The dirty poet.

The man who referred to himself as a poet peppered his texts with “you’re such a little sweetheart” and sunflower emojis. When we met at a downtown bar for an after-work drink, my first thought was he might be bisexual. He had that way about him.

He’s in his mid-fifties and after ending his 25-year marriage, he got a tattoo, a nipple ring, and earrings in both ears. He’s in the film industry in an artistic role.

When I departed that first date, he stayed seated on the barstool, we hugged and he gave me what I would call a quick peck on the lips. Later, he professed via text how excited that kiss got him. He said he felt a spark.

Huh? 

All to say, he seemed a little beta, soft, and maybe over-the-top, for me.

But I thought he was interesting and suspecting he was nervous at that first meeting, figured I’d give it a second date. I’d booked way too many dates this week, had an insane work schedule, and coming up had Liam for ten days straight.

So when he offered to drive the 90 minute drive one evening, meaning he’d arrive with enough time for me to get home from my after-work date, I figured “why not.”

I was completely exhausted that night. Work was emotionally draining and I had spent the day running between back-to-back meeting locations. My after-work date was relatively dull but I remained my chipper entertaining self. I also got the phone number of another man at the bar, but that’s another story.

The Poet arrived at my place shortly after I got home. I was still in my corporate Barbie outfit. I told him I didn’t want to go out, I wanted to sit on my couch and have a glass of wine. He was game; he’d brought a few beers for himself from a microbrewery near his place. I was a little surprised he didn’t bring anything for me.

But he’d driven two hours to see me.

He was shorter than advertised, but I put it aside. It was less about his height, but generally, his physicality didn’t excite me.

He was happy to get to know me better. He checked out my books and art and my stuff. Asked me lots of questions about my thoughts and my life.

We got drinks and sat on my couch. The couch he’d asked earlier if he could sleep on, to avoid having to make the two-hour trek back home that night. It was fine by me; I completely expected that’s where he would sleep. He didn’t seem the type to have sex that early.

He’d told me it had been a while since he’d dated, and three years since he’d had sex.

So as the evening wore on and all he did was hold my hand briefly, say “I just held your hand”, then release it again, I would have bet a thousand dollars I was having a sexless night. Which was fine by me; as nice as he was, I wasn’t feeling it.

He kissed me. It was nice. Then he kissed me some more. Finally, a bit of heat got produced as our tongues danced.

And then the nasty part of the poet was released.

We kissed, he shortly thereafter put his mouth on a nipple and sucked perfectly. Leo used to say my nipples were like on switches, and he’s not wrong. The poet had it all figured out. His hand went down my pants and he whispered in my ear “oh good girl, you’re already wet for me.”

Wait. What?

No part of the next two hours was soft. When he asked if I liked his mouth between my legs, when I nodded mutely, he commanded: “SAY IT”. I was genuinely startled. Between my legs he had me cumming within seconds, a delicious combination of tongue and fingers.

His cock was exactly average, but it worked well and he knew how to use it. I’d be lying if he said he had the stamina of a 35 year-old, but I didn’t care.

And it wasn’t perfect – it rarely is, of course. He can’t cum easily from penetrative sex. It’s not all that exciting watching a guy take forever masturbating to orgasm and having to lick his balls over and over to help get him there. And at the third request to “bite his nipple” and play with his nipple ring (yes!) I was bored.

But I got a lot of orgasms out of it. And internal giggles when after something really hot and aggressive he would say “that was nice”.

He didn’t sleep on the couch. He woke me up at 5 am with sex, then kept asking for me to help him cum as I begged him to let me go back to sleep.

He definitely wants to see me again and I’m lukewarm on the idea. I can’t see a relationship with him but we could have some fun together. He is a kind and thoughtful man and I don’t want to hurt him. I have to figure out what to say.

But no matter what, it was a pleasant surprise that someone so soft turned out to be hard in my bedroom.

12 thoughts on “The dirty poet.

  1. Maybe now that you’ve had sex the intial nervousness has wore off. Try another date, If you are still lukewarm, I would tell him when he asks to see you again that you don’t see it being more than just sex. He could be fine by that or may feel it’s a waste of time and move on.

  2. OMG, Ann! This was thoroughly entertaining and actually made me laugh out loud several times.

    I kinda want you to go out with him again just so you can share another funny story. 😀

  3. Ha! I’m giggling here at my desk. Some people are just funny in bed. You never know what you’re going to get once you go there. I’ve been surprised many times too! Definitely not a keeper but great for stories 🙂

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