(Not at all like this girl – just needed a Google Image to match the moniker).
JJ Rousseau, my wing, had returned from the USA armed with stories of lays, near lays and potential lays. We spent a few hours marauding through the city and harbour, JJ suffering from a phone full of dead leads he hoped to resurrect before Easter, and me on a high from a great daygame session on Monday with Tom.
Yon, another wing, had agreed to meet up at 5pm at the Strand Arcade. As we approached the Strand, JJ encouraged me to throw myself into a set of a girl who went into a shop – but which shop? I lost her. As I returned, JJ had gone and Yon was there.
A small, petite Asian girl stood some three metres in front of us against a wall. She had given me a short Indicator of Interest and then looked away. I commented to Yon about her: “This one – IOI – naughty girl. I couldn’t be bothered to approach her”. Yon, ever encouraging, sent me in.
I front stopped her after letting her walk away from me for about thirty metres. She was small, petite, Asian, smartly presented and with big brown eyes that could only be made through contact lenses. I surmised she was Japanese.
She was – and she hooked. The banter was light yet strained due to the language barrier. She had been studying English for six months and planned to go home to Japan in May. Osaka girl.
I touched her a lot and she was receptive. She was doing nothing, like me, so sensed an instant date was in order. She said Yes – which could have been anything between a Yes and a No – and I slapped her hands and jokingly demanded a Yes or No.
“Yes”, she said. I ruminated on whether it was a pleasing Yes … and then decided that I didn’t care – I was going to lead this girl anyway.
We made our way to the State Theatre bar presided over by a clownish looking doorkeeper with a lock motif hung around her neck. (Ghostbusters came to mind). Upstairs, the bar was quite stylish and we sat on high stools at the bar. I picked an order of two glasses of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, a safe bet. She remarked that she was a bartender at a Japanese restaurant in a nearby suburb and loved my wine choice.
She described herself as 90% bad which in my opinion was even a % higher than the vast majority of women or men. I imagined that I had picked up a girl who was a nasty mix of all things shibari, bukkake and schoolgirl/maid dresser. I threw an assumption in that she was a nurse … and she was! The mix of death and decay along with large amounts of empathy and Japanese mindfulness seemed to create orgasmic sexpots in nurses from that country – Bumblebee was a nurse as well.
I noticed at one point some micro glances to my lips and then I knew that it ON between us.
She left at 5:45pm to meet her roommate and friends for dinner. I pointed to her as we left the bar and jokingly demanded that we would see each other later in the evening.
She agreed to meet at 9:15pm at Kings Cross Station. She was punctual and we walked to my car so I could choose a venue close to home.
We went for wine at a large bar near the house, this time ordering red for myself and white for her (immaterial but anyway). Questions Game ensued and I was able to glean some hard facts about her sex life and time in Australia:
1. She had had six boyfriends in Japan, all Japanese. This seemed like a lot for a Japanese girl of 25.
2. She had been in Australia for six months yet had never dated an Australian.
3. She had been in a “love motel” a number of times but did not like them as they are dirty.
An reasonable man on a Clapham tram would surmise from those three points that she had not been fucked in at least six months yet loved to fuck.
She tested me and asked if I was a “playboy” and had lots of girlfriends; why I had the app Line; and why I had spoken to her. I buffered myself against the tests and brushed them off.
I looked at my watch – it was 10pm. She mentioned she needed to be home by midnight and I gave her the moniker Cinderella. I drank the rest of her wine and asked her to come back to mine to play a song on the piano. Plausible deniability ensued.
She took her shoes off and sat down on the lounge. I offered her peppermint tea and she softly held one of my mohair pillows against her chest as protection.
A piece of music came to mind and I played her Dvorak’s theme from the Ninth Symphony:
I went to the bathroom and grabbed some massage oil and began giving her a foot massage. (Most girls are surprised when I do this as they have rarely received one from a man or lover). Small, cute feet.
The pillow had to go. I threw it away and picked her up off the lounge to test her weight. She was light, around 45-50kgs – the kind of weight where you really could carry a girl on your shoulder and throw them on the bed.
