A guy asked me why all the sex I talk about here had to be outrageous and crazy. Did I not ever have ordinary, lovely, just getting on with it sex. Not rubbish unenjoyable sex, but fantastic non wild sex. Where no one was playing a character or acting out a scenario. I told him I had sex like that all the time. He said he’d love to read that. I wasn’t sure that I could write it in a way that would be at all interesting. I’m still not sure that I have.
Here it is anyway. I’ve tried to explain it, tried to illustrate just how Don Draper like this guy was, so utterly comfortable in himself and his requests of me but mostly it was just good sex – and even still there’s a bit of power play in it.
Make no mistake though, this was some of the best sex of my life.
Don was the big one, the massive one, the biggest of my life.
The love of it, I hear myself, and hate myself, for saying.
But it’s true. He was.
Don and I worked in a pub/restaurant/bar/nightclub a cool one where I was inexplicably, because it came with absolutely zero benefits, seeing my manager. It was this manager that brought Don in to introduce him.
Fuck, who’s this, I immediately thought, he’s hot. So of course I was aloof. Rude and terrifying he later said. I said HI, explained that I worked this bar, mostly and I ran it. I think he might have complimented me on the music that was playing. Or maybe I just wish he did.
And off he went.
The next time I saw him I didn’t think he was that hot but I think there’s a self-preservation, hotness revisionism-gland that sometimes does this for you. Pity it doesn’t last.
So every time I saw him I was trying to assess whether he was hot or not. Ridiculous because of course he was.
And he was different.
I had just finished college and was messing around being a full time fantastic barmaid not using any of my education. He was doing a post grad in the big University, the good one (Not Trinity) and those people didn’t usually frequent our establishment of venues. They mostly didn’t make it into the city centre. So the fact that he took a job here was out of character in itself. Initially to be viewed with (ok arrogant) bemusement: Oh dared to leave the cocoon of the campus, aren’t ya very brave. How long have you lived in this city? Oh just the 4 years. Yeah, well done.
I fancied him and I needed to figuratively pull his hair. What else should I have done?
He mainly worked the big main bar, and then moved down to the club when that closed up for the night. I ran the infinitely cooler side bar and finished up around the same time. But was not on club duty this night. I had stopped sleeping with the manager. Who knows why, possibly the fact he was sleeping with my younger sister and was a douche (horrifically true story). But he was a good manager and it didn’t affect our working relationship. Yet.
The door bitch was my best friend so I went to hang out with her for a bit, have a chat, keep her company, have a drink. But I popped to the loo and found it needed attention – god only knows what was wrong, I’m sure I’ve blocked from my memory loads of my time spent in there. Whatever it was I felt it needed immediate sorting.
Me: Here, who’s on in the club tonight, that ladies is in bits
BFF: Conor I think? Dunno, but there’s not a soul in there yet, tell who ever’s behind the bar to sort it because I’m not doing it, tell them I said that too.
Me: Sure! I’ll be delighted to convey that message.
And in I sauntered.
But Conor wasn’t behind the bar, Don was. The club was empty. Yup he was hot I decided.
Me: Hey, Don?
Don: What can I get you? He asked with a knowing smile.
Me: Nothing, there’s an issue with the ladies you should probably look at – said me with what I thought was a helpful, conspiratorial, isn’t-bar-work-shit-sometimes tone.
Don: Which one?
Me: Seriously? Just go look at it.
Don: Ok. He says unfazed.
I head back out to talk to the BFF and he comes out a minute later.
‘Show me what’s up with the loo’
I’m not sure why I did but for some reason I did walk to the ladies and show him. He took one look at it and decided it wasn’t worth his time solving just announced ‘That’s fucked’ then locked the door from the inside. What’s he doing! Two seconds later he has jumped over the top of the cubicle wall, walks out of the adjoining cubicle and adds ‘That’s for a plumber and for later’ and walks off.
Step one towards me swooning.
The nonchalance, the deft, ninja move over the cubicle wall, the blithe disregard for who was actually going to fix it? I knew, in that second that I was going after him.
