Third one for the week, and yesterday was Friday. That’s a new record. Maybe I can add another one to the scoreboard by Sunday. My best was two new girls in a week. I think wearing suits has definitely upped my game. Chicks dig a guy in a suit. If not that, it’s the confidence I feel when wearing one.
Recounting my score, I’m around the 138 mark. It could be a bit higher than that because I may have overlooked a few girls. What can I say? I’m a stud, and the ladies love me.
I wasn’t always wildly successful with women. In high school, I dated Kristi for three years. When she cheated on me with my ex-best friend, my heart stung for months. Sometimes, the agony was so severe that it pooled tears in my eyes.
I was so in love with her that I forgave her and never mentioned breaking up with her. Losing her would’ve made the wound more painful. So I desperately wanted to be with her. But she left me. Some guys said that she lost respect for me because I stayed with her after she cheated. Maybe they were right.
I carried the pain of losing Kristi until graduating from high school.
Studying at an out-of-state college distanced me from the town where I grew up physically and emotionally. I left the past behind me and started on a clean slate.
In college, I met Matt. He was the ultimate ladies man. The best I had ever seen. A complete natural.
He taught me the mindset and attitude that I needed to possess to improve my dating life. His experience with ladies provided him with the knowledge to tap into the psyche, which he shared with me. Matt’s mentorship completely transformed my dating life. But he also taught me not to lose sight of the goal—find a special girl.
He said that the excitement of sleeping with countless girls would eventually wear off, and all that would remain was bondless intimacy that would leave me feeling empty.
I hadn’t reached that place yet, but I felt that it was inevitable.
To heal my high school wound, I banged about fifty girls during my three years at college. Increasing that number became significantly easier after I started earning a decent salary. That enabled me to take women out, buy them gifts and convince them that I had more money than I did.
That added the rest of the notch count in the last four years.
I lied to numerous girls by telling them that I had strong feelings for them to get them into bed. You know how it goes. You tell them what they want to hear so you get what you want. Needless to say, I had a few incidents on campus when they confronted me about ghosting them.
Forgetting some of their names made them even more furious. One woman had the audacity to barge into my office and claw her fingers into my throat, demanding an explanation for not seeing her. Fortunately, my boss and I are friendly, so he swept the incident under the rug.
Now, at 28 years old, I’m wondering if I’ll ever fall in love. How is it that it hasn’t happened after sleeping with more than 100 girls? Surely that’s not normal? I should’ve established a bond with at least one of them.
Yet, I felt nothing for all of them. I mean, I thought that a few of them were really special, but I had no problems moving on to the next girl. That showed me they weren’t relationship material.
I don’t know. Maybe the problem is with me. It’s possible that I’ll never fall in love, regardless of how amazing the woman is. Maybe some guys are supposed to play the field forever and never get tied down to one woman.
Being single and chasing ass in my fifties seems a bit weird. I’m certain that most of my friends and colleagues will be happily married before then. Well, maybe just married. But they’ll still be better off than me.
I should try to form a bond with the next woman I meet and establish a relationship. Watching movies on a Friday night together, going for a Sunday picnic and strolling down the street, holding hands, sounds great. The only part of being in a relationship that’s off-putting is tasting the same pussy. The novelty eventually wears off, and you want new meat, surely?
I shouldn’t let that dissuade me. The goal should be an emotional connection, not dipping my stick into new sauce. Who knows, maybe I meet an incredible woman who makes me realise that love is better than womanising.
The question is: Where do I meet her?
A special woman definitely won’t be at a club or at a casino. I figured that she’ll be at a library, church or at a park. She could also be walking her dog. I need to be more active during the day and not focus on night activities. A quality woman usually doesn’t go out at night. She’s at home.
I skipped Friday night’s bar-hopping routine and opted for a relaxed night at home, watching movies. I wanted to be up by seven o’clock, eat breakfast and go for a stroll by eight. I figured that high-quality women walked their dogs early on Saturday morning. Some of them jogged at that time and others sipped on cappuccinos at a coffee shop.
I couldn’t remember the last time I woke up that early on a Saturday morning. Usually, I woke up at around midday because I spent most of the night banging a girl that I picked up the night before. But that was the old me. The new Mike was searching for love.
I popped into a coffee shop and saw a long line at the counter. Woah. Most of the tables were occupied. I decided to walk for about an hour and return after a table became available.
A woman, I’m guessing, approaching 30, smiled at me as she tugged on her dog’s leash. If I were looking for nookie, she would’ve been acceptable. But I was looking for a wife, so I wouldn’t accept a woman over 25. In all honesty, I’m being generous with that figure. My heart is screaming 23. That should be the cut-off, but I’m flexible.
I continued walking for over an hour and saw about three cute girls. Same thing as the first one—acceptable for one night but far from wifey material. I wasn’t searching for a princess, but she needed to be beautiful.
