A fantasy—and a plan
I. THE FANTASY
I went back to the dance hall where I met that Korean mature.
The place was humming with older folk of both genders—but I regret to say, the Korean lady pulled a no-show. Hope it's not because I scared her off.
Last week, after our heart-to-heart talk about marriage, she had just wordlessly wandered back her seat. I suspect, from her point of view, our conversation didn't go well.
I'd like to indulge in an idle flight of fancy now and imagine how the conversation might have turned out differently. I stress,
the following is fiction—based on how I'd ideally love to see events unfold.
ME: "You asked if I'm married? No, I've always avoided marriage. I often pay women for sex. It's really the only feasible way for most men to have a healthy sex life free of complications."
HER: "Must be tough, to have to pay for sex. Guess your girlfriend can't keep up with you?"
ME: "Well, that's the choice I've made: to keep my sexuality in high gear, by hook or by crook."
HER: "You seem to be a nice man, clean, well-groomed, well-spoken. Maybe I can help you out, if you want."
ME: ""Help me out how?"
HER: "You got your car parked outside?"
ME: "Sure."
HER: "Why don't we go to your car to talk, get comfortable, and who knows? Perhaps we can loosen a few buttons and do a little no-strings-attached play?"
ME: "Wow, you're my type of lady. Let's go!"
We finish the dance, and I feel a warm surge of anticipation rippling through my body. "Let me just stop in at the washroom," I say.
In the men's washroom I give my knob a quick soapy rinse, then we sneak out of the building holding hands. We hop in the back seat of my car, conveniently parked in a dark corner of the lot.
I put on a CD with groovy music, and we smooch tentatively while she places a hand on the zipper of my pants. I unzip it for her and direct her hand inside my Calvin Klein underpants.
She squeezes my soldier unhurriedly while I let my fingers travel up her dress. With one hand I massage her crotch through the panties, with the other I scoop up her titties under the bra.
As my soldier begins to solidify, she whispers, "May I?" and bends down to start sucking. Once I reach full tumescence, she accelerates and intensifies the suction.
Tasting my precum seems to make her even more eager. Normally I'd delay my orgasm, but given our somewhat compromising situation, I just yield to my first urge to blow and unload in several spurts into her tightly closed mouth.
She doesn't flinch but sucks me dry and gulps the whole load down, then says smiling:
HER: "Just what the doctor ordered. A concentrated dose of nutrients."
ME: "That felt terrific. For a non-professional you sure know how to give a superduper BJ."
HER: "Well, perhaps you can reciprocate some day with that cookie monster of yours. Want to head back in to the dance?"
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II. THE PLAN
Now back to reality: would this sort of scenario ever actually happen?
It's clearly not realistic to expect a woman to take this much initiative—especially not an Asian woman who's not articulate in English and wouldn't be able to clue into any sort of double entendre.
But is it totally hopeless to make the fantasy of a spontaneous BJ outside the dance hall come true if I took determined steps to suggest it?
It's probably largely a numbers game.
If I charm up enough women in that dance hall and then ask each whether she'd be interested in going out to my car to allow us to get better acquainted, eventually I'm bound to come across one whose libido is sufficiently attuned to mine—so she'll say yes to my request of a BJ.
Stay tuned for how my plan works out.
