Meeting R

“You have a new message from R” beeped the phone. 

I hadn’t communicated with her for more than a year. 

She worked shifts in the hospital and had odd hours and odd weeks. I was busy with my own work, and opportunity was few and far in between. She was, by her own admission, lonely, and needed company during her off days. She was separated from her husband, who was in jail, not for the first time.

The other reason I didn’t keep in touch with her was her simplicity. While she professed to be careful, she had a simple mind. Conversation topics were rather limited, and in some sense superficial. She said she enjoyed my company because I  made her laugh a lot. And also because I didn’t take liberties. Well, at least not until one of the few evenings, when she invited me to her place.

It was after a quiet meal at Raffle Marina, where we ate salads, chatted, and had a couple of helpings of wine. She invited me to look at her place when I sent her back. Being “single”, the place was not well-maintained. She brought me to her room. Sitting on the platform bed, because there was nowhere else to sit, we chatted a bit. She then excused herself to go to the washroom.

She came out in a white cotton nightshirt with a row of buttons in front. I could tell, from the 2 pointed protrusions on the stretched material at her chest, that she was quite bare beneath the nightshirt.

She lied down on one side of the bed and put her hands behind her head. We continued to chat, and I had a bit of a problem trying to avoid looking at her ample breasts, which rose and fall when she breathed, and which jiggled like a jelly when she giggled. And she giggled a lot, which made breathing difficult for me at times.

I lied down beside her and mirrored her posture, by putting my hands behind my head. Soon enough, it appeared that she wasn’t satisfied with the status quo. She turned her body, and pushed her back and especially her soft, but firm buttocks (a result of her frequent swimming) against me.  I reciprocated by turning towards her and held her around the waist. Unable to restrain myself, my hands moved up to her breasts, alternating between gentle squeezing, and playing with her nipples. Her buttocks must have felt my hidden member, which was already rock hard and throbbing, and straining itself through at 3 layers of fabric towards the object of desire.

She moan lightly, and let my hands wandered around for a while, and declared that I got her all horny. She turned to face me, sat up and undo the buttons to reveal a sight to behold. I must have held my breath and turned blue, or something. She looked at me, giggled, and proceeded to undo my belt, and zip.

With the restraints gone, she went down on me, while I continued to feel my way around whichever parts of the body my hands could reach. Satisfied with her work, she sat on me and rode me. It must be good for her as well, as I watched her squirm and twist in one direction to another. Up and Down. Slow and Fast. To prolong the end, I focused my attention on where my hands, which were having a time of their life massaging the soft and supple breasts.

I felt the beginning of the end approaching, and not wanting to climax too soon, I told her I wanted to be on top.

(to be continued….)

The Plight of Masseurs

I felt relatively lethargic yesterday. The shoulder felt relatively stiff, coupled with aches here and there, the result of golfing the day before, in a tough, undulating course, where buggies were restricted to track. My lack of practice, and hence accuracy showed, and most shots ended up furthest away from the track. 

 With a little time to spare in the late afternoon, I wandered into one of the spas for a massage.

The massage was excellent. I dozed of at some stage, and the masseur was intelligent enough to not interupt the rest, which I needed so much. Work had been stressful, and the toll, of scrambling for an apartment to move to, tired me out considerably.

The first interruption was when I was told to turn over, after work on my back, my hands and legs were done. The masseur started being a little cheeky. That woke me and my little member up somewhat. She popped the question about special.

Why not, was my my answer.

She peeled of her clothing, and I discovered how well endowed she was – at least a D cup. She did all the right things to keep me aroused, capped my member with the required protection, and proceeded to ride me well and good.

I had a good feel and taste of the breasts, and was doubly pleased to discover that they were not fakes. The action didn’t last long before I shot my load. With the time available, she gave me a facial massage and more back rubs.

 She asked if I knew of other joints, and mentioned a few that I didn’t. When I got curious with the line of questioning, she explained that their boss wasn’t been fair to them, and a group of them was thinking of jumping ship.

The deal sounded something like this – they get $10 for every customer. The boss wanted to retain $300 a month to renovate the current place. Her view was that capital expenditure was the owner’s problem and as workers, they shouldn’t be bearing such cost, especially since they were not given any basic salary to begin with.