Standing face to face, I went for the kiss and pulled her head in, stopping just short of kissing her until we had completed the little final seduction dance of who would kiss first. We kissed – soft lips – and a surprisingly good kisser. I let her hair down and started kissing her neck, sending a soft moan and shudder through her. This proved to be her Achilles Nape and I used it to good effect to get her clothes off.
She initiated Operational Order Last Minute Resistance (OPORD LMR) and I countermanded it with my Tactical Plan Nape (TACPLAN Nape) of using each kiss of the neck as a forebrain distraction to get each piece of clothing off. She kept on gently joking “No” and “bad boy” which I happily agreed to and kept going.
I took my shirt off and then later my pants in a tactical push. We stood there as she gave me a handjob. I started on her bra and shirt, both requiring serious levels of patience and forebrain distraction to get off. She had pert, little breasts and a nice belly button ring.
I had remembered sitting on the date with an erection admiring her tight figure and jeans. She softly mentioned it was her Ladies Day. This did not worry me as I had already cured myself of the fear of coagulated blood and gore on my penis at the tender age of 21. In the words of a colleague: “when you are stuck in the sexual desert, it doesn’t matter whether the oasis is red or clear”.
The jeans came off slowly but surely until, at one point, I just pulled them off and threw them on the ground. She had green lingerie on and I suspected the period story might not have been true … yet there was a pad in place.
The undies were the easiest piece of clothing to remove – they fell to the ground with a pad covered in blood. I took no chances and drew on a piece of advice that I had found floating on the Internet – fingering almost invariably leads to penetrative sex.
I fingered her for some time as she moaned and warmed up to the idea of sex. Pulling out my fingers, I looked down and was reminded of the scene in Macbeth where Lady Macbeth could not remove the blood stains from her hand:
I picked her up and carried her on my side to the cupboard to get a red towel. Throwing it on the bed, I was reminded of a contestant in a recent dating reality show in Australia who had advised the other men of the group that women just wanted to be “thrown on the bed”. It was true – I loved doing this, and so did the girls.
I pulled out a Sagami and started to fuck her. She was petite, curvy and soft, yet inside her I was surprised at the depth I could go. (I remember a girl I fucked in Thailand where the experience could only be described as “hitting the back wall”).
I felt selfish and after a couple of minutes of missionary – you know, where you hold the girl’s legs against your chest and bear hug her into submission – I came hard. And yet I stayed hard and continued fucking her. The squelching and writhing went on and she eventually came and went into an odd comatose position where we both held an extended kiss for about two minutes.
I let her rest for a bit and looked down on her – the fetal, comatose, collapsed wreck of a woman surrounded by pussy juices and blood and sweat. It was a beautiful sight to behold and one of the great experiences in life (up there with the top-down view of a girl as you fuck her from behind and ask yourself Talking Heads-wise “how did I get here?”)
I offered her tea and started another round of fucking, this time standing doggy pulling her hair and slapping her arse. She jumped in pain – sometimes the penetration is just too deep. We fucked for about twenty minutes in a few positions more before she softly panted: “give up, give up, Coco”.
A Dream Is What You Wish For
Cinderella was supposed to be home at midnight and I got her dressed and packed in the car. We talked a little about Disney and my trip to Disneyland Paris. Contrasting the blood and gore and fucking of only twenty minutes before, we sat in the car singing Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo before getting starry-eyed with the music of a A Dream Is What You Wish For.
I gave myself the moniker Pinocchio and we laughed before saying goodbye to each other. No kiss, no hug, no handholding. Just a friendly goodbye. She bobbed off into the distance happy and cheerful.
(Above – RedCoco the day after fucking a random Japanese girl within two hours).
As I drove home, it occurred to me that I had met this girl at 5:10pm, spent 35 minutes on an instant date, then another 45 minutes on a second date before getting her back to the house. LMR took 30 minutes before my penis ended up in her vagina. How on earth did this happen so quickly?!
I started thinking – the Secret Society really is just about certain males expressing specific qualities to females that demonstrates a r-selected mating strategy – and all under the noses of a world of K-selected males. It was like a world had opened up to me which was previously invisible – and now I was part of it. I had fucked this girl fast and then quietly and sweetly put her back on the shelf, with the world none the wiser.
I had achieved my very first Same Day D-Lay.