Two For the Price of One
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Posted:Jun 20, 2021 2:17 pm
Last Updated:Feb 6, 2022 2:17 pm
9921 Views
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Both had been texting me for months. Then COVID. Then came the pause. Then came the vaccinations. Then came the play. And then we all came.
#1 and I had been texting for what seemed like forever. We could never find a day and time that was compatible. He was gently persistent, always patient. A gentleman. And eureka, a day when we are both free.
“It’s Father’s Day,” I said. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Are you free?” he asks.
“As long as it’s in the morning,” I reply.
#2 and I had been texting for months as well. But #2 is different: he wants to be the cumdumpster. He wants to lick someone’s else cum out of my oozing pussy. To say that he enjoys sloppy seconds is an understatement.
“I’m meeting someone Sunday morning,” I say to #2. “You interested?”
“Hell yes”. “Where?” “What time?”
I get to the hotel on a hot Father’s Day morning, in zero traffic. As I enter the hotel parking lot, #1 sees me and starts waving his hands, almost like he was directing traffic. I roll down my window.
He’s smiling at me. “You are beautiful. You look just like your picture”.
“There’s a spot right across the street, under the tree.” I park my car, and get out, walking towards him. He’s still smiling. Happy already and we haven’t even fucked.
He takes my hand and we walk into the hotel, and he gets the room. We get to the room and talk a little before disrobing. I’m always a little nervous right at the start. And I chose to meet him in a hotel without us meeting prior – something I rarely do. We sit across from each other on two doubles and talk. I want to feel him out. Eventually, we start to kiss. And then we’re off to the races.
He enjoys having his nipples sucked. Pay attention because that’s going reappear with #2, little did I know.
I love to have them stand, turn my back to them, grind my ample ass against their cock. He’s holding both of my tits in each hand. I can already feel his erection. I lean forward, he’s trying to position himself to enter me from behind. It’s a tease and I know it but I love it. Gets me in the mood. I am there to be their pleasure and to feel their pleasure.
He’s wearing a cock ring. His cock is already swollen. “Look at what you’ve done to me,” he murmurs. I’m on my back, he pulls me to the edge of the bed, standing over me. He likes to stand over me, something about blood flow. Ok, whatever. If that’s what floats your boat I’m all in.
His cock finds me and he’s inside and it’s pounding time. My favorite time. Pull me to the edge of the bed and fuck me hard. My legs are against his chest and he’s pounding, his cock slamming inside me. He’s sweating. Grunting. The a/c is on in the room but it’s 91 degrees out and we’re right in front of the window with opaque curtains. I briefly wonder if people from the house next door can see in. Can see us fucking. I don’t care because I’m in that delirium of pleasure, made even more delirious by the fact that #2 is meanwhile blowing up my phone. I can hear it pinging while #1 is between my legs.
He teases my full and bloated clit, touching all the delicious nerve endings with the tip of his tongue. My nipples are hard and erect, and I can feel the orgasm explode, powerful. Hard. I nearly sit straight up in the bed, the spasms ripple through me, across me.
When I’ve had a moment to collect myself, catch my breath, I focus my attention on him. I take his cock in my mouth. He’s standing above me, I’m laying on he bed. “Open your legs”. I do as I’m told. His cock slides down my throat. I gag. I can hear him moaning, his hips jerking faster and he slides his cock in and out of my mouth, down my throat. “Yes, baby. Right there. Right there. Hold my balls.” With his cock down my throat, I massage his balls. His hips move even faster. “I’m cumming baby” and he does, full throttle, shaking. His face is shiny with sweat, beet red.
We lie down, kiss, let our heartbeat race back to normal, drink Gatorade.
#2 continues to blow up my phone.
I’ve told #1 about #2 right at the start so he knew he was on his way.
“I hope you don’t mind baby,” I said. “Not at all,” he replied. “I love it.”
#2 has already parked but #1 has his cock rammed down my throat again. He cums. Again. Hard.
Later, he makes his way to the shower. I text #2 and give him the room number. We agreed on the best time for #2 to make his way to the room. #1 gets dressed. I am waiting for #2, who doesn’t want me to shower and is eager to eat #1’s cum.
#1 and I kiss long and deep, agreeing to see each other again. He leaves.
Five minutes later #2, knocks on the door as I’m washing my hands. Turns out #1 and #2 passed each other in the hallway. “Have fun,” #1 says to #2 as they pass. I grin like a fool, feeling like the I am.
#2 calls me “Mommy.” I can see his erection protruding from his boxers. He holds my breast.
“I did not give you permission to touch”.
“I’m sorry, Mommy. Can I touch?”
“You may”. I’m wearing a white camisole. Naked underneath. “Can Mommy suck my nipple?” he begs. I oblige. He groans. I stand before him, turn around, arch my back against him. His hands are under the camisole, searching for my nipples. We grind against each other.
#2 likes to be told what to do. He calls me goddess.
“I want you to slide your cock inside me and fuck me until I stay stop. Then, I want you to eat me until I cum.”
He does as he is told. His cock is hard and thick. He pumps me, slams into me. The sound of him slamming into me fills the room. Sexual delirium takes over me. His ass bucks in the air, he’s balls deep, I am in ecstasy.
“You want to fuck Mommy,” I say, husky throated, voice coated with pleasure and sex.
“Yes,” he grunts. “Yes, yes, oh, I want to fuck Mommy”.
