Two Zero Eight: Caramel

I'm leaving notes here on a springtime afternoon. I have been thinking of how disconnected I feel from everything and how empty the year has felt.

Let's begin with---

My  friend who teaches abroad was once picked up by a chic Foreign couple in London Town. Nothing so terribly out-of-the-ordinary for chic couples to do in clubs there, of course--- bring home a lovely girl to play with. What made this story different is that the couple were from the Maldives--- he was some kind of junior cabinet minister; she was an official in some NGO or other. Wealthy Muslim husbands loose in LDN have been known to sample the local versions of depravity, but having the active participation of their wives, and especially a wife who works with some Islamic women's NGO...that makes for a rather more interesting story. Well, both the minister and his wife were Oxbridge-educated, so that may explain a lot. My friend would certainly have approved of the accents and the tailoring...as well as the exotic looks ("sculpted caramel", she enthused). She didn't tell me if the minister and his wife had any particular kinks; that's something I must ask about.

No. I have no idea if they paid her. I'd like to think so, if only because I rather like the idea of my friend's services being charged to the Maldives Treasury. My  friend does identify with Riley Keough's character in "The Girlfriend Experience". That shows good taste. Ms. Keough was strikingly lovely in that.

My  friend watched "The Girlfriend Experience" and laughed. Why, she said with perfectly poised sarcasm, this show is so...unbelievable! A beautiful girl with an academic background like that becoming a highly-paid companion to wealthy Older Men! Who'd ever believe in a such a character? I mean, in someone whose life was...exactly...like mine? If I'd been across a table from her in London Town, I'd have risen to my feet and stalked out of the bar without another word. Though I couldn't have had the satisfaction of sticking her with the check. She probably has a credit card from one of her Patrons. Or an envelope of cash. Though I wonder sometimes if my friend doesn't have enough of dark side to be more like the heroine/narrator in L.S. Hilton's "Maestra"...

That story is one about wealth and class markers. This one is darker.  A friend down in the Land of the Long White Cloud wrote me in November 2012 to say---

My story probably isn't very remarkable...I was 16, drunk, high, at a party. He was someone's older brother. I didn't want him, didn't want it. He held me down and pulled my underwear down. At one point he had his hand around my throat, then in my hair. He was small, I remember that. He felt so small, and barely hard. He came on my thigh.

That's all. No description of what the party was like, no description of how he got her (presumably) alone, no description of what came after. She's never returned to the story. All my instincts argue that the context is what would make the story work--- what happened before and after. I suppose I never will know.

Yet I did ask the same girl if that was her only non-consensual experience in her teens. She wrote back (this was in May 2016) about a boy named Garrett:

he was tall, dark haired, rugby players strong build. the first time, he forced me to suck him. we were at his house, we'd been in his spa pool and watching movies when he pushed my head down and told me to suck him. I was 14, i think. he said you know you want to and that i deserved it. he came in my mouth of course. he is a big shot banker now...he emailed me a few weeks ago to help him work out a child support settlement! he never properly raped me later,  but we fucked for years after that, i wanted him so badly!

She was fourteen, she says. No idea about Garrett's age, or how often or for how long they did have sex. No idea about the key question, either--- whether they had sex again in 2016, when she was doing financial work on his child support settlement.

She always leaves mysteries, my friend does. This final one is from March 2014. Max is her golden retriever, still just a pup in those days:

did i tell you about the gorgeous maori boy i'm fucking. he's tall, with short dark hair & lovely brown eyes, light brown skin... he works at the doggy day care place max goes to, so he picks him up & drops him off every day. he was dropping max home one day and i was sitting in the garden drinking a beer. we started talking, and he showed me how he taught max to play dead. max was his last drop-off for the day, so i asked him to stay for a drink. he loved it that i don't wear underwear. his cock is beautiful.

Again, a mystery. Was it more than the one time? How did the two of them transition from the garden to the bedroom or the sofa? More mysteries. I'll have these notes, but I wish I had more context, more follow-up on the stories, and of course more detail.

Two Zero Seven: Cars

My friend far away across the seas once sent me this note:

So many nights spent driving around with boys...I got my licence quite late, so if I wanted a ride somewhere I had to text a boy...and I liked to make it worth his while. 

