Intercourse:Features

Filthy

I awoke this morning with a tiny Deerhead Chihuahua asleep at my feet and a Royal Marine weighing more than twice my body weight, with thighs bigger than my corseted waist lying in bed beside me. 

Thank you, Universe. 

Two years off four decades of daily, worsening physical pain, I fucking deserve this...

I love men. I do. As a female, I appreciate and enjoy the differences between our minds - the way our biology and chemistry shapes our brains and beings very differently.

I'm grateful to and have much respect for the males on this planet who do the dirtier, more dangerous and downright unpleasant jobs stereotypically done by them for a whole host of reasons. 

Arguably, when it comes to the natural dichotomy of animal things, there would be no feminine without masculine - and vice versa of course. Binary opposition. Could light exist without the dark, or dark without the light? How would we know one from the other if both did not exist? 

My photographer is male and he is the person I spend most time with.

Yes. I appreciate the male mind.

And body.

I just don't want to actually fuck many of you. 

Perverts

'Marines are all perverts,' another military friend of ten years told me a few weeks ago after finding out I'd entangled myself with one. I'd heard that said before, and my experience was 100/100 in terms of backing that up.

From my perspective, if I told this particular RMC to don my long ash-blonde wig, bend over and let me fuck him up his toned little ass, he probably would. 

With that contagious, wide grin of his looking back over his biteable shoulder at me...

However, I've only 'known' one, and one does not all make, so I'm not saying that that friend is right. 

I'm just saying what he said. 

Having last night with the Marine was fun. Especially after three cancellations - two because of my body and high pain levels - in the last five weeks. I had looked forward to it. Nervously. 

'Three years,' I wrote to him, 'you still make me nervous.'

'Because we keep finding weird things to do with each other,' he replied the night before arriving here just after dark. 

I'm still not sure we've done anything that weird, which we'll get into later. I'm also not certain how it got to be three years since we met. November 20th, 2020, to be precise. I know because I asked him to double-check the date for me before writing this. 

He sent me a Flirt on a military dating website and I responded by messaging him, ending my digital missive with 'Flirting, are we?'. We certainly were, and did so for eighteen months before finally meeting up in person. Prior to that, apparently, he was convinced I was adamant that nothing sexual was going to happen between us. Little did he know, before I'd sent that first message in response to him initiating contact, I had decided that, were he not a complete prick, I could probably fuck him. Neither did he know that I have felt smug about him. Why wouldn't I? 

I think he's gorgeous...

And, I think it gave him some sense of achievement when we did become sexual with each other, based on the belief that I'd decided it wasn't ever going to happen. Not that first batch of times, and definitely not the second after we'd fallen out then fallen into silence. When I did confess to him that I had already sort of set my sights on screwing him after he had expressed an interest and before we'd exchanged messages, the conversation ended with me giggling, admitting that I was mainly waiting for him to turn 35 before fucking him...Darn that pesky age gap!

That's twelve years and I didn't necessarily see a way around. 

No matter - he did, and we've spent the last couple of years meeting up now and then and getting naked with each other. In between these times, our conversation is often...No, usually...In the gutter. He makes me smile where there would otherwise not be those smiles, and for that alone, I appreciate his presence in my life. 

The sex?

Well that's a huge bonus, obviously, and I think there is a chance he may be the last man I do actually fuck. How depressing. As I said, I don't find many male humans I do want to fuck. Instead of dwelling on that, we'll focus on the fun parts of this man and stick to all the ways in which there is just one word for him.

Filthy. 

He'd informed me he was in the middle of fucking his toy again.

I replied telling him that if I clench my muscles, tense myself, I'm so tight, it feels like pushing into a virgin again...

'That'll do it...' I think he replied, letting me know he was about

to blow his load.

With A 'T'...

The website on which we met has a feed of all the men who are online and available to talk to. I'd noticed him before. Once in a while, a few faces jump out of that feed. I may not know why at the time, but they would often drop me a line after catching my eye. It was strange. He, in his red vest, had stood out a few times as I'd scrolled, but I was never going to make contact with him because he's so much younger than me. 