After all, the place charged $1 per minute per customer and was taking the lion share of the earnings. The boss sort of threatened to employ masseurs from China, where he only needed to pay them only $5 per customer, if they didn’t agree with the new deal.

Their dilemna led them to consider working for a new establishment, which led me to think if there was a business opportunity here – something like a collective and collaborative arrangement. Perhaps a little like what Henry Winkler and Dan Ackroyd did in “The Night Shift” for hookers.

Types of Sex…

Unoriginal. I read it somewhere, and saved the contents in my hard disk.

I’m living on the 3rd and 5th kind…. 

Types of Sex

Recent research shows that there are 7 kinds of sex:

The 1st kind of sex is called: Smurf Sex.

This kind of sex happens when you first meet someone and you both have sex until you are blue in the face.

The 2nd kind of sex is called: Kitchen Sex.

This is when you have been with your partner for a short time and you are so horny you will have sex anywhere, even in the kitchen.

The 3rd kind of sex is called: Bedroom Sex.

This is when you have been with your partner for a long time. Your sex has gotten routine and you usually have sex only in your bedroom.

The 4th kind of sex is called: Hallway Sex.

is is when you have been with your partner for too long. When you pass each other in the hallway you both say “screw you.”

The 5th kind of sex is called: Catholic Sex,

This means you get Nun in the morning, Nun in the afternoon and Nun at night.

The 6th kind is called Courtroom Sex:

This is when you cannot stand your husband any more. He takes you to court and screws you in front of everyone.

And last, but not least, the 7th kind of sex is called: Social
Security Sex. You get a little from time-to-time, but not enough to live on.

Sexual Awakening (I)

I was a popular kid. I was also the smartest kid in the kampong (village) where I lived. I had good grades and ended up in a reputable secondary school.  My parents saw the need to protect and shelter me from the “unhealthy” influence of the other children. I had never learned properly how to have spiders for a pet, how to make and fly my own kites, how to duel with marbles, etc..

I grew up to become an awkward teenager. I was taller than most people my age.  Forget the tall, dark, and handsome. I was tall. Full stop.

In return for giving me the gift of height, the good lord took away dark, and handsome. I could never hold a tan. My skin turned red, like a cooked- crab, after a short exposure under the sun. Within a short time, the skin would turn fair, without a hint of tan.

Besides tall, I was bony. No matter how much I ate, and I ate a lot during those days,  all growth seemed to be limited to the vertical direction. All the rest of the food either gets perspired away, (I sweated liked nobody else I knew) or they got converted into oils, to be expired through my face.

My face was riddled with pimples. I couldn’t have a decent conversation with the opposite sex without them feeling threatened – A pimple would “burst” in the midst of conversation, and the creamy, oily and bloody liquid would spurt out. If she was lucky, the projectile would not reach her and fall harmlessly on the table between us.

Life was lonely as a teenager. The only reason gals would talk to me was because I was funny. I’d learned how to make people laugh, so I became quite popular in a group. The other reason was that in a group, people sat further away from me, and thus would not be within the range of the spurts from my exploding pimples.

Life was lonely as a teenager. Have I said that already? Yes, it was very lonely. After all the laughter and fun of group activities, I ended up alone, while healthy teenagers with raging hormones paired off to do whatever it was that they did in those days. Occassionally, I did have company of friends. These are guys who were free for the time being – their between relationships period, where they needed guy company to do guy things, like talking about soccer and ogling at species with long hair, protruding chest or bum.

Life was lonely as a teenager. Yes, I know I’ve mentioned it before.  I didn’t like living with my parents, so for some time I lived with my granny. It was an old HDB block, only 4 storeys high, and situated in front of a railway track. Many evenings had I wandered around the neighbourhood, my favourite place being a garden some 200m away. I liked to stroll in the darkness. Often, I would lie down on a granite rock, looked at the stars above, and day dream.

Life was lonely as a teenager. This is an important fact that warrant repeating because it set the stage for who and what I became later in life. On this granite rock that I have mentioned, I had looked at the twinkling lights in the heavens above, and made a promise. It was a good 20 years or so later before I could even start to fulfill it. All the rest of the years, I was mainly lonely….

(to be continued…)