swing?

Code names. We agreed on code names, because being incredibly famous, unique and special snowflakes we didn't want the swingers Googling us if we decided we didn't like them.

The official plan: go to a well known pub, SMS the hosts, meet, greet, flock off to fuck.

Our plan: go to a well known pub, SMS the hosts, meet, greet, run away. Baby steps.

We had dinner together, not far from the venue. Walked hand in hand to the pub, nervously. What were we doing? Why? We weren't even horny, just nervous. Wrong time of the month really, but we were still curious.

We got to the pub, SMSed the hosts. We had convinced ourselves that it would be just us and the peeps organizing this, it would all be a miserable failure as we left. We were therefore bemused and surprised at the reply: at the back bar, about 8 couples

8 couples? 8 couples! That's 16 people!

Turns out they were pretty nice. Also turns out we were too flummoxed to remember our assumed identities and kept calling each other by our real names. The host at least humored us. Oh well. We stayed for drinks, relaxed. Chatted a bit with one of the couples, then another couple. The host wandered by now and again to make a joke and put people at ease. More and more couples kept arriving.

After about 3 drinks the word rippled through the crowd: time to go!

I looked at Rosa. This was our cue to run away; but I had relaxed, she had relaxed. We had people we were comfortable talking to and we were curious, so we decided to go along. We'd told people we were absolute beginners and probably only voyeurs at this point; noone seemed to mind.

Time to go!

Slowly the group made it's way out of the pub, gathered outside like students on a field trip, waiting for the teacher to lead them back to the bus. It was quite amusing, actually. Jokes were made.

Then a friend of a friend, an attractive young woman we'd met at a party a couple of times before crossed the street and looked right at us. Ohshitohshitoshit. Be cool.

I grin and walk right to her, bravely launching into routine small talk. Rosa follows, slightly more flustered, makes the excuse that she wasn't wearing her glasses and was unsure who she was talking to. Our friend of a friend jokingly replies "What? Two nights of passion and you've forgotten me already?"

We titter.

...and worry silently that one of the swingers might overhear, take her seriously, invite her along...

But instead the group wanders off without us, as we continue making conversation. Once we've exhausted all the mandatory pleasantries, our friend of a friend wanders off. Following the swingers, of course. Catching up with them immediately, in fact, leading her bike and having a hard time getting through the massive mob.

Rosa and I just stand still, laughing. Waiting for her to get far enough away that we can follow without giving away our lies. Hoping she doesn't overhear anything too incriminating.

We catch up with the group in the corner shop where everyone is buying booze. We follow their lead, buy a bottle. Follow their lead down the street and follow their lead into the apartment that had been rented for the occasion.

The tiny, barren, oddly shaped apartment. It felt quite crowded, with over a dozen couples milling awkwardly about. Many of them inexperienced like us. Young, older, all shapes and sizes and colors.

Someone tried to find some music on the tiny telly, but gave up. Bare light bulbs cast unflattering shadows; I turned off the light in the kitchenette where we'd pitched camp.

After a bit the host announced, somewhat formally, that he and his girlfriend would be adjourning to the bedroom and people were welcome to join them. From that moment on, whenever we saw him he was wandering around with a t-shirt, socks and no trousers. With his really quite impressive dong flopping about. Not exactly elegant, but somehow comical enough to not add to people's insecurities.

Soon after the announcement, his girlfriend returned, pouting. "It's no fun if no one is going to watch!" she whined.

That broke the ice. The voyeurs gathered in the corridor outside the bedroom, craning their heads. The hosts got it on, soon other couples joined them. The couples we'd been idly chatting with in the kitchen turned to each other and began to kiss, touch. I watched as the woman I'd been chatting with had her little dress lifted up, and up, and up, by her tanned boyfriend.

Soon we were alone in the kitchen.

At this point, we were both quite drunk. I was starting to get a bit horny from the things going on around us, but Rosa was in more of a bemusedly shocked state; she was happy to watch, but wasn't interested in making out with me, let alone anyone else. We spent some time in the corridor with the voyeurs, but after a while began to feel that I couldn't really stay there any longer without doing something. As Rosa was emphatically not ready to do more than watch, I suggested we leave and go somewhere private.

I shook hands with the man wearing no pants and we made our belated escape.

Well, we tried to anyway. What actually happened was we found ourselves stuck at the gates and ended up having to return to request a code which would actually let us out. I promptly forgot it before reaching the gates, but luckily Rosa has better memory than I.

So on the second try, we truly did escape, only to find it wasn't even midnight and we had time to go for a quiet drink together to talk things over. Which we did.

We were glad we went; it was an experience! Not a bad experience, not a fantastic one either, but definitely an interesting and amusing one. Once I'd regained my composure and we'd talked a bit, I began to regret calling things short. It would have been fascinating to see how things developed. But such is life; and it was the right decision at the time, we were out of sync and needed to regroup.

We'll probably give it another try, sometime.

I still want to see my girl on her knees in front of another man, she still wants to see me touching someone else...

months later

So, being the eternal optimist I am, I tend to go around seeing life through sex-tinted glasses.

It's like being a feminist, except... well. So I'll admit it's nothing like being a feminist, that was a train-wreck of an analogy just trying to get me on its tracks.

It is a point of view that most reasonable people would describe as a delusion, at best. No matter how horny I may sometimes feel, that doesn't mean everyone else is constantly motivated by lust. Really! That's just not how the world works. For some people it really is all about a career, gardening or that ideal cup of tea.

But in spite of being vaguely aware of this theoretical, so-called reality, I still tend to see a glance as a check-out, a smile as a flirt, turned down eyes as wishful bashfulness... And so on. In my world, they all just want to be wanted, held down, climbed, worshiped, humiliated, sweet-talked, licked, sucked, used, spanked. Whatever. Sexed.

