Plane flights always bring about a level of anticipation. Some more so than others.

A trip with the kids or the girls always involves lots of arranging, co-ordination and an understanding that one must be a “sensible packer” A top that could be worn with a variety of bottoms and cater for cool and warm days and nights. Yes, being a sensible packer is a skill that many women take pride in.

So it is an odd feeling sitting in the airport lounge, clutching a ticket to Adelaide, all by myself. It’s only a weekend away so I dont have to line up a host of outfits and that has made this packing job a little easier but, at the same time, twice as stressful.

My reputation as a sensible packer is in tatters as I ponder what is in my only bag. Inside my carry on luggage, one of those cute little wheelie numbers that has been with me all around the world, is well... very little indeed. And of that very little, each item of clothing is well... very little. But is it sensible? I simply do not know but I suspect it’s anything but.

Is a g-string teddy sensible? Well’ better than a bra and panties on a cold night, I think. Is a couple of miniscule Wicked Weasel g’s sensible? Well, if its hot by the river they might prove to be. What river? I don't even know where I am going. But I have been told and I have created a picture in my mind. Will it be like I imagine? And I laugh at the irony of my thoughts when I ask myself “Can anything really be “no strings” when everything in my bag is a heap of strings held together by string”. ”A bad start by me” I laugh.

And I’m sitting, waiting and thinking. Perhaps thinking too much. If being on a dating site as part of a couple seeking other couples and women is at all sensible in the first place? If chatting to a couple and then discovering that couple is really a man and then still chatting is sensible? If laying eyes on his pics whilst ignoring hers is sensible? If not telling my partner about this particular ...ahem..couple was sensible?

I am standing with my bag in Rundle Street having seen on descent to the airport the Adelaide Hills grace the horizon in beautiful sunset tones. But it’s serenity has not fully captured me as I wait nervously for a man I simply don’t really know. And I’m here with a wardrobe that allows for a restaurant, maybe a coffee at a cafe-but otherwise nothing else that is generally worn in public. I’m here, the plane has gone, the taxi has emptied me out and I’m in Adelaide. “Not really anywhere to turn , is there?” I think to myself.

Every car coming towards me is scrutinised. “God I hate tinted windows.” A 4WD ute proceeds ominously through the intersection where most other cars seem to be turning. Thats it. As it slows I know that it is indeed him. I am eye level with a brick cutting machine and my knees go weak with fear.

Out steps a dark, very fit tradesman whom I recognise as the man I have come to see. His flashing smile is unmistakeable except this time its animated rather than the frozen smiles you see in still photos. Like most men, he looks me up and down in the way that women are used to. Some hate it. I love it. It makes me feel special to get a look and even if its not kosher to some, you won’t have any complaints from me as long as the glance ends up with eyes meeting and a smile.

And that's how it was with Damian. The first step in regaining some comfort was warmly received as he took my bag and put it in the back of the ute. My sensible black dress didn’t necessarily clash with the tradesman’s ute but it came into it’s own as Damian opened the passenger door just like a suited and capped chauffeur does in a stretch limo. I laughed out loud at his cheeky manner and jumped in. The door was shut quickly and firmly and I swore he jumped the ute tray as he appeared in the drivers seat in a nanosecond. A first stolen kiss and the engine was running. At once, I felt a mixture of guilt, fear and anticipation. We both looked straight ahead.

Onkaparinga is a word. And also a river in SA, apparently.

Damian’s mouth spoke that word as we headed somewhere and I had remembered that word from years before.

I didn’t know much other than it was firstly, a name on the label of my blanket when I was young. Florid writing on a tatty blanket but it kept me warm nonetheless. We all love blankets and we like them more when they are providing us real warmth. And Onkaparinga was also a kind of cockney rhyming slang for fingers. My Dad used to talk about cold “Onkaparingas”. That meant fingers I was to learn-and remember 30 years later somewhere in Adelaide, in a car with a bloke I didn't really know.

I was cold but I was warming. Thinking about fingers. In my cunt.......moving in my warmth, through my boy pants while he drove and looked at me in the eyes.