Besides, he had 'Trouble' stamped all over him. 

His Flirt, though, had obviously opened the door for me to try chatting with him. And chat we did, he making no bones about sex being the only thing he's interested in. After eighteen months online, we finally met up for a coffee in my village. By this point, both of us had spent time masturbating while thinking of each other, we hadn't been shy about it and we'd had tens of sexual conversations through the ether.

There was one, early on in the the first year that I still remember to this day. I'd been busy and when I logged-on to the dating site, he'd written informing me he was in the middle of fucking his toy again. The exact words escape me now, but I replied telling him that if I clench my muscles, tense myself, I'm so tight, it feels like pushing into a virgin again...

'That'll do it...' I think he replied, letting me know he was about to blow his load.

To some, that would have been a disturbing thing to say, but I knew he had a sexual...Edge? To him. One not all men have. 

During our first meeting as we sat with civilised lattes at a table, he would, twice, sit there stroking himself.

He was just the change I needed.

When he and I first started talking, I was still very much in the early stages of grief caused by the unexpected and well publicised death of another man I had been close to for a number of years.  This RM was a most welcome distraction from the ongoing misery of that loss. One I still feel today, as I said. 

He and I can chat and have chatted for hours in person, in voices. Most of our time, though, is spent at each other, at one part of each other's bodies or another. Mouths, tongues, lips, toes, legs, fingertips...When it comes to his mind and body, I can't seem to get enough.

Take last night, for example...The day before, I'd spent about three hours wanking while thinking of him, and as he arrived yesterday just after dark, I was lying on my bed, bright pink, woolly hat pulled down over my eyes, heels on for him, touching myself thinking of him. He came in, we had a coffee and a cigarette, and within the hour, he was topless on my bed delivering exactly what I had told him I'd wanted right at the start after he had asked - a Lover with a capital 'L'. 

A man I could meet up with once at least once a month and have a good time with, good sex with, without the complications or responsibilities of an emotional relationship or coupling.

Back in 2020, he said he could fill those shoes and with a place of his own about forty minutes away, he was in my region throughout the year with somewhere we could go to play if we so wished. Which we did. The first time we fucked, it was at his place up the road. 

We chat via Insta pretty much every day, nothing deep, but enough to brighten my time. It's straight forward now. Last year, we kind of fell out. I felt he was messing me about (read 'not fucking me often enough') and I was obviously doing (or not doing) something he found unappealing.

I had a go at him via a private video, which gave him an erection, so he says, we had a little further conflict, I did a couple of things I knew he wouldn't like, we told one another the things we didn't like in the other, then we ignored each other for a little while. After two years of almost daily contact with him, I missed him! It was boring. Life. 

The worst part of that period for me was that, having spent pretty much two years programming my brain to desire him, see him as a reward, by making myself cum while thinking of him, and mainly only him, the only way to not think of him was to stop.

So, wanking had to go...

Eventually, we ended up back in touch and met for a coffee in the same place we'd had our first date. The one where he'd sat stroking himself hard through his shorts while looking me directly in the eyes across the table between us, and we've fucked each other numerous times over the course of 2023 since then. I'd said no four times before finally agreeing to see him again after that little gap. Since turning up, crashing my wheelchair upon arrival and sitting there sweating in my black salopettes the entire time, I feel like something in him has changed since where I'm concerned. From my perspective, it's as if he made a decision to deliver what he said he would - consistent, regular sex. 

Which is exactly what I was looking for. 

Well...Maybe not exactly what I was looking for. I don't know how I got to this point in my life where I have a man more than ten years my junior turning up and getting naked with me, but it's a point in my life I am very much enjoying.

Even if he does sometimes test my boundaries...

He accused me of threatening him once. It was a while ago and I felt that he hadn't been fucking me often enough for my liking. 'I need another you,' I'd written to him, meaning it, but assuming he knew the chances of me finding another man to fuck while fucking him stands slightly above No Chance. 

