It started with and ended with Tom. Let me explain. I'd been married for a few years to a bastard disguised as a gentleman. I though he was charming, despite his complete inability to tell the truth. After I threw him out, I kept to the house for a long time. No dating. No boyfriends. No sex. Well, not with anyone else. And I was happy, I thought. My right hand had an intimate connection with my privates, my fantasies were the equal of anything you could imagine, so to speak, and what the hell else could I need? Work was absorbing, challenging and frustrating, just as it should be. I had money, not much, but then I didn't need a great deal.

I have no idea why I went out with the girls that night, nor why I drank so much, and I sure as Hell can't tell you why I took Tom home. Unless I wasn't so in love with my right hand as I thought.

Tom was no great lover. Actually, he wasn't a lover at all. He was more of a fucker. Yes, that's it. A fucker. He liked to fuck, to be fucked. He had no time for the niceties of life, love, or lovemaking. A fucker, that's all.

As I turned and closed the door to the house behind me, he grabbed my shoulders, gently but firmly, and pushed me against the wall in the hallway. After commanding me to stand where I was, he proceeded to strip me, not quite tearing my clothes off, but close enough. Soon enough I was standing naked in front of him, excited and scared at the same time.

After commanding me to stay where I was again, he moved back slightly, and removed his own clothes, revealing a stunning erection, an appropriate decoration for his muscled hairy thighs.

Not wasting any further time, he approached like a white hunter who had managed to trap a tiger in his cage. When he reached me, he kissed me on the lips. Hard. Repeatedly. Then suddenly he scooped me up in his strong arms, his hands on my butt, my back against the wall, and spread my legs like they were his possessions, which I guess they were.

My fear didn't banish the excitement, and I could feel myself hot and dripping as his mouth returned to mine. Just as I was getting used to the rough touch of his lips and the soft firmness of his tongue, he literally dropped me over himself, his big cock sliding up inside my wetness, tight and hard, stretching me delightfully, making himself comfortable as he grunted in my ear.

After holding still for a moment, he started to move. His hands lifted me momentarily from him as pulled his thighs back, and then he pumped himself back deep inside, pushing hard again as his hands released their hold, my full weight on just his manhood and the wall.

And as he got the rhythm going, I was raised and lowered like an old fashioned water pump, oblivious to everything except the feeling rising from my loins. The relentless pressure was bringing me near the edge, a cutting tingle spreading from my legs, an excitement vastly different from the controlled arousal my fingers provided.

As the frequency of his pumping and grunt continued to increase, I realised he was as close to orgasm as me, and as he finally pulled himself deep inside me, and filled me with his hot stickiness, I tipped over the peak, and came in an avalanche of pleasure, with a hot edge of surprise, and the taste of unadulterated lust on my lips.

He didn't waste much time after that, disentangling his no longer erect connection, and gently lowering me to the floor. He grunted some sort of thanks, threw his clothes on, and took off out the door. I was astounded to have not even got to the bedroom, and stood in the hallway, a stranger's hot semen dripping from me, and I thought of all the reasons I should not have done this.

I'm ashamed to say I liked it. Not Tom. I didn't like him specially. I liked the way he got on the job, finished without fuss, and left. Hell, the state I was in, I'm not certain exactly what happened anyway, but it was rough and ready, to be sure. And then he left, just as he should have.

The following day one of the girls phoned to see how things were going. She, and the others, had been surprised the night before, first because I got drunk, second because I dragged a strange man home with me. I told her what I could recall of what happened, and was foolish enough to accept her offer of another night out, just for the hell of it. And I did it again. No, I didn't bring Tom home. It was another one. God only knows what his name was. He wasn't quite the master of the game that Tom was, but he wasn't bad, not bad at all. We did make to the bedroom that time.

And it all became a habit. I'd go out, usually alone, have a few drinks, and drag an unsuspecting man home, and one of us would ravish the other. Ideally he would take the lead, and drive me to distraction with his technique, but I wasn't above taking control myself if necessary. It was always swift precise action though. No romantic stuff. As I said, fucking. There were no shortage of times that I had to take care of the final arrangements myself though, frantically flicking my fingers in and out of myself as the spent stranger looked on, not terribly interested any longer.

I saw more cocks in three months than the entire preceding twenty seven years, and had sex in more places and positions than I could possibly have imagined. If there was any time that I fucked the same guy twice it was by accident. I had become a sex machine. My whole body lived to process erections. Fucking, right?

Then, inevitably, I brought home a man who was a completely incompetent fucker. He had told me his name was Tom, but that was the only similarity to my original fuck buddy. He was far too gentle, and seemed to want to take his time. I just wanted him inside me. Instead, he poured me a glass of wine and walked me quietly to the bedroom, turned down the lights, and sat me on the bed, still fully clothed. He handed me his glass, and hopped on to the bed on his knees. Shuffling around behind me, he started to massage my neck and shoulders, digging his supple fingers into my tense flesh, stopping occasionally to take a sip from his glass, which I continued to hold on his behalf.

After some long period of the admittedly thoroughly pleasant massage, he hopped off the bed and asked me politely if I was feeling more relaxed. My response probably wasn't what he expected. I told him to hurry up and fuck me, or go, because I was sick of waiting, and could take care of this myself if necessary.

His response was a surprise to me as well. He told me that he wasn't interested in fucking me, and that he would prefer that we made love. I had become somewhat set in my routines by now, and could only stare at him as he took the wine glasses out of my hands and set them on the dresser, and then returned and began to kiss me, gently, softly, starting with my hands, and working his way up one of my bare arms, across my shoulder and up to my neck. I have to admit liking being kissed on the neck, and he was good. Very good.