Door bitch finished up and we went upstairs, to the closed main bar, for afterhours drinks. Don was still working and on clean-up and wouldn’t be up for a while. I was going to make this happen. I removed every bar stool from around the counter – placed them just out of reach– except for one next to me. Where he duly sat with his after work pint.
Me: Nice work with the toilet earlier
Me: You know that door can be locked from the outside with a coin though?
Everyone laughs. He just shrugs.
I’m being mean but how else am I supposed to kick this off.
Me, him and door bitch chat, flirt and have a good laugh, I think. But then he gets up abruptly and says he’s off.
He’s got his coat on and is out the door. I sit there cursing things and wondering if I’ll get another chance when I just get up and run after him. I’ve had more to drink than him maybe that fuelled it but I don’t think so. I really wanted him and I just didn’t care.
He’s half way down the outside steps when I get to the door and shout ‘Hey, wait, wait, wait! Where ya going?’
‘Home’ he says.
There’s a pause and then he says ‘Yeah, I’m having a smoke’ and makes the international symbol for joint.
‘Do you wanna come?’
I don’t smoke, I never have but I’m not passing this up so I say yes emphatically, and run in to grab my jacket.
Everyone’s looking, without saying a word, except for the giant grin on my face, I grab my jacket and bag and head back out. I give the BFF a kiss and run out the door. There’s a few whoops and claps. I hope he doesn’t hear.
When we get to his place, I let him skin up before confessing that I don’t smoke. I always wonder if that’s when he realises what I’m actually here for. Because I’m not sure he had it figured out before.
Thinking about it now it sounds so weird and awkward but it really didn’t feel like it at the time. Or at least not to me.
There’s no build up, we don’t kiss but he eventually coolly, calmly says, as if it’s happened loads of times ‘Do you want to go to bed’. I think I just smile and say yes.
He asks me if I want a t-shirt. ‘No. I’m fine’ I know I chirp, oblivious to how odd this apparently is. ‘Do you want me to turn the light off?’
Yeah, ok. I say.
It takes me longer than him to get undressed so he’s in the bed before me. He reaches out a hand to help me in. I just remember it seeming so lovely, this outstretched hand in the dark, helping me into bed.
And I’ve no idea why I didn’t want a t-shirt but I did want the light off! No consistency. I think it’s because I generally don’t wear anything in bed. Certainly not if someone was with me anyway.
So I take his hand and I slip in under the duvet. He’s surprised to find me naked. ‘It’s fucking freezing, are you sure you don’t want a t-shirt?’ I don’t.
He pulls me in close to warm me up. He slides both arms under me and presses me to his chest then rubs his hands fast up and down my skin to really warm me. I know I’m smiling and my teeth are chattering. We’re both smiling, he lifts my chin to find my face and finally we kiss and I know I want this boy so much.
His hands slide down over my hips as we keep kissing, then back up to find my tits. He’s wearing a t-shirt and boxers I’d like to mention. I slide my hands up under his t-shirt and back down over his arse – it’s a great arse. His fingers slip in between my legs and I part them for him, eager to feel him inside me. We’re still kissing and he says into my mouth ‘I’d love to eat your pussy’. I don’t say anything I keep kissing him. His fingers are going in and out of me slowly and he adds: ‘Properly eat it, I want you sit on my face, get right down on it, leaning against the wall for balance. I would love to have you sit on my face’. This doesn’t seem unreasonable to me, and he’s made it sound like it’s something amazing for him. To my 22yr old self I’m confused as to why anyone would decline a request like that? This is also the very first time it’s ever been said to me.
The first time that anyone has told me how much they would enjoy it if I sat on their face so they could give me pleasure?
I still haven’t said anything, I think I’m trying to say OK, through the kissing when he adds ‘I mean, obviously not tonight, it’s freezing but when it’s warm’. Too late, I’ve wriggled out from him and the duvet and I’m scooching up beside his head so I can swing my leg over. I want to please him so much. I know I haven’t conveyed it here but he’s managed to say it in a way that isn’t pleading or expecting. It’s a quietly confident statement of something he’d like and genuinely thought was unreasonable in the cold room.
It’s possibly this night that gets me addicted to boys’ reactions. His surprise and satisfaction that I would do this is something I know I want to replicate. I want to be looked at like that always – with slight awe and wanton desire.
