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Tuesday am
Okay, it’s the first Tuesday of the month; that can only mean one thing: swinging club!
I’m really excited about going. The first time is always the most stressful, now that’s over and done with, maybe Dexter will be able to relax and have fun at this next one.
Whatever happens, I’ll be happy. It’s being held at a new venue in the poshest part of the West End. Its dress to impress I reckon. Ooh what fun!

Wednesday am
Well, that was not quite how I expected it to be. It wasn’t awful, but it wasn’t as much fun as the first time I took Dexter.
Let me explain.
We dressed up, Dexter all in black as usual, me in a halter neck red dress and heels, most unlike my usual style, but a girl has to make an effort sometimes. We looked good together.
We found the venue in a small club that had just recently been refurbished in the most exclusive part of Mayfair.
How chic. In fact, some of the club was unfinished, but it was a very aesthetically pleasing start. We signed in like old pros; Dexter managed to handle the butterflies quite well this time. We bought drinks and found a seat in the bar area. Saw my mate, Queen of Sheba. It was always good to see her.  She was so bubbly and vivacious, larger than life and always a source of great stories.
I introduced Dexter to her and we chatted for a while. She told hilarious stories of procuring herself a submissive male slave who sat beneath her generous posterior unnoticed at fetish clubs servicing her orally while she held court.
Dexter seemed much more comfortable here. I was pleased for him. I didn’t want to feel like I was dragging him into something he didn’t like, just for my sake.
As we sat drinking and chatting I spotted in the distance an old friend. This man used to be a regular fuck buddy friend of mine. We had met at this club and had kept contact ever since. He was married, but his wife didn’t play. She knew of his antics though, but felt, for cultural reasons, unable to join him in a club to play publicly. She wasn’t averse to a spot of private playing I was later to find out.
This man had the biggest dick I had ever encountered. It was a good 12 inches long but as thick as a forearm. It was quite the albatross around this man’s neck. I mean, how can a man live up to his dick when it’s such a monster with its own reputation? I soon found out that despite his gigantic endowment, it didn’t make for the best sex. Huge size has its own limitations. This was the man I had texted from Norway, telling him that I was no longer going to see him because I had met Dexter. We had had some interesting, if lurid, times together in the past, but his charms had faded into insignificance once I had found Dexter.
I waved at him.
He looked right through me.
What? That wasn’t like him. Eventually he could no longer pretend not to have noticed me and came over. I introduced him to Dexter and they shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. He was acting really odd. What was wrong with him? He eventually wandered off, and Dexter and I went for a tour around the venue. It was small, the playrooms were fairly cramped, and a wave of heat hit you, as did the smell of sex, as you walked through the door. There was that sexy lady. She was an interesting woman. Shaven headed, but extremely feminine in a floral dress (most probably with no underwear underneath.) She was curvy, almost heavy set, but she exuded an extraordinary powerful sexiness that was evident to anyone who was around her, something that no supermodel could possibly compete with her for. She was also slightly unapproachable. As much as I was attracted to her, I found her a little intimidating. She made me feel unworthy in her presence. It was not unusual to see this woman standing on a table, surrounded by men and women alike, just feeling privileged to touch and pleasure this incredibly sexy Diva. Dexter acknowledged her allure too.
In the small room all eyes were on Dexter, the women were eating him up with their eyes. I didn’t mind. I was proud.

Oh there was my monster dick friend! He was trying to get his huge member into the mouth of a very pretty Eastern European looking girl. He was not succeeding. Arousal was a curse for this man. He could only receive head when limp. Either that or find someone with a huge mouth.
Dexter leaned over and nodded his acknowledgement of his fellow brethrens endowment. It was impressive to behold.
Dexter was being propositioned left right and centre, but he was having a hard time getting aroused. I thought I had best leave him to it. Maybe my presence was inhibiting him. I would give him some space.
I went to the bar to get a drink. I texted my big dick friend. Where was he? I couldn’t see him in the club. He was worth a chat at least.
He replied that he had left. Now that was very unlike him. Surely he wasn’t sulking?
A week or two later he would text me and tell me that he had been jealous of how I was around Dexter, that he never saw me look that way at him! Why should I? I had never loved him. I think that his ego could not cope with the fact that I would chose someone else over him, what use was his big dick if it didn’t get him the girl? Not that I was under any illusion that this man had any feelings of any kind for me, it was just that he was used to being the centre of his universe and I wasn’t playing the game.  Silly man! It didn’t matter how huge his manhood was, it couldn’t make me feel about him the way I felt about Dexter. Anyhow, big dick man had his lovely wife at home. What was he doing being jealous over someone he had only fucked?

I wandered over to Queen of Sheba. We stood and chatted for ages. We swapped stories about a certain man on scene called Luvyouall  who thought he was the bees-knees, but we both knew differently. This man was nothing more than a dirty opportunist, who couldn’t hold down a relationship in the ‘real world’ so had to settle for conquests on scene.
I had previously given Sheba the number of a nineteen stone muscle-bound, submissive man who I had played with in the past. He was just her type. Turns out they had linked up, but he had freaked out when he had woken up to find a slave collar around his neck. He panicked and ran. When she told me that, I almost wet myself.  Ooh poor Jeremiah!