“I want to be your cumdumpster”.
“Can you feel his cum?”
“Yes, yes” eyes closed, nearly slamming me off the bed.
We’re like animals. My tits bounce as he fucks me so deliciously.
“Now I want you to stop”. He does as he is told.
“I want you to eat me”. Without hesitation, he gets on his knees and proceeds to lick me, my swollen and engorged clit.
“Make me cum, bitch,” I tell him. “Make me cum. I dare you.”
“Eat and swallow his cum. You bitch.” He groans with pleasure, one finger inside me, his tongue darting the nerve endings. I cum a second time, screaming. “Aaaaaghhhh. Aaaarrrggghhhhh.”
He’s on his back. He asks for permission for me to suck his nipple, which is as hard as a raisin. I have one finger in his ass. “Aaaarrggghhh”. I slap him gently on the face. His eyes are closed, his head is back. I slap him again, gently. Two fingers in his ass. He’s grunting. “Lean into my fingers, bitch.” “Take it all.” His hand is around his cock, swollen and pink as I jam two fingers deep into his ass, turning it around inside, moving it inside and out. He tells me he wants to be my slave. He tells me he will do anything I tell him to do. He wants to have young men lined up and have them cum all over his face, another cock down his throat and one in his ass.
He’s cums hard, gushes, all over his hand, his cock. The cum seeps out of him, oozing down his shaft.
We lie back, spent.
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A Dry Spell
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Posted:Jun 18, 2020 12:03 pm
Last Updated:Sep 20, 2021 9:34 pm
12321 Views
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It has been months since I last had sex. During this five-year stretch of what I call “responsible promiscuity”, these past months have been the proverbial dry spell.
I live in NYC, what was the epicenter of COVID-19. One of the largest, busiest cities on earth, brought its knees. From my window, I heard birds. Not the usual rush of vehicles below but….birds. Deathly quiet, as a pallor fell across the city.
It seems serendipitous that the last men I had sex with – Jazzman and Vanilla – were the I’ve known the longest in this time of responsible promiscuity. I adore them both. I adore being with them, feeling the warmth of their bodies on mine, their amazing kisses, and the love that happens when people care about each other and share it through sex.
Now, here in mid-June, I have been thinking about what I miss about and love most about sex. I miss sitting across from someone for the first time and wondering if this is someone I want fuc
I miss that very Catherine Deneuve feeling of walking into a hotel, finding the elevator, and ascending to the floor where I have made arrangements to meet someone. The soft-carpeting, the usually narrow hallways. The knock on the door and then it opens, and the smile of the man as he stands on the other side, waiting for me.
The sex during this time has been all different shades and flavors. I remember the 30-ish year from Ukraine. Tall, blonde. Handsome. The first time we met for a coffee, I would have done him right there and then he was so handsome. We met a few days later at a hotel. I opened the door and couldn’t understand why the room was so warm and realized that he had brought about 50 tea candles and they were lit in the room. He had soft music playing. Had brought wine, fruit. A urkranian cake. It was the first time I had ever had dragon fruit.
It was also the first – and only time, as it would turn out – that I would fuck and be fucked seven grand times in 3 ½ hours. We devoured each other. It was stupendous and amazing.
I miss the flirting. I miss the twinkle in the eye. All pretense is gone. We know why we’re here. I miss when the clothes fall off. I miss the power of it – I get choose, I get decide. I miss the sweet, furtive kisses, long and deep, filled with passion. Even a longing. I miss the times when it has been crazily carnal. No furtive kisses. It’s a straight fuc I am being pounded by a beast, legs spread open take him all in, or he’s behind , grunting and panting like a dying animal. Each stroke of his cock nearly lifts off the bed. My head is buried in pillows. All I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears as he pounds , long, deep thrusts of his cock sliding in and out of my wet pussy. My pussy is expanding take him all in. I have lost the ability spea Sometimes with Jazzman, I have been known call out Jesus, lol.
There truly is no other feeling similar sex. The amazing, glorifying pleasure of it. I miss being with men who have given themselves over the pleasure. Like Vanilla. Like Jazzman. No hangups, no guilt, no shame. When they cross that threshold, there is no turning bac And when that happens, its other-worldly.
NYC, as I write this, is entering into Phase 2. While we will all have to continue to be careful in this “new normal”, I look forward to seeing Vanilla and Jazzman. And other friends I have met here and new ones as well.
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Love in the time of COVID-19
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Posted:Mar 29, 2020 12:48 pm
Last Updated:May 26, 2021 6:32 pm
16314 Views
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With all respect all our healthcare workers and professionals, and “stay at home” protocols established by our governor, what’s a girl to do when she wants to get laid during the midst of a pandemic?
Very, very carefully.
I love BBWMatchMate. I love the men – and a few women – that I’ve met on this site. Nearly five years and no complaints. None. It was on this site several years ago that I met, let’s call him Vanilla. Because his lily white ass is as pale as vanilla. I told him this morning that he needs to find a clothing-optional beach and get that lily-white ass the same color as his face. He smiled.
I have known Vanilla for probably close to years. I remember the first time we met: at a bar/restaurant near his work/home. Wasn’t a far drive, as I recall. He was very cordial, very respectful. Funny. He bought me a beer. I remember us sitting at this bar, laughing our asses off. I had already made my mind up about him before we met. On my way meeting him, I had bought my little “hotel/motel” bag: lingerie, something shower with, toothbrush, toothpaste and condoms. I left it in the trunk of my car. He didn’t know. As we were leaving, I told him. The opportunity hadn’t presented itself; it might have been too soon. We made plans to meet again and have been seeing it each other since.
