Greater Expectations (13 page)

I have created a monster.

A monster just like
me
.

Only less perverted, thankfully.

She happily continued, unaware of my thoughts, “What is rimming? I was scanning down the sections in the
“My Profile”
page when I stumbled across this term with a check box for
“giving”
and
“receiving”
. There were similar boxes for
“anal”
and
“oral”
but I had no need for an explanation of these.” Her sterile dissection of the site was actually helpful in making me feel less stupid for not knowing, far less understanding, some of the phraseology.

“I have no idea and was actually wondering that myself.” I had, until recently, considered myself quite worldly wise in sexual terms and acts but Sian and Nameless had both proven me wrong. “Hold on, I shall search it.” After a few seconds she continued, “It says on Wikipedia that it is ‘
Anilingus’
.” The word was completely self-explanatory although Penny tried to continue with the full quotation, but I had to stop her.

I was actually blushing but I was confused if it was for her or myself.

“Whoa, I’ve got it. Please, in the name of all that is holy, I beg you to stop.”
I took a second to compose myself before continuing, “Penny, please believe me, I really am uncomfortable enough given our current scenario without having you compound that further. As you now know, I have experience of this but I was completely unaware that they had a name for it.” I said this as I checked the
“Rimming - Receiving”
box in my new profile whilst leaving the
“Rimming - Giving”
box empty.

Penny had no need to know my sexual preferences.

“So, what did you check?” she asked.
How could she know?
Surely this is just my paranoia.

“What do you mean?” I asked as innocently as I could.

“Well now you know what it is, and you have had experience of it “first tongue” if you can pardon the expression, did you check the
‘Receiving’
box?” She really had no idea how hilarious it was to me that you had to check the
‘Receiving’
box to state a preference for your own
‘receiving box’
! She also had no modicum of consideration for my potential embarrassment.

“Come on Z, you can tell me, brutal
honesty is what we agreed to.”

I knew that would come back and bite me on the ass.

If it’s honesty she wanted, then that is exactly what she would get. “Okay, yes, I admit it, I checked the
‘Receiving’
box.” For some strange reason, I felt the need to defend myself. “Well I really don’t care what these girls think of me, we are all looking for the same thing after all so why not be honest about it? At least, that’s my thoughts on the subject. One thing is for certain, I am certainly not putting my tongue anywhere near somebody else’s hoop.”

There was no denying that my own disgust was entirely hypocritical.

Penny response was, once again, most surprising. “I get that. After all, you told me that you actually enjoyed the pleasure of having the nameless girl’s tongue caressing your prostate, ergo your G-spot. I also understand your obvious discomfort with the situation, considering that she was a stranger and you were in such a vulnerable position.

Particularly given
that you were in your own home.

Yet there is the juxtaposition of your own curiosity from the pleasure you were deriving being outweighed by your natural instinct to defend yourself from such vulnerability. So, yes, I can see why this would be appealing for you to explore further given that you can only be on more formal terms with anyone you meet through this site. It is obvious that you will have to contact each other and so communicate through messages on here. This will establish a relationship, albeit a deliberately dysfunctional one, and all with an upfront honesty to be found in your already stated sexual preferences contained within your re
spective profiles.

This information was absent from your initial contact and subsequent interaction with your nameless girl.”

Penny was both cold and clinical in her assertions. It was really quite disconcerting how uncomfortable she made me feel. Giving such measured credibility to what I understood to be my own inner perversions made it seem somehow acceptable, as if this was perfectly normal. It made it less dirty yet it simply wasn’t to me.

I
wanted
it to be dirty.

I
needed
it to be dirty.

Angry tears of unadulterated frustration had formed and escaped down my cheeks. It's a harsh realisation that this portal into a completely new world of sex is not normal for me. The toys, costumes, and equipment that are displayed here actually
scare
me. These people who have voluntarily posed in these photographs of their own depraved activities completely fascinate me. Yet I am disgusted by it all and so disgusted with myself for relating with it on
any
level. I
need
to feel this way because, only then, can I be assured that the simplistic sex that I know and practice is, by comparison, “normal” if not altogether boring.

