Archive for bad girls
I’m Back … and Here’s What Happened
Posted by: | CommentsI did as I promised in my last post. I put the bad girl to sleep and slipped into good girl mode to meet Tank’s family.
It was nothing like I’d expected based on my past experiences. Tank’s daughter gave me a big hug when she greeted me. She’s a joy to chat with—a bright, cute, energetic young woman. Very petite. I could feel her bones as I embraced her.
It didn’t surprise me that she’s very protective of her father. That came out loud and clear as the three of us chatted before dinner. And as she watched his behavior with me at the restaurant. Her concern is palpable. She wasn’t shy about expressing her views about his health and wellbeing.
All the stress I went through trying to decide what to wear and how to look wasn’t worth it in the end. There’s no false pretense with these folks. Only, I really didn’t get to know them—or them know me. The way the seating occurred when we dined is that Tank and I were at the end of the 12-person table that housed his daughter and her cousins, ranging in age from 10 to 18.
So it was only as we were leaving the place that I had a direct question asked of me by his father as we walked to our respective cars in the parking lot:
“What do you do?”
“Well, that depends on the time of the day, the day of the week, and the month of the year.”
“So what will you be doing next week?”
“I’ll be speaking in front of a thousand people. And selling books.”
“Has my son seen your books?”
“Nope. He hasn’t asked me about them.”
“He won’t. I suggest you give him a copy of your latest book and assign a couple of chapters of reading, followed by a test.”
Of all the things I could “test” Tank on, my last book wasn’t at the top of the list in my mind!
We drove back to Tank’s house. I stayed till midnight, then drove myself home, anticipating the fun we’d have Saturday night at a swing party with my friends. On Saturday morning, while still in slumber mode, I found myself scratching my legs. When I looked at them, I noticed a few red marks where my nails had been. So I decided to get up and take a closer look. That’s when I noticed the hives on my stomach and my breasts. When I turned around, I realized they were all over my back, my ass, and my upper legs.
Crap. Where did they come from? I was taking antibiotics for my sinus infection. But it had been a week already. And the hives had just shown up. Ah. I bet it was the newborn kitties. Tank’s sister’s cat had had four babies and I’d held two of them and snuggled them close to my body and my face at her home before we’d gone out to eat.
I immediately called the pharmacy. That’s when I learned it would take at least three days for them to subside—that’s if I took Benadryl every four hours. I fired off a text message to Tank.
“I have hives. From the kitties. I’m going to get drugs.”
“Maybe we should cancel tonite. You should rest. You have a big week ahead of you. Why don’t you see if we can meet your friends for drinks and dinner instead.”
Cancel? Cancel going to a party? No way! I’d been waiting for weeks for this party.
I looked at myself in the mirror again. He was right. There was no way I could bare my skin looking the way I did. Even with the lights down low, someone was sure to feel all the bumps on my skin.
So I wrote the host a note and sent our regrets. And proceeded to call my friends to see if we could alter our evening plans. Which they all agreed to do.
And then I sat down and laughed. Never in a million years have I had something like this happen upon meeting a man’s family. What a memory to behold.
Here it is, a week, later, and the vestiges of my hives are still visible on my ankles and feet. The result of wearing hosiery for four consecutive days. With my St. John knit dresses and skirts. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Wearing four inch heels and showing a little leg as a speaker goes a long way in getting high marks from a mostly male audience.
That reminds me. I need to go take some more pills :) Tank and I are meeting a couple for lunch tomorrow. And there’s a chance I might be back at his sister’s home this evening!
Putting My Best Foot Forward
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The other morning, Tank and I awakened in our usual position: pretzeled together. It’s one of the things I love most about our intermittent sleep time. In some way, shape or form, our bodies are always intertwined. Which, of course, makes it easy for him to glide his cock into me. From the front. From the back. From the side.
This particular time, I found myself in my favorite position on top of him, enjoying the grinding movements that were occurring beneath me. When, out of the blue, I heard:
“Oh, I forgot to ask you. How many guys did you fuck this week?
