Back To Blighty

I am in the UK again from December 31st to January 17th. I will be crashing with my former roommate and her husband. They are renting a one bedroom flat near Hampstead Heath. I get the plush new sofa in the living room. I expect I won't be at their place every night. After all, I have friends to see and be done by.

Amadeo has proven to be a generally poor correspondent. We Skype now and again. Frank writes a long e-mail every couple of weeks. These arrive unexpectedly. The letters are warm and funny and inevitably make me wish I had considered doing an undergraduate degree at Oxford or Cambridge. His missives and my replies are interspersed with frequent text messages. The salacious SMS exchanges happen when one of us endures an incomprehensible seminar. I like to think of Frank growing hard in his seat in public and hiding the erection in his pants with A4 paper. In the back of the auditorium, I squirm in my chair from arousal. My panties become moist. I miss these men.

For the past six weeks in Boston, I have been seeing someone. In his early thirties, David is a newly minted assistant professor. I like him very much so far. We are still in the process of discovering each other, sexually and otherwise. I have no expectations for how long the relationship will last. We aren't exclusive. My colorful sexual life isn't a secret to him either. He has seen the marks that other men have left on my body. He disapproves only on aesthetic grounds. He is especially proficient at applying pain without leaving bruises. David and I met through OkCupid. Like my own profile, his indicates an interest in casual sex. Naturally, in the bedroom, he gets off on his dominance and my submission. He is adept with rope. I am his bondage whore. He has made my body contort in positions I didn't know were possible for me and taken me hard while I was tied. Sometimes he wants a brutally fast orgasm from a skull fucking. At other times he has me between his legs worshiping his phallus for most of a lazy Saturday afternoon. The Venn diagram of our kinks overlaps considerably, but there are also significant exclusions.

Because we have common friends, the ex-boyfriend and I run into each other socially. We haven't fallen into bed. I have only been back to the old apartment once, to pick up my stuff. It's over. I think of him less and less. But sometimes, when I am meandering through an art gallery, for example, I play the conversations we could have had in my mind. The abundance of memories I have makes me smile. He is happy. I am also, in my own way, content with the rhythms of my days and nights.

I hooked up with both of my regulars from before shortly after returning to the US. Though we do not play often, the most exciting sex I have had was a gang bang with five men organized by one of these fuck buddies. One by one, I sat on the men's laps, naked. Wearing business suits, they kissed and touched me. The men toyed with my breasts and fingered my pussy. They affixed clothespins to my body. I brushed my ass over the erections that tented their trousers. We shared bottles of wine. Because I wanted to walk comfortably the next day, we decided that only three of them would fuck my ass. The men conducted a lottery for the privilege. I was doubled up, back and front. Once, briefly, I was tripled. My openings were made watertight. I held a penis in each hand and stroked the shafts. The men tied me to the sort of bench that is typically found in the locker room at a gym. The rope knotted my wrists beneath the plane of the thick wooden plank. It wrapped over my back to hold me in place. My tits were squashed flat. Knees on the floor, my legs were held apart by a spreader bar. My ass extended over the edge. They took my anus and pussy. My chest rode hard against the oak. Frequently, I fellated a man who straddled the bench and fed me his cock while another fucked me. The sex was continuous. It went on for two and a half hours. My friend had me first and last.

A few other encounters may be worth mentioning. I had bareback sex on a single occasion. At a bar, I picked up an eighteen year old, who looked like he was in his early twenties. I didn't know he was a virgin until he confessed his virtue in my bedroom after we were already naked. Probably, I should have guessed his inexperience from the way he kissed. He departed my apartment having come in a woman. To start, I gave him a blowjob to take the edge off. He erupted almost at once, filling my mouth with the consummation of all of his adolescent daydreams and night tremors. Despite obvious inexpertness, I liked that I was his first taste of cunt. When we fucked, I squealed aloud in ecstasy before he expelled his seed. While I thought of introducing him to my toy box, I ultimately decided against it. I have long fantasized about training up the ideal dom starting from a tabula rasa. He isn't the one. I haven't seen him again.

At the other end of the age spectrum, I indulged my Electra complex over Thanksgiving. On Black Friday, I posted an ad on Craigslist and hooked up with a man in his mid-fifties. He is over twice my age and, in fact, said he had a son a year older than me. We met for coffee and then proceeded to a no tell motel at the outskirts of town. The clerk gave us a knowing look when he handed over the key. The man palmed my ass possessively. I never learned his name. I insisted that Daddy place his great, big cock in his little girl's tight, wet cunt. Fucking and sustained cunnilingus drowned the bedsheets in my flood. I asked Daddy to sperm on me to close because I wanted to wear his semen. He straddled my chest and, punctuated by small licks over the glans, masturbated himself. He blasted over my tits to make them grow.

Lastly, I went to a conference in Pennsylvania at the beginning of October. I took a rental car and drove from Massachusetts. Around two thirty in the morning, I needed a pit stop, coffee, and a bite to eat. I stopped at a diner along the highway. A man seated alone invited me to join him at a small table. Rather than eating by myself, I accepted. He was a trucker and got to talking about life on the road. Intrigued, I asked for a tour of the truck. The living quarters of the eighteen wheeler were claustrophobic. A bunk bed occupied much of the space. Neatly stacked plastic storage containers lined the top bunk. The bed below was immaculately made. He didn't wear a wedding band, I noticed. I took a chance and kissed him. His tongue dipped into my open mouth. He leaned his weight toward me; my back bowed backward. My fingers worked his belt buckle apart. I shed my jacket and divested myself of clothes. The cab was chilly. He turned the heat up for me. I sat on the edge of the mattress and sucked his penis to hardness. When I was satisfied with how it shined, I tossed the condom I unearthed from my purse at him. He nursed at my teats and lowered his weight atop my body. My arms wrapped his broad shoulders. I spread my legs in the air. The bedsprings gave a metallic creak. The floor seemed to shift slightly, but I may have imagined this. I sprawled in his arms after sex. We had breakfast in the same diner in the morning. I bought a fresh box of condoms from the convenience store at the gas station nearby, and we had a quickie for the road.

These episodes are exceptional. The majority of the sex during the past three months has been pedestrian. Craigslist is less effective than I remember. It has gotten me laid, yes, but the men I have met in Boston through the agency of the casual encounters board have exhibited little promise. Random hookups still happen, but the frequency has diminished since London. Ideally, I want more than another one night stand. The unrepeated fucks are temporary expedients and stopgap measures. Save for David, sex constitutes only a physical release. It lacks an intellectual or emotional connection. The dildo is sometimes more satisfying than a man. I haven't been on the hunt as regularly as before. This is just as well. Research and grading papers have kept me busy this semester. Marking exams is a bitch. I expect to defend my thesis in May. The dissertation needs much work this spring.

I still play flute when I can with a chamber group. We don't perform. We rehearse challenging music for fun. Nearly every morning, I spend an hour at the gym. On Friday nights, I go dancing - usually at gay clubs. Liz and Sophie, two close friends, like making out with girls. We have done a fair amount of kissing and fondling bodies through club wear. It hasn't ended with tongue circling clit and my mouth imbibing cunt or thighs clamping a head in a viselike grip with fingers pulling the roots of hair and making indentations in the scalp as my pussy fountains against the touch of lips. We haven't tribbed. Perhaps one day we shall.

I will most likely be in a new city next fall. Where? I don't know. The job applications are out. I enjoy what I can of Boston while I am living here. I keep busy.

Republished with permission from Leah Lays London. Want to see your true tale of lust on Fleshbot? Contact us. Photo by John B. Root.