'Don't threaten me,' he replied, kinda making me smile. Kinda raising my hackles a little too. I am, after all, free...

I do not belong to him and he does not belong to me. I have no say in his life whatsoever and he had no say in mine. That is understood, surely?

A second him would be a glorious thing for the times he is not available. It is not, sadly, anything I think I'll ever find again. He is a peculiar and interesting mix. His idea that I was threatening him in some way may have been slightly shocking for me, but the fact he is this curious sexual combination was not. 

Some things are apparent upon first sight...

He is also intelligent, funny and irreverent.  Tall, broad, meaty, he is covered in body hair

and dripping in ink. He has crystalline blue eyes an

 a huge, girthy grin.

That's not all that is girthy,

which is another huge bonus. Literally...

Tell By Looking

He likes feet. He really likes feet. Mine have never been smoother, softer or more tended to (not just for the website, but mainly for him). I like this like of feet. I don't know why. I'm sure if I broke it down far enough I could figure out what the plus side is. Relatively early on I'd figured out he likes feet and took and sent what would become the very first photos and the idea for this website. 

Something else I need to thank him for. 

Earlier this year, while we were at the hotel in my village, our first meeting place, again, he asked me how I knew. How had I known that he had this particular kink? 

I sat there trying to pull the How out of the air. In the end, I settled on repeating 'You can tell by looking. You can tell be looking,' delivered with a shrug. That was the truth.  Every now and then, those men who jumped out of the feed on the dating website leapt out with an overwhelmingly strong thought accompanying them. In his case, it was that he liked feet.

That may sound strange - the knowing, not the the actual love of this part of the body. It was the only answer I could give to him. I had seen his photographs, looked at them and known, had been able to tell by looking at him. There was just something about his appearance signalling to me that his sexuality was probably pretty left of centre, including a Foot Fetish, and I was right. He might not agree with that, the left of centre bit (though I think he would), and I'm not a man. I don't know what your deepest darkest desires are. All I know is that this man, standing nearly a foot taller than me when I'm not in 'his' heels, can tie some exquisitely beautiful Shibari outfits and intricate binds, and he wanted me to fuck him up the ass. 

So I did. 

Told you.

He's filthy. 

He is also intelligent, funny and irreverent. Physically, I think he's beautiful. Tall, broad, meaty, he is covered in body hair and dripping in ink. He has crystalline blue eyes and a huge, girthy grin. That's not all that is girthy, which is another huge bonus. Literally...Ask me three things about his life, however, and I'd probably be unlikely to be able to provide you with correct information. We don't talk about ourselves. We don't discuss the trials, the tribulations. I think he has PTSD from his experiences as one of the UK's most elite soldiers. That's an assumption, though, and it's not something I would mention to him directly or that we would discuss. 

Instead of indepth heart-to-heart confessionals and conversations, we're more likely to share a sexual fantasy or scenario involving the other with the other. He'll send me gym photographs and videos, along with explicit shots and footage of him fucking his lucky Fleshlight now and then. Once in a Blue Moon I'll send him a few frames, though not as explicit as those I've received from him over the last few years.

We don't do heart-to-heart conversations. We do hours of oral and squeezing his balls as he sighs beneath my touch, slides onto my tongue between my lips, dips his face between my open legs or buries himself, balls deep, inside me...

'It's not my first rodeo,'

he said when we were discussing the idea of

me buggering him. 

'It is mine,' I replied, not without nerves about the whole idea.

He turned up with a strap-on and selection of dildos...

Switch It Up

This man I have found and, somehow, inexplicably linked-up with has brought new experiences to my life.  'It's not my first rodeo,' he informed me not too long ago when we were discussing the idea of me buggering him. 

'It is mine,' I replied, not without nerves about the whole idea. He turned up, with a brand-new packaged strap-on harness and a selection of dildos. I couldn't help but smile when he gave the box to me because of the branding on it. I'm sure I saw a little smile in his eyes as he watched me read the words 'Royal' and 'Princess' - a quality and comfortable harness, no doubt. 