How do I describe Vanilla? Slim. Tattoos from his military days. A few years older than me. Unbelievably virile, for someone his age. We try and sneak away when his schedule allows. While I describe him as Vanilla, he is nothing but. He has shared some stories of his “sexscapades” that have curled the hair on my nec Still waters run deep, I swear.
He’s waiting for at the hotel. I park next his vehicle and make my way the room. Afraid touch anything, he has left the hotel door partially open. And there he is, lying on the bed, wearing just his underpants. And socks. The world we live in these days requires a near religious obsession with wiping everything down; washing your hands for 20 seconds. Before I take my clothes off, I go to the bathroom, wash my hands. I pull out my baggie of wipes and start wiping doorknobs, light fixtures, the remote control. He’s got MTV on but I ask him to turn it off; it’s a distraction. We get in bed. White bra and white panties for . Socks, which I rarely wear. His skin is smooth. His hair always smells so clean and fresh. We embrace and kiss. I have not seen this man in months. I run my nails across this skin; his body spasms with each touch. The bra comes off. I take his massive cock in my mouth. He barely fits. I remember that he likes for me to lick his balls so I happily oblige. He’s groaning. We call each other “baby”. He’s in my mouth, hard as stone, his lily white ass in the air, groaning with pleasure. I can’t wait; I want him inside me. Just as an appetizer, I’m thinking. I know he wants to lick me to that special place that even the folks in Oklahoma can hear as I scream through my orgasm.
I mount his slim frame, kissing his body until his cock, standing straight like a light pole, is poised right under my already wet pussy. I slowly glide it in, slowly sit down on it. It’s tight at first, but my pussy has been stretched out by the lovely men I’ve met on here. Within a minute or , he is completely inside .
How do you describe the pleasure? That is the thing about sex: it is nearly indescribable. That first moment, when my willing and eager pussy stretches accommodate his massive cock, and when he is balls deep inside , is exquisite. Beyond words. He starts thrust upward inside , stretching further. My eyes are closed, my mouth is open. I grunt like an animal as he pulses faster. I want cum, I can feel it teetering on the edge, shimmering, I ride him like a , and begin fingering my greasy clit. Indescribable pleasure rolls across me and I cum hard and fast all over his coc But we’re just beginning.
cum sessions later – yes, Vanilla came an amazing times -- his cum running out of me, overflowing, down my leg and into my ass. His face is in my massive breasts, while I kiss his forehead, tickle his ear which drives him crazy. He has Pandora on and we have grooved all morning to amazing rock and roll, singing to each other under the white sheets to Prince’s “Kiss”, Journey’s “Separate Ways”. Queen, “Another One Bites the Dust.” Def Leppard not once but twice: Photograph and Pour Some on , which seemed particularly timely.
I am happy, I am content. Vanilla is a sweet man. It’s more than just the cock, gentlemen. Be sweet. Be funny. Vanilla wants my pleasure as much as I want his; the reciprocity is real. As is the love. And the socks in bed. In the time of COVID-19.
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The Smallest Room
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Posted:Feb 15, 2020 8:16 pm
Last Updated:Sep 20, 2021 9:37 pm
16212 Views
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“I always get hard when I’m inside you,” he said to from behind.
I’m bent on all fours. Massive 40 M size tits sways. Used Magnum condoms are strewn on the floor and on the windowsill of the smallest hotel room I have ever been in.
We’ve been for what seems like hours. The room is . The tv is on the local public television station but the sound is muted. A half bottle of prosecco is on the nightstand – he remembered that I like prosecco, which was such a sweet gesture – and empty glasses that he brought from home lie scattered about. A philosophy that he brought to read on the subway to the hotel is on the other nightstand.
And in the smallest hotel room I have ever been in, I am fucked over and over and turned into a creature I don’t even recognize.
They must have heard us next door, in the smallest hotel room I have ever been in. Surely they heard us down the hall; certainly in the rooms that were on each side of ours. I howled like an animal, my twisted in this half-mad, half-pleasure, half-pain grimace, as he drove his massive cock behind , slamming nearly off the bed.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Hair askew, naked, twisted in something almost unrecognizable.
Someone once told me that I have the of a librarian – it’s the glasses – but inside beats the sexuality of a jaguar. That may indeed be true. But this one, this delightful, funny, smart and my dear sweet merciful Jesus, what an amazing cock, this man, is behind me, reminding me of why there exists this wild and crazy joy called sex.
My pussy is being stretched beyond all recognition. I can feel his hands in the crevices and folds of my skin, right above my waist, as he moves my body with each stroke. My pussy effortlessly takes him all in, balls deep, the pleasure intermingled with the pain rolls across my body. I am bent over, silent and one with the pain. Masters and Johnson, the clinicians from the 60s who told us that the woman’s vagina is capable of taking on nearly any size was right: we can and we do and I did. It’s not the size of him that I am enjoying; it is the girth. It’s the width of the penis along the shaft that plays a unique role, and not so much the length, as I am realizing last night. This man, who I met here on the amazing BBWMatchMate, is not only erudite, quite funny, and thoughtful, but has the stamina of a bull. He tells me he likes to bring himself right to the edge of the orgasm, and then forces himself to slow down.