As his lips met mine, they melted together like warm chocolate, a small tentative touch of tongues between them, sparking as they met in no-mans-land, and entwined calmly. Somehow my usual rush to get laid had departed, and had been replaced with a deep peacefulness, a tenderness I hadn't felt for a long time.

After an immeasurable period of time, his mouth left mine, and as I lay back on the bed, he slowly undid the buttons of my blouse, revealing my bra. Looking at me briefly, as though for permission, he lifted me up slightly and slipped the blouse off my arms and dropped it to the floor. Somehow he had unclipped my bra in the same movement, and it soon joined the blouse on the carpet. I was wearing jeans that night, and as his mouth planted random kisses all over my chest and stomach, his hands undid the belt and buttons around my waist, and without warning, my trousers were gently slid down from beneath my butt, and straight off the bed. Now I was naked, apart from a tiny black pair of bikini briefs. I'd worn them with the idea that they would be easy to remove for a quick fucking, which this decidedly was not.

Moving his focus lower now, Tom planted his light kisses down lower, before slowly lowering my panties, pulling them down gently with his teeth, and kissing me all over the uncovered areas as he went.

Finally the panties were suspended part-way down my legs, and I pushed down further with my hands, and kicked them off. Most of my attention was focused on Tom's lips and tongue though. He had slid gradually down between my legs, and as he slowly parted my knees with his gentle hands, his tongue found its way through the nest of hair to my labia, and began sliding wetly up and down, touching briefly near my clitoris before sliding away again, always moving, light, and in the right place.

As his tongue continued its intimate caress, I felt his hands drift slowly up my skin, until they reached my breasts. My nipples had become rock hard as a result of his lower work, and as his fingertips reached them, I felt a shock move through me. My muscles jumped with the stimulation, and the wetness down where Tom's tongue played became more apparent.

As though he had no further time commitments in this life, Tom settled in, his lips and hot breath caressing anywhere his tongue couldn't reach, as he slid up and down my pleasure zone, dropping down at one stage and dipping deep inside me with his tongue, stroking where recently only rough cocks had delved. The feeling of his softness on and in me was all encompassing. I no longer functioned as a collection of body parts but as one sexuality, stimulation coming from nipples, clitoris, vagina.

Slowly, oh so slowly, the speed of his caresses increased, his impossible tongue flicking across my clitoris, charging me with his gentleness, and eventually I felt myself near orgasm. For a moment, I wasn't sure that was what it was, the feeling so different from that generated by the long succession of rough fuckers, but as the glow spread within me, I knew what was coming. Me. And as the pleasure pulse pinged all my muscles, and struck deep within my mind, I knew I'd made a mistake all these months, taking any orgasm I could get, any way I could manage, any man I could fuck.

Tom's tongue was gently swaying now, tactfully distant from my still pulsing clitoris, but still driving the flow of heat I could feel, spreading like the rings after you drop a pebble in a still pond. Which I suppose is about what happened.

As I came to my senses, I realised Tom still had his mouth between my legs, and I gently pulled him upward, desperate now to let my lips again meet his, to acknowledge my debt, and surprise. He moved willingly enough, and our tongues entwined again, less shyly than the first time, reasonably enough. As my hands wandered over his suddenly precious body, I realised he was still fully clothed, and I sat up, and silently started to remove them. I had to make him stand up briefly and step out of his trousers and boxers, and I peeked at his solid erection as he removed them, my original lust for it replaced by a tender desire to see how much pleasure I could manage to give him with it.

Jumping off the bed, I reversed the roles, and lay him down gently on the bed on his back. His interest was more apparent now, solidly rising from the gingery bush that spread from his genitals up to just below his navel. He certainly didn't have the muscular body that the other Tom had sported, but under the circumstances, I was willing to look beyond this. And look I did. Tom's eyes followed mine as I inspected all that I could see of the machine that had given me such pleasure, and somehow I realised what was the best way to return the favour.

Climbing up on the bed, still facing him, and smiling, I knelt, my knees either side of his ribs, my butt above his penis, my wetness ready to descend, and as I locked eyes with him I lowered myself, his hardness sliding deliciously inside me, past where his tongue had been so recently, deep inside.

As I took him deliciously inside myself, stretching comfortably around him, I stroked his chest with my hands, and his long gentle fingers found their way back to my breasts, and he subtly kneaded me, his fingertips again flicking my nipples, our eyes still locked.

As we adjusted the position slightly so we were both comfortable, I slid my hands down the sides of his body, feeling his tense ribs between my fingers. Somehow we found the perfect position, and I began moving above him, our bodies somehow knowing the right rhythm and moving as one.

As I started to lift up on him, his penis withdrawing almost completely from me, I could feel the pull around my clitoris, the small signals that only seem to work this way after the first orgasm, and as his excitement mounted so did mine, until the moment when he suddenly felt bigger and harder inside me, and suddenly I was filled with his glorious stickiness, hot and white and beautiful, and the changes to the pattern of movement were enough to push me again over the edge, and I came, my pulsing vagina making Tom spasm more, the pulses echoing between us as we both groaned with the release.

I collapsed on top of him then, my nerves overloaded, my body tired and sore, but only wondering how soon we could do that again.

We were silent for quite some time, our bodies slowing to their normal paces, hearts and blood pressure returning to normal, and eventually Tom spoke quietly.

"I probably should go now."

"Please don't," I whispered back.

Our eyes locked again, and this time mine were fearful. For the longest time nothing happened, and then he smiled at me, closed his eyes, and promptly fell asleep.

My lover.