This is a play on a fantasy story of a friend of mine – she is as straight as they come usually, though the purchase of her own place and a little crazy phase, led to a dropped hint that her nights in were not always so lonely or dull. Her other preferences are all perfectly true.
*
Finally having my own flat was liberating in more ways than I could have ever imagined. I had spent too many years still living with my folks, spending my money on some heavy partying in town. Never short of a drink or a new accessory, I had a great time.
Not wishing to blow my own trumpet, but I was never short of attention either. Trouble was, that at 28 years old it was fine to have the confidence to pull or be pulled on a night out, but it was always back to their place with a phone call to the folks to say I was alright as I went. It rather spoiled the moment. And hey, I didn't always want to hit a home run on the first date, so a follow up meeting would still have to be back to their place.
I took the plunge about a year ago. It was something I really wanted to do before getting serious with somebody and doing the family thing. A one bed flat, new build was great. It took no time to get it how I wanted it, comfortable and inviting, and after a few weeks I was back on the town, ready to exploit my new freedom.
Let me explain a little about me first. Okay, looks I know you want. I'm a good medium height, very dark brunette with long hair framing a pretty face so I'm told. I've a good figure as I spend a little time in the gym most evenings after work. It helps get rid of the stress of the day and well, you never know who you might meet.
My pert bum and flat stomach are let down by my boobs, which are just an A-cup capped with decent size and very sensitive nipples. I guess this is where my reluctance to show my body comes from. I am incredibly bubbly and confident on the outside, a bit wild when I have had a drink and have a healthy sexual appetite, but I really don't like to blatantly display my body.
This manifests itself with how I am in the bedroom. I am actually quite submissive and end up giving rather than receiving as I get so self conscious if I'm being looked at. In particular I really don't like anyone going down on me, though I love blowing cock and taking a mouthful of cum. And yes, I always swallow.
Over the first few months in the flat I really let my hair down. A bit of porn was never far from the DVD, inspiring me to some of my dirty nights. I reckon on having had perhaps ten or twelve guys back to my place. Every one of them left a load or two in my stomach or my pussy. I developed quite a taste for married men, so that I wouldn't have to see them again unless I wanted to.
I even had a night with two at once. That was great, as I ended up on my knees with two really nice Scandinavian cocks forcing themselves into my mouth at once and eventually unloading over me. God I loved it. Needless to say, the fucking I got that night was awesome. That is another tale though.
All of this was quite a contrast to my day to day existence as a professional women working in a managerial hospital post. I often wondered what the other staff would think if they ever saw me being so royally used by men old and young, without any intention of seeing them again. I suppose that was part of the whole turn on.
However, not even I could have anticipated what I would be doing last weekend.
I was up on the dancefloor at my favourite club, as usual showing off and dancing with loads of hopeful guys and other girls showing themselves off to the throng. One particular girl was suddenly pretty obvious to me, as she seemed to keep catching my eye and smiling. I do this all the time myself, simply because I am a happy clubber, so thought nothing of it other than to notice her.
Taking a break from the dancing and grabbing a drink at the bar, she was suddenly next to me and starting a conversation. It was something totally normal like 'Hi I'm Zoë – you are a really great dancer'. I introduced myself to her and soon we were chatting and laughing like old friends.
She was 24, an arts graduate now working as a PA for some big time exec. You could see how she would suit the role, well-spoken and articulate and not to mention drop dead gorgeous. Zoë had dark hair cut in a long bob style, olive complexion that could easily pass for Mediterranean origin. She was a little taller than me with an elegant figure and modest bust, which I enviously reckoned to be about a B cup. She was dressed in a tiny blue strappy number, with a pair of beautiful heals.
It would have been easy to have been intimidated by her good looks, but the warmth of her personality was instantly obvious and the conversation a pleasure. My other friends had called it a night but I stayed on and enjoyed a couple more dances and a drink with Zoë. She was really getting hit on, but seemed to be not in the least bit tempted by even the cutest guys, preferring to continue our fun. I never thought to wonder why.
By the end of the night and having passed up the chance of taking some guy back for some fun, I suggested that Zoë and I go back to my place for a coffee and chat. She eagerly accepted, saying she would love to see what my flat was like.
Propped against the sofa, shoes kicked off, mugs and brandies in hand the conversation swung round to boyfriends. She quizzed me on my situation and emboldened with drink I let slip that I had been anything other than saintly since moving in. It took me back when she said that she had guessed as much from my DVD collection that she had scanned through while I had been making the coffee. Apparently the unmarked boxes had been the giveaway - I nearly died with embarrassment.
