Load Bearing Structure
“You’re going to love my friend”.
These few simple words, so innocent in themselves are more often or not a prelude to disappointment and false hope. When you are told by a woman that you’re going to like her friend, more often or not what she really means is that her friend has a really sweet personality, but the appearance of a diseased swamp donkey.
Having been introduced and set-up with several women through mutual female friends, I have come to the cast iron conclusion that my female friends secretly hate me and want to see me suffer and burn.
However this time the gods of luck were going to shine on me and present me with a gift that I would have never expected. She entered the room wearing a slinky, tight black dress, gliding down the stairs like a cat prowling in the undergrowth; she was a beautiful, slim blonde, with a long thick mane of hair. Having been told that this sexy vision of femininity standing before me was single and had no children, I was could not believe my luck that I had actually met a compatible woman without kids in the 30 year old mark. I had started to convince myself that such things are almost impossible to find in my current social circle, so when I first saw how amazingly beautiful Gillian was when she entered the kitchen of my friend’s house; I felt my stomach knot and my mind whir with possibilities and anticipation.
We had all met up for a pre-match drink in the central hub of our mutual friend’s kitchen prior to hitting the town for a Christmas celebration. Having quit my job in a fit of three-oh panic some months earlier, I still stayed in contact with this old gang of friends as it often lead to enjoyable social get togethers and fun nights out.
Having decided to expand our little group with her oh so pretty friend Gillian, we had enough people for a good night out. In attendance on this frosty pre-Christmas night were the kitchen owner Susan, our co-worker Gemma and her obscenely obnoxious and odious husband Steve. But for now my attention was focused on the lovely Gillian. It was unclear to me at the start as to how I would be able to get her attention and approval. I was under no illusion that in normal circumstances this woman was way out of my league and at any other time I probably wouldn’t have stood a chance with her. However I had the backing of our mutual friend and being the only 2 single people in the group, we would surely be paired up through the law of man/woman/man/woman formation.
After brief introductions were past, I managed to separate Gillian from the general crowd and started up a conversation with her regarding general nothingness and fleeting information. The conversation itself was of course completely empty and meaningless, its only point of being was in order to further my connection and establish a rapport and tone with her. We chatted briefly about her job, where she lived, how she liked my new hair cut and how she had recently hurt her hand. Though I’m about as skilled at reading the signs and movements of women as a drunk serial killer with aspersers, I was able to translate enough of her body language and attitude to discern that she (at the very least) was comfortable around me and appeared to enjoy my company. That is something that I took as a massive personal win!
Taking the initiative and having been given clear indication that I was allowed to do so, I decided to bring out my big gun, the weapon of choice that would either make or break the fleeting foundations of our connection. When I first saw her slink down the stairs into the kitchen, I was struck by her amazing resemblance to a partially attractive and favoured actress that I was a fan of, Natascha Mcelhone. Though quite successful in her field, she is not immediately famous enough for most people to be able to recall her appearance. So when I told Gillian that she looked like a famous sexy actress, she responded like most women would, with small squeals of delight and gratitude. She was not nibbling on the bait and I decided that now was the time to hook this fish and drag her ashore. She was obviously now eager to find out what this actress looked like and as smoothly as honey being poured over a treacle pudding, I offered to send her a picture of her via her mobile phone. Gratefully accepting my offer and not realising in the least what kind of convoluted and careful planning I had put into getting to this point, I was now armed with the phone number of one of the most beautiful woman I had even seen, in real life…
We then left for town and enjoyed a brief touchy feely session in the back of the taxi. She made me closely examine her hand and asked me if I thought it was broken. Using all of my fake medical skill, I assured her that she should not worry about her hand and that it was not, as she feared, broken. When she asked “Then why does it hurt so much?” I could only reply that “You punched a wall. It hurts when you do that.” This should have been my first warning flag that everything was not quite right, but this one incident in itself was just one little speed bump that meant nothing at the time. But looking back with hindsight I now see it for what it was, a clear sign that she wasn’t quite right in the head.
