Making Out in the Car (II)

It was a cold and wet evening. The rain had stopped, and the car air cond, which was turned up 3 notches, because I was feeling hot, caused all the glasses to be fogged from the outside.

Inside the car, she guided my hand down her tummy, where I discovered her unbuttoned and unzipped jeans. She did tell me earlier that she wasn’t correctly dressed to meet up. I had wondered what she meant, attributing the comment to a lady’s thing.

Playfully, my hand and fingers spent some time wandering around the tummy area. I realised that she was actually a little on the flabby side. Further down south, before I reached the critical zone, I fingers felt pricky short hair, pretty much how my chin would feel like after a day or two without shaving.

She gasped as the middle finger searched, felt the whole area to be wet, and then found the magic button, the clit. I continued to kiss her on her mouth, while my fingers went to work, rubbing the clit, varying the speed and the pressure, always mindful not to be doing it too hard.

She was obviously enjoying everything that I was giving. Soon, she started squirming and her moans grew louder. There was a short pause, like the calm before the storm. Then she twisted even more rigorously, as I felt a tremour through her body. All this time, my finger kept at doing what it was doing, staying connected with the sensitive button, despite the twisting and turning of the body.

She asked me to stopped, and across the obstacle between our seats in the car, she placed her head on my left shoulder and went limp. After some time, her breathing returned to normal.  Her hand undid my zip, and took out the throbbing, and so far neglected, member. The lady went down on me, and for the next 5 minutes or so, i just sat back and enjoyed what was on offer.

Endof Part II

Making Out In The Car (1)

It started rather innocently.

I knew her in 2005, and we chatted on and off on the msn. There was never any pressure to initiate chat, even when we see each other logged on. We’d neither seen nor heard each other in the past 2 years.

Which made what happened yesterday a big surprise.

During the chat, we stumbled into a topic where I was totally ignorant about – Lingerie. She was describing some of the finer points of this kind of attire.

Then things got a little suggestive.

Then it dawned upon us that we’ve never met.

One thing led to another. I bought red wine, the kind that didn’t need a cork opener. We met at a carpark. She parked hers and we took my car, and I drove it to a remote place in Singapore.

We talked for a while before she commented suddenly how my hands were so much bigger than hers. With that she initiated physical contact. Holding my hand for a while, she brought it to and brushed it lightly against her lips.

I needed no further encouragement.

We kissed.

And we kissed.

And we kissed some more.

I was starting to have difficulty with where to put my hands. They wandered to my favourite part of the body. Through the soft material, my right hand had the first touch of the equally soft breast. My senses heightened when I realised how generous the size of her breast was. Her moans grew louder as I shifted my attention from one mound to the other.

My own urge rose, and while slipping our tongues into each other’s mouth, I focussed my hands on unbuttoning her blouse. Alas, my lack of practice, and the very tiny buttons made progress slow, which she quickly corrected by helping out.

Taking my time, I caressed her through the material of the bra, again alternating my attention on one, then the other. I felt her breathing quickened. I shifted my hand and felt the smooth and silky skin on the uncovered parts of the desirable flesh. I couldn’t help it any longer, I uncovered more of her breast, and as gently as I knew how, I went to work on one of them with my mouth, sucking the nipple, and occassionally flicking it with my tongue. At the same time, my hand gave the other the due attention required….

 endof Part I

Delayed Justice

It took 2 years to commence proceedings, and that it happened following a public outroar.

Coincidence?

Inefficiency?

Influence?

Flat Rootbeer @ Mingles

After my workout at the gym last night, I tried out this little outlet called Mingles.

 The primary attraction on the menu was sausages.

I ordered a root beer along with other stuffs.

It tasted flat and short of gas. So when a waiter passed by, I called him. I wasn’t rude. In fact, I think I was very courteous.

When he stopped at the table, I said, “Excuse me. This root beer tasted a little flat, and don’t seem to have enough gas.”

He looked at me with an expression that I didn’t put too much thought on. Because he didn’t respond, I elaborated, “May be your drink machine has run out of gas. The root beer doesn’t have any gas in it. May be you want to get a straw and try for yourself.