“Uhmmm . . . only you.”
“Babe, with all these guys emailing you, you need to get more sex. I don’t always have four hours to please you.”
It’d become our inside joke. Based on the average length of my group play at parties. I smiled. He’d been paying attention.
A few days later, Tank texted me.
“U available to meet B4 on Tuesday?”
“Yep. What did u have in mind?”
“Checking on possibility of gb. Always have to meet B4 first. He knows the group well and what they like.”
“Sounds cool to me. Best if he gets to know me. LOL”
“That was my thought. I will get it set up for Tuesday at 6, OK?”
“Perfect. I’ll need a break from writing. Are we meeting him somewhere?”
“At his new pad.”
As we ended our conversation, I had only one thought. “What do I wear to be interviewed by the man who’ll be making a decision on whether I qualify for a gang bang by his group of merry men?
About Last Night
Posted by: | CommentsWe’ve met before. Back in early September. On a Saturday night. At a swing club. I was with Maestro. B3 was with a woman friend.
He says he saw me the moment I arrived. Actually, what he noticed were my legs. I was wearing a hot pink silk dress with a low cut V neckline. Extremely form fitting.
Maestro and I were seated on a sofa in the main room where the music was playing when B3 approached us. He asked if we’d like to join him and his friend at a high top table near the entrance to the couples-only room. Maestro immediately said “yes,” before even seeing his lady friend.
Maestro sat on my left, B3 on my right. He asked if it was OK to flirt with me. Before I could get my answer out, Maestro said, “Yes.” While I was getting over the shock of him not asking me, I felt a hand caressing my upper right thigh. At that moment, B3’s friend arrived at the table. I knew right away that she wasn’t Maestro’s type. She was at least three inches taller and weighed at least 25 pounds more than him. She sat on a chair to B3’s right.
In my right ear, I heard B3 say, “She’s new to swinging.”
Maestro replied, “So are we. No big deal.”
B3 responded, “So let’s go into the couples room.
To which Maestro replied, “Great.”
The next thing I knew I was being led in by B3. And my man, who I hadn’t seen in two weeks, was literally running to a love seat with this other woman. Before I even got seated on a sofa, they were making out. So, I turned to B3 and said,
“What just happened here?”
“You’ve been swapped.”
Swapped? SWAPPED? I didn’t give permission for this to happen. I thought the women controlled what took place with her partner.
“So . . . what are you expecting me to do, I asked him.
“Whatever you want. But, I’d really like a blow job, if you wouldn’t mind.”
By this time, Maestro and the other woman were on the bed. He was totally nude. She was still clothed in a black and white dress. Nothing too revealing. Maestro was eating her pussy with great zeal while she reciprocated by stroking his cock. Everyone was watching them. There had to be at least 30 voyeurs inside and outside the room.
I felt trapped. Not knowing what to do— this was only my third time at a sex club—I did as instructed. I knelt down on the floor, undid the zipper on his pants, pulled out his cock, put it in my mouth and started sucking and licking it, all the while trying to keep an eye on Maestro.
“Do you like?”
“Ohhhh, I love it.”
“How fast would you like to cum?”
“If I cum right away, then I’ll have time to recover. And being over 50, I’d like to cum at least once more tonight. So bring it on, baby.”
I obliged. After which I quickly repositioned myself back on the sofa so I could watch the action on the bed. All of a sudden, I saw Maestro position himself on top of this woman. And enter her bareback.
“Oh my God, he doesn’t have a condom on. And he’s a doctor.” I blurted out to B3. “What do I do?”
“You can do whatever you want.”
“So, I can stop him?”
“Sure.”
“How do I do that?”
By this time, the adrenaline rushing through my veins had taken over. I didn’t wait for a response. The crowd had gotten bigger. This had become a show. I got up, walked over to the bed, and very quietly whispered in Maestro’s ear:
“Get off of her. You don’t have a condom on.”
Then I knelt down next to the woman’s head and whispered in her ear, “Don’t you ever pull that shit on me again. You know better. He needs a condom.”
