“Bear’s Girlfriend” – The Sleepover

So … Bear and I had our first sleepover! I’d forgotten how much fun sleepovers could be, especially at my house. It’s been such a long time since I invited a man into my space … Too long perhaps?

He was late. Hours late. He had clinic-stuff to do, because I’d demanded he went to the GU-clinic before I slept with him. And he had tattoo-stuff to do too. But then he got the train to mine – two and a half hours of train ride, to be precise. That’s quite some distance to travel to NOT get laid, but he knows the score – we don’t sleep together until he gets those results back. It’s turned into somewhat of a game. Results take ten days. We’re three days down.

Over the past few weeks, we’ve been sending pictures to each other. Some of them are just day-to-day snaps – what we’re having for dinner, what we’re doing, what lipstick I’m wearing. Some of them aren’t day-to-day snaps AT ALL – what underwear I’m wearing, what underwear he’s wearing, how hard his cock is … We have rules though. Well, had rules.

Provocative is okay, but we’re not allowed to show anything. A hint of a dick pic if you like, but not a full dick pic. An erect penis bulging through his jeans, for example, or a well-taken selfie of me, post-phone-sex, flushed and showing just the right hint of nipple. It’s a fun game, and we’ve totally been playing by the rules. Mostly.

“Don’t come here thinking you’re gonna get laid, because that’s definitely not happening. You know the rules – nothing like that until you get your results back, right?”

“No, absolutely darling. I’m with you. I’ll behave myself. My thoughts won’t be clean, but my actions will be.” 

The contract was signed, sealed, delivered.

I met him from the train station and we pottered back, wandering through the high street and taking a little detour because he’d never been to my part of town before. He was nervous. I was too, but he was a blithering wreck. We made our way back to mine, and as I fumbled with the key in the lock I realised something … I was inviting him into my space. I’d never once invited BE into my space. Or Someone New. Or The Director. And I wasn’t all that nervous either. I was actually excited.

We watched crap TV as I spent half an hour or so finishing some work. I’d spent the afternoon cleaning which I’d planned to do in the morning but I got distracted with some serious retail therapy … Long story short, work took a back burner but I still had a deadline to meet. He chilled and kept himself busy on his phone so that I could finish what I needed to, and I actually think it worked in my favour. It gave us both a little bit of breathing space, and time for him to find his feet in an unfamiliar environment.

Work finished, we watched movies together, and eventually we made our way into my bed. He kept his underwear on, and I wore the new pants I’d bought because they felt super silky (and I know he’d love them) plus a white vest, just transparent enough to show him a hint of nipple beneath. Lights turned off, movie volume turned down low, and spooning position adopted, it wasn’t long before my butt did that nudge-thing it does, and apparently he quite likes it. We stuck by the rules … mostly. We didn’t fuck. In fact, I barely touched him at all. His underwear stayed on the entire night but mine? That was a totally different story.

His huge hands were everywhere. Those soft, huge hands. His mouth was everywhere too, whispering how much he wanted me in my ear, the feeling of his breath against my neck sending goosebumps all over, before moving and kissing everywhere all at once. I’m sure that man has more than two hands. It certainly felt like it at the time, and when I tell you he’s good at what he does, I mean he’s really good at what he does. I’ve bagged myself a fully-trained, grade A finger-blaster. I don’t even think I’d mind if we never had sex, just as long as he bought those competent hands with him. I can’t tell you enough how in love I am with his hands.

He worshipped me from tip to toe from the time we got into bed at about 12, to 4am when we eventually drifted off to sleep, me in my post-orgasmic haze and him with the worst case of blue balls mankind has ever seen. But the rules were the rules. He just pushed the guidelines a little, and I’m not so sure it was a good thing. Those fuck-tinted glasses I tried so hard to avoid? Well, fuck-tinted glasses they may not be, but I’m definitely rocking finger-fuck-tinted glasses. That’s just as bad, right? And what makes it worse is now ALL I can think of is slowly sliding myself down his cock, first with my mouth, and then with my soaking wet pussy. And soaking wet is an understatement. There’s something to be said for these older men – they’re REALLY good in bed. First Jock, then the Director, then BE, and now Bear too? I’m onto something here. I’m sure of it.

I can’t tell you what Bear did to me in bed because I genuinely don’t know. I know he bit my inner thigh real hard at one point, just as he was massaging my clit with the tip of his finger, and when I came, I came damn hard. He slapped me, my pussy I mean. He slapped my pussy. And it didn’t feel bad, it felt really, really good. Like he’d picked the perfect moment to do that. Just like when he picked the perfect moment to shove his wet finger in my ass, right as I was about to cum for … I don’t know? The fourth or fifth time? It was my fingertip massaging my clit this time. He ordered me to do it, and I couldn’t say no. I didn’t want to. He could have ordered me to do anything and I’d have done it. And that’s pretty much how the night went. Bear was every inch as filthy as I figured he would be, and he left on the train the morning after with a belly full of the thank-you breakfast I bought him. Oh, and a whopping smile on his face. Apparently my body is “out of this world”, and he “just can’t get enough of me”. Oh, and making me cum is his “new favourite thing to do” too. I’ll take those compliments, thank you very much. Never turn down a compliment from a man who thinks your vagina is “beyond perfection”.

Oh, and did I mention that I’m his girlfriend now? He accidentally called me his girlfriend to a friend of his, and to his 14 year old son too. And then I accidentally called him my boyfriend on Twitter / tested the waters to see what it sounded like. And you know what? He’s too old for me, too grey for me, and perhaps a little too crazy for me, but “Bear’s girlfriend” is a great label that I think I’m more than comfortable to wear.

Only went and bagged myself a boyfy! GO ME! 

P.S. For the record, I’ve seen it and his penis is beautiful. Just call me the pied piper of perfect penises.