I am rendered speechless, the only sound in the room is the wonderful sounds of penis meeting pussy, the wetness of my pussy, the “pussy juice,” as he calls it, as I am laying on my stomach and spread eagled as he continues to plunge that amazing cock inside me. I can feel the wetness of my pussy as it takes all of that shaft inside. I can hear him grunting. I am in a place that I have never been to before: that sublime line of pain and pleasure, mingled into one. Few words can describe it. It hurts but I don’t want him to stop and I tell him as much. This just makes him even more crazed and now his hands are on my shoulders, plunging my body onto that cock, feeling it devoured by my eager, wet and waiting pussy.
I hear the slapping noise of body against body. That great noise of the bodies slapping against each other in a frenzied fuck dance. Nothing else exists, just he and I, in the smallest hotel room I have ever been in (it’s not your fault, !), grinding away in delicious delirium.
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……and that brings me to #16
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Posted:Dec 11, 2019 7:41 pm
Last Updated:Feb 20, 2020 8:18 pm
14934 Views
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Get your mind out of the gutter. The #16 does not mean what you think it means.
The #16 represents the number of times I’ve been stood up.
While that has been spread across the four years I’ve been here on the merry world of BBWMatchMate, it is still a significant number.
When I tell men that I have been stood up, well, 15 times before tonight, they’re often astonished. “Why would someone stand YOU up?” is their usual response.
Well, it’s easy. So rather than one of my usual blogs about one of my wonderful – and not so wonderful – BBWMatchMate experiences, I want to get on this soap box and pose a question to the men who might read this.
Why would you stand a woman up?
I have been chatting with a guy on here for nearly two months. We have not met. A few days ago, he texts me to complain about how I don’t get back to him in a timely manner, and when I do my answers are monosyllabic, blah blah blah. He was partially right. I was in the middle of a work crunch thing and just not able to respond as diligently as I should have. Not to mention the other men that I have been chatting with and arranging dates, times and locations to meet. Too bad I don’t have a secretary to help me organize all this shit.
But I digress.
I told him as such and asked for forgiveness, and to let him know I would love to make it up to him. He accepts my apology and I thought we had moved on. After sending me lots of sexting messages (“Been thinking about your dark wet pussy”; “just wanted to let you know I’m lying in bed this morning fantasizing a bit, thinking about slowly kissing you, your nipples and making your pussy wet”), we agree to meet tonight for a drink. The last text I got from him was last night, and he said, “Wishing you good night, looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
I reply the same the next morning. I send another text, “what time did we confirm? Is 6:30 ok for you?”
I sent a final text at 2:04 PM this afternoon. “Please confirm by 5 pm.”
And cue the cricket sonata.
So here I sit, having been stood up an astonishing 16 times. And here is my plea to all of you before it gets ratcheted up to a rant:
If you don’t think you can do this, don’t. If you get turned on by sending sexting messages to a total stranger but have no intention of meeting her, don’t.
If you haven’t figured out how to actually meet, then don’t.
If your life gets in the way of your life, then take a minute and pause and think to yourself, “what the fuck am I doing?”
I hear from a lot of men that it’s worse for them, and I sympathize with their plight. The women are even flakier and they’ve been stood up more often than well, whoever the hell stands up a lot.
This is BBWMatchMate. We all know why we’re here. We’re all grownups. If you’re working 70 hours a week and trying to get some nookie on the side, you will need to make time for that. Put it on your calendar like it was a dentist appointment.
And here’s a newsflash: if you make plans and your plans have changed, text the woman and tell her. I’m not asking you to call because, God forbid, that’s too confrontational. So text her. Use the technology instead of hiding behind it.
Because you know what? Your standing me up means I gave up time hanging around waiting to hear from YOU – and you know who you are – when I could have been fucking someone else.
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Steamed Glasses
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Posted:Dec 9, 2019 8:42 pm
Last Updated:Jan 14, 2020 8:31 pm
15323 Views
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So there I was, rolling my suitcase into the heated pool area and there before , as my glasses fogged, were about 30 people in this pool frolicking and gallivanting. Without . I was looking for my friend and with all the naked vanilla bodies and steamed glasses, it was hard to locate him.
But I digress.
I have heard about the hotel takeovers. I’m 57 and did not fall off the turnip truck last Wednesday. The challenge was always this: as an unattached female, who do I go with? Fast forward to a few months ago when I met, let’s him Bluegrass NJ, who approached here in the wonderful world of BBWMatchMate. We started chatting one night on and agreed to meet a few days later. Over a great BBQ dinner I decided that I liked him. Sweet, very laid back and funny – humor goes a long, long way – I thought, this is someone I’d like to see again. And fuck. For sure.
He tells me that he’s in the swinging lifestyle and there was an upcoming hotel takeover in early December. “A bbw hotel takeover?”, I say, nearly breathless with anticipation.
“Yes,” he replies. “They can be a lot of fun,” he says.
You’re damn skippy, I think.