I opened the door to see a huge, dark man standing before me. Bald,  baby face, around six foot five. To anyone who didn’t know him, he would have certainly been intimidating, but I knew better. This man was a pussycat. We had met at a swinging club where he was the bouncer and I was very bored with my companion. He gave me his number and I had called him.
Here he was, for my delectation.
He came into my room. I smiled as I noticed that he had to duck to get into the doorway and had to turn sideways to fit through the doorframe. Damn! This man was huge! He made me feel dainty in comparison, not easy when you are a good size 16, like me.
For all his bulk he seemed really nervous. He told me how he really loved the Incredible Hulk. How sweet, I thought, but then I realised he wasn’t talking about his childhood hero here, he actually thought he could emulate him as an adult. I wondered if that’s why he was so big. I wondered also if he realised that the Incredible Hulk was a fictional character?
I’ve never really been a fan of muscle men, and this man was no exception. But there was something about him that fascinated me. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was, but I was soon to find out. .
He stripped down to his underwear and stood before me waiting to see my reaction.
Well now, he was a big boy. Too big really .He didn’t really get the reaction he was waiting for as I burst out laughing. Was he really wearing a Superman thong?  I teased him and said that I bet his dick was small as he had clearly been pumping himself full of steroids to get all that bulk, and we all knew the side effects of those drugs on a man’s endowment. He looked hurt and showed me that I was wrong. He was big all over. I can’t deny that the sex was good. He absolutely loved the fact that I was a squirter and insisted on me sitting on his face despite my protestations. I didn’t want to drown him. But he seemed to love that prospect even more. The more he coughed and spluttered and choked, the more he liked it. He would tug away at his dick while he gave me orgasm after orgasm. After a while, I thought it was time to do a bit of vanilla sex, good old fashioned fucking. But no, that’s not what he wanted. He much preferred to stick to oral. I thought that was a bit odd, as most men see oral as a necessary evil before they get to penetrate; clearly not this dude! At one point when I was giving him head he asked me to stick my finger in his ass. Not a problem usually. But given the size of this man, I wasn’t sure I could reach around! I told him I was going to go one better. As he got closer to the point of no return,, I told him that I was going to organise someone to fuck him in the ass next time he came to see me. That was all he needed. That pushed him right over the brink and he reached orgasm with ferocity.
An evil plan was brewing in my head.
I had realised that his huge man was submissive, and enjoyed being told what to do. I knew I could never physically dominate him given his bulk, so I knew instinctively that  I had to dominate him mentally. I asked him as he got up to leave, what was going to happen next time we met?(by now he was calling me Mistress)
He said “Someone’s gonna fuck me in the ass Mistress”
“And who’s that going to be?” I asked.
“Don’t know Mistress, some girl with a strap on Mistress”
I slapped him.
In the face and retorted:
“Don’t be foolish bitch!  It’s going to be a man, a big strong man with a big fat dick”
(I was enjoying myself now, I was in full improvisational flow and loving the buzz it was giving me)
“But I’m not gay Mistress!”
(I could hear the panic in his voice which urged me on even more.)
“I know” I said with an evil glint in my eye. “That’s the whole point .You are going to do as you are told aren’t you, slave? Be a good slave and Mistress will reward you”.
“Yes, Mistress, I’ll be good.”

It was at that point that I realised just how much pleasure I could derive from taking the Dominant role. It gave me an incredible buzz, thinking on my feet, trying to keep one step ahead in the game. I wasn’t really being serious about organising a man to fuck the Incredible Hulk. Or was I? I did make the call to a man I knew who would be more than willing to help me out. He would have been very happy to oblige, but I thought I preferred the mind fuck more than the real fuck.
The next time Incredible Hulk came to see me; he sat in his car outside my apartment for an hour before he could summon up the courage to come upstairs. I couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed when he didn’t meet another man. Things fizzled out for me soon after as I got bored. I needed more mental stimulation with my sex.  So I passed him on to my good friend Sheba. And the rest is history.

Dexter sauntered out of the playroom looking pleased with himself. He went to buy us ladies a drink and came back and told me how he had been singled out by the most desired woman in the room. She was a drop dead gorgeous dark haired beauty who was sitting in a corner picking her ‘victims’. Dexter bashfully related how despite her being stunning, the fella downstairs just wasn’t going to perform on demand. To be honest, I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed on his behalf. I knew that the opportunities for him to play were far greater than they were for me at this club. The men there were not to my standard, and although some of the women were lovely, it wasn’t altogether obvious whether they would appreciate advances from another woman and to be honest, they were being kept more than busy by all the men. We left after a while. I think Dexter enjoyed himself far more than I did. It was more of a social event for me. Hmm, it was odd going to a swinging club with someone you loved.
I wasn’t sure if I was going to know how to behave in future visits. Being in love and ‘on scene’ was proving to be far more complicated than I had expected.

August 24th
In between having fun at the swinging clubs, I still find myself confused. I don’t understand why no one wants me. I’m a good person, decent cook, kind, clearly attractive, fairly intelligent, and funny at times, and of course, experienced in the bedroom. Why do I keep getting overlooked? Can’t anyone see the person beneath?
I wish things were simple. I still find myself caught up in stupid acting out behaviours, despite having periods of calm sanity. I wish I could do something about it. Dexter tries his best, but he’s too close for objectivity. I find it hard to explain about my abusive past being the cause of my irrational behaviour without seeming to be making lame excuses. I think I need professional help.

September 1st
I think I have found someone who will listen to me at last. I have had a few conversations online with one man who is an ex-psychiatrist. He didn’t say why he doesn’t practise any more, I think it’s through choice but he messaged me on the site. I’ve been having deep conversations with him and he has never mentioned sex and has listened intently and responded when I spoke about my sex addiction. He has offered to listen and advise me over dinner, so I am going to travel to his place tomorrow to give it a go. Fingers crossed that he can fix this mess I call me.
Oh God, I just called Dexter because I was excited about the potential of fixing my craziness. Maybe if I can fix me he will have me? I think that’s what I was hoping. I know that sounds dumb, but Diary, you know I can’t hide anything from you. Trouble is, Dexter doesn’t seem to share my enthusiasm. What’s a matter with this man? Gosh, his stubbornness is annoying! Can’t he see I’m trying to improve myself? He hasn’t told me not to go, he never tells me what to do, but I can hear that he really isn’t happy about my going. He keeps going on about it being an ego boost that I’m planning travelling all the way out to this man. He kept saying that dude would expect sex after I made such an effort to get to his abode. What was he going on about? It’s just dinner and a chat; this man is doing me a favour. I had no intention of sleeping with him.
I think that Dexter must be jealous.
If that is the case, good!
He’s not going to stop me.
It’s odd though, I’m sure that was disappointment I heard in his voice…

October 2nd
Mood : crushed/defeated
Diary, don’t look at me! I’m so ashamed. Why didn’t I listen to Dexter? He called me when I was on the long train journey to get to dude’s place, clearly not happy that I had committed to this venture.
Am I such a fool?
He met me at his doorstep, a large framed, mixed race, average looking bald headed man, not ugly but certainly not my type (not that that mattered as I was there for advice).

