XXXXXRated 2

Sitting across the table from me, he looked handsome. Dark and handsome. His smile lit his face. He was in a black tuxedo. There is just something about a man in a white shirt that gets to me. Whether it is the contrast with his dark skin, I just don’t know. We had decided to ditch informal wear and dine out formally. We had had enough of soda and pizzas and home movies.

I was in this little red dress. Earlier, we had gone shopping and I bought my first dress. It was figure hugging, had a long slit on one side and left out half my bust in the name of cleavage. I could feel his eyes on my chest now. I lowered my wine glass and smiled in return. The food at the coastal resort was superb, though my mind was hardly on it. The wine was fruity but not too sweet. The setting was perfect, the other couples well dressed but I had eyes for no one.

The meal ended, the live band struck up, playing Kenyan oldies. We stood up to dance. Stepping into his arms is all I had wanted to do all night. Any excuse to touch each other was welcomed. My hands around his neck, his around my waist, and we swayed to the music. I loved the feel of his ‘ndengu’ hair. Who said long straight hair was good? (Exceptions are Lorenzo Lamas, Shawn Michaels, Michael Bolton…)


I wondered if the band was taking requests. I asked for the song Lady in Red. It seems like it was just meant for this moment. Here I was in a red dress, with the man I loved, dancing in his arms to my favorite song. I was melting into him. His lips at my ear, whispering the words of the song as we danced.

Lady in Red…is dancing with me
there is nobody here
just you and me
I swear I wanna
be the only one..
I’ll never forget
the way you look tonight.

I looked into his eyes, and knew he was about to kiss me. His lips came down on mine and I can swear that was my sweetest kiss. Not too deep, but I could feel the passion rising as his hands sensuously caressed my back. That was when I felt someone tapping my shoulder. Opening my arms brought me to reality, we were in a public place. One of the hotel workers was breaking up our little romancing on the dance floor because we were making other guest uncomfortable. Kenyans, conservative in public.

He suggested we go to a drive. I jumped into the passenger seat of the rented car. He drove to the beach. I love the coast sometimes. It was night but it was very warm, making the night a comfortable one to walk in. We left the car, I took off my six-inch numbers that I could hardly walk in and he took off his shoes too. Holding hands, we set off, wandering aimlessly on the sand. We headed for some rocks.

The sky was exceptionally starry that night. The moon was big and yellow. It was such a good feeling, just holding hands and walking. We reached the walks and sat down. The sea stretched out infinitely before us.

We lay down, his hand my pillow. He caressed my hair as we talked without words. He turned his face towards mine, and we kissed again, this time letting loose our passions. Unbuttoning his shirt, I trailed kisses from his base of his neck, nibbled his nipple and continued to his stomach. His hands were trembling, his breath labored as he helped me unhook the zipper and undress him. I took him in my mouth, gently but firmly . I worked my magic, as he moaned deep in his throat.

Grabbing my shoulders, he pulled me back, saying it was my turn. Holding my dress at the hem, he pulled it over my head. He gasped after realizing I had nothing underneath. His hands were like fire, everywhere he touched me I was burning. His mouth on my breasts was a sensation never before experienced. And when he kissed me there….the sun, stars and moon were no longer visions but within reach.

He came into me, gently. Skillfully, he burst my seams. I could feel the entire length of him in me. Inch by inch. Together, we rode into waves and waves of sexstacies. And when we reached there, it was like letting flood gates open.

Only later did I realize my dress had been blown off by the breeze. But it did not matter. We walked to the sea. His coat, my new dress. We ditched out clothes yet again, but for the sea. It was the first time I was swimming naked in the sea.

Forget the fooling around with classmates in swimming pools. This was a make out session like no other. We ended up in the sand again. Where did all the energy come from? Never mind…this time we were more familiar, so we took our time. Much later, after much fun washing off the sand in the sea, we headed back, and snuck into our room.

That was adventure..I must say. Here I was bare feet, wearing only his coat, while his sandy clothes did him no justice. I handed him back his coat…he wanted to be paid for lending it out to me…I told him I had ways..he said he’ll make me cry as I paid back…..and I said as long as they were cries of pleasure…

And that is how I would like my first time to be.

Have a nice weekend. and to emulate 31337, why are you not reading this?

Re-blogged from 

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She slips into the back of the Audi saloon and allows the driver to close the door for her. “Heathrow,” she tells him once he’s back in his seat, and gives him the terminal number. He flicks the indicator stalk with his left hand and pulls out into the traffic, accelerating smoothly away from the hotel. The leather seats cosset her as the car slips through the summer air. The big petrol engine is little more than a low purr, even when her chauffeur drops a gear to overtake a mid-afternoon laggard.