“What, what? He asked if I was clean and I said ‘yes.’”
“I don’t care what he asked you—or how you responded. Don’t you dare do this to my man again. If you don’t know the rules, you need to ask B3 to tell them to you.”
By this time, Maestro was fully clothed. I escorted him out of the couples room, through the main area where the music was playing, into a small and dingy private room. Once inside, I locked the door. In a soft, very controlled voice, I said:
“What the hell did you just do?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what came over me.”
“You of all people. You’re a doctor. You should know better.”
“I know. I know. I’m sooooo sorry.”
“Well, sorry doesn’t make up for any disease you may just have been exposed to. And what am I supposed to do? We haven’t had sex in two weeks. Do you really think I’m going to play with you now?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“I think you need to do a lot of thinking. You don’t even know if she’s on birth control.”
We left soon afterwards. The drive back to my place was eerily silent. Not like any 40-minute drive we’d ever had before. Maestro slept a few hours before sneeking off before dawn the next morning. It was to be the last time we ever slept in the same bed. Only I didn’t know that at the time.
Whew. Back to last night with B3. We met at Applebee’s at 6 o’clock for cocktails. Only there wasn’t a seat to be had at the bar or at a table. B3 greeted me with that fact. No smile. Just a gruff:
“It’s too busy here.”
“Yes, it certainly looks that way. What would you like to do?”
“Let’s go talk outside.”
“OK. Uhmmm . . . I don’t know of any other place with a bar around here that won’t be packed. It’s spring break and the dinner hour. How about Starbucks? It’s two miles away.”
“Fine. Just fine.”
Huh. He didn’t sound fine. When we got to Starbucks, he didn’t order a thing. Not even a bottle of water. All I heard was, “I hate this place.”
But I wasn’t about to leave. I walked outdoors and took a table in a corner. And proceeded to tell him my version of that fateful night many months ago, as a backdrop to the conversation we were about to have. I also told him about my swing partners. I learned he’d just broken up with his partner—for the second time. And old girlfriend. Not the woman I’d met.
Within minutes I knew he’d lost interest. That was just fine with me. I wasn’t the same person he’d met—and he looked nothing like the guy I remembered sucking off that night. He’d gained at least 20 pounds. And he still hadn’t smiled. From the moment he saw me at Applebee’s, he looked angry—and his tone of voice sounded even angrier.
We parted ways in less than an hour. How interesting. I’d come full circle. A little older— and a hell of a lot smarter about swinging.
Surprise, Surprise
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What to pack . . . what to pack. Boston Boy had his fetishes. Thigh high nylons. Spiked heels. A bustier. Such traditional lingerie. I preferred more unique items, like the low cut, form-fitting easy-on, easy-off dresses that I’d been purchasing for my sex club outings with Maestro. And that’s exactly what went into my bag. Along with a pair of five-inch high sandals that showed off my legs and my beautifully manicured toes—and my anal vibrating beads.
We’d met through JDate and had been chatting on-and-off for almost half a year. Things heated up when he’d learned I’d embraced swinging.
I want to walk into your hotel room. Shut the door behind me. Push you in the corner. Drop to my knees and start to lick and suck on you. Hands roaming between your legs. Feeling your clit swell in my hands and I’ll get hard feeling you get wet. I want to finger you like crazy. Have you tasted yourself?
Mmmm. Yes. I taste good.
Then I’ll tell you how hot and wet you are and how dirty it is that our first meeting is like this. But it’s a major turn on.
That I’m a bad girl?
Yes. Very bad and naughty. Totally bad.
So if I’m naughty, what does that mean????
That I’m naughty as well and it’s a major turn on. I just want to make you moan and go crazy.
So what happens to naughty girls?
They get to play with naughty boys unless you want me to take you over my knee. Do you like watching a man cum?
Absolutely.
Good. Where would you want me to cum? Tear off the condom and spray it all over you?
I’d love to cum in your mouth. Then kiss you. We can snowball. But I do want my cock in your ass at some point. Ohhhh my cock feels so good right now. I want to see how you react when my cock slowly enters you for the first time.
