is he scared he might appear as a subject in my writing efforts? Well, honey, I got news for you: you already are. Oh, I forgot, you are meant to have stopped reading this (your idea, not mine).

As if I'd meet him for lunch when
a) I am busy job-hunting
b) He'd get an idea of the area I work in
c) Any conversation conducted during a 45 minute lunch break is hardly going to break the ice when meeting someone for the first time who doesn't even live in the UK.

He's probably now thinking: "What have I let myself in for!?"- what, indeed?

After all, there must be a reason I have no problems at all attracting guys' attention, but being unable to keep it.

I guess I should calm my anger by writing about the rest of my weekend.

Tired and still a bit tipsy from my night with FFT, I was surprised I was happy and excited to wake up on Saturday, ready to go and meet Yacht Boy at his train station.

He seemed bright and bushy-tailed too, invited me to wait in his car whilst he got us some coffees, and we set off with cool music blaring.

Since we had only met twice (once around Easter, drunk on chocolate vodka shots served by bunny girls, the second time for our dinner date), we had plenty to talk about.

I must admit, I tried not to let my annoyance at having heard nothing from him for so long that I'd deleted his number from my phone spoil my mood and bubbly personality, so all was hunky-dory, fluffy and fun.

Around mid-day, we arrived at his Parents' mansion house, where we caught up with Big Bro and his Girlfriend.

They went over to their boat, and we to Yacht Boy's, and I was astonished how well he had provided for our weekend: there was half a chicken, quiche, salad, crisps, fruit, bread, cheese, and other goodies! Very impressive.

His boat was great- not as large as the one I'd just gone sailing on during my holidays, but very roomy for just two people!

Within 10 minutes of lifting the anchor, I was steering it. He obviously trusted me with the control of his most-prized possession, which is saying something...

A pleasant two days passed.

On the Saturday, we went to see a band on the Isle of Wight, then cuddled up in the "master cabin" together. He pulled my head onto his chest, but although we'd got a bit touchy-feely and very flirty during the day and evening, nothing happened apart from a few snogs.

The poor boy was tired, and I didn't want him to think I was "easy"... or a raging nymphomaniac, for that matter!

The movement of the boat, the wine we'd drunk and the whole "saily" thing made me quite horny I must admit, and I was lying there, moistening and listening to his sleepy breathing, getting rather frustrated.

I was counting on my luck for a lazy morning shag... At 6am, the light and the sea gulls woke us up, and I tried to rouse his interest by stroking his hand and fingers in a subtle, seductive way, but he just went back to sleep.

Ah well... His brother's gruff voice woke us again at 10, and by that stage it was truly too late to start anything, as we were required on deck.

We went into town, were I bought some very elegant sailing shoes in my favourite colour (on sale for just £20- wahey!)... presumptuous, me? I can always wear them to work or something.

Sailing back to the mainland was a bit of an adventure, the sea and wind picked up after a nice, clear morning- and I found myself helming the boat at 8 knots, battling strong winds and a choppy sea.

Still, I managed to make us a late brunch breakfast when Yacht Boy took over again: consisting of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast!

We arrived back "home" in a gloomy late afternoon, and I jumped into the chilly water from the boat, making use of the bikini I'd worn under my clothes all day for a refresing dip.

"I can't believe you actually went in", Yacht boy remarked after he heard the splash. "Gosh, you look like that Bond Girl..."

Back at the Parents' villa house, I had a shower whilst he ignored my hints to join me, and made us some dinner instead- followed by a tour. WOW.

On our way back to London, we laughed and joked all the way, trying to prevent him from falling asleep, and he dropped me at the train station with a smile and a kiss.

Oh, and an invitation for the next trip this month!

Just in case you didn't know: sailing is very sexy.

By that, I mean the movement of the boat: almost like a living thing; a large sea horse; a strong man; an overpowering wave.

Plus, the little matter of having been utterly ravished the night before came into play, and I wettened at the expectation what else might be in store for me that weekend.

Sometimes I wish all my boys would just merge into one man: with a yacht like Yacht boy, tall like Tall Boy (and able to help out with financial matters), witty like KB, passionate like my night with the boy I am yet to name, and persistant and interesting like the boy I am yet to meet. Oh, and charming and funny like Chelsea Boy.

Chelsea Boy has admitted to having an affair with the girl he got off with the night I took Outrageous Boy home (but I think I mentioned this before). He is always quick to point out, however, that it's nothing serious between them... and that he misses me. Cue a dinner party at a friend's house tomorrow!

Back to last weekend.
On Friday, I planned an early night- in preparation to an early start for my sailing trip with Yacht Boy.
So, instead of pissing about in the West End, I invited a select group of friends over to mine for an impromptu BBQ, making the most of one of the last nice evenings this year.
One of the people I invited was Flatmate's friend T. He was a very patient suitor of hers, who had been rejected by her in that friendly, inoffensive way of her at every turn.
Fair enough, I suppose: some of us at least need to have some morals!
She just doesn't fancy him enough, or other such nonsense...

