Living

It was a beautiful afternoon. Mitchell came over about 4pm, I was reading the newspaper in the lounge room. The afternoon sun seeped in, in golden light and long shadows. Mitchell hugged a cushion and said he was going to have a nap. "Keep reading."

I thought it was adorable. I kept looking over at him sleeping.

Then we went for our planned drive. To the beach, we'd decided, because I already went to the country on the weekends.

"Are you going to let me drive?"

He claimed not to have driven a manual since his driving lessons, as an eighteen year old. "But, you know, it's like riding a bike," he'd say dead pan. And my car parks out the back and backs out onto a lane way.

I said I'd back it out, he said it would be fine.

"Are you nervous?" he asked, as he started the engine. He flashed that smile.

He drives a manual car just fine, he was stirring me up. I kind of liked him more for it, it was funny. I'm keen on my car, he wanted to see if I trusted him.

We drove to Brighton and walked along the sand, by the multi-coloured bathing boxes, as the sun set. It was still warm, but the wind was cool. Mitchell wore a hoodie, he looked cute in it. I wore a lambswool lined coat. I sneaked looks at him. I caught him sneaking looks at me.

Some guy was taking photos directly out to sea. An old woman walked a Westie. A husband and wife sat in their car with their baby, in its car seat with every window covered in a shade device, and ate fish & chips.

We came home and ate half of Shane and David's pizza. They went to Sircuit and got their cocks sucked. Well David did, he had three guys sharing his cock, all on their knees. Shane isn't home yet.

Mitchell and I watched Blues Brothers. He had to go, just as we got all, well, you know. He was staying with some friends, it was a part of the deal. They were having some one over who they thought Mitchell knew.

That was okay, I don't mind that. I don't mind the anticipation. (if I knew we were sexual compatible already, I wouldn't mind the anticipation) Besides, it's nice to see he keeps his word, you know?

I like him. He's smart. He's funny. He's got a nice smile. My top three.

He wanted to stay. "You should have told me sooner." That smile. "Or, something?"

But this not doing sex straight up, it's wrong. It should be the first thing, before names, if you like. Although, I've always been kind of old fashioned, certainly amongst my mates and I always like to, at least, speak to them first. You got to know the sex is good, then you can build any where from there.

We should have had sex already, but we haven't - because we met through friends and not at a bar or sex venue.

I have sexual deal breakers. Bad kisser. Bad sex. Small penis. I'll dump him... and all this will have been for nothing. His cock doesn't have to be huge, but it has to be, at least, average. It has to be enthusiastic sex, a star fish is out and won't keep my interest. He has to be a good kisser. A bad kisser is a definite deal breaker - although, I'd be willing to put in a little on the job training, to see if there was any improvement.

We've hardly fooled around at all, essentially, we haven't. We've just been getting to know each other, if you like.

Tonight, he said he had spots on his tongue, which were hurting. He thought he'd had an allergic reaction, which may have been a plausible reason... but, I suspect he, grimace, could be a bad kisser... maybe? Eyebrow raise. Head tilt.

I think he has a touch of the hypochondria, which is why we didn't kiss much. His tongue hurt. But, to tell you the truth, to me, that says he is, probably, meant for me, rather than the opposite. Every one of my boyfriends have had it. They've all had the hypochondria gene, to a greater or lesser extent. In a strange kind of way, I find it endearing.