Soundtrack: Closer by Nine Inch Nails.
I’ll get the important stuff out the way nice and early for you: yes, I had sex in a tent with Jock. More than once. More than twice, in fact. We had our third date, had an incredible time, and now I’m basically in love with him.
Exciting stuff, right?
Now, shall we start at the beginning?
Sorted
“You go to work and don’t worry about a thing,” he told me. “I’ll get everything sorted, then come and pick you up.”
It took me a second to reply because I was replaying his words over and over again in my head. Had he… taken control of the date? Made a decision? Made many decisions, in fact? Have I found the Holy Grail of men here?! It sure feels like it. I figured that I should probably reserve judgment until after the date, though. His “sorted” and my “sorted” might be two very different things.
Work dragged like an absolute bitch, to absolutely nobody’s surprise. And then, when it was time, I hopped, skipped, and jumped to the parking lot, where he was ready and waiting with a big ol’ cheesy grin on his face. Oh, what an infectious grin it was.
We drove for a while – longer than half an hour, but not quite an hour – until we were in the midst of rolling hills and lush, green forests that felt a lot further away from home than we actually were.
Eventually, we pulled into a campsite surrounded by trees. It was completely empty except for one lone tent. Our tent. Jock hadn’t just sorted the date; he’d sorted it so that we had the entire campsite to ourselves, and that wasn’t all. The tent was covered in fairy lights. Right in front of it was a small campfire that he’d clearly pre-built, complete with a little barbecue, all sorts of snacks, and, more importantly, all sorts of beers and wines.
He had literally done everything, sorted everything. Every tiny little detail you could think of, he’d thought of. I felt like the Queen or something, honestly.
Fire
“I’ll get the fire started,” he grinned, clearly eager to show off his ‘man skills.’ “Do you want to pick some music?”
I gladly indulged him, cheering as the flames started to glow. “What kind of music do you like?”
We chit-chatted about our music tastes for a few minutes – what he liked for certain situations, what I liked for certain situations, you know. Sex songs came up… because of course they did; it was our third date. We were, quite frankly, going to fuck. I didn’t want to wait any longer… and I’m guessing that he wouldn’t have booked us an entire camping field, then decked out a tent, if he’d wanted to wait.
I think it was obvious to us both: we were setting the scene for [hopefully] the first fuck. And didn’t we both want to make a good impression?
“You should play your favourite sex song,” he joked, and who was I turn down such a request?
I searched for the first song that sprang into my head: Closer by Nine Inch Nails, which is the sex song, if you ask me. I wondered if he would know or recognise it. He did. Thankfully. I could tell because a slow smile crept across his face and his blue eyes twinkled with mischief.
The fire crackled beside us, music playing through the Bluetooth speaker, bottles of beer going down better (and faster) than expected… and then it happened.
Kiss
The kiss.
A kiss that wasn’t reserved and held back. A kiss that told the other just what was going to happen next. No words. No nods. No communication whatsoever ever, other than what was happening with that kiss.
And that kiss said everything.
That kiss told him to start taking my clothes off at the exact same time that I started to remove his – but he pulled away for a moment, asking, “Can I?” as he pointed to my shirt.
I nodded. Of course you can take my clothes off. Please, please, please take my damn clothes off.
Thirty seconds later, my shirt on the grass and both of us fumbling with my jeans, that kiss told us to dip inside the two-man tent, then zip it close right after us.
“Just in case the cows get interested,” he joked, wrapping his hand around the back of my head and pulling me down on top of him.
He seemed almost nervous as we kissed, all the while fumbling and tearing with each other’s clothes. He expertly rolled me onto my back, kissing his way down my chest and torso, dragging my jeans and underwear off as he sunk lower and lower.
I must admit something: in that moment, as he kissed and touched his way down to my cunt, I felt nervous. Anxious. Unsure. It wasn’t him; it was me. He was going to go down on me, and as much as I wanted that – and I really, really wanted that – it’s not the sort of thing I’d usually do on a very first date.