The night out on the town was one that I have tried to banish from memory for quite some time. Sometimes you have good night, sometimes you have bad nights, and sometimes you have nights so soul destroyingly terrible they actually cause you to question your very existence and place within the universe. This was such a night. Gillian sadly disappeared after ten minutes when she meet some close friends of hers and ended up at another nightclub without us, which sadly left me painfully trying to converse with a now drunk Steve. I hate this man. Some people are a bad drunk, some people are a bad sober, but Steve was the only person I have ever met who managed to excel at both. The more drunk or sober he became, the more it caused an increase his already incredibly annoying and grating personality. We were for some reason confined to a dank and dark rugby club for the entire night. It was here that I almost lost the will to live, its beer soaked carpets and angry steroid monster clientele combining to strip my consensus of anything resembling hope and joy. During a trip to the bar I found myself getting cock grabbed by a croaky, sad, wrinkled 50 something who offered to “service me round’ back”. Just about managing to hold down my stomach contents I retreated to the relative safety of a quiet corner, which is where I stayed for most of the night. One last surprise jumped up on me towards the end of the night when I managed to get into a fight in the toilets after taking offence at some chinless, arrogant, snide gimp grabbing my hair and asking how much I paid for the do’?
Waking the next morning with a minimal hangover and maximum hair ruffleage, I quickly showered and made myself a light breakfast, just to ease to subtle queasiness I felt from the last night alcohol. Despite my slight unease my mind wondered back to the previous night in the kitchen and to the blonde vision that I had met the night before. Deciding to strike while she still remembered who I was and hoping that another guy had not taken my place after she disappeared the night before, I sent her a picture of the actress in question along with a short message reminding her of who I was. To my surprise, instead of sending a text back she called me instantly. In today’s modern world it always comes as something of a shock when someone actually wants to communicate though voice and not text or email. Though sounding a little worse for ware, she was warm and kind on the phone. To my surprise she asked me if I wanted to come over to her house to see her and play at being her “butler” while she nursed her hangover. Not one to pass up an opportunity to visit a beautiful woman’s house while she is still under the effects of alcohol, I got the directions and set out on my focused quest to nail this stunning woman”.
Deciding to stop off at a local store on my way there so I could pick up my favourite hangover cure, chocolate for her was I felt a good move. This kind of thoughtful little act for some reason really wins women over. I arrived at her house a little later and she greeted me at the door and invited me in. I was more than a little surprised to see that she had chosen not to wear comfy pyjamas or a night gown, as is the official uniform of the alcohol distressed, but instead had chosen to wear an all in one, tight black cat suit?
Though not particularly upset to see her in such a sexy and stylish costume, it did seem a little odd that she had chosen to wear such an outfit for what was essentially a first “date” with someone who was a complete stranger. After a brief tour of her rather cold, average and bare house, we settled down on the sofa and began a game of getting to know each other. I learned that she was a born again Christian, at least in theory if not in practice. She had come out of a long term relationship recently when her partner had decided that she was not for him and had gone looking elsewhere for a new woman. Upon learning that she was now single, she had become a target for every dick that still pumped blood in her work environment. Be they young, single, married, old or just passing by, all of the men in her work had tried to get close to the new single, beautiful young woman sitting next to me. The details of how she hurt her hand were connected to this situation as when she was offered a lift home from her Police works Christmas party, a married colleague had attempted to get an invite inside her house and had tried kissing her. This led her to rejecting his advances and punching a wall in anger.
Feeling pangs of protection for my new friend I assured her that not all men were such creeps and that she could be in for a new bout of luck in the New Year. We chatted a while further, learning bits and pieces of each others lives and hopes. Despite being a Christian, she was a frequent visitor to Psychic Mediums, who I regard as some of the most deluded and vile people on this planet. Despite not being able to justify the combination of her Christian teachings and the snake oil salespeople who practice what the Church consider to be “evil, dark arts”, she none the less put a lot of stock into what these swindlers peddled. Normally I would forcibly denounce their advice and impart some real word wisdom into the deluded skulls of their followers. But this time it seemed that they may have actually done me a favour. In her last visit she was told that she would meet a fair haired man and a dark haired man, both of which she would be attracted to, but only one of which she would choose to be with. Believing me to be the fair haired man spoken of in her “prophecy” was probably the main reason why she had been attracted to me in the first place. Assuring her that this dark haired man sounded like a potential sex offender and rapist, I set about trying to win her over further with my sense of humour and laid back nature.