Firstly, dinner turned out to be take-away from the local Indian. (He had earlier offered to cook dinner for me.) I should have suspected things from that point on. But I was blinded by hope, this man had promised me answers, he held the holy grail of my salvation, or so I thought.
Then he listened while I told him things about my past that I’m not prepared to share with you yet Diary, maybe later; things that led me to the inner turmoil that I am trying to deal with right now.
So after opening my heart up to a perfect stranger, hoping and expecting answers, he told me that he could only counsel me a bit at a time, I had to know that was the way counselling worked .It was done in short sessions and I would have to come back a few times in order to get to the bottom of things.
Despite my begging for answers, he pled professional responsibility and ethics as his defence and left me feeling frustrated, let down and duped.

I didn’t believe him. The truth was slowly dawning on me that I had made a bad mistake. But there I was in a strange man’s house, vulnerable, far away from home. I was now starting to wonder if this ‘ex psychiatrist’ may have been struck off for unethical practise, or maybe he just wasn’t a psychiatrist at all.
Silly, naïve me.
He asked me to choose a movie from his extensive DVD collection. I did so: Donnie Darko, I’d always wanted to watch that. He decided my choice was not suitable (huh?) and selected one for me that he thought made for better viewing.
Now I was starting to feel really uncomfortable. I had been involved with controlling men before and this didn’t sit right with me. This felt rather too familiar.
It turned out to be a boring and tedious vampire film and I sat, blindly staring at the movements on the screen, confused and uneasy and just a little scared.  While I pretended to watch the film, he snored, oblivious to my boredom and discomfort. Why was this man sleeping in my presence? Was I that insignificant?
As he slept, the more concerned I became.
I retreated into myself and started to shut down.
My old habit of self-preservation had kicked in; I could do nothing to stop it. Reality became dimmed, dreamlike. I relinquished responsibility for my actions and myself. I placed myself numbly in fates’ hands. My body was present, sitting on a sofa with a snoring, middle-aged man next to me, but my mind had taken leave. When he awoke and pressed himself against me, claiming his reward for being such a selfless philanthropist, I didn’t argue. I felt too unimportant and too ashamed to have the right to a voice. His fumblings were clumsy but mercifully brief. His climax startled me back to dingy reality. Despite my lack of presence during this soulless act, I automatically checked for the condom. It was there.
Old habits die hard.
I left, muttering empty words of gratitude (why? he didn’t deserve them) feeling violated, foolish and even more damaged than when I had first arrived. I sat in the taxi and was quiet and reflective on the long journey home.
It was at that point that it dawned on me why he wasn’t a practising psychiatrist anymore. It was then that I need Dexter more than ever, but now I doubted that he would ever want me after this. The taxi couldn’t get me back home fast enough.
Mortified, crushed, belittled, humiliated, stupidly unworthy, who would ever want someone like me? Clearly ‘psychiatrist’ had seen me coming and I had fallen straight headfirst into his pathetic, obvious trap. I must have victim stamped all over my forehead.
I need to get away.
Please hide me, world!

{July 29, 2011}   Meet Dexter

Life is funny sometimes.
It amazes me when I look back on my life and see how things used to be. At present, the majority of people in my life know me as “Dexter St Jock” or just plain Dexter for short.
This name doesn’t mean anything to my parents. They wouldn’t dream of calling me anything else but the name they gave me at birth. To this day they have no idea why friends call me Dexter. I intend to keep it that way.

For those of you who are not familiar with comedy, Dexter is a character created by the legendary Eddie Murphy.
This character is a West Indian man with great charm and an even greater member in-between his legs. Fellas, you wouldn’t want to leave your woman alone with this man!
From an early age I found this character fascinating and was determined to be just like him. I already had the package downstairs and over time I would attain the charm and gift of the gab.

Every so-called player has his own approach or technique, depending on what you want to call it.
Some guys are real smooth just like a pimp, others play the cool, mysterious type (this works a treat). Myself, I choose to keep it natural. What you see is what you get, a well-mannered guy with a twinkle in his eye. I let my mouth do all the work but I never let the conversation get sexual. I talked to women the way I would a man, as a potential friend.
For some strange reason this seemed to work. The initial opinion a woman had of me would transform immensely. I would go from being a handsome, sweet guy to being drop-dead gorgeous and sexy! It was amazing how a levelheaded conversation could sway a lady sometimes.
In such a short space of time I’ve had more sexual partners than most men have had in their entire lifetime. I’m not claiming it’s something to be proud of rather just stating a fact.
Most men, married or single, are on a mission to seek and destroy; to conquer as many women as possible before they get too old to do so.
Unfortunately, most men don’t have the know how to do just that, so can only dream of it or watch from afar with envy, as other men live out their aspirations for them.