Damian, I want your hand on my thigh and, yes, let it wander. I don’t want the destination nor the journey. I’m in Adelaide alone with my bag and I want you to fuck me. But timing is everything, isnt it? It was. We soon arrived at a rural post box that signalled an entry to someplace

It was dark. There was a road. There was a house. I could see that. In my bag was much more than I could articulate verbally but felt it’s contents down to my warmness. What next? I have boy pants on now and I am acutely aware of my underwear. Women always know what undies they have on and they always worry about it. Is it good enough? Will Damian warm to it? No matter, the underwear is about to come off and soon. I’d better prepare my mind cos my body is already seeping in all the right places.

I am a sensible packer, I know that. But right now I want to be carried into that house and fucked all night. Leave my bag in the car. How not sensible. It is cos thats what I want right now. Fuck the accumulated knowledge of 45 years. Damian said in his AMM message that he’d fuck me 5 times and I was deep in anticipation. Fixated on 5 times. 5 loads of cum in me and 1 person doing it. All I need to do after all this organising is be carried and then taken...and taken.....and taken. Take me Damian-soon.

He did. The ute door swung open and strong arms slid under my bum. Damian picked me up. God don’t ya luv this. My boy pants rode up my bum. It’s been years since I have been carried and conquered. At my age, I’ve kept my body but someone obviously wants what I have kept. Damian wanted me today. I wanted 5 loads of cum in pussy. I wanted the morning so that I knew why I came to Adelaide. I wanted to remember what coffee tasted like with a sore cunt and a rough hand lightly caressiing my twat before he pressed his weight on me one more time and kissed me goodbye.

He told me in the message that he was going to fuck me 5 times. Damian said thats what he did for his partner. Thats what he would do for me. Fill me up with his cum in the river house while his wife stayed at home in Adelaide. I felt for her but I did got over it. I wanted him to fulfil what he said. I wanted him to fuck me and cum in me.

But he was a gentleman with manners all the time trying to get in my pants. Forget it Damian, Im here. I wanted him to cum and I wanted to cum on his cock. I was no lady no more. Keep your condomns and your practised words. This was a lady with a ticket that had an expiry date and I wanted it spent. I also told him that this lady would cum all night. She does. Thats me.

The mobile rang. Fukkkkkkk. Hi darlin’ . Yep cool. Work is hard. I’m in the hotel watchin the TV.

Ahh Mark I want to be fucked all night in Adelaide. True. His answer was something like we all hear. Drive safely, darling and be careful. I love him in all his ways.

I neither cared about the road and who was driving. I had permission. I was going to drive like a road slut. My keys, my twat, my time .

And my eyes moved towards Mr 5 times. And it worked straight away. So much so, I was still wondering where I was and where in the world I was to be fucked and sent home soon thereafter

In the house where I was taken, Damian slid his hands beneath my elastics-under theboy leg.He wanted my body NOW. Right then, I, too,wanted cock not cockiness and he obliged. Seeing someone elses cock works for me. Halting breath and a man that wants to fuck me grips me more than it does him. Where am I? Who is this man?

Off go the undies, I am on my back, and they are flung to the moon. So exposed. At the time, I dont ever wish to see them again and I hope Damian feels the same. Except that I hope he might just keep them and want the smell me long after I am gone back to Mascot. Damian, they are yours I want your cum in me.

Still daylight, with my cunt shaved, primarily for Mark, and now Damian seeing it for the first time I know what will happen. The noise and movement of a hand fumbling with a fly and I know what comes next. Been there before many years before but I’m still scared but I dearly want what happens next.

He pushes his cock tip against me and I know I will come soon. Such a tease but such a player as he pushes his knob against my twat. I warn him but come just the same. He hasn’t even fucked me but he knows I have lost my moment. I’ve seen his cock and I have come already.

As he enters me I know that any pretence of concern for Mark is far gone and more so as I am laid on the bed firmly. Feeling a different cock in your pussy is a moment not easily forgotten. More so when you are distant, unsafe and vulnerable. Damian just drove it into me in one fell swoop.

Right at that moment, I knew he had used his flashing smile for all the right reasons. And did I come?

I wasn't washing the sheets at the river house nor did I ask who was. I had an airline ticket and 4 of his orgasms to go. His first warm pulse of liquid stayed mostly in my twat and I was so pleased to hang on to it. And it was still Friday.