He countered, “Our drinks are not served from machines. They are served from cans, opened only when there are orders. So it is not possible for the root beer to have not enough gas.”

A flat root beer is a flat root beer, even if it had come straight from a can. Thinking that I could learn from him what brand to avoid the next time I go to the supermarket, I asked, “Oh. What is the brand of this root beer?”

“Mug”, came the confident reply.

I’d tasted Mug root beer in the past, and it had never tasted that flat before. I turned to look at the serving area, and saw his so called “can”. It was a 1-litre or 1.5-litre bottle, two-third empty, which probably explained the lack of gas.

I didn’t want to make life difficult for anyone, so I left it at that.

I said, “Ok then. Thanks.”

Just seconds later, I saw this waiter saying something to his colleague, and with a smirk on his face, jerked his head in my direction. The other person laughed at what he said and turned to look at my direction.

What I saw made my blood boiled. 

I was going to pay almost $30 for a meal, and this waiter for reasons that only he knew, had just mocked me.

Perhaps he thought I was trying to get free top-up. Or he thought I was trying not to pay. Or he was just boasting about how he had gotten away with a lie - calling a plastic bottle a can.

Is this how the people in the service industry should behave ?

Mingles had seen the first and last of me.

Road Rage

I have a spectacular list of swear words.

Swearing was okay in school. It was okay during the early part of my career too, until I got bumped up the ladder. Once I started wearing shirts with long sleeves, I’ve had to watch my words with members of my adoped species, ie people with sleeves to cover their arms.

Most of the time, I do pretty well to blend in with my adopted species.

But I do enjoy the occassions when I can roll up my sleeves, mingle with people at the shopfloor, loose the restraints, share a vulgar joke or two, and swear shamelessly. Even then, I’ve seen enough raised eyebrows in the past to know that even at the shopfloor, not everyone enjoys talking in colorful language.

How times have changed.

So most of the time, I live beneath a mask of decency – A mask that gets thrown to the backseat when I get behind the wheel.

Yes, the traffic gives lots of excuses to swear.

The best ones are normally reserved for taxi drivers. Just this morning, there was a taxi driving about 4 car lengths behind me on my right. We were maintaining that distance for about a minute and a half. As I approached a slow vehicle, I signalled my intention to overtake on the right. The taxi sped up and closed the gap, just as my signal came on.

Road courtesy? Hell !

In Singapore, it is often safer to change lanes and overtake without signalling of your intention early, or at all. Many drivers just get annoyed at a car moving into their path, and will speed up to close the gap.

Lady drivers come a closed second.

Don’t get me wrong ladies, I love ya.

But two kinds irritate the hell out of me on the road. The first kind drives a car too expensive for me, and too big for them. Sometimes, looking at the rear mirror, you’ll see only a segment of their head, protruding above the dashboard. They will drive at either the speed limit or 10km/hr below the speed limit. And they will do this at the outermost lane. I was reminded of the second kind just 2 evenings ago. It was peak hour traffic, and a sporty little orange car,  zipped in and out of gaps between vehicles like she was in some stockcar race. She cut into the path of the vehicle on my right from 2 lanes on the left. The vehicle beside me hit the brakes and swerved – almost onto the side of my car.

On both occassions, I swore about their smelly body parts.

Then, as fast as the temper rose, it subsided.

I reached my destinations, and wore my mask.

Actually, if I do get to meet the lady drivers of the second kind, I will most likely laugh off these incidents, and admire their guts and attitude. For the first kind, the admiration will fall on their wealth. Whatever the case, I don’t hold grudges. There are also a lot of male drivers who drive badly and recklessly. Their mothers had similarly received long-distance greetings, from the seat of my car, about their smelly body parts.

Smoke Screens

We live in a world of smoke.

We require a screen of smoke to distract people’s attention from our real purpose and intention.

The bland exterior, like an unreadable poker face, hides that which is real, behind a screen that is both comfortable and familiar to those around us, until the trap is sprung.