Castlemaine and Snot.  

narcissusblind 40M
0 posts
10/7/2005 7:05 am

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

Castlemaine and Snot.

Sunday 2nd October, 2005.

It's dark in the unfamilar lounge room in which I've been asked to sleep. I'm way the hell out in Castlemaine, about 100km north of where any self respecting literate human wishes to be stuck. On the other side of the thin wall there's two girls talking and giggling. It's like a slumber party in there. The other girl arrived about five minutes ago, serendipitiously thumping on the door for a place to crash. It's more likely she got a rescue call to rush over. They're talking and giggling, and you know it's about me. And I'm sure it's not complimentary.

I was supposed to be fucking right now. An hour ago I was. Yeah! Fuck me! She was screaming. This big, beautiful girl with tits so enormous I just know I'll be boasting to my mates for years about having had my way with them. The ancient Greeks would have worshipped this twenty year old beauty.

The evening came about through the magic of internet dating. We got talking and immediately we both sensed chemistry. Maybe it was the mutual sexual desperation. It's hard to tell the difference. The 'hello, I'm not a antisocial misfit' first phone call went for ninety minutes. We talked about everything; politics, sex, ex-lovers, hobbies and every other usual topic of banality we could think to cross. What two lonely people throw out there when trying make a connection.

Along the way we agreed I should travel to Castlemaine. We'd eat, then I'd spend the night. It was arranged. I would take a sickie off work the next day to fully enjoy the pleasures of the night.

Yeah, right.

Dinner was as you'd expect from a country restaurant. It's easy to please people who don't know any better. We flirt throughout dinner. Touching each others thighs. Sex with our eyes. We almost ran back to her place. The bottle of pinot noir I brought with me from Melbourne got decorked. Then the tequila flowed.

The TV is on.It's not long before she replaces the British sketch comedy DVD that's playing with some good ol' fashioned, hardcore porn. Voila! A mattress is suddenly there, produced by her like magic from behind the lounge room display case. She lays it down on the floor so we can fuck in front of the fucking pornstars.

It's funny how chicks can take the smallest indescretions to heart.

I'm pumping away. She's moaning and calling my name. She tells me to call out hers. I bluff teasing her, not saying it for nearly a minute until I actually remember. Self-consciously I start groaning it out like she wants. About twenty minutes in, for some reason my nose starts running. I don't notice. How could I? What few brain cells I have in my male head are very much occupied. Please leave a message, the boss is busy in a meeting. I'm just so busy fucking I don't register the vine of slime dripping toward her breast, and I don't sniff it back inside my nose before it touches down.

I clamp down to suck on those glorious breasts. Since my sight, smell, touch, hearing and taste -- all five of my senses -- have migrated to my penis, I don't even notice the familar taste of my own snot like gravy over her nipple.

She notices, though.

She asks me to stop but I've realised what I've done and already pulled out of her. She asks for some tissue and I'm already half way scrambling butt-naked for a few sheets of toilet paper. Mortification doesn't cover what I'm feeling.

I get back and perform the weirdest post coital clean up I'll ever do. She says she's not in the mood anymore. Funny how chicks can take the smallest indescretions to heart.

So I'm lying here on the lounge room floor writing this. The girls in the bedroom have fallen asleep, thank God. I'll probably be wide awake until morning. It only occurs to me days later that right then I could've had my first threesome. Had I simply knocked on that bedroom door... Maybe I would've, that was if I hadn't been so engrossed writing this stupid thing.

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