German efficiency, she thinks.

As she speeds towards the airport and the flight home, she thinks of one man somewhere behind her and wonders what he is doing. She regards the back of her driver’s head. The profile is similar. Even the skin tone, lightly tanned with dark stubble showing.

She thinks of the taxi ride she took to the airport the first time she travelled to meet him. The anticipation she felt, the almost girlish glee that the adventure was finally happening. The window on the 737, looking down on the clouds and the slate-grey sea as she silently urged the pilot to fly faster, butterflies in her stomach and her panties so damp with excitement she had to fight the urge to squirm in her seat. The hotel, her hand trembling with adrenalin as she signed herself in, and then her delight when she saw how utterly perfect the room she’d chosen was.

And then their meeting. Finally.

She closes her eyes, so she can access her memories more clearly. The quiet restaurant they’d met at; the various bars they’d visited afterwards. Watching him across the table, trying to read his expression, wondering if he still wanted her as badly as he’d told her in so many emails, now that they’d finally met. The unhurried walk to her hotel, her pulse quickening as they crossed the lobby, as they rode the lift up to the fourth floor. The way he’d made it clear that it wasn’t a problem if she wanted to say goodnight at the door to her room … and how she’d responded, grabbing the front of his leather jacket, pulling his mouth onto hers.

She swallows as she remembers the way he’d undressed her, the kisses that had rained down upon her skin – her breasts, her belly, her thighs. The tantalizingly measured way his fingers had explored her sex, patiently coaxing her to orgasm. Then his mouth upon her – his clever, clever mouth – and the way his hands had gripped her about her waist, holding her in place when the pleasure became too much to bear and she tried to pull away from his ceaseless tongue.

And then his cock. Finally.

On the bed on her hands and knees, his hands about her waist again as he eased his hard, thick prick inside her, as he fucked her with long strokes that found every part of her most secret flesh. His drawn-out gasp and the grip of his hands on her body as his shaft pulsed within her. And then the guilt as the fever finally seeped from her body; guilt laced with dark excitement at the thought that this was only the start.

She is wet now.

She looks ahead and lets her gaze linger on the rear view mirror. She can’t see the driver’s eyes from where she is sitting. Casually, she slips her hand over the top of her thigh. Her skirt is reasonably modest, knee-length when she stands, but it rose a good few inches when she got into the car. Her legs are bare, and she allows her fingers to drift onto the inside of one thigh. It is pleasant, but not electric. Not the way his touch would be.

She slips her hand a little higher, closes her eyes and retreats to her reminiscences.

She thinks of the time that she’d staged one of her longer journeys, booked into a midpoint airport hotel for just a few hours. He’d turned up in a suit, and promptly made good on his promise to strip her naked and eat her to orgasm whilst he remained fully dressed. Once again, he’d held her in place as her orgasms overwhelmed her, his flickering tongue propelling her ever higher up her parabola of pleasure. When she’d come three times, he stripped himself and plunged his cock inside her. He hadn’t come there: instead, she’d rolled him back against the big bed and taken him into her mouth, determined to taste his seed. When it came, it had been an explosion, a sweet eruption that had tasted so delicious, she’d felt real disappointment when the storm finally passed. They had lain in each other’s arms, talking, fantasising, and then she had taken him in her hand again, coaxed him back to full hardness, and guided him inside her once more. This time, she had locked her calves behind his thighs to hold him in place as they both came.

Her hand has slipped all the way up to the gusset of her panties, and she can feel how damp the cotton is. She slides the side of her thumb across the front of her sex and she shudders deliciously. She knows it won’t take much for her to orgasm. The realisation both pleases and astounds her. The effect he can have on her flesh – even remotely – is profound. She strokes herself softly, slowly, barely brushing her labia. She relishes the sensation of her clitoris hardening, her lips swelling. Now as she brushes her thumb back and forth, she has to bite down on her bottom lip to stop herself from gasping. She can’t resist drawing her panties aside. The climatically controlled air feels wonderful against the heat of her semi-bared sex. She wishes she could slide her panties off, but she’s not daring enough to risk discovery. Not yet. It doesn’t stop her wishing that she could post them to him, so that he could smell her, inhale the musk of her lust, perhaps while he stroked himself. She imagines him wrapping the lingerie around his hard cock, his seed spilling into the fabric to mingle with hers.


She conjures the last time they’d met, more than a year ago. They’d fucked passionately, almost frantically, before indulging themselves with room service. Afterwards, out of domesticated habit, she’d dressed for sleep – a white vest and a pair of modest white panties – and turned out the lights.

“I think you’re a little overdressed,” he’d whispered in the darkness.