After I met him for the first time, I tried to persuade her otherwise. He is perfectly charming, good-looking, posh and intelligent, without a hint of arrogance about him. We had a really interesting chat and I flirted with him a little bit. "How could you turn him down?" I asked her, "he is so sweet!". But she wasn't to be persuaded that he had any business in her pants (or in her heart).

She told me: "If you like him so much, you have him". I replied that these sort of schemes never work: after all, I am me, not her.

(When I was 18, a friend and I were dating two friends- but I fancied her boyfriend, and she mine. I snogged hers in my room a little while later and told her about it, which she took as a reason to dump him. He hated me, my boyfriend hated me, and shortly after my (now ex)bf and my friend got together, whilst her ex and I stayed single... Now he is married with 2 small children...)

"No, go for it", she encouraged me, and gave him my number.
Anyway, he came to the BBQ and we had another very nice chat over some very nice rosé.
When the first people started to feel cold, we went inside to watch some telly and snuggle up on the sofa, then some of my guests left and Flatmate and her friend who was staying with us went to bed.

Only FFT stayed on the sofa, struggling with a faulty DVD...

Suddenly, he launched himself at me with a full-on snog.
It took me by surprise, even if it wasn't totally unexpected as we were sitting quite close together and he'd had his hand on my knee whilst we took some photographs. It was a really, really nice and horny kiss.

The door to the lounge stood open and I worried about Flatmate walking in on us, but then again, she probably knew what was likely to happen... After all, he hadn't even snogged her, so it wasn't like it was going to be too awkward. Still, no-one came in and his kisses grew more urgent.

I loved every second of it, and didn't stop him too much when his hands started to caress my face and legs.
He pushed my skirt up a bit and stroked my thigh, whilst I kept kissing him with wet lips and tongue.

I guess I was pretty drunk, but I couldn't help myself: here was a boy who had risked rejection by planting one on me, someone I quite fancied and who turned out to be a very good and extremely passionate kisser!

I felt myself grow wet, and could tell we wouldn't keep our clothes on for long... Since the DVD was definitely not working, I got up to shut the door, then came back to him on the sofa... I sat astride him and he kissed me deeply, then he unhooked my bra, took my top off and started kissing and sucking my nipples. I sighed and he pushed me over onto my back until he was above me, grinding into me whilst I clutched and scratched at his back.

My fingers went to find his belt, and he pushed my skirt up and took my knickers off with one fast movement, then dived between my thighs (I was grateful now for my presence of mind when I had had a quick wash just a minute earlier... ). He licked and sucked my pussy until I moaned, and really, really wanted him on top and inside me... His finger went in and out of my wet hole, and his tongue continued to tickle my clit whilst I tried to stop myself from crying out. Thankfully, we had some music playing...

His head came up and he looked at me, and my hands found his belt again.
"Do you want to?" he asked, as his cock sprang free.
I could feel the smooth, warm hardness of it against my wet thighs, and didn't care if he'd just fuck me there and then, like that... He lifted himself off me briefly to reach for his wallet and a condom inside, whilst I took the opportunity to assess his cock and take it in my mouth. "Oh, that feels so great", he moaned as I sucked him deeply. I didn't stop right away, and I think he was afraid he might come in my mouth, but I left off him so he could pull on the condom.
In a flash, he was above me again, holding my hand in his and kissing me, whilst his cock entered me slowly.

I loved it, and I pulled him in, as his motion increased and he pumped and fucked me, right there on my sofa with his jeans still around his legs.

We were both topless as we writhed together, and slick with each other's saliva. The look on his face was pure tenderness and passion, and we came at nearly the same time. I wanted his sperm inside me so badly, I hoped the condom had come off, but fortunately it hadn't of course.

He held my face in his hands and told me how he thought I "rocked" (what is this, Teenage Dirtbag?), but it really touched me. "Oh, such beautiful breasts", he told me as he examined them closely for the first time, "and I didn't even really see them before!"

We giggled together as we surveyed the damage done by tipping over his glass of Whiskey and Coke in our throws of passion, and he let me kiss his shoulders as he wrapped the condom up in tissue.
He had tiny, white acne scars on his back that looked like water drops, so I kissed them and told him I thought they were cute.
"Not easy when you're a teenager", he remarked. "Being a teenager never is", I replied.

This question has been on my mind this weekend.

Yes, I did get a pretty good rogering, but not from the person whose yacht I stayed on from Saturday to Sunday.

Also, I have a date lined up this week with someone I actually fancy, or would like the opportunity to find out if I do!