So. I met Alexandra. Just for a quick coffee.
There’s a great book to be written about her – she’d be an awesome protagonist. She’s smart, enigmatic, interesting. Worldly and naive. Cocky, defended, seductive, bratty, demure, and submissive. All at once.
Her eyes are the deepest, darkest brown I’ve ever seen, and they’re big and inviting. Her lips are full, and – though she said she wasn’t wearing makeup, she meant, “other than
lip gloss lipstick.” She doesn’t love sucking cock (“I do suck cocks,” she writes, “and enjoy it occasionally”), but I would love her lips wrapped around mine.
We talked for maybe a half hour. It didn’t take long for us both to realize that, while she may or may not continue to interact with me as my stretching/training assistant, shaking her pretty ass in my face, I will not, actually, be tasting her pussy.
I don’t want to. Because reasons. And she doesn’t want me to. Because similar reasons. (The gaps between us – in age, experience, relationships to sex and sexuality are just too yawning.)
There was no bitterness, no recrimination, no real sense of deprivation.
And yet, I do feel a sense of loss on both our parts. For me, because…. Well, because I like her, and because I’m attracted to her, and because I think it would be fun to pin her thighs to a bed and bury my head in her
cunt pussy for hours. And for her because her experience of sex in general, and having her pussy eaten in particular, has been “meh.” In general, she sees sex as a kind of take-it-or-leave-it kind of thing. She hasn’t had a lot of it, and what she’s had hasn’t left her feeling like she needs much more.
I’m not incapable of arrogance.
Time, surely, will provide Alexandra with some better sexual experiences and partners.
But it would have been really, really fun to blow her mind with my tongue. And yes, with my fingers.
As I simply know I would have done.