Yet, for me, it has always been enough, both completely satisfying and thoroughly enjoyable.

Penny’s voice penetrated the silence as she continued in yet still blissful ignorance to my plight. “Actually, it really is most unfair to keep referring to this poor girl as ‘Nameless’. Please, choose a name for her so we can at least refer to her as a person.” It would seem that my referring to her as “Nameless” had caused Penny some upset and frustration although there was no obvious reason why it should. Not to me at least. Whatever the reason, she seemed to lose some of her normal composure.

“Okay, let’s call her ‘Laura’. That’s as good a name as any.”

I had given absolutely no thought to this choice at all but rather adopted the “Screen Name” of the person whose profile I had inadvertently stumbled upon. It was an impulsive suggestion but one I immediately regretted as it now makes the whole experience that much more personal to me as her face now had a name.

Suddenly she was a person.

I quickly diverted my attention back to the computer screen. This particular “Laura” was actually very attractive and it seemed somehow impolite to not at least look at her other pictures. After all, she had gone to such great lengths to dress up and pose for them. Trying to do so resulted in me being prompted to complete my own profile first before such access would be permitted. The first box wants me to adopt my own “Screen Name”. As a further enticement, it has written underneath in bold red italics,
“Check your 'Screen Name’ availability!”

Curiosity got the better of me and I had to ask. “What did you put as yours?”

“My ‘Screen Name’ is quite predictable really, I chose ‘Thunderbird-1’ as I am, quite literally, ‘Lady Penelope’.” She was talking to me but it was obvious that it was the website that held her attention.

“That is genius, I love it.” I honestly did. It was brilliantly funny and had made me laugh. One minute I’m crying, then I’m laughing? What the fuck is going on with me? My emotions are erratic at best and completely unpredictable.

I really need to get a grip of myself.

“Yes, I thought it was quite cute.” She agreed with a giggle. It was such a lovely noise. “From what I am seeing on the male pages, I would suggest that you choose something rather crude but uniquely funny.”
No pressure there then.
“Think something like ‘PussyMaster’ and a number and you will be fine.”

I near fell off my perch.

“Excuse me?”
was all I could manage to stammer, my words fell over themselves with my shock very much apparent. The idea of Penny knowing what a pussy was far less using the word was incredible to me.

Yet another lesson
for me against her stereotype.

“Oh Z, stop being such a prude. I am a girl after all. I am also a single girl so one must amuse oneself. Porn and sex is appealing to us all you know. Actually, on second thought, Gemma wanted you to pursue your PhD, which would have made you a doctor. So why not something like ‘PussyQuack69’?”

“Perfect.” I could think of nothing better and so quickly registered my new ‘Screen Name’ in the hope that the conversation would move forward. No good could come from any further exploration although I was really glad of how our friendship was developing.

I didn’t want to lose it now.

“You won’t be meeting anyone from this site will you?” My question was more a hopeful statement but, for some reason, it was important to me that she didn’t.

“Oh good heavens no. Why would I ever do that? Leave myself open to such ridicule. No, I am not that desperate. Not yet anyway. You seriously wont either, will you?” Her question seemed to be one of equal concern. How baffling. Why should she be interested, far less care?

“I thought I might but my initial impressions from the site are not good. Also, looking at some of the ‘lady parts’ on display, I am quite certain that these unfortunates have diseases for which they don’t have names for yet.” It was said in jest but I was actually serious. Some were really fierce and frightening to look at.

Not sexy at all.

Not. At. All.

It was then, at that precise moment, that it struck me. This was the exact same genitalia that Penny had.
Why hadn’t I considered that before?
I couldn’t quite get my head around the most fundamentally natural fact that, underneath it all, she was the same.