It wasn’t always this easy for me. I wasn’t always known as Dexter: in my early teens. I was known as plain old Leeroy; the chubby cheeked boy with a constant smile on his face.
I was one of those guys who blossomed late. I wasn’t pleasing on the eye according to the girls at my secondary school. As far as they were concerned I was “ugly as fuck”, big spread nose and rubber-lips to match. At that time, mixed-race or light-skinned black boys were the fashion! Having a chocolate complexion only made my situation worse than it already was.
Most people have fond memories of secondary school, not me! All the good-looking, popular boys with bad reputations got all the female attention. I, on the other hand, got constant insults from the opposite sex.
It was odd because the girls I knew from the area I lived in didn’t share the same opinion, they didn’t really find me attractive but they never had a bad word to say about me As far as they were concerned I was as sweet as pie.
If only the girls at school felt the same way, it would have made school a lot more enjoyable to attend.

Things did improve in the last couple of years at secondary school. I began to grow into my looks and after a trip to the States, I gained a brand new air of confidence.
I visited my aunt in West Palm Beach, Florida for two months. During my stay there I was Mr. Popular!
Everybody for at least ten blocks caught wind of the Black, English kid. All the teenagers wanted to know who I was and to be associated with me.
Up to this point, my life had been very boring. I couldn’t believe the fun I was having being the centre of attention.
I didn’t trick these kids by pretending to be something I was not. I didn’t need to; they built a whole new character for me that I went along with. They’d have been stunned to know that back home in the U.K I was the butt of many jokes.
This was the best time of my life up to that point and I consequently didn’t want to go back to London but had no choice. I decided I had to figure out a way to maintain that same feeling back home.

To be honest I didn’t manage to pull it off the way I would have liked, but at least everybody around me acknowledged there was something different about me.
The girls at school began to lighten up on the insults and in due time the jokes stopped. Period.
The girls around the way began to respond differently also. I was no longer just sweet as pie; I was now attractive to boot. This was when my life changed for the better.

A new air of confidence made the difference. A couple of successful fights also helped a great deal. Sometimes being feared was just as effective as being respected.
To cut a long story short, let’s just say that I changed over time to become a nice guy with a bit of a reputation and a few ladies on his arm for effect.

Despite having a few things that most men desire, I’ve never really felt at ease with my life. I guess it’s because I’m always reminded that I could have achieved more with myself. I’m a very intelligent person but with not much to show for it. I’ve done okay for myself financially, but people around me, such as family and close friends, always expected more of me from an academic point of view.
As far as everyone was concerned, I was supposed to do great things with my life, make a difference in the world we live in, stamp my place in human history.
Yes, I have a high IQ but does that mean I have to live out your dreams for you? That was the impression I always got, that I was living for them and not myself.
The grades I got in school were never good enough for the people around me. I was more than capable of getting straight A’s but I was content with doing just enough and receiving B’s with the occasional grade A in there somewhere.
Why should I have pushed myself that extra mile? The work never interested me enough for me to have really exerted myself to that extent.
Its funny, I often wish I had heeded my parents’ advice. I should have pushed myself to the very limit, as it would have been worth it in the long run as I would have been more content with the way my life turned out.
The job I have now pays well but had I pushed myself back then, I would have given myself more opportunities rather than being stuck in a job that I don’t enjoy but can’t really afford to quit.
I shouldn’t really complain as many people are far worse off than I am, but it would have been nice to have been one of those people who looked forward to waking up and going to work.
As for me, on the other hand, I could never wait to exit the building so as to indulge myself in one of the few things I enjoyed and did well: charming the socks (or should I say tights) off women!

There is always a down side to having multiple women in your life. It could be hard to get rid of them when you wanted some ‘alone time.’
As soon as you got rid of one, another one would pop up out of nowhere. Men who have never had the experience of having numerous sex partners will probably be wondering what the problem is. Trust me; no matter who you are, everybody needs time to be by themselves so they can either ponder on previous events that have happened or plan for the future.
Having more than one clingy female didn’t help, but I couldn’t really complain, as I shouldn’t have put myself in that position. Let’s face it, in my early teens I never would have imagined that there could be pit falls to having lots of sexual partners. As far as I was concerned at the time, it was a fantasy that had no flaws. Despite all that, it didn’t stop me from seeking out new girls, sad to say, but at that time in my life I needed variety.
Like the late great rapper Big Pun once said: “I don’t discriminate, I regulate every shade of arse!”
That was me in a nut shell. I couldn’t give a damn where you came from as long as you were attractive it didn’t matter to me.

As time went by I accumulated many aliases, one that was used frequently was the International Playa.
I had always thought this was a slight exaggeration on my pulling power but without realising it, I had managed to lay with girls from all over the world! This wasn’t my intention, just the way it had happened.
There were girls from Brazil, Cuba, Hong Kong, Thailand, Singapore, a handful from Spain, France, Hungary, Italy, Finland, Sweden, Australia and even a white chick from South Africa! How I had pulled that off was beyond me.
It seemed I was quite the globe trotter, my friends were envious and were mystified as to how I had managed it; to be honest so was I.
I never had a game plan, I just did what I did and somehow I always ended up with a result. Whether that was through luck, charm or both, who knows?
The strange thing about this habit of pulling women was that you sometimes needed to be heartless to maintain this lifestyle and avoid any possible drama. Unfortunately for me, I don’t have it in me to be that cold to a female, hence the fact I sometimes had clingy type women on my case.

I’m the type of person who feels embarrassed for other people. If I witness someone else making a fool of themselves, I cringe; I’m not quite sure why.
Having a female beg for just a little of your time can be ego boosting the first couple of times it happens, but as you grow older and begin to mature it becomes annoying.
I would sometimes get the urge to shake these girls like rag dolls and tell them to come to their senses. There wasn’t a man living worth that much hassle, especially not me.
You’re probably wondering if I ever had a relationship anywhere between those exploits of mine. The answer to your question is yes.

