No Kissing, No Blow Jobs: The Cold Sore Encounter
I’ve always worked to foster friendships in cities to which I travel for business, and now that my post-lockdown travel is picking up again, I’m enjoying reconnecting with friends in distant places.
One of the cities I travel to the most is Chicago, and long-time readers will certainly recall Calliope, my Greek Muse, who has been an inspiration for many fun adventures, including a three-couple dinner-and-sex party in February 2020 (that likely turned out to be a superspreader event - oops!).
What I haven’t blogged about yet is our friend Alana, who also lives in Chicago. Calliope introduced me to Alana, after I saw a picture of her on one of Calliope’s Facebook posts and said she looked cute. She did, and she is - with a shock of red hair (in both places); creamy white skin that’s prone to breakouts of freckles; a huge, radiant smile; and a very sexy body.
Alana and I connected during Covid and spent many months enjoying the occasional texting, flirting, and sexting sprees. When things began opening up last summer I made a trip to Chicago to see Lollapalooza. And to see my friends Calliope and Alana. It was a great trip, and Alana and I had a fantastic evening starting with drinks and a bite at an elegant rooftop bar, followed by a wild, hormone-fueled encounter with crazy sexual energy back in my hotel room. It had been a long Covid drought for both of us and the animal instinct to fuck like rabbits was palpable for both of us.
Unfortunately on the several Chicago trips I’ve had since then, one circumstance or another has conspired to cock block our efforts to get together. Maybe the most heartbreaking of those was the time we had a firm date, were all confirmed and ready, and the afternoon we were to get together I came down with a 24-hour stomach bug. That evening and that evening only I felt absolutely terrible and I had to cancel. She was gracious of course, but I think we were both more than a little disappointed to miss our opportunity.
Finally, a few weeks ago, I was planning another Chicago trip and we picked an evening that we were both free. I was going to meet her after her last appointment of the day - she’s a therapist who spent the pandemic helping people maintain their sanity throughout the craziness - and we were going to enjoy a lovely evening of sexy time together.
But wouldn’t you know it, in what only makes me shake my head as par for the course for us, she texted me the morning we were to get together with news that her body was playing a cruel trick and she had developed a cold sore. It had just popped up overnight.
I was grateful for her conscientiousness to let me know, and to put my health as her first priority. She was clearly disappointed and offered to cancel, but I told her that (being the glass half-full type that I am), instead of looking at it as a downer, I thought of it as a fun opportunity to be more clever and creative in our play that evening. She made it clear that kissing and sucking my cock were off the table - two of the things we were both looking very much forward to - but she also has tits, hands, and other orifices, and I thought that having to deal with Alana not being able to use her mouth might actually be fun to work around.
This whole situation reminded me a bit of my first date with my friend Eve who, I later learned, had a yeast infection that day that kept her from allowing me to get any pussy that night, but which turned into my hottest non-sex date ever. (And who was part of the three-couple dinner and sex superspreader in 2020).
So I was ready for the challenge.
Now, one thing I was conscious of, and that Alana and I discussed, is that not only is kissing sexy and fun and a great way to connect with someone you’re attracted to, but it also serves as a sort of general-purpose sexual lubricant. It’s what you usually do to transition from chatting over a drink to groping and fucking. It’s a way to connect during the play session itself. And it’s a way to continue the connection when everyone has achieved their orgasm(s) and you’re winding down the encounter.
It was going to be a bit jarring not being able to kiss!
When I arrived at Alana’s place, the evening started off ordinarily enough. She took my coat, offered me a drink, and we sat on the couch discussing music, politics, kids, and life. (We had timed it to be one of her kid-free evenings.) We even talked about her cold sore and the creative adventure we had in store!
We probably spent a bit longer chatting than we might have otherwise, for the very reason that kissing was off the table. But eventually I put my beer on the table and sidled up a bit closer, next to her on the couch.
Earlier in the day I had requested that she answer the door naked. She counterproposed that she would answer it “not wearing very much.” Which I gladly accepted. She settled on a cute little bathrobe, with bra and panties underneath. Sitting next to her I put my arm around her shoulders, reached down, and untied her robe, parting it to expose her stomach, legs, bra, and panties. I ran my fingers up and down her body and nuzzled her neck and shoulder, kissing them softly.
I continued in this vein for a while, eventually reorienting her so she was laying on her back on the couch, while I continued to gently kiss and nuzzle her face, neck, and shoulders. I took her head in my hands, running my fingers through her hair and my fingernails along her scalp. I even brought my lips to a fraction of an inch from hers, as if I was about to give her a deep, passionate kiss, only to hold off at the very last moment.
It was definitely a tease - for me as well as for her. But it was also hot as fuck and it definitely got my motor running. And I’d bet my lunch money hers as well.
From there I continued my gentle kissing and nuzzling, but began moving down her body, removing her bra, and spending time on her beautiful breasts and nipples. To go with her red-headed complexion, she has extremely light pink areolas. Which I find so sexy. And which, fortunately, did not have cold sores.
Continuing down her body, I spent time on her stomach, hips, and pubic mound. I removed her panties and moved my attention to her inner thighs, and, eventually, to her beautiful pink pussy. She moaned, fully into it now, arching her back, and allowing the waves of pleasure to course through her body. I inserted my fingers into her pussy and, enjoyed her lovely wetness.