Seeing the world through sex-tinted glasses is good fun, if nothing else.

But it's unsettling when things suddenly click.

It's unsettling when your friend tells you that while you were fetching the beers, the girl you were innocently chatting with hastily explained she was in an open relationship and requested stats on your availability. Because that's how I imagine the world, not how I expect it to be.

It's unsettling when that same evening, you find out that that couple you would quite like to be friends with, in a completely innocent, fun, get drunk and dance kind of way... are totally poly and the guy asks you for hints on how to seduce teh ladies. His wife puts her hand on your chest.

wtf?

Them damn sex-tinted glasses are glued to my face and I can't get them off.

...

Opportunities.

There, and there, and there, and there, and... I have a girlfriend I love and she's not cool with me being Mr. Sex Pervert anywhere but in bed with her. So I act like I don't see them, they just voom on by as I smile, take a quiet ego boost and pretend not to notice.

I think about age and wonder if some day soon, will I be a wrinkly old man who regrets not having just seized them all while he could? I've seized the one. A damn fine one to be sure, an excellent choice. But will I regret the others?

Or, worse, will I end up giving in and cheating, hurting my girl? Probably not. Will I end up pressuring her into something she just isn't interested in or cut out for? Maybe. Will she read this and worry? Quite possibly.

But I really can't lie to her or hide things from her. That's just not how I do things.

Is it always going to be a struggle to (not) be a poly slut?

clones

Sometimes I wish I could clone myself. Follow more than one path. More than two.

Saturday, the night after I almost-but-not-quite had some sort of threesome, I was out again. And somehow, yet again, I bumped into that same blonde that I've been seeing now and again. I had asked her name the night before. I think I can pronounce it, but I'm not sure how to spell it. Deesa, or something like that.

As I went out I texted Rosa, just to see if she was out. No reply, but I've decided that doesn't mean anything much since most people are more absent-minded about their phones than I am.

First person I see in the bar is Deesa.

And then I get a text. But it's not from Rosa, it's an old flame from back home. Someone I'd love to shag again, but can't really, because aside from being in the wrong country, she's recently married. But, in spite of that, she texted me.

"how r u, iceland boy? am on train from galway, reminded me of u."

We met on that train. I remember how her elbows touched mine, how she sat just a little too close as we talked. How we met for dinner that evening and ended up in her tiny room, fucking until morning.

Such a loaded message.

"I'm grand. Train from Galway, aye? Good times! Hope you're well, give Pete my best."

Pete's her man.

Deesa was looking at me. I put the phone away and ignored the buzzing of the reply. We talked, I bought us both drinks. As the small-talk progressed, as I flirted, as I touched her arm and grinned my fuck-me grin, the back of my mind was following different paths.

I'd love to go back home, follow up on that text. I was always disappointed that she got away. She wouldn't be messaging me like that if those nights we had together hadn't made an impression. What if?

What if I had replied to Rosa's text last night? Would I have ended up in her arms? Would I be in her arms still? I wished I had.

And yet I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Deesa's hand on mine, her smile lighting up the room. Her cleavage distracting my eyes from her face. Part of me thinking she may be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. For now anyway. Older than she looks, actually my age. Not many girls are that hot at 30. Curves and maturity, that amazing Icelandic look of youth. They all look like kids here. And this kiddo has her hands and eyes on me.

Later that evening I sneak a look at my phone, turns out that message wasn't from my Irish lady friend, it was from Rosa. She's at Kaffibarinn again, I'm at Sirkus. I don't feel like moving.

I need more of me. One to be here. One to chase Rosa. One still playing the field in Ireland. One that made all the right decisions and moves and kept Maria. One that never got divorced. One that never got married.

The one of me here, was drunk. Dancing.

Deesa in my arms, dancing, spinning around and bumping into people, not quite spilling our beers. Or theirs.

When the world stops spinning, we're in my bed.

She's not wearing anything, I'm between her legs, my face all wet and my tongue on her clit. Her back is arched, a pillow between her teeth and covering most of her face. I slide a finger into her and use it to tell her body to come to me, for me.

Come here. I move my finger as I lick her clit harder, then relax both.

Come here. Harder, relax.

Come, lick, relax.

We fall into the rythm of it and soon I can feel her stomach muscles pulsating, her pussy grabbing my finger gently. She whimpers.

Come here.

Her hips buck, her pussy mashing into my face. I can't breathe, but for now that doesn't matter. I try my best not to lose the rhythm, to keep her moving, keep her gasping like that. She comes, crying out, pushing against me and then curling up in a vulnerable ball of girl.

I move to kiss her lips and eyelids, hold her as she relaxes and comes down.

We'd earlier discussed my warts, I knew she wasn't going to fuck me. Through my drunkenness I vaguely remembered her sucking me off. Or at least having a taste.

As we fell asleep, I drunkenly wondered what my clones were up to.

partner in crime

My flatmate's party, the flirting at Kaffibarinn, that was all last weekend. Now another weekend has passed and I'm behind in writing about what's been going on. I've been busy, and if anything I'm even more confused now than I was before. Hopefully writing about it will help me work through things.

But, on with the story while I still have access to the laptop...

--

Turns out the toasting was all a little premature. Rosa never actually made it all the way back to us, she got mobbed by friends, distracted and swept away. Soon after, Karl got bored and left.

I was still lurking around, hoping to see her but ended up leaving the bar too and heading to Sirkus to see if any of the others from the party were there. The queue wasn't moving, the weather sucked and I eventually just headed home, drunk and tired.

As I walked I got a text message from her, but I didn't feel like responding. I was pretty disappointed.