Just a girl, looking for a boy to love her…

Yet not to me.

Never to me.

My thought was broken with her still laughing at my joke. “Yes, I can see what you mean. I am on the ladies pages now and some do look like road kill.”

It was me who was laughing now.

“One could never expect to find ones ‘Douglas McElroy’ on here.” Penny’s statement was one of stunning simplicity but the severity of its impact upon me was breathtaking.

“No, I guess not.” I replied, now completely deflated. What started out as fun had instantly been replaced with the realisation of my own hope in the power of love. It was my own story, the one I had told her to raise her own flagging spirits, that had been turned against me in the simplest of sentences.

It was then that I noticed the time. We had been chatting and exploring the site for over an hour. Rather than my original plan of immersing myself into this hidden world of sexual debauchery on my own, I had been led astray along its path by this Lady seeking a knight.

I bade her goodnight and dragged the little self respect I had left to my bed for yet an
other night of mental jousting.

18

Orgasmic

Monday 23rd February

Another night of fitful sleep was made all the worse by the 4am phone call cancelling my day’s shift. I admitted defeat to the God’s of slumber just before 6am, taking a shower whilst the coffee machine worked its magic. The delicious aroma wafting through the apartment was the only positive in an other
wise terrible start to the day.

Surely things could only get better.

In the absence of anything more constructive to do at that time of the morning, I sat at my computer in the forlorn hope that there may be something to pique my interest.

Surprisingly, there was. I had a
new Friend Request on Facebook.

There was no profile or background pictures, actually no pictures at all. There was nothing on the Timeline Page but the name, yet that told me all I needed to know. In accepting the request, I found that I held the dubious honou
r of being Penny’s only friend.

Other than that, there was nothing else worth engaging with save the usual posts for a Sunday evening, mainly gripes about the end of the weekend. I checked out of Facebook and into my Gmail. My spam filters are set to maximum and so I was momentarily stunned by the sheer
amount of traffic in my inbox.

Fourteen new ema
ils from Supasexxx.com.

The emails comprised of eight “New Message” notifications: three “Flirts”, one inviting me to check out the “New Members”, one informing me that “Nicole” had added me as a “favourite” and, finally, a “50% off membership” offer. Natural curiosity obligated me to follow
the link to my “Messages” page.

No
t that I really wanted to look.

Much.

I pretended to myself that my motivation was one more of annoyance at these people having the sheer audacity to contact
me
. How dare they, this was simply
outrageous
. I was only going to the site to be suitably appalled given the scarcity of my own profile–these people knew nothing about me–and so I would withdraw my profile in disgust.

I would enjoy the moral high ground.

I feebly tried to convince myself that I had no idea what I was hoping to achieve when signing up to this site, whilst also suitably berating myself for ever doing so. It was all Penny’s fault anyway, goading me into it as she did. She is incorrigible. Her and Taylor, two peas in a pod. Yet I knew this was a lie and found it easy to shift the blame.

Shift my shame.

In truth, I knew that my purpose for joining was the hope of finding sex. Actually, I still hoped to find sex, that much hasn’t changed. I had successfully managed to convince myself that it was my duty to explore this new sex, the one without complications.

The one with the toys, attir
e, and scary looking equipment.

Secretly, through my feigned disgust, I was truly delighted with the response. As I navigated to the site, the adrenalin coursed through my veins and I felt so wonderfully
alive
. It has been so long since I felt like this, am I too old to feel naughty? Obviously not given the butterflies in my stomach and the exhilarating sense of shame. Yes, that is how naughty has felt always to me. Yet why should I be ashamed? As Penny alluded to, sex is the most natural and basic of desires and I have merely found a communal meeting place for people like me. Well, maybe not exactly like me but close enough for what I am seeking at this point in my life.

Or so I thought.