From there we went into her bedroom and I got undressed. Another brief moment of awkwardness as we could neither kiss, nor move to the next (logical?) portion of our play date - a blow job. So I pulled out a condom and we went straight to fucking.
I’ve been in enough groups to know first-hand that many men, at least those in the lifestyle, don’t kiss their partners while fucking them. Pretty much at all. I’m the opposite. While I won’t spend 20 minutes straight with lips locked, it is one of the things I do quite a bit while fucking, especially if we are in the missionary position. It was weird not to be able to. So I took a page from earlier in the evening and - while my cock was easing in and out of her pussy - held her head in my hands, kissed her face and neck, and moved my lips tantalizingly close to hers, my hot breath on her cheek.
That was fun, but I also like to mix up my positions so after a while I pulled her over to the edge of the bed and (yes, long-time reader, I do have preferences, lol) fucked her while standing on the floor. Partly I just like this position. It gives me a lot of control over angles and pace. Partly it parked our lips a good five feet away from each other so not being able to kiss became less of an issue.
Now Alana is very orgasmic, or at least she has been the couple of times we’ve been together. And even though she does have one or two other men in the mix at the moment, she has two young children and her schedule doesn’t allow her to get a TON of sex. Maybe for that reason, maybe just because she’s just that orgasmic, or maybe because of my fabulous skills (ha!) she was having orgasm after orgasm all night. She told me later that she had no idea how many times she came that evening, and it seemed to me at least like the orgasms were just coming one after the other. Certainly I could feel her pussy convulsing around my cock with a fair degree of regularity.
Eventually I felt the tell-tale tickling on the underside of my cock giving me notice that - if I was ready for it - an orgasm was on its way. We had been at it for quite a while by then - I’d guess an hour or more - and I so decided to go with the flow. The sensation continued to build, little by little, until I felt a giant wave overtake me. I let forth my usual series of loud, guttural vocalizations, and collapsed next to her, pulling her into my arms for a post-coital cuddle.
Enter the next/final awkward portion of the evening: not being able to kiss after sex. By now she knew what to expect as I ran my fingers through her hair and ran my hands lightly up and down her body. It was a tender, intimate moment, which was, if anything, even more charged by what was left off the table - that is, the ability to kiss.
We chatted for a few minutes, enjoying the afterglow, and appreciating the fact that I didn’t make her squirt. Which was something we could have easily done, and in fact we had briefly started down that path. But this was her bed that she would have to sleep in that night and in the end she was grateful not to have a giant wet spot to contend with.
Maybe next time.
Finally I got dressed, gave her a goodnight hug (again - no kissing!!) and bid her adieu. We both agreed, me a bit more enthusiastically, and her a bit more reluctantly, that while of course we would have both preferred being able to kiss and give a blow job, it was actually fun, in a way, to have to be creative and figure out other ways to enjoy ourselves. Which we certainly did.
The good news is I have another trip to Chicago coming up this week and Alana and I will have a chance to do a do-over. I imagine we’ll spend our first 45 minutes doing nothing but making out. Kidding/not kidding.
But we did have a fun evening in which we overcame the dreaded cold sore, and lived to tell the tale. I often like to say you either have a good day or you have a good story. I think in this instance we had both; we certainly had a sexy and fun sexual encounter. And I like to think we got a good story out of it as well.
If nothing else, a blog-worthy story.
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COLDSORE - SOOT GROWTH
SOOT GROWTH SLOWLY CHOKES.
CRAWLING SMOKE INVADING LUNGS.
CURSED BE EVERY EMPIRE.
SOOT GROWTH EXTENDING ZONES.
INVADED LUNGS COUGH UP ASHES.
DEATH TO EVERY EMPIRE.
SOOT GROWTH ON SCORCHED EARTH.
WE CARRY FIRE INTO YOUR EMPIRE.
WE WILL IGNITE THE END PYRE.
this was the last recording made in my last lost home. the cover is a picture of a found post-war map of berlin, that had a lot of blanks, which i stained with soot raising from a piece of burning juniper tree root from sápmi/laplad. the map was pasted to my ceiling to keep the insulating sawdust and mouse shit from raining down on me. the place i was born in - germany - is also the cradle of war in so called europe. ever since fueling the fires with it's ceaseless mass production of weapons of war. some of these tanks are manned by fascist grey wolves destroying land and people in kurdistan in an imperial ottoman expansion, while other german tanks roll up against a rusisct invasion in ukraine, claiming to cleanse it's territorial claim from fascism, while nothing else can be said the russian state itself. we are mostly collateral damage of the crossfire of propaganda so delicate and subtle we hardly sense it when it passes us through. post truth paradoxxig turns some of US into 'war boys', others into 'crazies' and many just die. all this, while the general colonial destruction of land and people goes on uninterrupted since centuries all over the world, in all the places we rarely look at and where the color of peoples skin is different, than what is constructed as white. we chose to ignore their ongoing resistance, unless it is served to us in massive PR campaigns and hence we fetishize them. we dwell in the privilege of consuming the cruel harvests of resources, that our encapsulating systems feed us. extracted without mercy or regard of the misery, grief and death it causes, we don't taste the bitterness, when we drink from the blood chalice of this death-cult everyday. call it capitalism, call it white supremacy, call it fascism, call it patriarchy - we must destroy the seed of the imperial beast that is EVERY state, the best way to do that is from within.
ERODE [SABOTAGE] EMPIRE
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