But we were probably all too drunk for that sort of thing anyway and now that a few days have passed, I'm more intrigued than disappointed. I find that sort of slutty behavior very attractive.

I'd love to have a "partner in crime" like her.

I'm still not sure what to do about the flatmate situation though.

why not?

So, my escape from the smokers' party was foiled by the blonde's request for a drink. I took my time finding it though, wandered around the downstairs party, checking who had showed up while I was upstairs. Plenty of people. Plenty of chicks.

I was feeling a bit conflicted. Part of me just really wanted to get Rosa into bed again, but I was worried about my flatmate and from our last encounter I knew she liked my player aspect. So making the most of my opportunity with the blonde was a good strategy either way.

One thing I've learned, is you concentrate on one girl at a time, or you end up with none. On the other hand... I've also learned not over-analyze things. So I just grabbed some beers and went back up to see which way the wind would blow me.

I didn't end up going back down. Rosa and the blonde sat next to each other, chatting. I leaned against the opposite wall, sipped my beer and looked slyly at them. Now and again I'd take part in one of the conversations around me, but mostly I listened and watched, enjoying the glances they took turns making and the feeling that I was in control and could have either one I wanted. I was beginning to toy with the idea of having them both.

Just as I exchanged yet another meaningful glance with Rosa, my flatmate showed up in the door. He was pretty drunk, but he also seemed a little bent out of shape. I think he noticed the way Rosa was looking at me. He said something odd and then announced that he was leaving, heading downtown. We could do as we damn well pleased. Then he turned off the bathroom light and disappeared down the stairs.

Ouch.

We switched the light back on, the night went on. But it had all gone a bit sour and soon afterwards the party broke up and headed downtown.

Me and some of the others from congregated in Kaffibarinn. For me it was the obvious choice, that's where both Rosa and the blonde were headed, that's where Rosa and I hooked up last time. Trendy girls, rock'n'roll guys, beer and music. It was a happenin' place that night. I bumped into one of my other mates near the bar, bought him a beer. Let's call him Karl. Karl and I exchanged jokes and conversation for a while, until Rosa showed up and took a position between the two of us. It was crowded, she couldn't help but rub against me.

Her scent and presence had me sporting a stiffy pretty quickly. I played cool, acted like nothing was up, kept chatting with the both of them. But Rosa only had one of her hands on the bar, the other was on my knee, my thigh, stroking the bulge I was pretending wasn't there. Naughty girl.

I had forgotten all about the blonde.

As the conversation went on, Rosa stopped feeling me up, but turned a bit so her pert little bottom was pressed against my erection. She was facing Karl, talking to him. I discreetly put one of my hands on her hip, slid it under her top and caught my breath as I felt the warm, toned skin of her stomach. She wriggled just a little bit, letting me know she liked my hand there.

I had forgotten all about my flatmate.

Another beer, more talk. It slowly dawned on me that I wasn't the only one getting attention from the girl. Karl was standing pretty close to her as well and as before, Rosa had one of her hands out of sight. But it wasn't touching me. I began to suspect it was touching him... and when Rosa headed off to the loo I asked my friend what was up. Sure enough, her hands had been all over him, and he knew she was flirting with me at the same time. I was suitably impressed.

"She's quite a handful," he grinned.

"Yeah. Shall we give her what she wants? I'm up for it if you are."

He paused. Thought about it. Neither of us had ever been in that sort of situation together.

"Fuck it, why not? Fuck her, in fact," he replied.

We raised our beers and banged 'em together, just as I noticed her making her way through the crowd towards us again.

party

I sat in the living room with my flatmate, a bunch of our mutual friends gathered around to drink with us. On the coffee table there was a growing pile of empty pizza boxes, beer cans, bottles and dirty glasses. The laptop I've been borrowing sat in the corner playing random songs from Flatmate's mp3 collection. An hour or two, maybe three, and people would run out of drinks and start heading downtown in search of more.

Rosa hadn't shown up, but oddly enough the blonde I'd been fantasizing about earlier this week was there. Friend of a friend, this is such a tiny town. I had my charm on and was getting to know her a bit, making it clear I found her interesting. She flirted back like a champ. I liked where things were headed.

Every once in a while the doorbell would ring and more people would join the party, it soon fragmented as they always do into a kitchen party, the living room party and the smokers up stairs, sitting together on the edge of the bath tub and smoking out the window. I was up there with them for a while, mostly chasing the blonde but also on the off chance that someone would pass around a joint.

Most of the conversations were in English, not only for my benefit, but because there seem to be a lot of foreigners in this town. Exchange students and people who've just decided this is the place for them. Every once in a while people would lapse into Icelandic, but during the past few months I've begun to understand a little bit. I was usually able to follow the gist of things, which made me feel pretty good.

When my beer was empty I abandoned the smokers and went back downstairs for more. Guess who had turned up in the meantime? Rosa! She was chatting away with my flatmate, and she was lovely. I felt awkward, I could tell from the way my flatmate was behaving that he was totally into her. He was at his most charming, telling tall tales and making her laugh.

I retreated back up the stairs before she noticed me. Chicken.

One of the girls in the bathroom party had decided it was too hot and had taken her top off. After all, her bra wasn't any more revealing than a bikini anyway, she claimed. And she was hot. Sure... I grinningly encouraged the blonde to follow suit, but she was a bit more reserved. Laughs and banter and innuendo ensued. Someone brought beer up from downstairs.

And then Rosa joined us.

Of course, I thought to myself, she smokes.

We exchanged hellos, smiles. I tried not to act too familiar, tried not to make it obvious to the whole room that the image of her naked frame on my cock was flashing before my eyes. She was similarly cautious, but you could probably have cut the tension with a knife. I was already thinking about how to get her into bed again... or maybe I should play it cool? Be a little hard to get? Maybe I should keep working on the blonde?