I had two relationships during my peak as a so-called playa. I tried my best to make them work and believe it or not, I never strayed once while courting.
I’ll be brief, the first relationship took place when I was seventeen years old, it didn’t last very long although I thought at the time that we stood a chance.
She was stunning, the kind of woman you see in movies. Think of Halle Berry and Beyonce meshed together to make one woman.
Add a little Arab spice and long hair and there you had it: Naomi, seventeen years old and sexy as fuck! Did I forget to mention? She was also rich as hell.
Her money was never an issue with me but as far as my friends were concerned I would have been a fool to let that one slip out of my hands. The good looks and money combination was most men’s dream come true.
We appeared to be perfectly matched but that appeared to be the problem, we were too much alike so we would often clash.
These arguments were stormy to say the least. Damn this girl had a temper. What triggered these famous temper tantrums? 
My reputation.
She was insanely jealous and couldn’t deal with the fact that I had slept with a lot of girls. It didn’t help that there were girls back then scheming to get their hands on me, all because they had heard rumours about my endowment from some chick and had to find out whether or not it was true.
There were many girls that I also considered friends, girls that I had no sexual history with but as far as Naomi was concerned, any bitch I was chatting to meant trouble.
I couldn’t deal with that level of jealously, it was totally uncalled for. There were more important things to me than how good you looked or how much money you had, so we parted company.

Skip about seven years, during that time I had more women in my life, some were one-off flings, others were regular sex partners.
Over that period of time I began to calm down. I was no longer congregating with the boys for wild nights out on the pull and I kept the number of girls I saw down to a minimum. Was I maturing as an adult or just growing tired of my way of life?

One of the girls I would meet on a regular basis was a sweet Oriental girl from Hong Kong called Sam. We met through a mutual friend at a local drink up and continued to see each other for casual sex for the next five months or so.
During the time spent together, we developed feelings for each other and I decided to give a relationship a go. Why not? We were both adults.
Her previous boyfriend had been very controlling and jealous.  I guess she had become accustomed to that kind of behaviour, as my approach to relationships was totally different and this took her by surprise.
I wasn’t usually one for relationships but as far as I was then concerned I’d be damned if any woman was going to change or control me, so why should I have tried to do the same to her?
As long as we were honest with each other we could both do as we pleased. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
Initially she struggled to adapt to that much freedom, such as being able to go out clubbing with friends and not be questioned. I was not her father, so who was I to interrogate her? That was and remains my outlook.
As she adapted to this new relationship, I noticed a change in her, she suddenly began to abuse my trust.
She appeared to mistake my politeness for weakness. Suddenly she seemed to think she could order me about in front of her friends; that was a very bad idea!
Nobody talks to me like I’m a boy, not even my father. He’s well aware that I’m now a man so I would never allow another human being to undermine my status as a proud man.
Her behaviour would often lead to me giving her a tongue-lashing. I tried to drum it into her head that I was fair but no fool, so not to attempt to treat me like one.
As months went by, I began to realise why her ex-boyfriend had kept her in shackles. Clearly this girl didn’t know how to act when given freedom.
I can’t elaborate on how this relationship ended but let’s just say that it wasn’t amicable, there remains to this day a lot of bad blood between us.

So much for relationships. For these very reasons I tried to stay away from them. I thought maybe seeing a large number of women was the only way to go.
Problem was, the more women you had the more problems you got. I decided to keep the number of casual sex partners down to a minimum, just enough variety to keep me happy.
No need to be greedy, I had already been there and done that, it was now all about quality and not quantity although my standard of fuck-buddies had always been high.

As time went on, I became bored of the gals I had. I know it sounds awful but I needed more variety in my life.
My best friend Bentley was now in the position that I once found myself in: too many girls to handle.
He didn’t care though; he’s what you would call a classic playa, “the Predator”. He loves the hunt; he simply can’t help himself.
To think that when we were teenagers he used to judge me for my exploits, he thought I was immoral for what I was doing at the time.
Oh how the tables had turned! I often teased him about his once ‘holier than thou’ attitude to women. Damn, he was self-righteous back in the day!
For some reason or another he didn’t like the idea of me slowing down. It wasn’t like I didn’t have girls at my disposal; it was just that there weren’t as many as before. He would often attempt to persuade me to attend a boys’ night out on the town. I would always decline as it was no longer my scene.
I had always reassured him that my slowing down wasn’t an indication that our friendship was coming to an end. No matter what, he was my boy for life; I would always love and respect him.
That didn’t appear to be good enough for him, as far as he was concerned I was the “Pimp Daddy”, the International Playa, for me not to be the number one ladies man didn’t seem right and made him feel uncomfortable.

One time at his house he introduced me the so-called joys of Internet dating. He tried to convince me that this was the way of the future.
Expensive nights out in clubs on the prowl were no longer essential to get want you wanted. The Internet provided everything.
He did a pretty good job of convincing me too. He was a member of a site much similar to Myspace but not on such a big scale. It wasn’t specifically for dating but that didn’t stop him.
His inbox was full of messages from pretty ladies wanting to meet him. His profile was well crafted; pictures of him in his flashy sports car served him well. Girls really did love cars and money after all.
Many of these girls lived abroad, Germany and Tunisia to name a few. Bentley was flash but he didn’t have a private jet at his disposal.

There was one girl that he was determined to meet; she was called Tiffany, a model from Jamaica. When I viewed the pictures on her profile, I could understand why my friend was so eager to meet her.
She was a stunner. Bentley liked the fact that my jaw dropped at the very sight of this girl’s beauty. 
At that point I was no longer sceptical of meeting people online.
Tiffany appeared to share his eagerness to meet. She said that she would be visiting London for work purposes and would love to meet up with him during her stay.
I knew my friend had pulling power but I never knew he was this good. He had already met a handful of girls in his network, but this one would end up being the prize of all prizes.