However all of my work was rather pointless as we were victims of circumstances that no one could control. While sitting together, chatting and watching TV, a movie came on that would increase the bind between us and make her a cat-suited lump of putty in my hands. There are some things that women are just powerless to resist, be they a man with power and money, grand romantic gestures or living out a fantasy situation. The gods had truly blessed me today as we had started watching the sexiest movie of all time, a movie that just happened to be playing while our connection was at its most open. This movie transcends time, space, race, age or even religion, this movie is one that has been made by Cupid himself in order to bring couples together. It is of course, Star Wars Episode 2: Attack of the Clones.
Having never seen a Star Wars movie before I took great delight in explaining all the plot twists and character interactions. Deciding that I looked like the young Anakin Skywalker in the movie lead her to demand that we find her the white cat-suit costume that Senator Amadala wore towards the end of the movie. Somehow this space tale of lightsabers and force powers had stirred something inside her and Claire was now revelling in the actions of Jedi and Separatists.
Sitting next to me, with her legs over my lap, she leaned her head back against the couch and closed her eyes. Looking at her beautiful face, arched neck and subtly open mouth was too much for me. I slowly moved in and planted my lips on hers and began kissing her. Slowly responding at first, she then became more active as the kissing grew stronger. Pulling away and sitting up, she looked at me and giggled a sound that only women on the verge of being truly naughty can make.
Coyingly pulling away for a few seconds, as if to give the impression that I had taken advantage of her, she moved back towards me and repeated the move, allowing me to kiss her in the same position once again. Slowly we grew more comfortable with each others advances and she complimented me on my soft, playful lips. That kind of compliment is has two meanings when said to a man. The first meaning is that you are happy that you are really happy that a woman enjoys being physical with you and the second meaning is that you don’t care in the least about lips and playfulness and just wish she would shut up and get on with it.
The minutes ticked by and things quickly heated up. She started fumbling at my belt and I felt the first real pangs of hardness creep up on me. In all honesty I had not been expecting things to go this far. You grow up hearing and being given the impression that all women hate sex and only really do it when in a long term relationship and largely against their will.
Having a little trouble getting the buckle undone, I helped her with the belt, which I feel is kind of the male equivalent of the female bra-strap and she pulled my trousers and underwear down and coiled her hand around my cock and started stroking it. Possibilities started to race through my mind. Up until this point I assumed that I was going to have some fun, but ultimately leave unsatisfied and frustrated. But now surely, with the way things were heading, the least I could look forward to was a blow job and a very happy ending.
After only a few seconds of loosely stroking me, she then did something a little unexpected and something I had not experienced before. She sat on my lap facing me, which in itself was not so unusual, but then her legs locked mine, positioning my cock so that it was angled to her body in such a way that it should be inside her. But since she was still wearing her cat-suit it was forced behind her and pointing away from me, leaving her groin resting along the length of my shaft. She began sliding back and forth, almost as you would when having sex, but instead of me being inside her, I now found my cock being used to rub against her pussy as my shaft pressed in friction against her.
Slightly confused as to this turn of events, I was none the less confident that it wouldn’t last long. After all, this was probably some form of fore-play that she liked to begin with. People get off on some very weird stuff and in my time I’ve even had to pretend to be a vampire and bite a woman on the neck, so this act of her was probably just some “cock-tease” power trip she got off on.
Thirty minutes later she was still rubbing away. At this point I really didn’t know what to think? On one hand I had this beautiful woman sitting on top of my dick and seemingly really enjoying herself and on the other hand I had a fully grown adult putting all of her weight onto my cock! I don’t care who you are or where you come from, but there is one thing I’m sure all men can agree on and that is that a mans cock is not a load bearing structure. It was not designed to have the weight of a fully grown woman pushing down on it for over thirty minutes.
