The Imaginary Threesome – Fooled Again

Real sex stories fall in a variety of categories. Some will be sexy. Some will be pure filth. Some will be romantic. Some will be funny. And some will be downright depressing.

Now, back before social networking took off in a major way the ‘sex’ contact website for younger people was Face-party. I had more than my fair share from it. In fact in terms of getting laid it proved infinitely more successful for me than My Space, Face-book or Twitter ever has.

I was almost addicted to the sight. At the time I was taking a ‘break’ from full time employment and spent three hours a day working in a pub and the remainder of my time was spent on Face-party finding suitable men to fuck. They weren’t always nice men. I was happy to instantly message anyone BUT that didn’t mean I was automatically going to sleep with them.

Still grasping the remainder of my innocence, I was a good lay but not as smutty as I am today. When one man opened with an introduction of how much he wanted to ‘fist’ me, I said I wasn’t really into that so maybe we should terminate the conversation. He was clearly affronted because he told me to ‘Fuck Off’ and that he ‘didn’t care’ because I was ‘overweight’. It wasn’t a nice thing to read but it made me laugh out loud. I was overweight but that word does not have the emotional and psychologically traumatic impact that ‘fat’ does. Had he said ‘I don’t care cause you’re fat anyway’, I genuinely would be in tears. Instead I was quite chuffed because it was an honest observation. I couldn’t take offence. It was a bit like someone saying ‘I don’t care because you’ve got black hair anyway.’ Fine, no problem. ‘I don’t care because your hair is like a Halloween witches wig’ would have more of a bite to it.

I digress. Men are at times so desperate for a shag they’ll sleep with anything – including me! Thus on my online journey I had encountered men that were substantially out of my league that were more than willing and wanting to do the deed with me. When a guy made contact with a picture of him topless with a rippled torso, I wasn’t unconcerned. Warning bells didn’t sound in my head that the picture mightn’t be accurate. Common-sense did not incline me to check if the picture existed elsewhere in cyberspace thus proving it a fake. No, fully inflated ego I assumed someone of his calibre would happily select me out of the thousands of girls online.fake model

It didn’t take long to arrange to meet. Given his looks I wasn’t in a position to play hard to get. I was so addicted to sex at the time (my friends observations not mine) that I actually took time off work (baring in mind I only worked fifteen hours a week) to fuck the guy.

The night before he was due to come he asked how I’d feel about a three-some. Sexually charged, I threw caution to the wind and decided it was time to expand my sexual repertoire and stories to tell over dinner. I asked if his friend was as handsome and well-built as himself. With a ‘smiley face’ on screen he assured me he as attractive but not as hot as he was. Exchanging phone numbers, I spent the evening preparing for my big three-some.

An hour before I was due to meet them at Holborn station, I had a text from my hunk saying he couldn’t come. Crushed (and pissed off because I’d taken a shift off work) he said he’d told his friend to go along any way so that I didn’t miss out completely. The text asked if I was okay with this. Truthfully it wasn’t ideal, but if he was anywhere close in looks to his friends it wouldn’t be the worst encounter in the world. Given I had time to kill as I wasn’t working and my sexual appetite had yet to be abated, I agreed and said I’d meet the guy at the station.

Stepping out from the ticket barriers at Holborn he seemed unsure of himself and nervous, which made it easier for me to identify him. He was tall like his friend, had a solid broad frame, but he wasn’t ever going to be talent spotted by a modelling agent. At 23 he was six foot two, had sandy hair cut short back and sides but with length on top, blue eyes, symmetrical features but he was lacking something. Spark or energy – personality. He was devoid of personalty. Fortunately we were meeting for fucking not discussing current affairs.

We walked in silence for the ten minutes home. I took him up the six flights of steps and ladder into my loft bedroom in the top flat above a cafe. Living rather bohemian my double bed was on the futon on the floor. Rather than encourage any painful attempts at conversation, I kissed him. He may have been nice-looking but no one wants a droopy, wet tongue flopping in their mouth like a fish out of water. Warm and wet, his tongue was lifeless in my mouth and did nothing to excite or encourage me.

I stripped his t-shirt off. There was no sign that he’d ever visited a gym. Medium build, whilst not overweight he was un-toned. Very English, very pale, very gangly it just wasn’t a turn on. I struggled to find anything physically attractive about it. I knew he wasn’t bad looking but the idea of sex with him was becoming an inevitable chore rather than a cheeky mid-week shag.

Sitting on the futon, I patted a spot next to me as if signalling for an animal to jump up. He sat obediently. I don’t mind playing the dominatrix, but to know someone is only ever going to be submissive (particularly a tall butch man) is a drag in the bedroom department.

I pulled open the button fly on his Levi’s to reveal tight white legged boxers. His bulge was satisfactory. Average length and width. The minute I put my palm on it, I could feel it growing. That was mildly rewarding – at least I was doing something right. When I slipped my hand into his boxers to wrap my warm hand round his thickening dick he was panting like a dog. That was more off-putting. It was more like a hound dog than a horny wolf. I could feel the blood pumping through his erection as it stood proudly to attention, but his face was contorting in pain. Wondering if I was squeezing too hard or working the shaft too vigorously, I slowed down. I realized this guy was trying to refrain from climaxing. He hadn’t had sex in so long he was going to cum merely from the touch of a foreign woman.

Wasting no time, I pushed him flat on the bed and grabbed a condom. Tearing it open with my teeth it was a race to get him inside me before he off-loaded.

I won. Just.

I rolled it down roughly, as he was moaning and grabbing the sheets in an attempt to slow his pace. I could see his balls tightening. I got one leg out of my jeans to give me the freedom to straddle him, bunched my panties to one side and squatted on his cock. As I plumped myself down his full length he squealed in a feminine way and shot his loads.

Whether it was embarrassment or the fact that he didn’t really fancy me in the flesh, his words were (as his dick diminished inside me, shrivelling in the sheer rubber sheath) ‘I better get going now. I’ve got an assignment to do tomorrow.’

It was the worst parting words I think ever uttered in my sexual history. I was stupefied. Gobsmacked. Normally I’d walk someone back to the train station if they weren’t familiar with the area. With my knickers on and one leg still in my jeans it would literally have taken less than a minute to return to a fully dressed state. Given his poor etiquette (and regular readers will know I’m a stickler for exercising excellent bedroom etiquette) I decided to abandon my good manners and show him where the ladder was. Yeah that’s right. I didn’t even bother taking him to the front door.

As he walked off nonplussed, pleased he’d got hit his climax I rang the number of his friend to lambaste him for setting me up with such a lousy shag. Sadly I heard the phone ringing by the front door of my flat. I terminated the call, realizing the threesome was never going to occur in the first place. My hunk never existed, some bored college kid decided to use a fake pic to get laid (if you can call the single act of penetrating a slit without fucking sex).

Reflecting on this event, I can’t honestly say that making him climb down a ladder, walk out the front door and navigate his way through the complicated streets from my place to Holborn station was a fitting punishment for his dastardly deed.

I’d like to say it was a lesson learned, but I got caught a few times like that. That’s sex online though I guess.

Posted on November 1, 2013, in A Little Bit Of Everything, Cyber Sex / Online Sex, Disappointing Sex and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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