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This is a question Will you go out with me?

"Bloody Kraut, a" asks, "How did you get your current flame to go out with you? If they turned you down, how bad was it?"

Was it all romantic? Or were the beer goggles particularly strong that night?

(, Thu 28 Aug 2008, 17:32)
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The non-verbal way of doing things.
In my past two posts, I have talked about asking someone out verbally (by writing), but this time, it was done mostly by body-language.

I was still shy at the time, but not as shy as I once was. However, I was starting to develop an unhealthy taste in masochism - in particular, I liked being whipped. To be honest, I wasn't sure if it was genuine masochism or a form of self-harm I inflicted on myself as a punishment for having spent so long being shy and missing out on many things in life. I was still a virgin at the time. Even asking for sex seemed beyond reach. Being whipped was something that only existed in my fantasies. I did own a whip of my own and would often give myself a good whipping. However, it would quickly get painful and I would find it hard to whip myself any harder. Only another person could take me past my pain threshold. Needless to say, I kept mum about the masochism fetish.

So one night, I was out at a nightclub. Usually, I went out with my mates. They had more luck with women than I did and would often pull easily leaving me all alone feeling sorry for myself. I enjoyed the music though so it wasn't all bad. Tonight was one such night. I was finishing off my pint and scanning the dance-floor. All of a sudden, someone caught my eye. It was the equivalent of a record-player needle being dragged across a record.

"What have we here?" I thought to myself as my eyes honed in on a girl in the middle of the dancefloor.

She was petite but a bit chubby. Not chubby enough to be cuddly, but she looked really cute. She had shoulder-length blonde hair tied in a ponytail and wore glasses that just added to her cuteness. She was wearing leather trousers, and a short leather top that exposed her pierced midriff. For some reason, I associated that leather look with Sadism. Not only was she cute, but she might just be into whipping. Her dancing just radiated "I want sex" but it was as if she was speaking to deaf ears. "Why don't those morons answer her?" I thought. Then it occurred to me - I too was one of the non-listening morons. With this realisation, I thought "Oh fuck it!" and got my behind onto the dancefloor.

I didn't know what to say, but I was enjoying the music (it was Shaggy's Oh Carolina), so I was dancing like a dancing thing. I moved just behind her. I had no plan, but there was the tiniest hope that she'd notice me.

In fact, she must have noticed me. I could occasionally feel her bum touching my leg. This was probably just accidental so I kept dancing. However, her fleshy buttocks would keep on making contact with my leg. Surely she couldn't keep having so many accidents all at once. I thought "what the hell!” and moved closer to her. This amazingly had the desired effect. She was having more and more 'accidents'. In fact, I could even fell the concavity of her bum-crack on my leg.

I also noticed she had a lovely scent. It was her pheromones, not her perfume. My cock was starting to gradually inflate. It wasn't stiff, but felt nice and tingly. She must have been telepathic. At this stage, she leaned forwards slightly, lifted her arse up a bit and ground it against my crotch.

My dick was gradually stiffening. That small area of her crotch seemed to have a life of it's own. It was as if all her focus had gone to that small area. At this time, I did not know much about the female anatomy (but even then, I knew the gap between the legs extended to the hairy bit, but that's besides the point) so thought the fanny was at the front nestling amongst the hairs - not between the legs. "Why would she be rubbing her perineum against me?" I wondered. But a few seconds later, it suddenly occurred to me - the centre of the grinding was happening on my increasingly stiff member. "Could it be that that was where the fanny was located?" With that thought, my willy quickly reached it's full length. While this was going on, she was adjusting her crotch grinding to cover the new bulge in my jeans. "She must be able to feel it expanding!" I thought to myself. “I wonder how that's making her feel, knowing it’s because of her?”