Deciding that if I was to survive this onslaught on my gentiles intact, I was going to be the one to take things to the next level. Pulling down her black, tight top from the shoulders in order to try and expose her breasts was not the easiest things to do as her arms were wrapped around my head and holding onto my hair at the back. But loosening her grip and moving her back a little, I was able to achieve my goal. I eagerly took her hard erect nipples in my mouth and hoped that this would excite her enough to remove this horrible cat-suit that was now seriously getting in the way of my fun.
Things seemed to take a turn for the better when she finally relaxed her grip from my legs and dragged me down to the rug on the floor with her. Finally we are done with this fore-play crap and we can actually get down to some proper fucking. My cock was starting to feel a little worse for ware at this point and after over half an hour of constant abuse and it took all my focus and energy to get myself hard again. I laid on the rug, my clothes long since discarded and forgotten and sweat covering my body and dripping from my hair. Surely now this would be my time, my turn, my chance to have some fun! It was no to be.
She again got on top of me and put all of her weight against my cock. This was too much. Yes, she was slim and didn’t weigh that much, but its all relative. You try holding up 2 sacks of potatoes with just your dick and see how far you get. That was the kind of weight and pressure I was under. It was at this point that things were starting to become a little clearer. The choice of clothing now made perfect sense. She wasn’t wearing a cat-suit; she was wearing all in one body condom!
After an hour of this abuse I had had enough and decided I was going to have to do something, so I grabbed this beautiful, crazy woman put her on her back, taking charge of what went where. Still refusing to remove any more of her body-condom, I felt that I was going to have to get her really wound up and bursting at the seams if I was going to get any joy for myself. Despite the pretty agonising and miserable couple of hours I had spent trying to get a friction burn from her nylon suit; my eyes still saw her movie star good looking, amazing mane of hair and tight, slender body, my brain never letting me forget that I still wanted to fuck her really badly. She was an incredibly attractive woman and being so close to my goal left me desperately gagging for more.
I spread her legs apart and started rubbing myself as best I could against her pussy in this most unnatural manner. She held me tight, pushing herself tight against me and after just a few minutes I felt her orgasm and tense up in a ball of ecstasy. All of the women I had ever had the pleasure to be with had been very generous lovers and would have made sure that I was taken care of after having had their “moment”. I wrongly assumed that she would do the same. We both sat up and I prepared myself for a hand or mouth to start reaching towards my cock, but then she did something a little unexpected. She asked me the time and announced that she would have to go to bed in order to be up early for work in the morning.
Now I was angry. There I was sitting buck naked in the middle of her living room, sweet matted hair pointing in all directions, making me look like some sort of Vietnam P.O.W. who had just been interrogated with a car batter. My rapidly beaten and bruised cock had finally giving up the fight and was wisely retreating back to its dormant state.
Is that it? So I don’t get to come? This is shit!
How could she do this? I looked around her shitty lounge, wondering if the Spartan choice of décor should have given some sort of clue as to her insanity. I’m really not happy at this point as I would just stayed home and fucked the laundry basket if I wanted to have sex with a pair of trousers. On the one hand I had just kind of had sex with the beautiful and stunning woman and on the other hand I had hated it with all my soul. The two just didn’t add up? How could I have hated being with such a good looking woman? But hate it I did.
I ended up spending a sleepless and miserable night in her bed. Never once removing her body condom, I was under no illusions that the change of venue would lead to a change of attitude from this wicked reject of Greek mythology (I call her Cockblockius).
I never saw Gillian again. We talked a few times on the phone, but a poorly timed joke about a gynaecologist put the final nail in the coffin of our shitty relationship. I can’t say I was upset about it in all honesty.
Growing up you are always led to believe that beautiful people are somehow “better” than “normal” people and I thought Gillian would be the most amazing and special person in the world given her good looks. What I found instead was a moody, selfish, humourless woman who tried her best to snap my cock off at the base. And in all honesty I can do without that sort of person in my life, regardless of how good looking she is. Though I do still have her telephone number….