Oily Lolly
He was hard, shiny, and purple-pink.
Oiled from the tip of its head to the base of his balls. Taller than his hand and cleanly shaven like a magic staff held by a skilled wizard with nefarious plans.
I couldn’t help but stare.
It wasn’t just the shining monolith that caught my eye; it was the sound. The squeaky, squishy, jerky movements caught my attention.
He laughed because he knew he had me by my balls, which, thankfully, I didn’t have because we wouldn’t be watching the preview of his seductive cobra dance right then.
As I watched him go up and down, I wondered what made him do this. So openly displaying his dick in shiny lolly-ness to anyone who stumbled into his room.
Ometv, the random chat app, made this possible. Revealing secrets of a stranger’s life, daring them to show a part of themselves they normally wouldn't do.
The masks were off, and so were the clothes. There was a bravado and a false sense of security that no one would catch them, and what happened in Ome stayed in Ome. That was until some Youtuber or Influencer decided to secretly film and blast our naughty deeds to the world.
I swallowed hard. This must be how men felt. The tables were turned; instead of watching me as my dildo plummeted into my fair flesh, he was teasing me.
Other than the cock and facelessness, everything else in the room could be any other. Black shirt and black track pants — the uniform for most of the Korean guy population. His physique was lean with broad shoulders. Sitting on a comfy roller chair with a game computer on a desk. Most guys didn’t show their beds until we moved to another social media app and started stripping.
He had a sexy baritone voice and a nice Adam’s apple. There was a cheekiness to him with a whole lot of daddy, and that was how he got under my skin.
“Take off that hoodie,” he said as his hand kept moving, thrusting in a smooth rhythm.
I was a mindless robot, slowly slipping off my black robe. Just days ago, I was pissed about Shot guy who stood me up again after learning that I told H about him.
Liquid slid down this cock, glistening. Was it pre-cum? Why was the sound so musically delicious to my ears?
There wasn’t a doubt I was a perv. A thirsty, horny milf cougar who wanted nothing better than stepping into the screen and grabbing that alluring stick. I could imagine it, hard and oily, smooth and velvety warm in my palm.
“I want to see your boobs,” he said. Words that said to another female would be harassment, but for me, it became an everyday language.
Slowly, I slipped off my laced black lingerie. My pearl-colored breasts bounced as they were freed from the strings which held them.
This was supposed to be my game. It was supposed to be revenge sex against Shot guy because I felt like shit for being ghosted. However, this play of power with Oily Lolly switched with a simple act of jerking off.
“You want to suck it?” Oily laughed.
“What kind of oil do you use?” I licked my lips.
“My secret?” His voice held a grin.
In my mind, I was already imagining using H’s dick as an experiment, planning to mimic the same alluring sound. H was always complaining I’m using him.
“I’m not one of your boy toys,” he muttered. “You can’t make me have sex whenever you want.” He said that especially before I’d put on a new lingerie I bought from Victoria.
I often told him that he was above the rest — my very big boss. There was only one very big boss in the game, and he, H, was the main dish, and the rest were sides, appetizers, and desserts.
The whole year and a half taught me a lot about what I liked and my type was, and it reaffirmed that H was my favorite type. Adding to our personalities and common likes and dislikes, those were reasons why we got along so well and never felt like we needed anyone else.
College sweethearts.
Was it common these days to last this long? Twenty-seven years of loyalty and thinking I was only having one guy for the rest of my life. We used to laugh at those cheaters who got caught on Ashley Madison by their spouses or partners.
Why go to a site where only cheaters go? If you wanna cheat, hide it better. Who would have thought H and I would be at that crossroads and making a decision to do something most people don’t even know what it meant?
“Let’s try Ashley Madison,” he said.
The rules of openness weren’t clear, but H, at that time, was saying we were wing-people, supporting each other in our endeavor to try new people and experiences. We missed our hook-up phase. We had each other — so in love and matched in college that we didn’t feel the need to let our eyes and hearts wander.
“Whaaat?” I replied, already shaking my head.