The next thing I know, I’m in my car with a suitcase full of condoms and lingerie, listening to Talking Heads and smiling in anticipation. And the very next thing I know, I’m in a bathing suit cover-up but no bathing suit underneath while Bluegrass NJ leads me into the heated pool area. I’m a little nervous, rarely having been nude around others but I think, what the fuck. Fake it ‘til you make it. I take off my bathing suit cover-up and climb down the pool stairs and into this lovely hot pool. My glasses have steamed up a third time – yes, I wore my glasses in the pool! – but I can make the smiles and glances as I make my way to the side of the pool with Bluegrass NJ leading the way. I was told to bring alcohol and something to drink it in, so to ward off the nerves I gulped down my drink.
I’m watching a woman give head to a guy who’s on the edge of the pool. Other couples are kissing, caressing. I feel a hand on my thigh of the guy next to me. Two women are kissing passionately, tongues deep. Another woman is floating in the pool while a guy is about to insert himself into her. They start to fuck.
I am buzzed and a little light headed. Feeling aroused and horny AF, I am kissing my sweet friend while the man next to me has fingers inside my pussy. I meet another couple to my right and another couple next to them. I have a cock in each hand and can feel them swell in my palm. I slowly stroke each cock, up and down. My legs are open and my friend has me pushed against the wall of the pool. The guy next to me has now grabbed my ass and is squeezing it. My head is back, my eyes are closed. Wait – I’m the academic geek nerd! How did I get here?
I reach to the couple and caress the woman’s breast. The heated pool is salted, so all the women’s breasts magically float. “In the event of a water landing, my breasts can be used as a flotation device,” I joke at one point.
Her brown breasts are beautiful, swaying in the water. So many bodies to focus on; where do I start? I move my hands across her full stomach and to her pussy, pausing when I reach her erect clit. I rub it back and forth, while her friend has a mouth on one breast and another woman has the other. At one point I stop, but she grabs my hand, urging me to continue. I’m kissing the guy next to me and feel his erection swell. I focus on my friend, who is now standing in front of me, with his back to me, and his finger has found my clit.
His movement and pace quickens. He finds the sweet spot. My legs are wide open, I can feel the orgasm start. I’m jerking off the guy next to me, his tongue deep down my throat. My breasts are pressed against Bluegrass NJ’s back, my body on fire. I’m thinking of it all, feeling it all. I know I’m being watched by others and I don’t care. Bluegrass NJ gets the tip of my clit just as I’ve ascended the orgasm mountain and I plummet, surrendering to the orgasm. “I’m cumming,” I say to Bluegrass NJ and shudder and spasm as it wracks through me.
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Still Waters Run Deep
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Posted:Aug 4, 2019 1:07 am
Last Updated:Feb 26, 2021 12:11 am
16013 Views
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Still Waters Run Deep
Another chapter from the ongoing annals of why I continue to love BBWMatchMate.
No fuss. No muss. Let’s meet and I get decide if I want fuck you. Or sometimes, I meet and fuck.
Last night was from the chapter of let’s meet and I get decide.
An popped up in my inbox. Very cordial and respectful from someone was coming to NYC on business and would I be interested in meeting a drink. We exchanged and chatted/texted before agreeing meet. I liked him right away.
Fast forward to Friday. I’m off on Fridays from work during the summer, which is an amazing and wonderful thing. I had collected some school supplies for a local drive, but I had to retrieve them on Friday and get them a drop-off. I was eager to meet Still Waters but I had take care of this errand first. On a whim, I asked him if he would be interested in meeting me at the supplies place and me them off at the place. I figured it would be a good chance for us talk and get to know each other. To my complete surprise, he agreed. Why wouldn’t a grown man get into the car of strange woman in a strange city? What’s the worst could happen?
I run into traffic but manage to get to the place and text him as much. He’s already there as it turns out, and is walking towards me carrying bags of supplies. We both smile as we approach each other. He puts the bags into my trunk and we hug, a bit awkwardly. And he gets into my car and we take off.
British. Oh, how I love and adore those British accents. Still Waters is from the UK. The accents make me weak in the knees. We talk about the work brings him to NYC while I drive like a New York taxi driver through the streets of the city on a Friday afternoon. He’s very polite, funny, and laid back. I decide I like him. But the question hangs in the air: do I like him enough fuck?
We get the supplies to the drop-off, I drive to a parking garage across the street from his hotel, and we find ourselves in a bar across the street. I’m genuinely touched Still Waters agreed to me with my errands. “Anything for the ,” he says to me. When I ask him about being concerned about getting into a strange car with a strange woman, he tells me he could tell my text messages I wasn’t a lunatic. “And anyway,” he said, “if you were a real nutter I could have just jumped out of the car at a red light.” Indeed.
We talk about the Bohemian Rhapsody movie over an early dinner and his work, which takes him all over the globe. I ask him if there is a place he would like to visit he never has and he said, “Buenos Aires.” Hmmm. Just as dinner was winding down, one of his work colleagues spies him from the bar and decides to sit down with us. Why, I have no idea. The next thing I know we’re now sitting near the bar with another work colleague of his and the four of us are drinking. Well, they’re drinking. I’ve had two beers and knew I was driving home so I was finished for the night. I say to Still Waters, “I think I’m going to go now”. I know he’s in town for a few days and I figure we might meet again before he leaves. “No,” he says me. “Stay.” I do as I’m told. There’s a mischievous look in his eyes.