Over the next couple of days he began to receive messages from other men, some he knew and some he didn’t, warning him that he shouldn’t meet with Tiffany as she was actually born a “he”.
Bentley brushed this off as jealously. As far as he was concerned they were just jealous that he had succeeded where they had all failed.
I advised him to be cautious. Why would they have all made such an effort to inform him of this, if there were no truth behind it?  It was clear to see they had had some kind of contact with this person in the past as she appeared in all of their networks.
At that point his ears pricked up. I guess he needed to hear it from someone he held in high esteem rather than from a complete stranger or an associate that he didn’t really care for.
He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to ask such a difficult question. After all, any genuine woman would be insulted by such an insinuation that they could possibly be a man. That would definitely squash any chance of a potential meet.
Luckily for my friend he didn’t have to worry. Fortunately for him someone had posted a blog featuring stark naked full frontal pictures of Tiffany.
Yes indeed, this was a dude with very heavy equipment; the kind of tools any male porn star would be proud of!
Bentley didn’t seem too fazed by this. He said that she/he was just one person of many; there were many more fish in the sea.
I tried to tell him that this was nothing more than pure luck and if he didn’t believe me, that I would personally join a similar site to put my theory to the test.

A few days passed. This whole Internet business was the last thing on my mind; I did have a life after all!
When I had some time on my hands I thought I might as well run a search engine for similar sites. The results I came up with were unexpected. Rather than regular dating and networking sites, it gave me a list of popular swinging sites. Although these sites were much more in your face and full on than the site Bentley was a member of, the premise was all the same.
I chose the most popular site. Like most sites they claim to be totally free but once you sign up you come crashing down to earth really quickly.
In order to contact anyone you have to pay a fee. I thought why the hell not? It was not like I couldn’t afford it.
I quickly paid for a gold membership on my credit card and began to create my profile.
After witnessing the success that Bentley had had with his profile I was well aware I had to create a profile that was eye catching. I’m all about words, posing for a picture in a fancy car just wouldn’t represent my personality.
I wrote a detailed and honest profile and added a few modest pictures. Profiles without pictures often get passed by, so beware if you choose to go this route. I made my preference clear: I wanted to meet single women for no-strings-attached fun. I would also consider couples should they be interested.
I had never been in a threesome with a couple before but thought what the hell! I didn’t actually believe I’d receive that much interest anyway.
Much to my surprise it wasn’t long before I received a whole bunch of messages in my inbox. None of the people in question were my type as such, but nevertheless I had responses.
One email was from a gay male, how he figured we were a possible match was beyond me!  What I would come to find in due time was that some people don’t care what you want; they’ll force themselves on you regardless. I guess this is how it feels for women when they’re pestered by unattractive men.
As time went by I amazed myself. Was I really this appealing to the swingers of the world? It felt odd to turn away potential meets but I wasn’t going to meet just because they were chasing me.
Initially this was a quest to prove to my good friend that the Internet was no place to meet women. It had now gone way beyond that and had turned into my own little platform for meeting women.
It was hard for me to believe how addicted I had become. I had always presumed that only men who couldn’t pull in the real world wasted time with sites like this.
Here I was, a man who had had trouble getting rid of women, surfing the net engaging in this new found world of swinging.
I wasn’t focusing on the meets as such, not to say I would turn them down if the right person came along, but it seemed every person I came into contact with had a story to tell.

These people seemed to have wild sex lives, way more exciting than mine and to think that so many dudes I knew envied me for the number of women I’ve had in my time!
These people were engaging in the kind of sex you only see in porn movies. This wasn’t fantasy for them it was their reality.
I thought I’d seen and done it all but clearly not. This was my chance to sample the things that most people could only dream about.

This site I had joined had many features: blogs, sex workshops, magazines etc. One thing that caught my eye was the most popular list. As you can guess, it had categories for single women, single men, couples and even TV’s.
I would often check out the most popular women’s chart. Damn! There were some gorgeous ladies in this list but most of them were in America. It was more than likely they wouldn’t be interested in me even if they were only two blocks away but it would have been nice to have had the option to write to them even if there was even a slight possibility.
I never did check out the men’s list. I’m neither gay nor bi curious/sexual so I didn’t see the need to.
One day something hit me, maybe I should check out the competition and see what they brought to the table that made them so popular?
To my surprise I was in the top ten! I thought I must have been seeing things, but I wasn’t.
There had to be some kind of explanation for this, maybe there had been a glitch with the site or something. I thought I’d give it a couple of days to see if the site resumed to normal status.
Sure enough, a couple of days later there I still was, I had now leap-frogged into the top five, this was incredible! I had never anticipated, even in my wildest dreams, that I could be so popular, especially since I had yet to meet anyone from the site.
I had been receiving a lot of emails but presumed that others would have had ten times as much in their inbox. There were many men whom I considered to be way more attractive than myself on this site, so I thought I couldn’t be any competition.
I noticed that the guys above me were all gay with very full on profiles. These guys were no joke; they all had plenty of testimonials from other men they had met.
In fact everyone in the top ten other than me had a minimum of five testimonials from people they had actually met and had had fun with.