I got stuck in Cleveland of all places on my way to Boston. Unexpected snowstorm. With high winds. So I texted Boston Boy to tell him I’d been delayed and got an immediate response.
Something’s come up.
What do you mean?
I got an assignment yesterday. Need to be in Chicago on Tuesday.
Are you serious?
Yes. Need a rain check.
Poof. Just like that, I was now batting 0-7. Damn.
Is That All There Is?
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“I can’t see you any more.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were right.”
“Right about what? Are you talking about the e-mail I sent last night after we talked? Where I said I saw you wearing your wedding ring at Rosh Hashanah services when you were with your kids? And your hesitancy in responding to me when I asked you to take me to services at shul?”
“Yes.”
“Are you breaking up with me? Cause if you are, I’ll be damned if you’ll do it over the phone.”
“Fine. I’ll stop by around 7 tonight.”
When Maestro arrived, I was a mess. No make-up. Didn’t even fix my hair. My eyes were red and my face was puffy. I’d been crying all day—hadn’t done that since my last husband had surprised me with divorce papers a decade ago.
We didn’t hug or kiss. Like we usually do. He looked very uncomfortable. Like a kid who’d been caught smoking behind the house. I waited for him to say something—anything.
“I can’t do it anymore. I can’t have sex with you. I just can’t be present with you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I feel guilty. I realized it at shul when I saw you sitting by yourself this weekend.”
“Guilty about what?”
“I can’t give you what I need to give you. I can’t take it any more. And I’m living a lie to my kids. It’s just not working for me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I just have to give this up. I have to work things out with my wife—finish things up. I don’t know where the guilt is coming from. Maybe I fear the future. Formally ending my marriage. Fear of what she’ll say and what people will think of me. You need someone to love you back. You can’t have the whole me at this point.
I can’t keep the relationship with my wife in limbo. It’s not fair to her or me, My family’s been traumatized over the last 18 months—with me leaving and my daughter’s suicide attempts. But, I want to remain friends with you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Go to dinner, movies. We’ll figure it out.”
I finally got up the courage to ask the question I knew I needed to spit out. “If you were seated where I am now, what would you tell me to do?”
“Don’t wait. Move on. Can’t guarantee I’ll come back.”
“Should I wait for you?”
“Don’t hold your life up. I have true feelings for you but I can’t seem to reconcile what I feel inside of me. You’re the most amazing and awesome woman I’ve ever met.”
“That’s why I don’t understand.”
He didn’t respond with words. He got up from where he’d seated himself a few minutes earlier, gave me a hug, and walked out.
I stood in my kitchen, tears streaming down my face. How do I get my belly to stop hurting? My entire body ached at a very deep level. Functioning on autopilot, I picked up the phone. I called one girlfriend and told her what happened. Then another.
Around 9 o’clock, I stopped myself. I don’t know how it happened. But I realized I had a choice. I could either continue to do the usual “oh, woe is me” phone calls. And cry myself to sleep. Stay in bed the entire next day. Maybe a week would do it. Or . . . I could do the opposite. Like a girlfriend had taught me back in June. While we were doing some writing work, I’d gotten a phone call informing me that I’d lost a chunk of business. When I told her, she suggested we immediately stop writing and go shopping. And have dinner out with lots of wine. Surprisingly, it worked. snapped me out of my doldrums.
The opposite. Huh. What would that look like? In a flash, I knew exactly what I needed to do. I e-mailed a Pilot I’d met on Craig’s List a few weeks earlier who wanted a woman to take him to a sex club for the first time. I suggested dinner the next night. He promptly accepted.
That’s when I knew that good girls do what’s commonly accepted—and bad girls color outside he lines—they embrace the opposite. I’d crossed over, at least for that moment.
Welcome to Randi Buckmen's adventures in intimacy—beyond the world of sex. Hear how I’m embracing the possibilities of what can be while remaining a “good girl” in the public’s eye. How did I go from being celibate for three years—and wearing flannel pj's to bed with socks when I was married—to where I am today?