Instead I just prepared to escape again, headed back downstairs "to get another drink".

The blonde asked me to bring her something too.

Okay...

surprises

I've been pretty down in the dumps about the warts for the past few weeks.

I'm rubbish at getting to know girls socially and slowly turning a friendship into something more. I've always started at the other end. Pick them up, get them naked, fill them with cock. See how things go from there. I suppose that's backwards compared to what most people do, but it's worked for me and it's great fun.

How do you do that with warts? It doesn't really work at all.

If I fuck someone and she finds out I knew I had warts, then I'm a right bastard and if she has any backbone at all she'll dump my ass and warn the world about me. If I feign ignorance, then I'm setting myself up for a huge mess when I find someone good. I don't believe in building relationships on lies. If I tell the truth then girls won't sleep with me in the first place and I can't help but wonder, would any girl really want such damaged goods for a boyfriend?

And before you tell me condoms are the solution, no they fucking aren't. They don't cover the warts.

So most weekends I just stay in feeling sorry for myself.

Not all though, a few times I've gone out, had fun, flirted a bit and then run away leaving confused girls in my wake. Good for my ego, but damn I hate the running away part. Some of the girls here are hot like you wouldn't believe.

Friday night I was feeling a bit less depressed than usual, so I put on my runners and went out.

I accompanied my flatmate to a bar named Dillon's, where friends of his were celebrating something. A birthday I think, but most of the celebrations and congratulations were in Icelandic and I didn't really get what was going on. Said flatmate is helpfully refusing to speak English to me, claiming that will help me learn Icelandic faster.

Who told him I wanted to learn Icelandic, anyway? Arrogant bastard.

I just had drinks and chatted and flirted with more cooperative people.

One of the girls caught my eye early on, I had also noticed her with this group a few weeks back and we'd chatted a bit. A lovely ginger, red curls, freckles, pale white skin. Her shoulders were bare and I could tell she had strong arms. Sexy.

I remembered her name, Rosa (rose?), asked her if she remembered mine. She did. She introduced her friend Harpa to me, a very flirtatious brunette. I watched them together and thought about getting the two of them into my bed at once, someday, once the warts were gone...

Rosa and I got on like a house on fire. I jokingly asked her if she had gotten tired of guys trying to pick her up by offering to count her freckles, surely they must try that line all the time? I made a point of admiring her assets as I said so, putting on my best leer. She laughed and agreed that yes, it had become oh so tiresome.

Poor girl, I promised not to try any lines like that then.

The night went on, drinks were drunk, the bar closed. Dillon's is one of the places that closes at 3am, further down the street bars are open longer.

Most of the group said goodnight, either couples eager to get home and shag or singletons feeling put off by the cold and dark. Somehow I ended up heading to Kaffibarinn with Rosa and Harpa and no one else.

Kaffibarinn ("the coffee bar" although I don't think they actually serve coffee) is where all the hip theatre and film types get arsed on weekends. During the week the same crowd hangs out there with shiny macs, being incredibly important and brilliant. Not to mention cleverly dressed. Tossers the lot of them, if you ask me.

But it's the place to be if you want to fawn over movie stars passing through Iceland or dance in a throng of drunken Icelandic hipsters. Not quite as sleazy as Sirkus, but pretty close. And since the pretty girls wanted to go there, so did I.

There was no queue for a change, but we had to stand outside in the cold and wait a bit anyway. While we waited Harpa suddenly remembered that she really wanted to shag one of the guys from the party and ran off to his house to make that happen. Oddly conveniant, I wondered whether the girls had planned it. I wouldn't put it past them.

So I had Rosa all to my drunken self in Kaffibarinn at 4 in the morning.

We were both pretty drunk, but I figured another pint each was probably an excellent idea all the same. At the bar I got distracted by a coworker for a bit, but at the first polite opportunity Rosa put her hand in mine and whispered to me "let's go somewhere we can be alone". I let her lead me to the dance floor.

And we danced.

Smiles, eye contact, we moved around each other, together. I put a hand on her hip, the other on her elbow, keeping contact and slowly bringing her closer and closer to me, until we were pressed against each other from knees to nipples.

I knew she could feel my erection digging into her thigh, but I didn't care. She didn't seem to either.

We danced, and we kissed.

I knew I had to have her in my bed. I just had to see her naked, touch her and taste her, smell her. I pulled her closer and spoke into her ear as our bodies kept moving in time to the music.

"I have a somewhat odd proposition for you. I'd like to take you home, but I'm afraid I can't have sex with you. And I'm afraid I have to get up very early in the morning too, a friend is coming over and I promised to make her breakfast... and then I have work. So it's not a very good invitation. But I would like to invite you over all the same."

I was shocked and amazed that she said yes. We went home.

I was pleasantly surprised how good her pussy tasted.

It was her turn to be surprised when my fingers and tongue brought her to orgasm.

As we cuddled afterwards, she asked me why I wouldn't fuck her. My erection wasn't exactly lacking, I had told her I was single. She didn't get it. So I told her why.

That's when she totally blew me away.

"That's all? I had warts a couple of years ago, they're no big deal. Where's a condom?"

And just like that, she ended my celibacy and ruined my carefully constructed complexes of frustration and self-pity.

How did I get to be so lucky?

I felt a sense of wonder as I watched her impale herself on my erection, pressing her lovely tits together and moving up and down on me, giving me what I've been aching for for what seems like an eternity now.

I remember a time when it would never have occurred to me that I could have such a beautiful girl in my bed. Let alone under circumstances like these.

And yet there she was, riding me, slowly but surely coaxing the cum out of me and relishing every moment of it. I held back as long as I could, gazing at her perfect body, loving how her pussy felt on me. I just wanted to last forever. But I couldn't, she made me come, hard, gasping and digging my fingers into her hips.