I guessed that was the next step, to actually take the plunge and meet somebody. I couldn’t believe how nervous the prospect of a meet made me. I had been with untold women in my short life but somehow these people intimidated the hell out of me, I was clearly a rookie amongst professionals.
My first meet was with a woman who went by the name of Karen; her handle on scene was Candygirl. She was an attractive brunette, thirty years of age living in East London.
She had messaged me a few days previously but I didn’t have the courage to agree to a date. She came across as very sexually aggressive and made sure to tell me that she would give my black cock a right seeing to when she saw me. I wasn’t sure what this meant but by swinging terms it could have meant anything.
She was married but had a single female profile. Her husband approved of her playing solo as long as he got to hear all the juicy details of her sex encounters; true sex stories made him horny apparently!  What ever floats your boat, hey?
We agreed to meet each other during the week. She had kids but they would be at school when I made my visit.
I made my way to the address she gave via public transport. As I left the bus at the appropriate stop I could feel the eagles swooping about in my stomach.
As I made a turn down her street, it got worse. If I’m totally honest, I thought I was going to shit myself for real. Any second now I was about to embarrass myself big time.
I looked around for a public toilet. I was never the type to use one of these things but my arse was about to explode, I couldn’t see one.
The only choice I had was to make my way to her house and ask to use her toilet; hardly a great first impression but I didn’t have a choice. There was no way my bowels would hold out much longer.
I made my way to door number 19. As soon as I knocked on the door it suddenly stopped; the bowel movement, the eagles suddenly disappeared! What the hell was going on?
I’m usually the epitome of cool when it comes to the opposite sex and there I stood a bag of nerves but once I reached my destination I was myself again. How odd!
I was very pleased with what I saw before me, she looked good in her pictures but way better in person. She had on a lace outfit, which didn’t leave much to the imagination but I wasn’t about to complain.
I was surprised that she opened the door dressed like that. What if the neighbours saw? It wasn’t my problem after all, that was for her and the husband to deal with.
She invited me in and led me to the living area; she quickly offered me a drink. This was all very normal, not at all what I had expected.
She came back from the kitchen with my fruit juice and sat beside me. We must have engaged in small talk for around ten minutes before she made it very clear we weren’t there to talk!
“Excuse me”
With that said she began to rub my crotch and kiss me. Her lace outfit was crotch less. I wonder why?
I didn’t waste any time laying her back and putting my tongue to work. I had nothing to be scared of at all, this was just like regular casual sex with the exception that we had met online and didn’t know each other at all.
I was down there for quite some time. She wasn’t complaining at all but wasn’t content with just a tongue. She wanted dick and I was more than willing to give it to her. I found her extremely sexy and didn’t want to waste any more time.
She led me upstairs to the bedroom, we undressed and you can guess the rest.

Usually sex with someone you have just met isn’t great, it usually takes a while to get to know their body and what makes them feel good.
In this case the sex was great, although we did have time on our hands. I arrived at her place just after 9.30 am and didn’t leave till after 2pm, so we were at it for a while.

We met a few more times after that but she suddenly began to get a little bit too personal. I saw signs of her developing feelings for me, which was out of the question. Yes I found her attractive but I had never agreed to anything more than what we had first arranged.
She asked for me to be her regular. I refused.  I didn’t think it was a good idea, as I couldn’t see anything good coming of it. I had presumed, wrongly in this instance, that this woman was an experienced swinger and didn’t allow emotions to get in the way.
I was the only guy on scene she had met more than once for sex. I didn’t see this as a problem as she was married, but I could sense trouble ahead so I bailed out with the quickness.

I managed to encounter a few more women on scene. Some were women with cuckold husbands; others were young girls looking in the wrong places for love. It seemed the scene wasn’t all what it was cracked up to be after all.
Very few women, with whom I came into contact, embodied the true spirit of swinging: the type of women who live for the moment and have no hang-ups whatsoever. The type of women that didn’t have time for emotional attachment, the kind of women that would kick you out as soon as she’d done fucking the shit out of you.

There was this one woman who fitted the profile perfectly. She was a white lady in her late thirties, from the outskirts of London who had a cuckold husband.
Her profile stated clearly that she preferred black men although men of all races were welcome as long as they were toned and well endowed. She ran an online sex store from the comforts of her home, whips, chains, dildos; the works. This was the kind of woman I had expected to meet from the very beginning.
We spoke often on the phone, we had garnered a good rapport with each other but unfortunately what I later learned unsettled me greatly.
She told me that her husband was very ill and unable to have sex. Now many people reading this would ask me what the problem was as I already knew they were a cuckold couple.
Many men from cuckold couples are more than capable of having sex, they just choose not to as they maybe submissive sexually or just voyeurs.
The fact that this man was extremely ill; he was in and out of hospital on a regular basis didn’t sit well with me. This made me wonder how she found the time to meet strangers for sex with a sick husband and three kids to look after.
Yes, this woman fitted the mould of a classic freaky swinger that I had been searching for, but I didn’t fancy shagging the shit out of a woman while her husband watched; not because he wanted to but because he didn’t have a choice.
We never did meet, it seemed sex was a definite prospect but I guess our conversations killed that possibility. That’s what I got for being a chatterbox, too much information received.

The next lady in question would open my eyes drastically. Her name was Suzy; a sexy Latino lady who also had an appetite for black men.
Unlike many other women who single out the brothas she actually requested for only West Indian men to contact her. A lot of women who are not black are ignorant to the fact that we are not all the same.
This lady was well aware that black people didn’t all come from the exact same place, that there were visible cultural differences within the race.
It was funny because initially I was sceptical about messaging her, she had a face picture on her profile, which I thought was bold and risky for any woman to do.
The picture displayed what I can only describe as a “ghetto fabulous” woman, huge hoop earrings and a scowl that exuded attitude.
Not that there is anything wrong with being ghetto fabulous, but it is not such an attractive trait for a so-called professional woman in her mid thirties. Despite this we exchanged personal IM addresses.
Our first chat online was hardly a conversation, in fact I recall nothing more than a sentence from her. She quickly invited me to view her cam.
I accepted, presuming her intention was to prove to me she was a genuine woman, but what I got was a full on web cam show.
Let’s just say all I could see was wet pussy and litres of ejaculating fluid. Was I supposed to be impressed by this?
It became pretty obvious that I wasn’t the only guy viewing the display. Unfortunately for her I had other options, unlike the other prats that were egging her on.
It wasn’t long before I stopped viewing her cam and logged out of IM without saying goodbye. I wasn’t about to pamper this woman’s ego. I’m not the type to wank over a cam show. Why should I when I have a healthy sex life? I decided I wouldn’t be saying hello to this woman anytime soon.