We leave the bar and make our way to the hotel where he’s staying. A very nice room. The hotel where I had had an encounter with another travelling business guy just a few months earlier. (See Blog Entry “#60”.) He hooks up his music to the Bluetooth and we get in bed. I’m a little nervous, which is unusual. I sense Still Waters is as well. The sun is setting on another summer evening in New York City so the room is in half shadows. We begin to kiss. Hungrily. I can still feel his 5 o’clock shadow rubbing against my face. The kissing goes on for what feels like hours. We change positions, legs are clinging to each other, my lips are nearly swollen from so much attention.
He pulls the spaghetti strap of my camisole down, eager get into my bra and set my 40M – M as in magnificent – breasts free. He wrestles from the bra and immediately begins attacking my breasts, my nipples already swollen. He cups breast in hand and greedily sucks on my nipple. The music, originally a distraction, now takes me away. I recognize Lisa Stansfield’s “All Around the World” and Sade. Who is this man? Lisa Stansfield AND Sade? WTF?
Ah, Sade. Sade makes me want sit on my sofa with a glass of wine and bawl my eyes . All her songs are about heartache and heartbreak. And here I lay, with this lovely man, legs and body intertwined, the hotel room now in darkness, and I try not cry. Almost a year to the day, I saw, for the last time at it turned out, someone I had met here on BBWMatchMate. Another sweet man, but this time with the potential to be…extraordinary. Now don’t get me wrong. I adore BBWMatchMate. I have met some wonderful men and had, for the most part, an amazing time. But this man, the one got away, might have been different. I’ll never know because just as we had made plans for me to visit him, I was stood up. And ghosted. Never to be seen or heard from again, just like Ichabod Crane. Nevertheless, it’s been a difficult year.
But here I lie, in this Times Square hotel, with Still Waters between my legs and me trying not to cry. I came three times with Still Waters. The last time I came so hard I nearly passed out . Sade and tears be damned.
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Erectile Dysfunction Strikes
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Posted:Jun 30, 2019 10:29 pm
Last Updated:Jul 1, 2020 6:48 pm
16178 Views
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I did something I rarely do: I agreed meet someone I had never met before in his hotel room.
Not in the hotel bar or the bar/restaurant next door.
But in the actual hotel room.
As in: what's the room number, park the car, stride confidently the elevators, press the elevator button to the correct floor, get off the elevator, find the room and knock on the door.
I remember thinking in my car on the way to the hotel that I didn't even want to know his name. I just wanted to take my clothes off and fuck.
I knock on the door and there's no answer. I knock again.
Silence.
A little bit of panic sets in, as I'm thinking I may have been played. Or knocking on the wrong hotel room door in the wrong hotel.
I his number and hear a phone ringing on the other side of the door.
I hear him laughing.
I think, "I am being played." Fuck.
The door opens and he stands there, bare chested, in his underpants.
He's actually a little more handsome in person than in his pictures.
I walk in, realize there aren't other men hiding, and leave my purse on the desk. The tv is on, loud and distracting. He asks if I would like a drink. I carefully watch him open the wine bottle -- never take a cup of anything from a man that you haven't seen him open -- and pour some wine in those cheap hotel plastic tumblers.
I take my cup and go sit on the bed. He's at the foot of the bed, chattering away. Some men, when I meet them in hotels, are nervous and they TALK. Like magpies. About absolutely nothing.
I quickly realize that he is drunk.
Really drunk.
He slurs a few words. He continues TALK. I take my clothes off and we get the covers.
He gets on top of . Kisses . I'm already wet. I've wanted fuck since I got in my car and drove this hotel and I am primed and ready be entered by his cock but....
He slides it up and down my pussy, holding it in his hands. My head is back, my eyes closed. But....
His cock does not stay hard. I think, "ok, let help with this" and take him in my mouth. Rub his cock between my massive 40M tits.
Nothing.
We try again, missionary.
Nothing.
Words come my mind: The incredible Mr. Limpet. Flaccid. Drunk.
He decides please and makes his way my pussy. I am primed and ready be eaten. It starts well. I start climb the orgasm mountain. My hips gyrate in anticipation. And then he...
Stops.
And then the incredible happens: he falls asleep.
I mean stone cold asleep. I can hear him snoring between my legs, over the baseball game.
Well, that's a first. A 's gotta do what a 's gotta do and I finish the job myself, masturbating my own orgasm, thank you very much. He wakes up when I'm cumming. Of course he does.
I get up and get dressed and leave him in the hotel, snoring loudly, grateful that I don't have that far drive get home.
In the days since this evening, he has been blowing up my phone, asking forgiveness and for me give him another chance. What say you, BBWMatchMate world: do I give him another chance? Or do I tell him buzz off?
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Red Wine
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Posted:Jun 18, 2019 7:52 pm
Last Updated:Jul 1, 2019 7:17 pm
16206 Views
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“The people me on BBWMatchMate are men want suck my dick,” Jersey Swinger tells me as we’re lying in my bed in between sessions of fucking.
“And just as I was about say yes, I got a text from you.”
I’m laughing my ass off into the pillows. “So I’ve saved you from the dark side,” I said, between peals of laughter.
“Yes, you did,” as he leans down to kiss me.
I have known Jersey Swinger for a while now. We see each other when we can, when schedules permit. He texted me before he left to go away for a business conference, and I was in my usual state of aroused horniness and was looking for someone to fuck. Rather than select some random guy on BBWMatchMate, I thought, let me see if any of my friends are around. I remembered that Jersey Swinger was back from abroad and I thought, perfect.
