This is Not a Drill

Exactly 45-minutes after we’d said our goodbyes, which just so happens to be the exact length of his drive home, Jock sent me a text message that made my stomach somersault and my heart flutter.

“I had the best night with you!”

I told him the same. What I didn’t tell him, though, was how much I was thinking about fucking him. It’s a constant and steady stream of thoughts now, comprised of lots of different fucks… and they are mouth-wateringly good. In my head he’s really good in bed. Amazing, actually. You can’t kiss as good as he kisses me, then be terrible in bed. I refuse to believe that’s even possible.

Trust me when I tell you this: his kisses actually made me weak at the knees. Like, actually actually. The way his tongue flicked and darted around my lips and tongue kickstarted fantasies of it doing the same around my clit as his hands gently cupped my ass cheeks in the same way they’d earlier cupped my face cheeks.

In the words of Usher: “You got it, you got it bad.”

You, of course, being me.

I bet he’s a really hot and passionate lover. I can just tell. I don’t know how I can just tell; I just can. I can almost see how he is as a lover already, without having to experience it for myself – and I know that makes absolutely zero sense, but I just know.

You’ll just have to trust me on this one.

We text for a few hours before finally saying goodnight, the subject matter getting progressively filthier as the night went on.

“Can we book a second date really soon?” he asked.

I vaguely agreed and we made some plans. I want to look keen, but not too keen… which is really difficult when all you can think about is taking his dick in your mouth. I want to fuck him already. I’d fuck him right now if he turned up on my doorstep, I reckon.

But I’m a third date girl these days, right? Maybe I should make Jock wait four dates? I made OB wait for three, and look how that turned out. I want to be classy and powerful and mysterious… but I also want to fuck the absolutely fucking shit out of him, which poses rather a large problem.

“How about camping?” I suggested for our third date, because clearly, I’m an eager psychopath.

In my defence, Jock told me that he loved the outdoorsy way of life, with particular mentions of camping, camp fires, beers, and steak cooked on an open fire. All of that sounded lush to me.

“Yeah, why the fuck not?” he replied.

So, now, I think we’re going camping for our third date, before we’ve even had a second date, which isn’t* weird and dangerous in the slightest.

*really is

I guess I’m not staying single and focusing on my own life just yet then.

Folks, I fucking like this one.

This is NOT a drill.

The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: Date Number Two with Jock.