My name is ChrisNotChris – Part I

21 June 2017

I met Chris on the weekend for the first time. A 40-something man I’d been speaking with for about a week on Plenty of Fish.

We met for brunch and the attraction was instant. We hugged a greeting that felt like I’d known him my whole life. The conversation flowed freely, effortlessly, about my past, his past, his marriage breakdown and mine, his two kids, his career. I’d never felt so connected to someone so quickly. It was one of the most intense first dates I’ve ever had.

After brunch, we wandered out of the café and I asked what he wanted to do. Without missing a beat, he said that he wanted to eat my pussy. I took his hand and walked him around the corner to my building and we took the lift to my apartment.

I’d like to say I remember our first kiss, the feel of his lips pressed into mine, the graze of the fine stubble on his chin, the softness of his tongue caressing my own. But I don’t remember any of that because within seconds of getting my jeans off, he had two fingers inside me and just moments later he made me squirt for the first and most surprising time of my life. I lay prostrate on the bed, not really believing what had just happened. I was not a squirter. Many had tried and failed and while I’d come close to feeling like I could, so far nothing.

This was intense, shocking and so, so wet. My bed was soaked through to the mattress, my thighs coated in my ejaculate that was clear and thin, so unlike a man’s. I know that people say it’s actually urine but there’s no smell of urine to this. It’s something altogether different and extraordinary.

“Oh my god,” was all I could managed for some minutes before I explained to him that that was my first time squirting. His own disbelief was immediate.

“But you’re so responsive! You were so wet and ready, I thought you must have done it many times.”

I shook my head, and was still processing what had happened when he touched me again, pushing his middle and ring finger inside me to stimulate the upper wall of my cunt. Within 10 seconds, I could feel the gush of my cum, feel my cunt contracting and the sound of my orgasm filled the room and covered the bed in another soaking.

“This is insane,” I said. “I’m not a squirter.”

“You definitely are now,” he replied.

The man hadn’t even so much as pulled off his own jeans and he’d already given me two of the most memorable experiences of my sexual life.

By the time he freed his cock, thick and hard, I desperately wanted it inside me. The first time we fucked, he bent me over the side of the bed and entered me from behind. It was the most incredible joining I had had in months. There was something about this man that was touching my psyche, penetrating deep inside my head as well as my body. I couldn’t get enough.

The second time we fucked that afternoon, I rode him in my favourite position. I was a hot and sweaty mess of sex and satisfaction when he sucked on my nipples and gave me my third shock of the day.

“You’re leaking.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your nipples. You’re leaking.”

I froze.

“What the fuck!”

I looked down to my breasts to see tiny glistening droplets oozing from my nipples.

“What the fuck! What the fuck! I’m not pregnant. I can’t get pregnant, let alone breastfeed. What the actual fuck!”

By this time I had dismounted and was scrabbling for my phone. I needed Dr Google to ease my pounding heart.

“You mean this hasn’t happened to you before?” he asked.

“Um no! Has this happened to you before?”

“Only once, but she said it happened to her all the time.”

“This is fucked up. This is insane. What the fuck!”

I was entering something of a panic, convinced I must have had breast cancer or some other insidious disease. Nipples don’t just lactate for no reason, especially for women like me.

I googled and read and discovered that while uncommon in women who aren’t pregnant or breastfeeding, it can be a normal occurrence during sex. Satisfied that at least I wasn’t dying, we resumed our fucking although I remained a little perturbed for the rest of the day.


We lay on my bed and he told me stories about work and life, his marriage and ex-wife and his kids. He asked me about my Dumbo tattoo while he drew doodles of animals in an old notebook.

He made me squirt once more before he was finished with me that afternoon and he came three times. By the time he left that evening, I was deep in the sex haze and knew I wanted to see him again.

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