And then we did it again.

And again.

And now I can't wait until next weekend! I'm back!!

tart

I dance. Sip my vodka, enjoy the burning sensation as it rolls over my tongue. I discovered early that if I drink it straight, I don't drink it too fast.

That was before I got used to the taste, before I learned to love it.

I still drink it straight, but count the shots.

The heavy beat of the music has me back on the floor, dancing. Leather and latex and black hair surround me. My everyday clothes are out of place, a splash of colour on a goth dance floor. But I don't care, I just let the vodka and the music move me.

Soon I notice another out of place dancer. Tight jeans hug swaying hips and a brown top cover a fit frame. Perky breasts that would fit perfectly in my hands. I'm amused and a little intrigued by how delighted she is with her own reflection, repeatedly lifting her top halfway up to admire her own flat stomach in the mirror by the dance floor. Not for my benefit or anyone else's, but for her own.

As if she isn't quite used to her own body.

We dance. Exchange glances, smiles. Dance.

The D.J. is doing a poor job keeping people on the floor. Great songs and truly awful ones alternate, people come and go. During one of the lulls I go to the bar to refill my glass and meet the self-absorbed dancer there.

She smiles flirtatiously at me, I smile back and introduce myself. Her name is Sally. Or Sandra. Or Samantha. I can't remember. Her face seems strangely older than her body, her hands too. Her voice has a hint of gravel. I have another sip from my glass, relish how it burns. She tells me that I'm very cute.

So cute.

A few songs later, another glass, we meet again and she asks me to follow her to a quiet corner of the club. Sure. I enjoy the attention, try to strike a balance between flattering her back and not leading her on too much. I'm not going to do anything tonight but drink and dance.

She explains to me how her boyfriend is out of town, how he is so often away. She emphasizes how she always likes to play it safe, and it's clear she is talking about sex, offering sex. She says I look fit, can she put her hand on my stomache? Sure, why not? She caresses my stomach and I see hunger in her eyes.

I can imagine her getting down on her knees right there, putting her mouth on me. I'm entertained by the thought of suggesting just that, but nothing escapes my lips but a sly grin. I wasn't going to do anything tonight but drink and dance.

More vodka. More dancing. She's looking pretty good.

Another conversation, she confides in me that she has a strong foot fetish and would love to take me home and just rub my feet. Do I find that repulsive? No, I don't, but it seems a little unusual. Somehow I've never really thought about women having foot fetishes. Although few things would be nicer than a foot rub after dancing for hours at a gay bar turned goth club, I politely decline.

Not giving up, she asks me if I enjoy oral sex. I answer, how could I not? But I'm not doing anything tonight except drinking and dancing.

By now the flirting has gone quite a bit past the point of not disappointing her, I hazily think to myself. Do I care? I'm enjoying myself and I can't bring myself to feel very bad about playing hard to get with a woman who is so blatantly trying to cheat her man. So I flirt, play hard to get. Quite the tart.

The bar closes, the music goes off.

I head out with my mate, she's going in the same direction, we walk her home. We decline her invitation to come in for tea, she makes a point of letting me know where she'll be next weekend. We continue walking. Once out of earshot, my mate tells me he was more than a little amused by the performance. Tells me she had plaintively asked him at one point whether I had something against transsexuals...

Trans... oh.

I hadn't realized. The vodka cushions the blow, I don't feel nearly as dumb as I probably should have. But then again, it didn't matter, did it?

Could have been interesting though.

sirkus

I think I've found my place here.

It's a dive. A sleazy little bar with a low ceiling, sticky tables and far too many people in it. It's called Sirkus, because the locals love all things American but don't care much about spelling.

It's a dive, and it's a meat market.

After a few weekends here, you begin to recognize faces. Regulars, here all the time. I've popped in a couple of times on weeknights, same faces then too, just not all at once.

If you ever decide to visit the place, I've got one piece of advice for you: don't worry about which is the men's room. The ladies will happily occupy the mens' for what will seem like hours and come out oddly more awake and better made up than when they went in... so turn about's fair play. But be a gentleman and don't pee all over the place. Bring a friend or two.

I've had good luck losing myself on what passes for a dance floor. Just moving with the crowd, in time, swaying, rubbing, sweating. Making eyes at the lovely little things all around, grinning slyly when I catch them watching me move. It's what bodies are for. Moving.

Seems this particular meat market is the place to be. I think the owner is Bjork's sister or something like that, musicians who play here often pass through this little dive while sampling the Icelandic nightlife. Maybe I'll get lucky and pick up Lily Allen here one night. But usually there aren't any celebrities here, just drunken Icelanders, horny exchange students and tourists.

It was a couple of weeks back. I was on the dance floor lost in music and beer and intoxicated by the lovely women all around me, when I noticed a pair of eyes on me. A stunning brunette who didn't look away when I looked back. I grinned, she grinned back. And we danced on, each in our place, exchanging glances and moving, dancing.

Eventually, the lights were switched on, the music switched off.

The girl who minds the door started stomping about, shouting something in Icelandic which obviously meant it was time to bugger off, get lost, go home. People stood around finishing their beers and gathering up their things.

I ignored the shouting Icelander and walked up to the brunette. She looked even better with the lights on. I said hello, introduced myself, asked her name. Nadine. American, tourist, alone. Chit, chat, small talk. I tried the straightforward approach; would she like to spend the night with me?

She'd be delighted.

I acted cool, but I could hardly contain my excitement, my desire. We chatted a bit more, our hands met. So civilized. But I ached to get her out of here and into my bed, any bed! I wanted to put my hands all over her pale body, touch her and taste her, fill her up and make her moan. I could see her eyes glancing at my chest and my arms, the lust in her eyes mirroring mine.