As I said in A Naughty Weekend: Oral Sex Confession (Part Two:)
“I find oral sex, cunnilingus, whatever you want to call it, really personal – more personal than sex, kissing, or even getting naked in front of someone.”
I wanted to make him wait for it, work for it… you know? Something in me, needed to make sure that he was worth it before I gave it all up.
At the same time, though… I didn’t want to wait. I didn’t want to make him wait.
Like, at all.
Fuck it, I thought to myself. What’s the worst that could happen…?
I closed my eyes, let my head fall back, and melted into his touch, trying to relax as much as possible. You know, because a tense me doesn’t an easy orgasm make. I wanted our first time to go as smoothly as possible. More than that, though, I actually wanted to enjoy it. Properly. I certainly didn’t want to ruin things with my stupid nerves.
As soon as his mouth made contact with my cunt, all of my nerves and anxiety simply vanished. Poof. One, two, three kisses and all hesitation was gone. Careful kisses, too. Delicate ones. As though he were trying to figure my body out, one kiss at a time.
When he pulled my labia into his mouth, first one, then the other, I thought I was going to lose my mind. I guess that’s the joy of an older man: they’ve often got a lot more experience than chaps my own age. And fuck… was he experienced. He kissed and sucked and nibbled until I was practically begging him to finish the job – and only then, did he finally touch my clit.
Approximately 14 minutes later, I was a literal mess. Dripping. Shaking. Jagged breaths. All of the other delights that hit you like a truck post-orgasm.
And, oh, my… what an orgasm it was.
By the time he was done the tent was well and truly steamed up, so he suggested taking a break and grabbing a drink. We did just that, half hanging out of the tent, half wrapped around each other, sharing a beer and a cigarette. It was almost 90s Hollywood movie romantic, you know?
I was naked, but he was still pretty much clothed from the waist down, so as soon as the beer and two cigarettes were done, I got to work on his belt and jeans. All etiquette had gone out the window. I wanted him. There was nothing getting in my way. Well, nothing aside from that damn belt. I just couldn’t seem to get to grips with it. Thankfully, he took over, then shuffled out of his jeans as I yanked them down.
I was trying really hard not to seem too eager to see what he had hidden away in his boxers, but I was too eager. I tore the rest of his clothes off clumsily, fumbling around like I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. His erection had been pretty obvious for a while, and I desperately wanted to unwrap him and get my hands on him for the first time. More than desperate. There was nothing else in my mind aside from him. Well, his dick, really.
He grabbed a condom from the pocket of his jeans, so I took it upon myself to take it as a prompt, tearing the foil corner, then rolling it along his length. It gave me the perfect opportunity to really take him in. Well, his dick, really.
I threw my leg over and impaled myself on his lap, leaning down to kiss him. Properly kiss him. Messy, frantic, almost sloppy kisses. Almost. Like, the right amount of sloppiness. The perfect amount of sloppiness.
I rode him slowly at first. Rain started to tap-tap-tap on the tent at around the same time that the fairy lights ran out of their solar power, and it almost acted as a switch. His hands became grabbier and firmer. My hips rolled forwards and backwards a little faster. Eventually, one or both of us lost control. It seemed to happen in perfect synchronicity; he sat up as I leaned down, our bodies close, thrusting and gyrating against each other.
I came for the second time just moments before he erupted inside me. I’m beyond pleased to announce that Jock makes the cutest, hottest grunts when he lets go. It made me want to come again… which, of course, I did, albeit after twenty-five minutes, two more cigarettes, and three beers.
We fell asleep wrapped up in each other’s arms, and I felt… content. Safe, I think. Happy for sure.
We’ll analyse things a little more tomorrow, folks. I’m off to daydream about our wedding day because I’m pretty sure that this one, is the one.
The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: Third Date (Dick) Analysis.
Thank you so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
Would you like to read all about Jock’s story, right from the very beginning? You’ll find that right here.
You can also read all about my disastrous dating history, right from the beginning, right here: Table of Dating Contents.
Alternatively, why not have a little peek around here:
