Booty Call from The Booty Caller

The back story

Some of you may recall earlier this year I reconnected with an old flame of mine… If you missed that trilogy you can start catching up here…

The girls were giving me some grief – to be nicknamed The Booty Caller, they insisted there must be some booty involved… And there was… finally… but it was after he had taken me to the Vic Night Market… a night out which the girls insisted was a ‘date’.

The sex was brief that night. Nothing like what it used to be. Whether it was nerves, a stupid amount of anticipation leading to an (anti) climax or the fact that we had both aged 6 years since we saw each other nakey nakey naked… whatever the fuck happened, it wasn’t a great time.

We dropped out of touch again.

Until last week.

A subtle SMS

I was at the airport at around midnight last Saturday evening. Tullamarine is not my usual weekend hang out, but I was picking up my brother, so there I was. I get a message from The Booty Caller and without even opening it, I know what’s going down later tonight. It’s in that moment I thank the lord I had the foresight to get every inch of my body lasered from the mo down… I don’t even have to stall him while I shave.

He asks where I am and I tell him – I’m not giving the game away yet. He says he is out, drinking at a bucks night, a street away from mine. I tease that he should have told me, we could have hung out post celebrations… and he suggests I come to his place anyway.

But Frankie is inside, and I can’t leave my fur baby alone, indoors, for a whole evening? So, I decline, and offer up my place instead. He worries about my sister being home, but as soon as he learns that I now live alone, he says he will Uber over as soon as I’m home.

I take my sweet ass time doing all I have to do with my brother and when I finally get home, I let him know. Without being arrogant, gone are the days I rush home and rearrange my plans for a man who not only doesn’t appreciate it, but then goes on to cancel. I have now learnt to prioritise what I’m doing and who I’m doing it with – especially in the case of a booty call.

The foreplay

He replies instantly, telling me he’ll be 15 minutes. I prepare. Mentally and physically. I reply telling him I’m looking forward to a cuddle. He responds reminding me that he’s the big spoon; as if I’m going to argue.

He then asks if I’m wearing a g-string and I tell him I’m not. He asks if I’m wearing my pyjamas and I tell him I am…

Just to clarify… I don’t wear g-strings, I wear cheeky or Brazillian cut – and I had a tee on; one from the Coco Bongo from the time I was in Mexico and someone spilled their beer on me so I got given a branded tee out of sympathy… Take me or leave me, it was your booty call, mate.

His last message told me to leave the door unlocked so he could let himself in and hop straight into bed. I did, pretending I wouldn’t have to get out of bed to buzz him up anyway… I feel that this little request alluded to the suggestion from the last blogs about The Booty Caller perhaps being a bit lonely… it was kind of like he wanted to set up a bit of a role play scenario. Like when you get home from a night out, and there’s someone waiting for you, a warm bed to hop into, a real life human to cuddle with and debrief to. If this was the case, I was there for it.

Game time

On time, he buzzes. I let him up and unlock the door, hopping back into bed, just the fairy lights on – the perfect mood lighting. He comes in and he’s looking good; a bit dressed up for the bucks night maybe?

He doesn’t waste any time stripping down to his jocks and hopping into bed, instructing me to roll over and be the little spoon as he asks me about my day. Mid sentence, he stops, commanding me to take my t-shirt off. I do, whilst rattling off about the studies done that show the health benefits of skin on skin contact. He is holding me so tight my fleshy woman flab is bulging out in every direction, between his arms and fingers. He has always loved my buxomness, so I remind myself to not feel self-conscious.

As he’s talking he starts rubbing my thigh. It feels nice. There’s such a sense of familiarity between us. Already this is so much more than last time… I am hopeful. He is rubbing my thigh but he also doesn’t want to stop holding me. His hands all over are feeling amazing.

For some reason, tonight is all about me. He is showering me in attention, the touch, the kiss, the moves – are all about me. I am the focus. He is getting pleasure from my pleasure. And it’s so fucking nice.

Side note

I have to add a little interjection here; I have found that as I’ve gotten older, the less selfish my lovers have become. When I was young, boys were selfish. They would always demand to go first, and fob you off when they were finished, never giving you a turn. These days I find so many men relish giving pleasure… It’s like men have finally learnt what many of us women discovered long ago; that giving is as much fun as receiving – sometimes, even better.

Until next time

We finish up and lay together for a short while. He knows I don’t like men to stay over, and he says he has to get back to his dog. As he dresses I ask about his daughter, and remind him how much I enjoy his company, and what a great cuddler he is. He reminds me he’s only a message away – is this an invitation to a more regular rendezvous?

I get up and walk him to the door, thanking him for coming as he gives me a massive bear hug and kiss on the head. The familiarity, the mutual respect… I told ya… we’ve always just worked in a friends with benefits situation.

So there you have it folks… it took 6 months after rekindling our friendship… but what do you know? I finally got booty called by The Booty Caller…

 

 

 

 

 

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