My first message is from “Sylvia, 72, Watford”. A quick check of its date and time stamp shows that it was sent within an hour of my signing up. I must have just missed it by minutes. The subject box states
“wanna fuck, now, tonite”
. Curiosity prevailed in the fight against every single one of my other sensible instincts and I click on the message to read it. It was intriguing to see what a woman of her years would possibly write to me. However, my excitement was temporarily quelled as the site redirected me to the payment page where the options consisted of a week, month, or yearly subscription. Without properly thinking–actually without and thinking at all, it seems that I may have now lost this ability–I go back to my inbox and retrieve the special offer code and take advantage of the 50% discount for a full months membership.

I
am now a fully fledged member.

What the actual fuck am I doing?

It would seem that my original attitude of superiority and aloofness is misplaced. It is the variety of women, both in terms of their age and location, that have messaged me that is particularly astounding. In both my roles as a nightclub bouncer and truck driver, I thought I had seen, or at least heard, it all but this is something completely new to me. Women of all shapes and sizes, of all ages, and in every type of relationship imaginable, trawling the same site as me, hunting for sex.

Yet not sex as I know it.

“Sylvia’s” message is straight to the point.
“Hi, I like your profile…”

Really?
This is completely illogical to me as I don’t have any pictures uploaded yet, nor a personal description, merely my own sexual preferences.

“…have a look at mine and if you want to meet, call me. I don’t use condoms, no need at my age. It’s been so long since I got laid, I make Cliff Richard look like a player!

Remember, there’s no woman like an old woman…

Sylvia x”

Her mobile number concluded the text. This woman is old enough to be my grandmother–great grandmother, actually–yet here she is asking me for unprotected sex. All whilst destroying my wholesome and saint like image of Sir Cliff Richard. There are some things that are just sacrosanct and that certainly includes Sir Cliff. This granny had obviously not read the
“Respect”
manual on life.

The only logical explanation in her defence is that she suffers from some sort of dementia.

Furthermore, her message is clearly evidence enough that age does not necessarily bring wisdom, and that stupidity is eternal. If she had cared to conduct even the quickest of searches on the internet she would have discovered that, statistically, the over 55’s age group far exceeds the national average for passing and contracting STD’s.

Yet, for reasons far beyond my own capabilities of comprehension, I followed the link to her profile. Her personal description stated:

I'm a granny to 7 kids but my hubby has gone off the boil. Actually, his cock had died and is just waiting for the rest of him to catch up!

I was bit wilder in younger years but I haven't lost the urges I had all those years ago, happy to get used by men or women not in
terested in safe sex at my age.

local meets best because I can't travel, chat
me up and take my knickers off–if I’m wearing any! Hahahaha!

xxxx

There were two profile pictures and, much to my own disgust, I found myself actually admiring them. She was obviously trim and wearing well, her stockings and suspenders were elegant and classy. Sexy almost. The first picture saw her posing on her back, holding her ankles, and looking “seductively” at the camera.

In the second she was astride a chair with crotchless knickers completing the ensemble.

Seeing her photos reminded me of a story that a beautician friend of mine–Caitlin–once told me. When she had been a trainee, she was tasked with giving an older lady her first “Brazilian”. Following her instructions, the old lady went into the room to prepare herself. However, there was some sort of communication breakdown for when my friend entered, the old lady was naked from the waist down and on all fours, much like a dog.

The sight caused Caitlin to fight courageously against regurgitating her lunch.

A quick clarification ensured that the lady was settled into the proper position and ready for the procedure. However, being a trainee, Caitlin had managed to inadvertently spread the wax a little too liberally, although this only came to light when she peeled off the first strip. The old dear shot up so quickly, and screamed so loudly, that both her top and bottom false teeth flew out.

Apparently it gave Ca
itlin the most terrible fright.

‘Z, I shat myself!’

When the lady eventually calmed down, Caitlin and her supervisor managed to convince her to allow them to inspect the offended area. It transpired that the wax had been spread onto the old dear’s “lip” –or “labia” to use the proper medical terminology–and the strip had caught it when it had been applied. In fear of prolonging the painful experience, the old lady decided that one swipe was enough and left with her lady garden looking like a photographic negative of Mr T.