This went on for a while. Not a word was said between us. At first, I was thinking the shape of her crotch was due to the seam of her trousers, but then it occurred to me. This might actually be the outline of her labia that I'm feeling. And then, I thought that were it not for the clothes, I could just slip it in there and then. I just wanted us to be whisked away somewhere private leaving our wearerless clothes to collapse in a heap on the dancefloor. My hard stiffy was twitching like mad. She could feel it and she must have known damned well how I felt and what she was doing to me. By now, I was on autopilot. My hands reached out and started stroking her tits from behind. I had ever touched a pair of breasts at this stage, but even so, I instinctively knew that I had to caress them and not squeeze them, even though I always imagined I'd squeeze them. She did not seem to react in any way. "This is a good sign" I thought. Because I was stroking them slowly, it gave me some time to explore. I was facing her from behind, so I didn't locate the nipples immediately, but soon found them. They made conspicuous bumps in her leather top, and my fingers focused on the nipples - gradually circling around the base of the protruding bumps and occasionally stroking the tips of the nips.

This was getting too much for me. I could feel the vinegar strokes. And then, it happened. I came. The warm glow in my crotch quickly translated into a warm stickiness in my pants. The transition was so smooth it seemed natural. Unbeknownst to her, she had just given someone their first ever given-by-another-person orgasm. My virgin cock was starting to deflate. Soon after, the grinding stopped. I wasn't sure if she realised what had happened, or because the DJ put on a different song.

"Your place or mine?" She whispered. These were the first words spoken throughout the encounter. And then she winked at me. It had never occurred to me before just how sexy a wink could be. Even though we had practically been shagging on the dance-floor, the wink was still sexy. However, two things were on my mind. I had just come. Could I go for a "round 2"? Also, I was starting to think "But what if she stuck her hand in my pants? Ew!". These thoughts weren't doing my focus any good.

Without thinking, I just blurted out: "My place. I've got a whip".

"A whip?" she said. "Why would we want a whip?"

All of a sudden, I came face to face with my masochism. There was no hiding it now.

"I like to be whipped" I said.

"Oh my god! That's Sick! SICK! I could never do a thing like that!".

Without warning, she walked away. The music was still playing in the background, but in my mind, it was blocked out. I had ms-judged her. Not only was she not into that sort of thing, but it repulsed her completely. I just wanted to kick myself using one of those contraptions you see in cartoons with a boot attached to a piece of string that you pull to kick yourself in the arse. I was not in the mood for any more dancing. I just went straight home.

When I got back, I was feeling sorry for myself, so I sat down and whipped myself. When I reached my pain threshold, I cried. I wasn't sure if it was the pain from the whip, me messing up at the club, or if I was just frustrated at being unable to pass my own pain threshold. This continued until I fell asleep.

The next morning, I woke up. I was still holding the whip in my hand. I had what could best be described as a whip-hangover. I was aching all over from the whipping I administered myself, but inside, I ached more. I had done this so often that the aching no longer felt painful, but my mind still hurt. Who was this mysterious girl? I didn't even know her name. I decided to name her 'Carolina' after the song we were dancing to. It was now breakfast time. I placed a pot of yoghurt down onto the table next to the whip. The composition of the resulting image formed an interesting juxtaposition in my groggy mind. Feeling desperate, I wondered to myself...

"Will yoghurt whip me?"
(, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 11:26, 15 replies)

words fail me.
(, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 11:35, closed)

(, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 11:37, closed)
(, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 11:40, closed)



(, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 12:07, closed)

(, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 12:10, closed)
What Pooflake said...

(, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 12:18, closed)
gets out-Pooflaked.

(, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 12:23, closed)
Words fail me!
^^^What all of them said.
(, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 12:23, closed)
(, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 13:14, closed)
In the name
of fuck!
(, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 13:33, closed)
the story worked perfectly.

well done

click to win!
(, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 13:47, closed)
It's a work
of utter, utter genius.
(, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 13:49, closed)
have you considered...

(, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 14:01, closed)
A forum for expanding social paradigms, yet it’s posts like these that still attract all the clicks. My two serious posts ( [1] [2] ) aren’t getting anywhere but this one might just make it into the best of. But thanks for the clicks and comments.

BTW: In case you didn’t get what "(but even then, I knew the gap between the legs extended to the hairy bit, but that's besides the point)" refers to, see this post.
(, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 14:05, closed)
*loud whirring noise from frantic backpeddling*
(, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 14:07, closed)

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