By the time I'd finished with him, then he'd finished with me, there was a dildo in my bathroom sink, one between the bed and the wall, one next to the bed on the floor and another one or two more in my sitting room, he was sore for a few days, but a good time was had by both of us and it was what he had wanted. It was what he had very specifically wanted. As I say in 'EDSM', I've done a lot of things in life, had a lot of experiences, and that was not one I was going pass up. Would I do it again?

If he wanted to curl up in his subby little self and offer up that pert ass to me again, I wouldn't say no. Not if it brings him pleasure and good memories. Something to look back and smile at, if not shake our heads at. Why not? If we're both consenting...

He isn't always submissive, though. There are times when he switches and is very much the one in control, and strength v strength, size v size, I will lose any physical battle for Dominance with him every time. Aside from his military career, he also is experienced in martial arts and another form of fighting I won't detail here to help protect some semblance of privacy for him - suffice it to say, you would not want to be on the receiving end of one of his punches...

Yes.

Sometimes, he is the Dom one. 

The first time we fucked, he had my arms above my head on his the bed in a hold I couldn't have escaped if I'd wanted to.  I loved it. Since then, we have played with his ropes, red and black, and various Shibari harnesses that he has tied with stunning precision on my frame. The last time I saw him, the plan was for us to take some Shibari shots for 'EDSM'. But we got caught up in our binds and I ended up on my side, my arms tied to my legs behind my spine, him pulling my underwear aside and fucking me from behind. 

It was great. 

Until my corset kicked in beneath the ropes over my dress, I couldn't catch a breath and we had to stop and unlace me as quickly as possible. He had me bound from my very toes, all the way up my shins to my knees, maybe a little higher. The knots, ornate and purposely placed, pressing on and framing parts of my body according to where he wants them to be. It truly is a stunning thing to watch being created - and to wear. I find the process of watching him tie me relaxing. 

It stills my busy mind, a rare and appreciated thing. 

Just like him.

It's a shame it must soon come to an end...

If he were a tiny bit too rough or got me at the wrong angle, he could

internally decapitate me...

Finite Affair

He and I are, by our very nature, only a temporary thing.  This is not love. It has no future, no plans. It is for as long as it lasts - which cannot be that much longer. Fact. I mentioned the age gap between us and this will, from my stance, end us soon. I shall miss him when that time comes, but it is an inevitability in this situation. 

I can't believe we've lasted this long, to be honest - there must be many younger women out there also willing to open their minds and bodies to him. He cannot be short of attention. 

That said, I can see some women being repelled by certain aspects of this and him. Not every woman is willing to don a dildo and penetrate a man. It is what it is. Not every woman would be content with such a casual arrangement or with activities such as having the soles of her feet fucked. Not every woman would encourage his subby side, enjoy watching him wanking, being called 'Miss' and taking soft charge of proceedings, be willing to bear his binds, listen to him begging her to stop but continuing anyway, or say some of the things that turn him on when he's being fucked - up the ass or otherwise.

Some men are discouraged by my medical situation, but to be honest, even in my Thirties, when I was pretty much stuck in bed or on a sofa with my legs tied together to protect my pelvis for ten years, finding men has never really been a problem. I was in relationships pretty much constantly from the age of sixteen. I'd never, though, asked any of the men I'd 'known' if they had noticed any differences between other women's 'normal' bodies and my Ehlers-Danlos body. So, I decided to ask this delicious RM if he had?

"Not on my own," he told me. "I would have just put them down to individual differences. But having found out more, the soft skin, the long limbs, and exceptional bendiness...And of course the occasional warning about decapitation..."

What's the decapitation bit about?

The first time we fucked at his place, I was on all fours and he was behind me. He grasped my hair and pulled my head backwards a little. A little down the line I had to tell him we can't do that. Craniocervical Instability, or CCI.

My neck is already done for.