We were interrupted.

A big blonde guy with a bushy red beard hiding most of his face. "Hey baby, lose this guy. Look at him! Mediocre! I can treat you better than he could even dream of." I looked up at him incredulously, not letting go of Nadine's hand. "I don't think so," I said calmly. She moved closer to me, her breast brushing against my chest.

The guy walked off without saying another word, the Icelandic girl stomped past us again, still shouting that it was time to leave.

So we left.

The two of us ended up at her hotel, our clothes ended up on the floor.

Hours and hours later, when it was time for her to go on some sightseeing tour with friends, she still hadn't slept at all. She kissed me goodbye and told me that our bearded friend couldn't have been more wrong.

So I'm not mediocre. I wonder if she'll ever e-mail me.

blondes

When she was a child, her dad told her that in this world, blondes always came first. Her black hair would always be a liability. She believed him.

Her friend told her on Thursday, that if she went home with some long haired loser (that would be me), he'd go pick up some blonde chick. I went home alone.

Saturday night, after meeting her for a chat, playing her game, I played mine.

Went home and fucked a lovely blonde.

games

This day sucked. Can I get another one, please?

So I went out to see that girl.

Not only did I go out, I blew off a friend from out of town to do so, arranged another place for him to stay and told him I needed my privacy tonight. I also made a point of letting my date know that I had made that effort to ensure we'd be undisturbed.

I got no reply to that particular text.

We spent the evening together, at a pub of her choice, drinking beer I mostly paid for. She had actually said she was buying, but somehow wasn't there when the first bill came, and by the third round (after she'd bought one beer for each of us), she was talking about how broke she was, so I just paid for the beer. But we were having a good time together, right? Well, a good time aside from all the time I spent alone while she repeatedly got up to talk to her friends...

At the last minute, closing time, she told me she had to go home to look after her sister's kids. So no, she wasn't coming home with me.

Fuck that.

I can tell she's into me, but she's just not together enough to do anything about it. She'll just keep frustrating me until she gets so drunk she ends up in my bed, is a crap lay and then regrets it and blames it on the booze. And me. Since I'm moving to a silly country in a few short weeks I really don't see any point in playing that particular game.

The beauty of it all is, if I drop her now, she can handily write me off as just another guy who doesn't care about anything but getting into her pants...

staring

I sat at the bar, talking to ex-gf #5 and checking the door periodically. No sign of Maria. We had been exchanging messages, she knew where I could be found. Part of me wanted her to come find me, part of me didn't like that idea at all.

Each time I checked the door my gaze crossed the face of a women sitting on the other side of the oval-shaped bar. She invariably had her eyes pointed my way, although I couldn't be entirely sure she was staring at me and not someone behind me or next to me.

After a while my glances became about checking whether she was looking first, the door second.

Did I know her? She seemed familiar.

I got off my chair and made my way to the toilet, holding my glass and scanning faces as I walked. A curl here, a freckle there, eyeliner, earrings, smiles. So many women. The atmosphere seemed charged with pent up sexual energy.

As I stood by the urinal, I remembered. I had met the woman across the bar at a party a couple of years ago, we had somehow gotten into a detailed conversation about the pros and cons of monogamy. She'd been a bit weirded out by my opinions, but at the same time she had also been intrigued.

I made my way back to the bar, went the long way around so I'd pass by her. I caught her eye, grinned.

"Hi, remember me?" I asked.

"Yeah, we met at Finnegan's place didn't we?"

"Right!" I introduced myself, not expecting her to remember my name after all this time. "How've you been?"

She got a funny look on her face.

"Actually, that conversation we had at the party made me reevaluate some things I'd been taking for granted. I've always wanted to tell you." She leaned closer to me and said quietly, "I've also always regretted not going home with you that night."

I grinned.

"I was quite disappointed that you didn't. I'd invite you over tonight, but I'm afraid I have previous engagements." I glanced meaningfully across the bar at #5.

After a moment's pause I added. "Although, she probably wouldn't mind you joining us. If you're interested in that sort of thing."

She looked at her shoes.

"You saw me staring at her, didn't you?"

So that's why she'd always been looking in my direction! Hah!

My grin got a couple of millimeters wider. I introduced them and thus began what turned out to be a very interesting night.

skin

"Shall we spend the night together?" she asked, frank as usual.

My drunken mind mulled that one over. A warm body would be nice.

"Yeah, but I'm pretty broken up about Maria. I'd like company, but that's all."

Sounded good to her.

We took a cab, stumbled haphazardly up the stairs, in. Jeans off, tops off, socks off... but we left the underwear on. She was wearing a blue bra and matching knickers. Simple but nice.

Climbed into bed together, touched.

She had the most wonderful skin. Smooth, firm, tanned skin, covering a surprisingly muscular body. I love the skin of a woman who takes care of herself, works out. This young lady was in good shape.

We experimented with a kiss or two, but it didn't click.

I helped her remove a contact lens.

We cuddled, enjoying the feel of each others' skin. Slept.

The next morning we cuddled a bit more. She gave me a short back-rub, I gave her a coffee.

Maybe I'm getting old, but lately it seems like some of my best one-night stands don't involve any sex at all. Sometimes just warm skin is enough.

biting

Today was good. I sat in the sun, topless, drinking beer with friends. Threw a frisbee around. Ran barefoot in the grass.

That's what life's about, isn't it?

I was a bit of a fifth wheel, but I didn't care. Two couples. One directly thanks to me, I introduced them a couple of weeks ago. Seems I was spot on, they fit. Him all in black, black hair, rock and roll and an easy grin. Her a Scandinavian blonde, pig-tails, impressive cleavage, quick smile. Lovely, I felt proud.

