I bang my first 26 year old Suriname intern
August 3, 2013 30 Comments
What begins with T, ends with T, and is full of T?
You were going to say “teapot” weren’t you? *
Last Saturday I’m walking through town with Bhodi doing my usual thing. It’s hot and the upcoming rainstorms haven’t hit. After wading through the usual clusters of PUAs I find myself walking along the grand boulevard leading to Buckhingham Palace. It’s not actually a good daygame venue because its too isolated, too quiet, and single girls are very few and far between. But I wanted a break from the crowds so there we are. I spot a lone girl on the opposite side of the road and chase her down.
There’s not much of note happening in the ten minutes we talk. She’s a mousey cute girl with wop hair and nice-girl clothes that don’t show any skin despite the hot sunny weather. I notice two large mounds under her sweater that betray some serious breast size. She lived a long time in Holland. I ask if she has a boyfriend:
Her: No but there’s someone I like
Me: Someone you’re seeing or trying to date?
Her: We know each other but it’s more like I’m trying
We exchange numbers and a plan to meet for tea early in the week. I play the text game quite low key because it wasn’t a teasing set nor a strong hook:
Me: Hey. It was nice to meet you
Her: It was nice meeting you as well!
Me: [late next evening] Just finished a BBQ. Five burgers I love summer in London! How are you?
Her: [early morning] Hi, didn’t see your message until late last night. I’m well. Sounds like you overdosed on meat! Best, [name]
Me: I’m on a beef and eggs diet… and whisky you hard at work?
Me: Probably making cheese in your windmill
Her: Sounds like alot of protein. My activities right now are not quite as romantic as preparing food in idyllic surroundings unfortunately: I’m at the laundrette, does count as work though. You?
Me: Stealing clothes from the dryer and selling them in Camden market? I’m shocked and appalled.
Me: But mostly shocked :O
Me: I’m writing and sipping coffee relaxing day
Her: Well, that’s just Monday. On Tuesdays I usually hang around Victoria station, trying to run off with other people’s luggage. What are you writing?
Me: Just some ideas on psychology. I forget, are you a tea or coffee girl?
Her: Tea, preferably green or herbal. With biscuits. Very important.
Me: Yes. Very important. How about tomorrow, 6pm?
Her: Ok, where?
So that’s all plain sailing and we meet in Trafalgar then so straight to the cafe inside the National Gallery for tea. She’s dressed nice but still covering all her skin. She’s definitely not planning first date sex because her makeup, hair and clothes just don’t give off any sexual vibe. She’s…. nice. We spend a pot of tea sitting opposite on some rickety wooden chairs while I run the usual rapport, keeping it light with just mild spikes about her nice hair and fingernails. Then I walk her across the road to an English pub so we sit on some high stools against a wall. Second venue is time to amp it up so I’m doing incidental kino and turning the conversation to be more intrusive and mildly sexual. She goes with all of it. She’s quite a smart girl so the intellectual mastery just rolls off the tongue. There’s a key moment where I see her look and body language change – she’s definitely into me, sexually. Now we are almost two hours in but it doesn’t seem right to kiss.
I walk her another five minutes to a dark lounge bar in Covent Garden that has lots of dark booths in the back. She orders a full glass of wine again so I’m heartened by her intention to get buzzed. We’re sitting side by side and it’s all amber lights. The question game goes on for over an hour during which I learn she’s had sex with three men and hasn’t had a dick in her for two years. I go for the kiss and suddenly the vibe screeches like fingernails drawn down a blackboard.
Her: No, I don’t feel it
Me: What do you mean?
Her: I don’t feel like I want to kiss you.
Me: Ok. No rush.
Her: And what if I never feel like it? [spoken like a precious princess]
Me: Then that’s also ok. But I’m not going to be your friend. I’m on this date because I’m attracted to you as a woman.
The air thickens with discomfort so I just punish her covertly. I don’t talk, I let my gaze wander to the other patrons, and I slowly sip my pint. I don’t want to call her out and be all reactive but I also want to show her I’m comfortable with awkwardness and I have boundaries. After five minutes she makes some tentative attempts to restart the conversation which I accept. I’m expecting her to make her excuses and leave as she finishes her wine but instead she gets up and says “do you want a pint of the same?” and gets a round in.
Ok, that was a major moment. She tried a reflexive LJBF and got smashed. Now it’s on.
As the next drink goes down things get dirtier and steamier. She’s talking about 50 Shades of Grey, I’m constantly telling her I’m looking at her breasts, and of course we kiss. She really throws herself into it so I break my usual rule and mash her breasts a bit. It’s very on but she’s unravelling under the pressure of it. It’s like two years of celibacy and she can no longer control her hindbrain. I start seeding the extraction telling her we should get a nightcap at my place for tequila. She’s become very timid now. At about midnight it seems as on as it ever will be. We finish our drinks and I pretty much tell her we are getting a nightcap. She goes to the bathroom while I flag a cab.
Five minutes pass. She doesn’t show
Ten minutes pass. I’m apologising to the taxi driver for making him wait so long but I know that if he leaves and it takes more than thirty seconds to flag the next one, then the lay is gone.
Finally she emerges with teary eyes. She tells me she’s been crying. I push her into the taxi.
For a while it’s going fine as she’s completely cowed by my presence but as we get to Goodge Street she’s piping up that she’s uncomfortable and wants to get out. I ignore the first two squeaks but she’s insistent so I tell the cab to stop. We get out at Great Portland Street and spend just five minutes standing and hugging. It’s so weird. She really wants to have sex but is just overwhelmed by it all, especially being so fast. So I ease off and don’t sexualise for the next half hour as we sit on some stone steps outside the station. I know what she wants I just have to calm her down until she’s ready.
Before long she’s relaxed and we are talking normally. For reasons I don’t quite know I just reach into her top and start feeling her breasts. She doesn’t mind but just sits there unreactive. Then we are chatting again. Finally about an hour after we sat down she just breaks the conversation and says: “I think I’d like that tequila now”
Back in my house it’s easy. She pours herself a few shots for courage and then takes it like a trooper. +1, new flag and the pride of creating something from nothing. Then when its all over we go downstairs and share a cup of tea in the garden until her taxi arrives.
- Forebrain/hindbrain conflict is real. This girl really wanted sex but put herself under enormous pressure by making such a big deal of it.
- You have to surf her emotions at times, knowing when to ease off and when to push.
- Good girls still want to fuck. The longer its been since they did, the more amenable they are to you.
*or a TRT shot, I guess….