A couple days later, whilst I was on IM her name popped up online. I didn’t message her as I didn’t have anything to say.
After five minutes or so she messaged me to say hello. It became clear she was waiting for me to say hello first but realised it just wasn’t going to happen.
I’m sure as a genuine woman on scene, the moment your name appears on IM every man online jumps to say hello; not this nigga!
She asked me where I had disappeared to the other night. I told her that what she had been doing wasn’t my cup of tea so I logged out. I didn’t see any point in not telling the truth.
She seemed surprised by this response but nevertheless embarked on a normal conversation. We chatted for an hour or so about work and life in general. She told me she had two daughters from her previous  marriage and now that she was free she was working the circuit to find out what she had been missing whilst being married.
That was fair enough. At least I knew I had a grasp of a real human being rather than just a wet pussy on a screen. Now we were getting somewhere.
Sex is sex, but I needed to know something about the person I intended to sleep with. If you have no information then you never know what you could be getting yourself into. Although our conversation was light-hearted, I wasn’t totally convinced by this woman. The previous two women had had something for me to consider and I wasn’t sure Suzy hadn’t either; although she gave the impression she had no hang-ups.
A couple of months and many IM conversations later, as we had yet to establish whether we would ever meet, Suzy would often suggest a date and I’d always find an excuse.
Eventually Suzy asked why we had yet to exchange numbers. She suggested that we chatted on the phone, as it was easier to communicate with voice rather than words on a screen. I agreed with her that this was a valid point and I made a decision to call her later on that day. I had just finished work when I decided to call her. The phone rang a couple of times before she picked up the call. To my surprise this well-spoken woman answered the phone.
This was not what I had expected at all.  I had anticipated a feisty Latino chick with street slang; this woman was damn near posh as fuck.
Her voice so didn’t fit with the face picture she had displayed on her profile. As a young black English male, I, of all people, should have known better than to judge a book by its cover.
We had a wonderful conversation, it was like we had known each other for ages; our common love for a certain female recording artist only added to the obvious chemistry we had.
I couldn’t believe I had been such a fool to second-guess this lady. Not only was she attractive but she also had a vibe that I found irresistible. For some reason I still stalled on a meet, but eventually agreed at short notice to meet at her place after she had challenged me.
She rang me on a Sunday to say that her kids were at their father’s and I should come around if I wasn’t scared. This was a good tactic on her behalf, as I couldn’t resist proving her wrong.
I made my way to her home with two bottles of Alize in hand. Suzy greeted me at the front door looking cute as hell. I was very pleased that she had persuaded me to join her that night.
We sat down on her living room couch with a couple of drinks and proceeded to chat,  the conversation was running smoothly.  Suddenly she just grabbed my face and shoved her tongue down my throat.
This was not a bad thing at all but previously in many talks online she had repeatedly told me that she didn’t like to kiss and would rebuff any man who tried to lay his lips on her as it was too personal.
Here she was snogging my face off which I found quite odd, it wasn’t long before we were groping and sucking but believe it or not we didn’t have sex that night. For some reason it didn’t seem appropriate.
It was as if we forgotten why we had met in the first place. We had clearly made some kind of connection beyond sex and were content with chatting the whole night through.
The next morning we did eventually have sex despite the fact we were knackered from not having slept all night. A swollen penis and throbbing pussy had to be attended to.

We both had other casual sex partners but continued to see each other on a regular basis. It was pretty clear that we had put each other on the top of our fuck buddy lists.

Prior to meeting Suzy, my favourite female was a twenty-two year old lady called Ansu from Finland. She was an absolute stunner with the sweetest personality. I was now beginning to see less and less of her as my visits to Suzy’s house became more regular. Ansu didn’t really like this arrangement but couldn’t complain as she also had her own boyfriend to consider. I liked Ansu a great deal and would often go out of my way for her but the fact she had a boyfriend who was suspicious of her actions didn’t exactly help the situation.
It wasn’t like we could hook up whenever we got the urge; she had to plan carefully in order not to get caught out.

Suzy didn’t have a partner; just casual fuck buddies although I often wondered whether they all came to her house. That wouldn’t have made a good impression on her daughters if they were forced to witness different black guys whizzing in and out of their home.
She reassured me that wasn’t the case, as I was the only regular male face that came into the house. If she met anyone else it would have been at his or her pad. I didn’t want special treatment by any means but I’d be damned if I would contribute to an unstable environment. I would rather walk away before let that happen.

{July 29, 2011}   Hello world, are you there?

This is a true story, only the names and places have been changed to spare blushes and protect identities.

This blog was started off as a personal journal, a means of self-reflection for my own sanity. Then I met a wonderful man and realised that the story we had between us was bigger than the both of us. Partly self-reflective and partly story telling, we share our intimate thoughts with you in order for you to grasp the bigger story written in these posts.

Dedicated to those young people on the brink of adulthood, especially those young people who have been through tough times/ abuse and are seeking empathy and trying to make sense of it all. This story is for all adults who tire of empty, cheap thrills, who are brave enough to start to search within rather than further afield. This is dedicated to the cyber generation who misguidedly seek real emotion and friendship in ‘Cyberland.’ This goes out to all you modern ladies who feel cheated being the ‘friend with benefits’; there is a way forward.
Dedicated to any of you have loved and lost and never thought you would dare to take that risk again. This story is for you.

This is, most of all, a contemporary love story. But don’t expect any roses or candlelit dinners…

And have I mentioned swinging? There may be a bit of that too.
So snuggle down in a nice comfortable chair, kick off your prude shoes, open your mind and heart and indulge.

et cetera