The other couple... well. If it wasn't for Maria, I'd be a little jealous.

I met her last year. Ended up at a party at her place after a concert, took turns kissing her and her best friend. It was a party with only two women and I had both of them. She's an athletic blonde, naughty smile, tight jeans. Her friend has long black hair, big bones, big breasts, red dress. Full, sexy lips and a wild look in her eyes. Both of them small and fit, both of them a handful.

They took turns kissing me, discussed my technique with each other as if I wasn't there.

"He's not a bad kisser. You think he can bite?"

"I don't know, let's find out."

The blonde leaned over, bared her neck. "Bite me. Hard."

I took her head in my hands, cocked it to one side. Pulled her to me and for a moment I felt like a vampire about to have dinner. I touched my teeth to her neck, right below the jaw bone, sank them into her soft flesh. Smelled her and tasted her.

But only a little bit. I didn't want to break her, I just wanted her to shiver for me a bit.

She shivered.

At that moment she was mine. I could have eaten her up, held her down, fucked her, spanked her, done anything I liked.

But the moment passed, I relaxed my jaw and let her go. She leaned back, her eyes half shut, looking at me hungrily, wanting more. But she wasn't getting it right away. It was her friend's turn.

I put my hand behind her head and pulled her to me. Kissed her full lips gently and then made a fist, grabbing a handful of her black hair. I exposed her neck.

I knew the blonde was watching, the rest of the party was trying not to.

I leaned forward, breathed on her neck just a bit, licked it teasingly. And then I bit her. Gently at first, but she pressed against me and I responded by increasing the pressure, harder, harder... harder. Until I knew I'd leave a bruise or break flesh if I didn't stop. Then I relaxed, let her go.

The blonde leaned in for another go.

I ended up fucking neither of them, but fell in love with them both.

restless

I haven't heard from Maria since the other day. I have this nagging suspicion that something isn't quite right, but somehow I can't bring myself to lift up the phone and call her.

I'm also a bit confused myself, last night at the bar I had this restless feeling. Now that she's almost here, now that I'm just maybe about to get what I want, I feel a little panicy about not having fooled around quite enough during the time we've been apart. Obviously she's been busy, this Brad person must have had some redeeming qualities. Knowing Maria they were probably all below the belt.

So, I was at the bar, feeling restless. Birthday party, an old shag turning 25 and getting sloshed with a bunch of friendly faces.

In walks Shannon. I haven't seen Shannon for years. Apparently I've been missing alot. She was always hot, but a bit of a wallflower. That's somehow all gone now, she walked in like she owned the place. Colorful, low cut dress, push-up bra making the most of her lovely breasts. Killer red heels, killer red lipstick. I watched her scan the room, her eyes found mine, she flashed me a meaningful smile.

After walking around, making her hellos and hugging the birthday girl, she came and sat next to me. Leaned over, air-kissed my cheek and said in a low voice: "I was hoping you'd be here." She had her hand on my thigh and gave it a squeeze. I made happy sounds back at her, forced myself to look at her face, not her heaving bosom. Yeah right. Every time I failed, she knew it. I swear that woman was breathing way more than was necessary.

Dammit. My resolve to wait for Maria was rapidly evaporating.

She hadn't been waiting for me. She hadn't said she'd take me back. I've always wanted Shannon, and for some reason, tonight she clearly wanted me.

Damn, damn, damn.

I finished my beer a little faster than I usually do and got up saying something about needing another one. Got a refill, mingled a bit while I tried to regain my composure. My ex-wife was there, I cornered her and complained a bit about the situation. She patted me on the head and said "oh, poor handsome white boy, you have too many women? I'm sure everyone feels your pain."

She can be such a twat sometimes.

I went to the toilet, had to wait my turn. Just as the door opened Shannon strode past and pulled me into the tiny room after her. Locked the door and put my hand on her breast.

"Take me now. I need it."

I couldn't help myself.

I was rock hard as soon as the door shut, her breast felt so perfect in my hand. I unzipped while she pulled up her dress and slid her knickers to one side. I probably set a world record for how fast that condom went onto my erection, I was in her. She cried out and I stuffed her scarf in her mouth so the rest of the pub wouldn't hear.

I fucked her hard, my hand on her mouth, ramming into her and pushing her small frame against the wall on every stroke. Grunted angrily as I came inside her.

I let her go, leaned back against the door.

She breathed heavily, looked at me with smoldering eyes. Leaned over, pulled the condom off and licked me clean.

Then she straightened out her dress, demurely fixed her lipstick and gave me a rather nice looking business card. Apparently she has a new job.

"Call me," she said, as she opened the door and glided out.

wednesday

It's funny how going out for Thai food on a Wednesday can turn into a night of beers and restraint.

I still haven't decided what to think of the whole Maria situation.

Going to the bar, meeting my ex-wife's spanking new ex-boyfriend and his hot, hot, hot best friend wasn't exactly the plan. It just happened. And when he started telling me about his hot, hot, hot best friend's friend (who kept looking at me) and quite blatently trying to fix me up... it just got a bit surreal.

Wasn't he supposed to hate me because in his alternate reality, I'm sleeping with our common ex, just to spite him? I guess he forgot. Or maybe he just realised that I'm not.

It's also funny how hot, hot, hot girls tend to have really hot best friends too.

The blatant fixing-up advice, although surreal, wasn't entirely unwelcome. I played along. Sure enough, she was all smiles and fidgeting with her hair when I proceeded to ask her about the things he told me to ask her about. All smiles and slightly insecure questions. So I flirted, it was fun. Made her evening. Smiled, had another beer. Promised to have a look at her job's website, e-mail her what I think afterwards. But not until tomorrow afternoon so she'd have a chance to fix things first.

