My husband and I try not to pass up opportunities to have some Hotwifing fun. If a Saturday night with no prior engagement rolls around, we’ll find some way of amusing ourselves. Unfortunately single guys are not always available when we are. As you’d expect, a decent Bull will usually have made plans for the weekend. Sometimes we end up doing a last minute trawl of The Site.
Taking pot luck isn’t ideal but not all dates can be perfectly planned weeks in advance. Ultimately, if a man who fits what I’m looking for is willing to meet a stranger for a drink at short notice then that’s already a fun night out. Such dates don’t always end up with play but unless the guy is a complete cockhead or not what I expected physically, I’m usually DTF.
I discussed in Sex? Sure, Why Not? that I’m not against fucking for the sake of fucking. Sex is fun and if it’s on offer, I’ll usually take it. Even if there’s no intense sexual chemistry during the date, I do get off on physical contact and experiencing a new cock. Unless I’m turned off by some aspect of a guy, there’s no Labours of Hercules involved in getting into my pants. An invite back for a repeat performance is a better indicator of what I thought of a Bull.
The other night, I accepted a last minute date with a pleasant looking guy who mostly fit what I looked for in a Bull. He was on the upper end of my preferred age bracket and there were no dick pics to assess in his profile. However, I liked the confidence with which he responded to my messages. I wasn’t entirely sold on him, but my husband and I figured we could make our excuses if he wasn’t my cup of tea at all.
When Big B (he was 6’5″) arrived at the hotel bar, I knew I’d only be fucking him for the sake of fucking, if I was fucking him at all. He was attractive enough and had a nice solid, athletic build, but he didn’t overwhelm me with lustful excitement. Still, I was prepared to put in some time chatting and flirting to see what transpired. After thirty minutes of small talk, I was no more enthused. It would be that raw need to be filled to get me naked.
We chatted for a little while longer, hoping my third glass of Prosecco would ignite my loins as Big B wasn’t stoking the fire. While he excused himself to buy another beer, my husband gently reminded me that we didn’t have all night to work out if I wanted to fuck him or not. Did I want to get a room? He could tell Big B wasn’t floating my boat much but he also knew my penchant for recreational fucking.
“So what do you want to do?”, my Stag asked patiently but also impatiently.
I imagined a game show clock ticking away while I made my decision. I considered a number of things. Was sex with Big B going to be worth the effort of getting a room? If Big B doesn’t have a Big D or even an Average D, would I be able to conceal my disappointment? Would fucking Big B leave me feeling like the ultimate slut wife the next day, or just moderately fucked? If only he was just that bit more my type.
Sadly for Big B who returned to our table with a glass of beer and a bucket of optimism, I had to tell him that I just wasn’t feeling it, in general. Big B was disappointed but we suggested he go to a friend’s swingers party which was always in need of spare penises. He gladly accepted and we saw him off into an Uber. My Stag and I had a fun night out and we knew we would enjoy each other back home.
The next day, I was still a bit amazed that I passed up sex. I felt a small pang of regret in not feeling that delicious ache of having been drilled by a new Bull but mostly I felt enlightened by the experience. I wouldn’t say I was proud of my decision, since there’s no shame in having random sex. I guess I just liked that I made a decision independent of my sexual urges or a fear of missing out.
Moral of the story? Sometimes it’s enough knowing you can fuck a guy if you want to.