“Don’t you want to see if you know anyone in there?” he asked.
“Erm…but they will also know who we are…” Though the insidious thought had already seeped in. Yeah…who will we find on the app? Gossip was already brewing in our heads.
“You don’t have to show your face. I’m going to start an account.” He’d downloaded the app and was already signing up. Minutes later, his profile was set.
“Is it working?” He grabbed my laptop. “You sign up too.”
“What for? I don’t want to talk to these people…” I said.
Ashley was for the older crowd and local. At that time, I was happy with my online sexting in Korea, vid orgasms, and promises to meet in June in Korea were enough for my thirst.
“Why don’t you do virtual sex too?” I asked H once before.
“I don’t like that. It’s not my thing. You like it, you do it but now we are open, I want to meet people.”
H had a point. We had agreed to be open and to meet people. That meant physically meeting someone. It took me a long time to gain the courage to have sex online, and that was just my hand versus the other guy’s hand, which did all the work.
Meeting someone in person and having sex with that person. At that time, that was freaking scary. I wasn’t ready for it but H was.
“Everyone should try to be in an open relationship before divorcing. Instead of cheating, being open is better,” said H.
And I totally agreed. Coming out as open wasn’t a bed of roses. The starting was awkward for me and difficult for H to accept.
There was a lot of counting of the people we “scored” on his part and how I was never gonna make it up to him because I started first with my countless online sex with strangers and had so many guys on dating apps thirsty for me, unlike him who had to go slow and build his profile till it fit the tastes of the women he liked.
True, I had 10,000 likes on Tinder in less than three weeks and thousands and thousands in all the other apps, but as I told him, those were quantity versus quality.
In fact, H had more friends with benefits (FWB) relationships than I had, and I'm still looking for my FWB here because the person I chose wasn’t in California. The two others I asked to be my FWB in my hometown, one said no because he couldn’t satisfy my needs, and the other, a dental student, who fucked me three times and ghosted me. I had one in Korea whom I saw once every summer and many, many guys who just wanted sex.
Competitiveness, on my part and perhaps his, made us search more. That itself was strange because jealousy came second to it. Most people won’t get why we were okay with each other sleeping with someone else.
“Think of them as bagels and donuts,” H said. “Different flavors but once eaten…”
We were talking about post-nut clarity. I thought I was casual about the sexual relationships I had but I found myself still hanging onto a broken link after the deed was done. Because despite my constant chatting and wanting to be cool about being loose, my DNA was woman.
And because I didn’t have an oilly cock, I would never get why once nut, once forgotten. Like the brain cells were just flushed out with cum, and a new day began the moment it was gone.
Back to Mr. Oily Lolly.
I did the usual pony trick. Squeezing my breasts, rubbing one after the other. Running my fingers on my nipples and pinching them as they fell back with a bounce.
“More.” His voice was husky now. His hand moved faster up and down his shaft. “Show me your wet pussy.”
“I don’t like to show my pussy here. The VPN might skip. Do you have an Insta?”
He chuckled again. “I don’t play Insta. Show it here. I want your pussy.”
This guy wasn’t like the rest. A pity he hid his face but so did I, that was the promise I made to H if I wanted to play on this app. It was the least I could do to fly free. My secret life should stay secret.
“You like it?” I asked after succumbing to his orders. A brat could only play as much as daddy liked.
“Show me more.” He growled, pumping harder, the squeaking noise ramping up.
“Like this?” I moaned, putting my fingers on my clit and rubbing them hard.
“Put your fingers in.” The squishing sound was music to my ears.
“How about this?” I pulled out my dildo and stuffed it in. I groaned and moaned loudly. Our virtual sex was getting hot. Super hot.
“Yes. I want to fuck you, you dirty slut.” He groaned back.
“Yes, I’m a dirty slut. I’m your dirty slut.”
This went on, him saying those words and I repeating them. A chant, building up and ready to explode.
“Can I cum now?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Who’s my dirty slut?” he shouted.
“I’m your slut!” I hammered in.
And together, geysers ready to go, we exploded.