He always bring wine, which is nice. We always sit on my sofa and drink some wine to get caught up. He shows me photos from his recent conference and trip abroad which are gorgeous. I’m jealous. Stunning views and a helpful conference but the sex he had was with his wife and that was all too brief, according to Jersey Swinger. She complains that he is too large for her.
I don’t complain about his size. But that’s just me being the that I am.
There are moments when he is behind me when I am completely delirious. I wonder what my looks like as he grabs my hips and plunges that delicious manhood deep inside my willing pussy. Contorted into some frenzied, crazed look, I would imagine. Eyes closed and mouth hanging open as he bangs me.
Jersey Swinger is long and thick, a ’s best friend. When he fucks me doggy style it hurts, but an oh-so-sweet hurt, I try explain him later. “I don’t want hurt you,” he says me in between of our sessions. “But you’re not,” I try clarify. Yes, there is a physical pain but it shimmers just over and around the pleasure, like a rainbow in the midst of a downpour. I like feel the pain/pleasure or rather, the pleasure/pain. It reminds me that I’m alive.
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#60
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Posted:May 17, 2019 9:18 pm
Last Updated:Jan 11, 2020 7:03 pm
16254 Views
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Instead of a little black book, I have a little blue book. Among other notes and thoughts and scribbles, it lists the names of all the men that I have had sex with since joining BBWMatchMate 3 ½ years ago. I counted those names a few days ago and realized I was approaching an interesting .
60.
60 men. couples. MMF. In 3 ½ years. And for the most part, amazing sex. X in Minneapolis. X in Washington, DC. The sweet attorney who took me to his gorgeous house for the most magical evening of my life. The Italian pilot who played Italian and spoke to me in Italian while he fucked me oh so delicioso. The sweet tech guy I met when I logged on with the explicit goal of finding someone to fuck that night, met in a hotel in NJ and was as sweet as pie and licked me to such a frenzy that I nearly passed out when I came. And my sweet and reliable Jazz Man, who plays me like he plays his trombone: passionately, beautifully, lustfully. These are the many reasons why I love BBWMatchMate.
So I wondered: who will have the distinction of being #60? Does that hold any significant meaning for me? Not really. It’s not 50; I’ve passed that already. I’ll get back to you when I get to #0.
Fast forward to weeks ago. I find buried in my messages a reply from someone who tells me he will be in NYC for a few days for business and after enjoying my pictures and profile, wanted to know if I would meet him for a drink. I love the business men who go through NYC. They’re usually bright, charming, sweet. But the key things they possess: they have hotel rooms and they are temporary. After a few email exchanges, I agree to meet.
He’s staying a hotel in Times Square. Times Square is Tourist Trap Hell, throngs of crowds all standing around, gawking, texting, lost, and all in the middle of the sidewalk. More people in Times Square than quite possibly live in Idaho. As I made my way through the sea of people, I wonder, as I always do, why on earth anyone would want to visit NYC. I’m late, I’m sweating – after a chilly spring, the weather finally remembers that it’s May – but I slow down as I approach the hotel. Straighten my hair. Take a quick look in my compact. I’ve agreed to meet him in the lobby. As I go through the revolving doors, I see him.
Tall, silver hair. Hands on his hips. He doesn’t look happy. I’ve kept him waiting. I practically stand in front of him and see his expression change as he recalls my photo. I smile. He returns the smile, and we walk into the bar.
He tells me about his business, and how much he loves New York. I order a Pinot Noir and he tells me about the bottles of wine he has at home. He’s a little nervous, I think. He orders a Guinness. I slowly drink my wine, enjoying the taste. He for the drinks and we move to more casual seating inside the bar. He tells me he bought a bottle of wine with him on this trip.
“How about we have a glass of it in your room?” I say, demurely. I had been waiting for more than an hour at that point, wondering if he would make a move, take the first step. Not that I was impatient, I just wanted to…move things along.
We take the elevator to his room. Not a bad room for a NYC hotel, which tend to run small. A spectacular view of 8th Avenue looking uptown, I am mesmerized by this crazy, beautiful, impossible city. I take off my shoes, get into the bed, fully clothed, while he pours me a glass of wine. He brings it to me. I can smell the grape. It is wonderful going down, sweet, pungent. I feel the glow of this glass of wine begin to radiate outward, as I feel the buzz of the alcohol. He stands in front of the tv. We talk. He finally comes over to the bed. We talk more. He tells me he loves jazz. I grab my phone and find the local jazz station app and we listen. He reaches for me and I rest my head on his shoulder. His hands begin to make their way to my back and down my jeans and finally, inside my panties. I fondle and caress his cock through his pants, which has grown to a nice, firm size. We kiss.
His hands are on my breast. I clasp my hand around his as he fondles my breast, my nipples already hard. He helps me take my top off, revealing my white bra, 40M for those keeping score at home. With one hand he manages to unclasp my bra, reaching behind me. I am impressed. My breasts fall, happy to be free from the bra. He takes a breast in his mouth and begins nibbling at my nipple, then a long suck which hurts but…doesn’t. My head is back and my eyes are closed. Ripples of pain/pleasure wash over me.