I climb on to his face and he wriggles down to get himself better under me as I push my thighs apart further and lean forward toward the wall. It’s freezing but I think my gasp is more for his tongue at my lips. I don’t know him so I don’t know what he wants from me; does he want me to push down on to him, pull his head up toward me? Does he want me to grind right onto his tongue and ride his face? Does he need more space so he can get fingers in there too? I don’t know, so I just get it as close to face as I can and let him direct it.
He takes one tentative lick, the one that makes me gasp, then looks back up at me with a filthy grin and like it’s his birthday and like this is exactly what he wished for. Then he slides his tongue back down my lips and slowly up to my clit. Before slowly sucking all my clit into his mouth and softly pulling and sucking it, then harder and harder then abruptly letting it go and going back to run his tongue back up the middle.
I can barely hold my balance. This is fabulous but it is freezing, I don’t think I can come. So I climb down and tell him I have to stop, he’s just amazed that I did it at all.
Now here is where I have some information that I didn’t have at the time. I thought we were having a great time. Although with hindsight, I can’t remember when I got a hold of his dick? But at some point he says he has to go to the loo and he’s gone for a bit. He tells me months later that he was unable to focus at all, that everything was working but he couldn’t get into it. So he went upstairs for a few minutes, had a bit of a wank and when he came back down, everything just worked perfectly then.
This was absolute brand new information to me. I was utterly oblivious to anything being wrong that night.
So I honestly don’t know at what point that fits in. I can only tell you what I remember but felt I should drop that in there too.
I remember getting my hands on his cock, to this day one of my all-time favourites. Not the fattest or the longest but quite substantial and so smooth and even; an honestly beautiful cock.
I know we had sex more than once, I know I loved it. I wanted more of him. This was genuinely great sex for no other reason than I just loved him inside me. There was nothing kinky or dangerous or out of the ordinary but fucking hell was it deeply satisfying. How he grabbed my arse and bit my lip as he fucked me slowly, watching my reactions, getting off on them.
I know he had me from behind and he had me sitting on the bed as I gripped his neck, straddling him and grinding myself into his balls and down hard onto his shaft. Nothing wilder than that.
I woke up the next morning so fucking thrilled with myself. I had gotten what I wanted and he had been great too. I’d told him that I was just out of 4 year relationship and I wasn’t looking to get back into anything, and I meant it. He looked at me like I was a dream.
I did mean it too. It had taken me ages to get out of a difficult situation living with the ex the last thing I needed was to get right back into one. Not to mention the side line in sleeping with the manager. Nope, I did not need any more boy complications. But damn it if I didn’t want more of that sex? How do I handle this? Do I kiss him goodbye, is that weird, what are the rules?
It doesn’t matter, he makes the moves before I have to.
We’re on the street when we say goodbye, I look at him and smile and say ‘Thanks for last night’ and turn on my heel. I don’t want any awkward goodbyes or weird half hugs where neither of us knows if it’s a kiss or not and we end up making lip contact with an ear. But he grabs my hand as I spin around. ‘Whoa, wait, wait, wait? What was that!’ And he pulls me into him and kisses me, deeply, properly, genuinely. ‘That’s better’. Then squeezes me and adds ‘I’ll give you a call yeah!’
I just smile and walk off.
I don’t know why I’m so delighted with that. But I am. Jesus he’s so cool.
This is November. And I fall home with him every night, into his bed. We have ordinary, unacrobatic sex that I can’t get enough of. Sex I can’t describe because there’s nothing to tell but if I let myself think of it even now, it turns me on. The way he looks at me, the way he turns me on ever before he touches me. Just that little, small, loaded smile across the bar I know it’s saying ‘Your ass is mine, I am going to watch you come tonight and then take you from behind’. All I want are his eyes on me, his hands all over me and his cock in me. I want all of him. And my interest in everybody else wanes and wanes until no one exists for me sexually but him.
He comes on nights out with my friends, I show him the real parts of the city. There’s presents exchanged at Christmas and there’s dinner on Valentine’s night. And by my birthday in March I am wholly in love with him and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I’m also ok with it.