I do love sucking cock, I always have. I have friends, even now, who hate it, and I just can't understand that. It is so hot, and such a powerful, sexy thing to do. I get so wet with a cock in my mouth, before I've even been touched. And I love the feeling when a man comes in my mouth.

She always claimed to have been the girl in her high school class who offered up instruction to boys:

Best memories... God, so many nights in cars...I was able to practice on boys just a few years older than me, so when I started spending time with much older men I was very good. And I like to think I returned the favour -- teaching 16 year old boys just how to eat pussy. 

I do remember one night...when I sucked two boys off while the other one watched... I loved that, and so did they. After I'd sucked off both of them and we smoked a joint, they did each other, which made me so wet... We were in the back of a car, and later I did ride one of them... But I still wish I could have had them both at the same time.

She wrote me later about the story with the two boys. It's not a bad story. Back of a Range Rover, parked at a lookout high above her home city. The extended version of the story is excellent and very hot. And plausible, mind you.  I've always loved her tales of her teen adventures, and I want to know more, to know about more nights at lookouts or parked on beaches. My only question about her stories is that she always portrays herself as very blasé about being seen having sex, as open to being naked around more than one person. I do wonder about that. Fifteen or sixteen seems to me to have been a time when people are easily embarrassed and usually very uncomfortable with their bodies. And my friend was ana/mia off and on through her teens and early twenties. I need to explore that issue.

In any case, the stories do make me deeply envious and jealous. I wish I could've been part of her teen adventures. I wish I could've been the one giving her rides. And I wish I could've been part of stories like that in my own teen years.

As much as I do love her stories, I find myself reading them and feeling glum. My teen years were nothing like hers. I do worry that she judges me for not having stories like hers, stories of her adventures amongst her city's posh teens. I worry that I'll never have the social and sexual points she amassed in those days.

Two Zero Six: Grapes

Long ago, in the lost Year Eleven, a lovely young friend far away beyond the seas wrote me that:

oh, yes! went to Wairarapa wine country for a festival and had a lot of naughty fun between the wines.

She went on to say that

we met a group of guys early in the day and had a few drinks together, then came across them again at the last vineyard of the day...i sucked two cocks between the wines as the sun was going down...and scored 3 Es!

I asked if this had been two separate encounters, or if the two men had watched each other. Her reply was that

they both watched each other...then one of them licked my cunt...he was incredibly good considering how drunk he was.  i was on the ground, in a black and white striped summer dress, low cut and short, no bra or panties...i actually took a photo on my iphone of him licking my cunt...i have a shot of the top of his head, then another of him looking up & smiling...i love waking up in the morning & seeing photographic evidence of the night's depravity! they were both 50ish...and they both came in my mouth.

I found that story today in my email archives. Seven years old, it seems. That is a long time ago. My friend would've  been twenty-four or twenty-five at the time. She and I are still active correspondents (we've known one another for a dozen years now), and I suppose I'll remind her of the story. All these years later, I'd love to hear her own years-later take on what she told me once upon a time.I have asked myself whether I believe the story. It's not inherently implausible. She lives just south of the wine country, and she does enjoy driving up with her girlfriends for festivals. She does like older men, and she likes having more than a few drinks.

Of course, I'll never really know if the story is true. There's no way to do that, not at a distance of seven years and almost eight thousand miles. I'd like to think it's true because it's a good story, though I will admit to a gnawing, painful mix of jealousy and envy.

Jealousy? Well, that's obvious. In a better world, she'd have been doing things out amongst the vines with me. In a better world, she and I would've taken E and sampled wines and done wicked things. Envy? Well, as a gentleman of a certain age, and as someone whose social calendar hasn't been full this season, I envy her both the visit to the wine country and the adventure there under the grapes. I'd note that it's the stories I envy as much as the sex.   Sex with my friend would've been a delight, but having the story to tell--- sex with strangers! sex in a vineyard! wine country sunset! ---is even better than the act itself.Now I have said that for most of my life. The story is better than the act itself, and the story lasts for a lifetime. I will envy her being able to tell that story to her girlfriends over drinks for years.