I played a little hard to get when it came to his suggestions of phonesex. I pretended to get coy and bashful. The truth was I lived for those sessions. The more we did this the more I knew how much I craved this exciting, taboo sexual contact. I made the next decision. I wanted it for real. I wanted him for real. Surprisingly he was more reluctant to actually meet. In the throes of our masturbatory chat I would talk about meeting up. I made it clear I really meant it. He would never make those final arrangements. Then one day he said he was going to be visiting some friends near to where I lived. He asked if I wanted to meet him in a car park, just to say hello. Despite this being what I wanted the thought of meeting did fill me with dread. Here I was, a married man in my late thirties who had only ever dabbled in having some sort of virtual sex with a man. I was able to overcome my conservative reluctance as we were meeting on a Sunday afternoon in a relatively public place. At the. .” My knees would tremble as I lead him through to my bedroom, the scene of so many night time fantasies of him. Quickly pulling his shirt over his head, he would unzip my dress and let it fall to the floor. My braless 36Ds would be aching for his touch, my nipples solid and waiting for his tongue. He’d lower me back onto the bed as he kicked off his shoes and trousers, his mouth seeking mine all the while. His kisses, hot and deep, would drift slowly down to my throat, finding each of my nipples in turn. He’d flick them teasingly with his tongue, and it would feel heavenly. My pussy would be dripping wet with anticipation. Impatiently I would thrust my hips toward him, and, taking the hint, he would spread my legs and fix his mouth to the crotch of my thong. One hot long breath from him later and my hands would be clutching the bed sheets as I whimpered with pleasure. Easing my thong down over my hips, he’d slowly draw it down my legs. He’d pull it down over my curled toes and drop.
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