Suzanne Portnoy

I saw my lazy guy yesterday, albeit briefly. He’s the one that makes me laugh and turns me on. When he walked in the door all I wanted to do was strip off his clothes and jump him. He was wearing a white waffle cotton shirt that fitted his body, a pair of jeans, hiking boots and a black, fleece top with paint flecks still visible on the sleeves.

The shirt hugged his flat chest and revealed his hard nipples. He still had a tan from his trip to France a month earlier and it suited him. He looked fit and healthy.

‘Like the bristles,’ I said as I kissed his cheek.

‘Bristles?’ he said.

‘The white stuff,’ I said. ‘On your face.’

He laughed. ‘Couldn’t be bothered to shave,’ he said.

‘That figures,’ I said and laughed.

One of the upsides of seeing him so infrequently is that I haven’t yet reached a point of being bored by him, although quite frankly we have about as much in common as a carrot and a lion. He likes to ponder how much less he can do every day and still survive. I like to work out how much more I can take on before I collapse. The truth is he has gotten so good at doing nothing, I think he could quite possibly make quite a lot of money teaching people like myself how to relax.

‘So,’ he said after we’d been standing around the kitchen for about 15 minutes or so. ‘Whadya want to do now?’

I’m sure he knew the answer and was just teasing me.

‘Now,’ I said. ‘I want you to kiss me.’

He pulled me into him and we kissed so that my head started to feel cloudy. ‘You know,’ I said. ‘I think you’re very sexy.’

He put his hand down my shirt, reaching inside my black bra and squeezed my nipple hard. I felt his hard-on under his jeans. We kissed again, his tongue moving around my mouth, the coarse hair from his face rubbing against my skin.

‘Where do you want to go?’ he said. ‘The F1 starts in an hour.’

‘Upstairs?’ I said. ‘I know we have to go up about fifteen steps to get there but the bed is more comfortable than the sofa.’

I ran upstairs, ripping my tights off my leg as I took each step. By the time I reached the bedroom they were already down by my ankles.

‘You’re much faster than I am,’ he said as he sat on edge of the bed, slowly untying the laces of his shoes, than pulling the shirt over his head before finally removing his jeans and socks.

‘Wow,’ I said. ‘You’re really, really brown. I hate you for looking so good.’ He had a gorgeous tan and his nipples were dark brown.

Then I took his semi-hard cock in my mouth. Within minutes he was rock hard and I grabbed a condom, rolled it on and straddled him in one. He felt so good. Too good.

I turned over and he took me from behind, easing himself in and out slowly so that I could feel every twitch of his cock. That felt good too. In fact it felt so good that we couldn’t stop ourselves from going over the edge.

He came within minutes but it didn’t matter. Sometimes I prefer the rush of adrenalin and endorphins to a two hour session, although with him I often wish he had the time to f*** me all night. He hates oral and doesn’t have a big cock but we have this amazing sexual chemistry together. There’s no replacement for sexual chemistry. Either it’s there or it’s not.

After he came, I grabbed a japanese kimono, flung it on and he pulled on a shirt. Then we sat on the sofa together and walked Hamilton get slaughtered in the F1. I kind of was hoping I might get a second lap myself but my guy was engrossed in the race and so I chilled out and watched it with him. It was just nice to relax. We both left the house before the race was over - me to pick up my son and my friend to try and catch the last few laps at home. It was the perfect end to what ultimately turned out to be a pretty perfect weekend.