Category: Sex (Page 1 of 4)

I was on the way back from Manchester, and I was alone. I’d stopped off at… somewhere, I’m not entirely sure where… but the station was empty, for myself, an unassuming couple sitting on the bench, and a sleepy member of staff who looked as if he would rather be anywhere else, doing anything else.

I had used the combination disabled toilet / baby change, and to break up the tedium, I decided to spend the rest of my wait gaming in the customer lounge.

Said customer lounge was a large, sad, square room with uncomfortable wooden benches. I huffed my bag off my shoulders, fumbled for my Game Boy Advance, sat down gingerly, and was just about to push the power button when…

Slap.
“Unh.”

No, that was just my imagination. Let’s get back to Ice Climber.

Slap.
“Aah!”

Okay, that was definitely real. I knew that sound, too. It was very familiar, and not just from porn (although that was, of course, the first place I’d heard it). I’d even made it a few times myself, despite never thinking I’d even get the chance.

But it was unmistakable, even without my prior knowledge. The telltale sound of flesh against flesh, skin meeting skin, pushing out the air between them and the very slight echo. Yeah. I knew what this was.

The only question was, where was it coming from?

Slap.
“Oh!”

Turned on, ashamed, I prowled around the room trying to puzzle out the mystery. A cursory glance around the platform outside and I noticed the lack of the couple on the bench. The sleepy guard was looking the other way… and there was no other activity.

Slap. Slap. Slap.
“Mmm… mmm… mmm!”

As the slaps and moans increased in terms of pitch, tempo and volume, I could definitely discern the direction they were coming from. The wall to my left. The wall, the thin brick wall, to my left. The wall separating my empty customer lounge and the disabled toilet / baby change.

The disabled toilet / baby change! That suddenly made perfect sense! I was the single boy perfectly content to sit and play Ice Climber; they were the horny couple deciding it would be a better use of their time to go and have sex in the disabled bathroom. (I mean, I don’t blame them; I’ve done that.)

How decadent. How risqué. How blatant. How…

how…

…sexy.

I even managed to pinpoint, through a sound I’m not even going to try and transcribe, what may very well have been an orgasm. It was certainly, if not that, a finishing move.

I didn’t quite get around to playing much of Ice Climber, but I did get my train. In fact, when it arrived, the couple were back on their bench, looking for all the world like nothing untoward had happened. Cool as you please, they stepped gracefully into a carriage. I followed suit, and as they swanned away into the milieu of seats, I traced them with my eyes…

…and regarded them with nothing short of ardent worship.

“Hey. Wake up.”

I rolled over – not an easy task in a single bed – and ended up lying supine.

“I’m awake,” I murmured. “Haven’t gotten any sleep. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” she replied, at which point I realised she was standing up. “I just wanted to point out that, well, that you’re hard. It’s very… apparent.”

She wasn’t wrong. I was hard, and what’s more, I had been for a while. We had had sex, of course, a few hours ago, but my body had decided it was ready to go again. I wasn’t going to wake her up for sex, but as it turns out, that’s what she was doing.

“The thing is,” she continued as she slipped off her tee, “you have a very big penis and that’s a very nice erection, and I really don’t want to waste it.”

There was a beat.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” I eventually came out with. Mr Smooth, right here.

“You don’t need to.” (She stepped out of her girl boxers and kicked them aside.) “You never need to say anything.” (She climbed back onto the bed and straddled me.) “You just need to do the things you know how to do.” (She lowered herself to sit astride. My cock, which was very hard, as you may have realised by now, slid inside her in one stroke.)

I took a deep, shuddering gasp as every single bit of me decided to wake up.

“And this,” she said as she started to ride me with a wicked grin, “is what I like to do with a very nice, very hard penis.”
“I’m not objecting,” I said as I started to meet her bounces with little pelvic thrusts. “You have a very nice… well, a very nice everything.”

As sex goes, it wasn’t very long. But then it didn’t need to be. A few minutes of bump and grind. All the right noises with all the right bits going all the right places. She was lying on top of me when we finished, and that was the way we stayed for a while longer. Her breasts squashed against my chest. My penis still buried inside her. Warm, wet, spent.

When, eventually, she nestled back into the covers and pulled one of my arms around her, she mentioned something about being able to go to sleep now.
“But I was awake. I said I was.”
“But I’m all warm, and satisfied, and full of cum, and I’ll sleep well tonight.”
I laughed, but she didn’t respond. She had gone to sleep. I wish I had that superpower.