By the early summer we are a real thing it has just happened. But he hasn’t told me he loves me. I’m not stupid enough to keep telling someone when I’m not hearing it back and I’m not needy enough to ever ask. I felt it. I felt he loved me. He certainly showed me.
I was now working for another nightclub. Doing office hours some days and then working the private members bar at night. Part of my job was promotions and advertising in the colleges. I would take a cab out to the University he was at and work for about an hour and then sit in the sun drinking cider with him then fall back to his place and have lazy, giggly, afternoon sex. The sun would stream through the curtains and I would dance around in his shirt to delicious old school, sexy hip hop. One day as I was climbing back into bed he said stop. ‘Stay there, don’t move. You look so perfect, silhouetted against the sun, your hair’s all messy and I can just see the outline of your breasts. You look amazing and whatever else happens I’m going to remember this. This is what I’m going to think about when I think of you’. It polarized it in my own memory too. But he knew something I didn’t. He had applied for jobs in London.
He was about to leave me.
So he went, and I let him, and he didn’t ask me to go.
And it wasn’t until I visited him there that he finally told me he loved me. I thought we’d broken up. Jesus he kept me on my toes.
It took me years but I think I figured out why he stayed consistently amongst the top on my ‘Best Ever’ list. There was nothing that would be considered wild about it, but there was something psychological that grew the longer I was with him.
He taught me about reactions, he was the first guy to want to do things just to see my reaction. He got off on watching how I reacted to what he did to me. He once said ‘I just want to do things to you, put things in you, use them on you. Just to see what you’ll do, how you’ll react. I want to watch you’. It was this distance that made it so sexy, that he wasn’t just there trying to get himself off, it was altogether something more erotic. He was getting off on what he could do to me, the power he could wield and of course getting aroused by seeing me writhing in front of him.
He would watch other guys dance with me, watch them flirt with me or try to pick me up. He’d rarely intervene, just look over with sly a smile, just cock his head and keep looking at me. Nothing used to turn me on more. That he could not be fazed by any other guy, used to get me so wet. But why would it faze him, he knew well I was only ever going home with him. And more than that, he trusted me that I wasn’t up to no good. And he trusted me that I could handle myself, I’m not the kinda girl that needs saving and he knew that.
It was all just how he was that used to get me so turned on ever before he laid a finger on me. It was all psychological. Or you could call it lazy; he had me so ready that by the time he did touch me he had barely anything to do, I was already on the brink just ready to fall off the precipice.
He did pull some stuff though. This was one of his favourite tricks:
As we didn’t ever live together sometimes we might not have seen each other in a few days. And when he lived in London, possibly not for a few weeks. I would be ravenous when I saw him, couldn’t wait for it. But Don? Nope, he wasn’t going to show it, he was going to make me pay. He’d kiss me lay me on the bed ask me about my day as he moved, slowly down my clothes to open my jeans or lift my skirt, kissing all the way, gentle, tneder. He’d get them open and I’d stop talking, to which his response was to look up and say ‘Keep going, I’m interested, what else happened’ So I would keep going, until he had his face firmly between my thighs and I no longer had any interest in my day, and let out a moan. Again he’d look up from his work, lick his thumb and run it over the lips and softly say ‘Sssshhhhh none of that – keep talking or I’ll stop’. So I would try to keep talking, my head swimming and my mind wanting to punch him and beg him all at the same time. Inevitably, I would let out another moan and wail that I couldn’t keep talking. To no avail, he’d lift his head with a calm, evil smile and tell me that he couldn’t possibly keep going unless he heard the end of how my day went, and he was sure I could try a bit harder, and back he would go, with one eye watching how he was tormenting me. He could keep this up for a while.
He loved eating me and eventually he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back from losing himself between my thighs. Licking and sucking any way he wanted, thrusting his fingers into me to make me come and let me make all the noise I wanted.
So that’s my story of intimate, satisfying, thoroughly addictive, in-love sex. Of course I wore underwear for him. Of course there were scenarios of course there were motorway blowjobs – but mostly it was just the deep need and utter desire to have him and be wanted by him.
Even now, I wouldn’t trust myself in a room alone with him. He is Don Draper, he’s so calm and assured and oozes charm.