She left early.

Then I somewhat shamelessly proceeded to flirt with the hot, hot, hot friend. Because that was just the appropriate thing to do when she was left all by herself at the bar with me and my pal. But I only flirted a little bit. Just enough to make sure she felt appreciated, for me to feel that it was all working as it should. I let my pal walk her home though.

All of this with frequent breaks to kiss the cheek of a kissable friend, hug a purty little thing that just needed to push her firm little tits into my chest and beam at me. I love that. God, I love that.

Then I went home.

Jerked off in my bath.

I'm so fucking well behaved I should get a medal.

I'd feel better about all that if Maria wasn't busy fucking Brad right about now. Love's a bitch.

not letting go

I leaned against the club's wall, feeling smug.

It was one of those nights, out just relaxing with a mate as girl after girl checked me out. He had gone to the toilet or something, left me alone for a bit. I could feel the warm numbness of the third beer I had just finished, considered going for another one or just enjoying the scenery as I waited for him.

Then a girl caught my eye. Young, slender, with a slightly grown-up face and blond hair. Maybe 20, maybe 25, maybe older. Impossible to tell. She saw me looking and looked straight back. Walked slowly to me, our hands met. I held it until it was clear we weren't just shaking hands.

I asked, Shall I let you go?

No, she said.

So I didn't. She silently turned around and led me through the crowd towards the stairs at the back. Up, to an empty sofa. We were alone, but just as we sat down one of the bouncers came up and said they were closing the second floor, we'd have to go down. So we did.

Again, she led the way in silence, this time to one of the club's bathrooms. We stood outside, waiting for whoever was in there to finish. I reached up, grasped her jaw gently and pulled her face to me. Her soft lips met mine, shy, but eager. As our lips softly caressed each other, I realized for the first time that she was taller than me.

~~~

The bathroom door opened, she led me in. Shut the door, locked it, leaned in for another kiss. I slid my hands around her and she melted into my arms, her pelvis firmly against mine and her small breasts squashed between us. It felt good. I kissed her more firmly, slid my tongue a little further into her mouth. I started to get hard.

The music from the club could be clearly heard in the background, something with a heavy beat and muffled vocals. We knew we didn't have forever, locked in that bathroom. There would be a queue.

The kiss ended, she stepped back. Grinned coyly, knelt in front of me. I leaned back against the sink as she unzipped my fly and pulled everything down just enough to reveal my proud erection. The tip of my cock was already wet, glistening. She put her hand gently on my balls and tasted my pre-cum playfully with her tongue, so gently I could hardly feel it. Then she greedily took me into her mouth.

I shut my eyes and just enjoyed the warm sensations. I wasn't sure whether she just wanted to suck me off or what, but no way was I going to interrupt what she was doing to ask.

I found out soon enough. She knew exactly what she was doing and I reached the brink of orgasm far quicker than I usually do. I could feel I was about to come and so could she. And she stopped. Stood up, pulled up her skirt and turned around.

Bent over, looked back over her shoulder hungrily.

I always carry a condom or three in my pocket, I fished one out, rolled it over my sensitive cock with one hand and explored her pussy with the other. No surprises there, she was sopping wet, ready and waiting. I didn't waste any time. I entered her quickly, took a couple of short strokes and then plunged all the way into her.

Again. And again. And again.

By now people had started knocking on the door, but we didn't care.

I just pumped back and forth, riding her as hard as I could. She was still silent, but I could see by the tension in her hand against the wall and the way she bit her lip that this was exactly what she wanted. I fucked her even harder, pulled almost all the way out and then rammed as deep into her as I could, and again, pumping a load of cum into her on both strokes.

As I did I saw her shudder and her hand on the wall relaxed.

I pulled out, pulled up my pants, still wearing the condom. She turned around and smoothed her skirt back down, smiled. Gave me a kiss, took my hand again and together we left the room, ignoring the angry looks from the people in line.

She led me back to where we had met, smiled, touched a finger to my lips and walked away.

I never even got her name.

flashback

Jumping up and down on the dance floor, aware I was sweating profusely from the heat and exertion, I noticed her looking at me. She looked at me through her eyelashes, they way they do when they want to be taken home, fucked.

She'd told me no, last time I made a civilized move. Asked her out for a coffee. No. The time before, she had also told me no, so I asked her if I should bother trying again. No.

So I just kept on dancing and sweating, jumping and waving those stupid glow-sticks in the air. The crowd surged back and forth on the too-small dance floor, people smiled drunkenly, sang along, fought for balance, fought their way to the bar. A mob of almost-thirties in throbbing 90s rave nostalgia.

The time I wasn't that civilized and just took her home, that's when she'd said yes. Shouted it in fact, gasped it. But the sound I'll always remember is the cooing happy sound she made as I slipped my boxers off and she saw what I had in store for her. She liked that and I liked that sound.

I think of it when I see her, thought of it on that dance floor.

I think we went at it at least four times that night. I couldn't get enough of her, she liked everything I had to offer. We were both sore by the end, drenched in sweat, exhausted, but in that oh-so-nice way. We fell asleep in a tangle of limbs and sheets and pillows. I awoke before her and enjoyed the curve and feel of her breasts, one of the few times I've actually liked big ones like that. They were massive, real, perfect. They'd moved very nicely when I'd entered her. I quietly slipped out and bought breakfast. That's how to treat a lady the morning after a fuckathon, isn't it? Breakfast in bed?

I was probably trying too hard.

As I left the sweaty bar and the pumping music, I considered walking around the place a bit to see if she still had that look on her face. But I have my dignity. She told me no. If she wanted more she could come and get it, I know she has my number. There were other bars waiting, other girls. Besides, the spark was gone.

That third no killed it.