I get up, walk over to the curtains and throw them back, exposing the spectacular view. I want to see this view while he makes love to me. I turn off the light, surrender my jeans and get on the bed next to him. He is naked, stands above me, towers above me, his cock hard and ready. I take it in my mouth while he has a finger deep inside my pussy. I am already wet and want to feel him inside me but he has other plans. He takes a nipple in his mouth and continues to rub my clit, slow at first, and then harder and faster. I can feel the orgasm begin. My breath is coming in short gasps. The room is dark, I don’t even remember what he looks like. I see the city below, glittering like jewels. I am on the orgasm mountain, climbing slowly and steadily, thinking of all the men I’ve fucked, the fun I’ve had, the pleasure I enjoy and then I . My body spasms, jerks. I moan out loud. He lays down next to me, while my body continues to spasm. He wants to continue but I want to fuck.
He’s inside me, slowly moving himself in and out of me. I adjust my body to take all of him inside me. He is quiet. All I can hear is his steady, increased breathing and my heart hammering in my chest. His thrusts quicken and then slow and then stop. Not sure what happened, I soon realize that he has ejaculated. He apologizes for being quick, blaming it on the long flight and jet lag. I accept his apology and tell him not to worry about it. “The main thing is that we both enjoyed each other.”
“I like you,” he says to me, in the dark, my head on his chest.
“I like you, too” I say to him.
I’m still not sure of his name. Or at least the pronunciation of it.
I can feel his making my panties wet in the Uber as I sped uptown, through the gorgeous, dark, and crazy city.
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The Jazz Man Plays
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Posted:Apr 14, 2019 12:15 am
Last Updated:Aug 25, 2021 8:56 pm
16676 Views
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I met Jazz Man here on BBWMatchMate. I'm 26 years older than he is, so yeah, I could be his mom.
But I'm not.
I remember when we first met. At a place near me. He was sweet. A little shy even. Just how I like them. Love turning out the shy and introverted ones. Make them howl and sigh. Make them happy. We agreed to meet another time, back at my place.
Fast forward to this week. We meet when we can. He's busy and so I am but when we come together, we cum together.
I had not seen him in awhile. So we sat on my sofa and got caught up. He arrived early so I was still in my robe and Walmart pajamas. Truly nothing sexy! He loves my robe, by the way; tells me that often. We lean into each other, talking, laughing like the friends we are. I catch him looking at my breasts? Sexy-not-sexy Walmart pajamas? It's not the crotchless panties or the see-through nighties that turn men on; it's the robe and Walmart pajamas.
He runs his hand right above the top of the pajamas. The pajamas are a sleeveless chemise, black with white polka dots. A little blue ribbon. My ample cleavage nearly spills from the top. I throw my leg over his jeans and he touches my legs. "I am a woman of a certain age," I say. "I can no longer sleep in warm rooms, and I can't sleep in anything more than a sleeveless, cotton chemise. And I never wear panties."
"I know," he whispers.
We make it to my bedroom. He has stripped to his undies, looking comfortable lying in my bed. I get next to him, still wearing the Walmart pajamas. We lie next to each other, touching each other's faces. I hear him sigh. Jazz Man is a sweet kisser. We devour each other's lips. "I can't wait to have you inside me, baby" I whisper to him. He shudders, his erection like a flag pole.
I love to hold him and touch him. His reactions are arousing to me. I enjoy giving pleasure to him. Our noses touch. I kiss his face. Caress his hair and his hold his face in my warm hands. He responds eagerly, greedily. Holds my breast in his hands. Slides the nipple into his warm mouth, which is already full and erect with desire. I reach for his thick cock, swelled and swelling, already leaking pre-cum. He shudders when my hand finds his delicious cock in his shorts. I hear him sigh. His eyes are closed, his head is back. I kiss him with his cock in my hand telling him again, whispering again, "I can't wait to have you inside me."
I think we will continue with me taking him inside my mouth, which I know he loves but he instead gets on top of me. I spread my legs wide for him, already wet and waiting for his delicious cock. I love the weight of him on me. I love the moment when his cock finds my dripping pussy, and he slowly slides himself into me. Such a rush. The world falls away. It is just the two of, gliding into other in that beautiful slow dance of sex, connection, and intimacy.
I struggle to take the Walmart pajamas off while he is inside me, grinding. My legs are intertwined with his, my brown body underneath his pale, creamy whiteness.
"You are so amazing," I tell him, I whisper, full-throated, sensual, full of desire. He looks down at me and reminds me of the same. What I so love about Jazz Man is when we are together it is a delicious, crazed, stupifying combination of sweetness, sensuality, eroticism, coupled with full-on carnal and raw lust. I can hear the blood rushing in my ears. He started off slow and sweet and gentle but with each thrust he pounds into me, slides that cock into my ever-obliging pussy. My legs are wide open, I want to take all of him inside me. We kiss like we are dying; as if it is our last breath. We fuck and fuck like animals, growling, relentless, crazed.
"I want to cum; I'm sorry. I can't hold back." His face is tortured.
"Cum inside me baby. Fuck me like the I am" I tell him.
This only pushes him more; his face nearly anguished. We are in a frantic rhythm. His cock is so delicious. My pussy was made for his cock.
"Fuck me like the I am" I say to him, again and again and he erupts, like a volcano. Throws his head back, he looks like a demon as his cock empties his sweet cum into my wet and greasy pussy. I feel it seep out of me, warm and oozing. Our pulse rate slows. He collapses on top of me, spent and drained. He apologizes for cumming quickly. I whisper in his ear that it was fine.
"You are so amazing" I tell him for the millionth time.
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