The sun had risen above the trees and pierced right through the branches, shining on my face. I saw that it was going to be a scorcher, so I headed back to the cafe.
A table in the corner was open, so I took it and ordered bottled water.
I scanned the tables around me, analysing potential targets. An Asian girl looked hot. Her face beamed as she spoke to her friend. I was really attracted to her, but I refrained from approaching her. My wife has to be white. I want white children.
A few of the women were doable, and I was tempted to approach them. But that would’ve been a waste of time. Listen to me. A couple of years ago, I would’ve said that bedding any girl would’ve been one of the highlights of my life. Now, I see one-night stands as a deterrent to finding something more meaningful.
I put my elbow on the table, and my cheek raised as I pressed it against my fist. The one I wanted wasn’t around.
I went home and watched a rom-com, commenting on how lame the guy acted when around his crush. Although I made fun of him, I believed I would behave the same if I fell in love. It’s an emotion I’ve never felt before. It must be amazing. I wondered if I would ever find an amazing woman who would fulfil the criteria that would nudge me towards love.
After lunch, I walked for another two hours and spotted a few hotties. All of them looked like the girls I had hooked up with, so I didn’t waste my time talking to them.
As the sun set, I decided to have dinner at a restaurant on the way home. I could’ve skipped the meal, but I thought that my future wife could be a few tables away from me. How many times have I mentioned the word wife? Jeez Louise. What’s gotten into me?
Just a few days ago, I was concerned about increasing my notch count. Now I’m on the hunt for the one and only. Life goals change quickly. But I think I’ve finally got my head screwed right. Changing girls like underwear was fun, but there’s more to life than that.
Most of the patrons were couples. Two women occupied the table on the other side, but they looked old. I’d say mid to late-30s. That is practically dinosaur age in terms of marriage. I don’t have a problem growing old with my wife, but she can’t be old heading into the marriage.
I ate dinner and called it a night. My future wife wasn’t around, and it was pointless for me to waste more money.
At home, I slumped onto the couch and blew out a long breath. I had only started my search for the love of my life, and I was already exhausted. I wondered if I would ever meet her. If I did, would she like me? It’s easier to seduce a woman and pave the way to love with multiple orgasms. I figured that the love of my life would withhold sex until marriage. She would most likely be a virgin.
I imagined what she would look like. I pictured her to have blonde hair, blue eyes and a slim figure. She would wear pants or an ankle-length dress, possibly floral. I smiled, thinking about hearing her soft voice and feeling her femininity. She would be the closest thing to an angel.
A negative thought interrupted my reverie. I felt anxiety as I thought about struggling to find her. Even if I met her, would she have a problem with my sexual history? That could be a deal breaker for her. I hope it won’t be, but a flawless soul deserves only the best. I wondered if that was me. Sure, there are better-looking and richer guys than me, but I was certain that nobody would treat her as well as I would.
Yes! That’s my selling point. She’ll fall madly in love with me because of the way I’ll make her feel. Women are all about feelings, and if I can tap into the depths of emotions she’s never felt, I’ll be her knight in shining armour.
All that sounds good and well, but my philosophy is moot if I never meet her. Step number 1: Find the love of my life. But where?
I can go to church tomorrow. Everybody has advised me to find a good girl there. Maybe they’re right. It makes sense. If she’s at church on Sunday, then she didn’t stay out late on a Saturday night, and her religion is her moral compass.
The following morning, I woke up at eight. I showered, shaved, ate and then dressed in a suit. My dress code may have been a bit too formal for a sermon, but I wanted to make a great first impression. After all, that’s the least that my future wife deserved.
A squirt of Dolce & Gabbana The One cologne sprinkled the left side of my neck and then the right.
I got into my BMW, smiled in the rear-view mirror and then pulled off. I had a good feeling about attending church. Something special was waiting for me. Or someone.
The parking was packed. I found a spot after circling the grounds for several minutes.
I found a spot on the wooden bench in the backrow and sat. The pastor’s voice projected well across the church, perking my ears up to the advice he dispensed about treating everyone with respect, regardless of their financial standing.
He exuded rock-solid confidence, making me believe that some ladies were attracted to him. He didn’t have a sharp jawline or bright eyes, but his stance, eye contact and vocal projection made up for any physical features that he lacked.
After the sermon, most of the people walked out, and some attendees lined up to speak to the pastor. I joined the queue, uncertain of what to discuss with him, but he drew me in.
A young lady with dirty blonde wavy hair, wearing a lacey light pink dress, stood in front of me. She wasn’t the usual type that I liked, but perhaps that’s what made her the ideal target.
“This gentleman was fantastic,” I said.
She looked at me over her shoulder, smiling, her big blue eyes beaming as she said, “I agree. He’s one of the main reasons I come to this church. The people are great, but Pastor Johnson seals the deal.”