“Sylvia’s” lady garden looked more like Lionel Ritchie’s afro from his Commodore days.

Looking back at her pictures, I caught myself thinking that I hoped my future wife was this attractive at 72. The fear from such a thought had my hand racing for the mouse and I hastily returned to my other messages. I never deleted “Sylvia’s” though. I decided to keep it for future reference. Nobody, and I mean
nobody
, would ever believe me that Sir Cliff had been so recklessly slandered in such a way. Keeping her message simply served as my proof.

How bizarre that I should be so valiantly defending the honour and integrity of a Knight of the Realm.

Screening my messages resulted in five being deleted without my even bothering to read them as their locations ensured they were completely unrealistic for a genuine meet. No point in teasing myself, or them. Not that their opinion mattered. They should have known better than to send the messages in the first bloody place. I can only imagine that they each sent the messages in the comfort of knowing that nothing could come from it. Teasing themselves with no real desire to change their current situation, just an overwhelming need to feel
wanted
again.

To feel
craved
.

To feel
sexy
.

Yet, to my mind, they were a reflection of my old self. Stuck in relationships but too afraid to leave for fear of being alone. It’s always easier to stick with what you know. Always easier to find reasons to stay. Always easier to fall down the slippery slope of finding or, worse still, accepting fault with yourself rather than climbing strong and free from the shackles placed on you by others. Others who pretend to love, care, and cherish you whilst, simultaneously, seeking to destr
oy you.

The only thing more tragic than a person losing their self confidence is someone taking it from them, for not everyone is beautiful but true beauty resides within everyone.

My process of elimination, based on proximity alone, resulted in just two messages of genuine merit. The first of which wanted to webcam only. This seems really redundant as a pastime to me. What actual pleasure can either party derive from this unless, of course, one is being paid? Just as I was beginning to believe that my initial instincts were correct, I read the final message.

This was an altogethe
r more interesting proposition.

According to her profile, “Angela” was 29, 5’10” and she was obviously wild as she had checked every single box in the “Sexual Preferences” section. Her profile contained only a single picture, although it was enough for me to want to see more. However, it was her “Profile Description” that had really piqued my interest:

Hey there!

I'm a horny lady who is looking for to expand my sexual horizons and satisfy a very healthy sexual appetite. I love it a little rough and really do like to take charge!!

As an unhappily married nurse, I regularly go to the gym to work out my “frustrations”. I like to take care of my body and so I'm looking for encounters with people who look after theirs too!

I work at odd times, which doesn’t suit my marriage or sexual appetites. I am just looking for a fuck buddy. I have no intention of altering my marital status.

Oh, and a final point boys. I HATE text speak. Predictive text means there are no excuses for bad spelling. Use it or else you shall be blocked.

It seems we are kindred spirits. Her personal message to me was equally blunt:

“Hi, I have the next two days off and really want to fuck. My husband is out working so I am home alone during the day. We live under 10 miles apart. Send me a text and lets meet for some fucking good times xx.”

Her number had been added at the end.

As with all good research, sacrifices are required and having sex with “Angela” was one that I was fully prepared to make. Sacrificing my dignity and compromising my integrity all for the sake of my future relationships. They would be thankful, all those future spouses. I needed to know how to satisfy them sexually and “Angela” was obviously as broadminded as they come, to coin a phrase.

I quickly entered her number into my phone and typed a text reply.

“Hi, is this Angela? Obviously I got your message and wondered if you are serious as I am free today if you are interested?”

Before I could change my mind, I sent it. My heart was pounding and I couldn’t sit still. The thought of such an illicit meet, to be so blatantly used and abused for sex, was delicious. All in the name of research. Oh the sacrifice, I was feasting on the very thought of it. It was only a matter of minutes later when I got her reply.