“I’m sorry. I thought we were d-”

She never finished the last word. He’d scooped the vest over her head, drawn down her panties, and brought his glans to the cleft of her sex. As he’d kissed her, he’d eased himself into her, millimetre by slow millimetre, until he was embedded in her to the hilt. Then they’d fucked, languidly, fluidly; a unique flow in the quiet night. And as their rhythm grew, the bed had creaked beneath them until she was certain that their neighbours would be able to hear the machine-gun cracks, hear her cries as she orgasmed again, hear his as he poured his molten lust into the heart of her.

She didn’t care. She hoped someone could hear them. It was exciting. It was affirming.

The thoughts and the brushing of her thumb are enough in the heart and now. She comes. She has to bite down even harder, tastes blood, but it’s not an explosive climax. Not like when she allows the Jacuzzi’s water jets to pulse against her sex; not like when she explores herself with the clear glass phallus she treated herself to whilst her lover stood watching from the wings of the store. But it is good. Good enough. And the herald of things to come.

She re-checks the rear-view mirror. It hasn’t moved while her eyes have been closed. The driver is completely unaware of what’s just occurred inside his prestige automobile.

German efficiency, she thinks again.

The Audi pulls up outside the airport terminal. She waits for the driver to open her door and retrieve her luggage, then she hands him a fifty-pound note. He accepts the money with a straight face. She smiles and turns, not waiting for any change. She’s too eager to check in. She knows that the bathroom in the VIP lounge is rather luxurious, and very private.

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Will be back

Hi People….not been around for some time>>>

Check out this

Will be back!

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The Break up Diet

Whether you were in the relationship for 10 years or 10 days, you still must decide what to do with the gifts and mementos from your time together. By removing relationship mementos from your living space and places where you see them daily, it will allow you to get over the break-up sooner and move on with your life.

Gather It
Grab a box and start your sweep. Go from room to room. Collect pictures, jewelry, clothing, and souvenirs from trips—anything that reminds you of your ex. Don’t forget to gather items you may have at work, and in your car or garage.

Sort It
Divide the practical from the sentimental items. A practical item, like a happy anniversary toaster, is still useful. Decide if it’s something you can have around and use for what it is and not have it trigger an emotional response. If you have strong emotional feelings about an object, you’re better off getting rid of it.

You have several options to consider Read more here

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Sex in Public areas <>

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Why Did I?

Am not fond of mushy mushy movies…..I must admit I liked(read just had to watch) this one

I need the Password to your phone!


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To all spammers

While I’m not fond of the spam, I understand it’s a job; and in this economy, a job that pays the bills is to be appreciated.

Since I seem to get over 100 spam emails a day, I consider myself quite knowledgeable. Here’s a few suggestions for you to make your spamming more successful:

1. Emailing me the same message 40 times in one day doesn’t make me read them. It’s just as easy to click the button that says delete all messages as it is to delete only one. Basically, I’m telling you this so you can save some time- it must take a few seconds to repeatedly send out the same message to thousands of addresses.

2. I’m a man YES, but I have no desire to increase my penis size, or make my erections last longer. Please market your “goods” to the appropriate demographic. I’m sure you got that info from whatever mailing list you purchased my email address from- why not use it?

3. Sending me an email that appears to have been sent from my email address doesn’t make me read it. Are you really banking on the thought that I forgot that I sent myself an email about how to make thousands of dollars working from home? First of all, I don’t generally send email to myself. If I did, I’m generally going to remember doing it. So why not just put the real email address there?

4. Your newest trick- saying the email is from “Sally” regarding “Tim” (feel free to change the names to whichever ones you’re using- I get a variety of them). Clever, but really- do you think we’re going to fall for that? In most cases, you’re not even using common names. How many Kellys have a friend named Sarota sending them emails about a guy named Jawad? I’m guessing not many. So everyone else will just delete it without opening it. And since your spam has nothing to do with Jawad, why not just be up front with what it’s about? Just once, I’d like to see an email titled “yeah, it’s more spam, but why not take a look?”… you know what- I would probably look at it!

5. At least try to be creative. If you’ve got to spam, can you at least entertain me? There’s nothing worse than getting spam from “lkdjrfoweir” with a subject titled “jjkkkkkwww”… yeah- it doesn’t really make me want to read it.

6. Again, I’m a man. Not that you’d know my sexuality, but the majority of the population is heterosexual. So sending out nude photos of women isn’t going to lure most of us men in. Save that for the women.

7. Titling the subject line “re:” doesn’t make me think that you’re responding to an email I sent you.

Bottom line, if you must inconvenience me, can you at least have the courtesy to get it right?


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