I smiled at her while holding eye contact for slightly longer than usual. Her soft voice and choice of words fell gently on my ears. I wished to hear her speak more.
“I’m Mike,” I said, holding out my hand.
She shook it and said, “I’m Emma. It’s nice to meet you, Mike.”
Her hand was gentle without compromising a solid grip. It’s like she knew the exact amount of force to exert to show that she wasn’t weak while remaining feminine. I loved that about her.
We moved up in the queue. I thought that Emma might vanish while I spoke to the pastor, so I stepped out of the queue and stood outside.
She stepped out, and I approached.
“Oh, hey. I was wondering where you went. You were right behind me, and then you disappeared,” she said.
“I…”
She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head forward. “Yes?”
I couldn’t recall the last time I was nervous around a woman. It must’ve been in high school. Worse yet, I struggled to speak. Maybe it was my gut warning me not to lie to Emma. I needed to be honest with her from the beginning.
“I, actually, wanted to talk to you.”
“Okay. But you could’ve done that after speaking to the pastor. I’m just saying. Hope I’m not being too inquisitive.”
“No, it’s fine. I thought that you might leave, and I wouldn’t get a chance to talk to you again. I can always have another chance to speak to Pastor Johnson.”
“I’m here every Sunday, so you can always talk to me.”
I liked that she attended church every Sunday. That was already a good sign.
Emma added, “I haven’t seen you here before. Is this your first time?”
“Yes.”
“Fantastic. Welcome. I’m really glad that you decided to join us.”
She was lovely. I hoped that she was overtly friendly only to me because she liked me and that she wasn’t that way to everyone. I know it’s selfish to view her in that manner, but I didn’t want any other guy to like her as much as I did. Competition is never healthy.
Looking at Emma, I believed that every guy that came in contact with her fell something towards her. How could they not? She was lovely in every way. I wouldn’t be surprised if she were married.
“Are you married?” I blurted out.
I cringed on the inside, realising that it was odd to ask that out of the blue.
She smiled. “No. You?”
“I’m not married, but I would like to find somebody special to build a family with.”
“Same.”
Another sign that we were compatible.
“How many children do you want to have?” I asked.
“As many as my husband wants.”
Great answer. Wow. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.
“Would you cook for your husband?”
“Of course. He’s the love of my life. That’s one of the most important ways a wife shows her love for her husband—by feeding him.”
My smile broadened with glee.
“Do you smoke?” I asked.
“No.”
“Drink?”
“No.”
“Gamble, drugs?”
“Never.”
“You’re like the perfect being. What do you get your kicks from?”
“I love coming to church. Being in God’s presence drains all my negative emotions, and it uplifts my spirits. It’s like pressing the reboot button and starting from fresh with guidance, love and support. God provides all of that.”
I looked at her for some time in silence. She felt comfortable maintaining eye contact. I felt that Emma was strong-willed, but she knew when to retreat from affairs involving her husband.
I had so many questions for her, but I didn’t want to overwhelm her. Showing too much interest could repel her. Women like a man who doesn’t reveal all his cards upfront. They enjoy mystery.
Never before had I been so keen to get to know a woman more than Emma. She seemed perfect in every way, and a part of me wished never to discover her flaw. I didn’t believe she had one. If she did, it was so small that I wouldn’t even pick up on it.
How could somebody be so perfect?
It seems that everyone who said that my future wife would be at church was right. Most of the women I hooked up with spent Sunday puking and recovering from a hangover. Emma had never tasted alcohol. She didn’t indulge in debauchery. Instead, she used her time to develop a relationship with the Lord. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend your time.
My heart felt like it had inflated. The beating had gained momentum, and my mouth dried. I felt my heart nudging my chest. I had never felt that before. It felt like it was trying to send me a signal.
We turned and walked to the parking. No need to exchange words. It’s like we could read each other’s minds. Every few seconds, we looked at each other and smiled. I felt that she desired to look at me often, as I did her.
At her car, I told her that I wanted to see her again. She smiled and nodded, sticking her hand out. I handed her my phone, and she saved her number. Emma leaned in and raised her arm. We hugged. I held her for a few seconds longer than usual. She didn’t budge.
I wanted to hold her for longer, but I leaned back. We looked at each other, smiling.
In my car, I stared at her number, tempted to message her to tell her again that it was wonderful to meet her. I felt that would’ve been a bit much, so I shoved my phone into my pocket.
I couldn’t remember the last time I crushed on a woman this badly. Had I ever? It sure didn’t seem like it. I wished to have attended church earlier. Emma and I could have met years ago and had children by now. Woah. Listen to me talk about children. That was a long-term plan.
While watching the eight o’clock movie, my phone beeped. That was strange.
I read the message and smiled. Emma said that she couldn’t wait to see me again. I thought about setting up a date for the following night, but why wait?