Hypermobile, subluxing countless times a day, discs pretty much gone because of the HEDS. Throw some CCI into the mix, and it means my skull is not properly attached to my neck and in an ideal world, I would have my most of my spine bolted together with rods, and my skull screwed on to my neck. However, my body doesn't heal well enough for any kind of cutting to be safe, and I don't have the £250-500,000 it would cost to do the procedure. 

This all means that if he were to be a tiny bit too rough or just get me at the wrong angle, he could internally decapitate me by pulling my hair and head back at all...

I did ask him about difference twice. The first time, regarding my hypermobility, he mentioned being able to fold me 'like a deck chair' and me being able to 'get your knees level with your ears' too. He is right about my 'bendiness'.

The great Professor Rodney Grahame, a London-based forefather of modern EDS medicine, examined me and told me I was one of the most hypermobile people he had seen up until that point (1999). He'd had me hold my arms out from my sides and measured my wing span. Then he told me to stretch and measured me again. 

"You've just given me an extra two and a half inches," he determined with a smile across his face. "Your arm span is now ten centimetres longer than you are tall. It's called Marfanoid Habitus after Marfan Syndrome. It's related to Ehlers-Danlos."

Apparently, ten centimetres is a lot.

The Prof also then told me I have the torso of someone who is 5'2 and the arms and legs of someone who is 5'10-5'11. Since the discs between the bones in my spine started destroying themselves, I have lost some height, and I'm now nearer 5'4 than 5'6. Pop me in some heels, like the stilettos I bought specifically for my military playmate to enjoy however he sees fit (I have seen the glorious sight of him fucking them through the toe holes on my bed. Climbed behind him and started eating his neck), and I'm nearly six feet tall and my legs look really long.

My extra-stretchy arms - and spine and hips and legs - are why I can reach things people who are taller than me cannot always reach. I can stretch my skeleton apart by up to ten centimetres. 

Sounds good, huh?

It hurts.

Believe that. 

And, as mentioned, getting my knees next to my ears if I want to is really no problem whatsoever...

All this said, is what he said correct?

He left after his usual bacon

and egg sarnies and I started thinking...Do we do weird things? Really?

First and foremost, I feel any responsibility for anything

strange to lie squarely on those beefy shoulders of his. 

Secondly, I'm not sure we have done anything that abnormal. 

Have we?

Weird

This time last night, he was here, naked on my bed and in my mouth, cursing and catching his breath because of what I was doing to him. When he was finally cumming inside me, I was cumming so hard on him, I could not breathe at one point. We usually orgasm at the same time, and I normally climax at least twice. 

He left this morning after his usual bacon and egg sandwiches that I make for him (those thighs need fuel), and after spending another hour or two fucking myself again while fantasizing about him, I started thinking...Do we do weird things? Really?

First and foremost, I feel that any and all responsibility for anything anyone might consider strange to lie squarely on those beefy shoulders of his. 

Secondly, I'm not sure we have done anything that abnormal. 

Have we?

Granted, he has introduced me to a couple of new things I hadn't tried before - like his beautiful Shibari skills, a fur-lined strap-on harness and having squashed chocolate muffin eaten from between my 

buttercream-covered toes, which he later then fucked. 

A Good Boy, he'll call me 'Miss' and beg me to stop, then beg me to carry on.

He is sometimes Dominant too, with or without his ropes...

Personally, I've never used the words 'pussy', 'cock' or 'fuck' more than I have in the last few years during communications with him. We've had nights we just fucked once (after at least a couple of hours of foreplay), there are nights we've fucked five times, finally falling asleep for a few hours as it's getting light.

While he has shifted some, he respects my sexual boundaries, having met with and accepted a couple of hard limits. Which are?

No hitting. No spitting. No pissing.

You can add 'no shitting' to that too, but thankfully that isn't an activity he has enquired about experimenting with...

Other than that, while I'm sure more lines could be discovered and drawn,

I can't really think of any other directions in which he would want me to go with him to which I would say no. 

It's possible, though.

He is filthy, after all.

But, if he's filthy, and he's my type,

what does that make me?