‘Send me your address.’ I replied.
I got into my car, stopped at a supermarket to pick up flowers and then went to Emma’s place.
I rang the bell, and her eyes widened and she smiled while looking at me and glancing at the flowers.
“This is a nice surprise,” she said.
“I’m a spontaneous guy. You’ll learn that about me.”
“Coming in.”
“I actually wanted to take you out to dinner. If you’re up for it.”
“Um…” She raised her shoulders and eyebrows, then said, “Yeah, sure. Sounds great.”
During dinner, I asked Emma questions about her hobbies, goals and interests. Everything about her was related to building a family. She worked in a boutique to pay for her bills and then planned to resign after meeting her husband so that she could stay at home, cook, clean and look after the children.
That’s exactly the kind of woman I wanted.
After dinner, I drove her back home. She invited me inside for tea.
On the couch, the energy between us drew us in, and I couldn’t restrain myself from kissing her. The smooching heated up when I lowered my lips to her neck, and she raised her leg, which I hooked with my arm and she wrapped it around me.
Emma reclined on the couch, and I lay on top of her, trailing kisses from her neck to her chest. She wrapped both legs around me, and my boner poked her groin. I had an uncontrollable urge to stick my dick inside of her and pound her hard.
I unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it apart, exposing her lacey white bra. My hand reached under her back, and I unclipped her bra, then pulled it off her and dropped it on the floor.
She moaned as I sucked her nipple and rubbed her pussy over her panties. My dick got harder, and she squeezed it. I couldn’t suppress the urge to penetrate her any longer.
I stood up and unzipped my pants. She sat up and stroked my dick a few times, then sucked it. Her thin lips didn’t do much to arouse me, but I got turned on by looking at her beautiful face.
Thinking about sticking my dick into her tight pussy turned me on.
I pressed her shoulders, and she lay on the bed. I spread her legs open and stuck the tip in and nudged my dick all the way in with a gentle push.
Emma closed her eyes and breathed deeply, intermittently emitting a loud gasp as I sped up the pace. My chest inflated quickly as I kept up the aggressive thrusts. Sweat beads formed on my forehead, and I breathed deeply.
Keeping up that momentum wore me out after about twenty minutes. I pulled my dick out and panted. Emma’s chest rose as she also caught her breath.
I told her to get on her hands and knees, then grabbed her small waist and thrust. She screamed as I pounded her hard. Her satisfaction refuelled my lust, providing me with sufficient energy to maintain the aggression for some time.
Her skin felt soft, silky and warm. My hands traversed over her body as far as they could stretch. I loved touching her tight body and feeling her pussy moisten my dick. I couldn’t get enough of her.
As much as I wanted to continue pounding her from behind, I knew that position would speed up my ejaculation.
I sat on the couch, and Emma bounced on top of my dick in reverse cowgirl. Watching her ass as she bobbed up and down turned me on so much. I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes, trying to suppress the load that was simmering in my balls. I felt that it would shoot out at any moment.
She tilted her head back, and I clutched a fist full of her hair, yanking it. She chuckled mischievously, showing me that she liked dirty play. Sticking my dick into her ass popped into my mind. Maybe that was too kinky for our first intimacy, but I wanted to explore that option later.
I ran my hands up her back and grabbed her shoulders, sensually massaging them. She stopped bouncing on my dick and motioned forward and backwards as she looked over her shoulder, smiling with eyes closed. That was so hot.
I grabbed her waist and assisted her to rock back and forth. She murmured, turning on even more.
She scooped her hair with both hands and whipped it over her shoulder, revealing more of her back. She smiled cunningly over her shoulder, and I couldn’t control myself any longer.
I frowned, and my mouth slacked open as I shot my load inside of her.
Emma faced me and sat on top of me. She wrapped her arms around my neck, and I held her waist as we kissed passionately for several minutes.
We pulled back, smiled at each other, and smooched one kiss at a time.
After showering together, we lay on her bed, and I fell asleep in her arms.
The following morning, I went to work. I couldn’t stop thinking about her the whole day. I felt like the luckiest man in the world to have found such an amazing woman. The best decision I ever made was going to that church.
I felt that I was on the precipice of falling in love. All I needed was a slight nudge from Emma. It was up to her to contact me and tell me that she couldn’t stop thinking about me and needed to see me ASAP. That was definitely a woman’s role.
She didn’t contact me the following day. Nor did she call two days after we were intimate. I was emotionally vanguished on the third day. What the hell? Why didn’t she call? Was I terrible in bed? No, that can’t be it. I’ve satisfied numerous women.
I called Emma, and she didn’t answer. She didn’t return my call that day or the following day.
I called her again. No answer.
I thought that I was on the verge of falling in love. Emma seemed perfect. She was definitely wifey material. She was supposed to be my wife. What’s going on with her?
TO BE CONTINUED…