Seven or so hours passed, during which I had sex dreams about her.

“Do you want a cup of tea?” said someone at some point.
“Mmmmm?” was my suave reply.
“Tea? Do you want tea?”
“Xibu ejezpv tbz?”
“Come on,” she said, while manually opening my eyes and greeting me with boobs to start the morning. “You can’t be that sleepy at this hour.”
“What time is it?”
“Never mind that! We’ve got to have more sex!”

More sex?

“Wake up!”

Some people call me the milkman because I always deliver pain.
Others think it’s because I’m a renegade milkman.
But the real reason they call me the milkman is…
I carry a bottle of milk with me.

It was seven-thirty post-meridian and I was just standing outside the Zoroastrian Centre on Edgware Road when I got a text.

It wasn’t full of doom and gloom, but then again, it wasn’t overly exciting, either. Alicia had run out of milk and wanted me to pick some up on the way to her flat. There was an M&S on the road, so it wouldn’t be difficult. Simple task, of course, and nothing unusual. I’m always buying milk. How would I be able to drink my tea otherwise?

But this made me unreasonably excited.

The relationship between Alicia and I was wonderfully uncomplicated. We would meet at her house (often on my way back from work); we would talk and eat; we would flirt and eventually have sex. We would sleep, spoon, maybe have sex again in the morning, and then we would leave for our respective lives. There were, of course, variations on this theme: on our first night together we watched Moulin Rouge! beforehand; on our second, she randomly drummed the main beat from Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo on my stomach. But the general idea was the same.

What made this simple request special was that this was the first time she had ever asked me to do anything domestic. Maybe neither of us had ever considered this. I was her lover, not her maid; I offered to help her wash up after dinner, but she had consistently refused. I occasionally went to the fridge to get chilled water for immediately after sex. Once I put some stuff in the bin. But that was about it.

Here, I had an actual errand. Go to the shop. Buy some milk. Bring it with me to her flat, so I could have tea with her before sex, also with her. I’d never had to buy milk in any sort of relationship before. Rebecca’s mum always had a supply available and Louise preferred lemonade (although she also had some for me when I requested coffee).

Is this what being a husband is like? I wondered, as I stepped into the warm light of M&S (noting the contrast with the Harrow darkness outside). Providing milk to your lady with the promise of hot sex afterwards? Calm down, ILB. You’re overthinking things again. Just turn up with milk and a penis and that’s all she’s really expecting.

I chose semi-skimmed, paid and set off down the hill to Alicia’s flat. As usual, she opened the door wearing a nice dress and a smile. I nervously, but with an air of utter confidence, presented her with a bottle of milk in lieu of a hello. She smiled, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and beckoned me inside.

We had a lot of sex that night.

This was preceded by some apple crumble she had made with custard. I don’t like apple crumble or custard, but I was very good at pretending. Plus, I had tea to drink to get rid of the taste.

With milk.

I wasn’t even aware the evening would be even hotter than the middle of the day. But, then again, this would have been more of a surprise had I not chosen to abandon all shock and awe. By this point I was just going along with it.

In any case, the evening was incredibly hot. All the windows were open, and the door to the back garden too. The distant rumble of the city could be heard, but the sound of the insects enjoying the summer heat was something I felt much more calming.

I could barely move. My own heartbeat was throbbing in my ears and, if I took a steady breath in, I could swear I felt the planet rotating.

Everything was sticky. Hot. Untidy. Heavy, almost. I lay there, eyes closed, sweat beading on my forehead.

Naked, of course.

“I’m assuming you don’t want any more coffee?”
“Mmmmmm…” was all I managed. I hadn’t even been aware she had entered the room until then. (I would have jumped in surprise, but I didn’t have the wherewithal to jump.) “No more coffee, though. Maybe a cold drink.”
“Lemonade, then.” She crossed the room, pulled a couple of glasses out of somewhere and pulled a couple of lemonades.

Sip.

“It’s good, thanks.”
“Very good?”
“Yes, very good.”
“So you’re up for another round before you fall asleep?”
“What?!”

I mean, I knew she was horny. I just wasn’t expecting her to be this horny.

“Do you want to go again? I could do with one more, if you feel me?”
“Really? But it’s boiling hot! And I’m exhausted!”
“Your penis says otherwise,” she pointed out, indicating it with a finger. In all fairness, she wasn’t wrong.
“Yeah, well, my penis says a lot of stuff,” I demurred. “It’s had a lot of fun today, but now it just wants to…”

I didn’t say anything else, because by that point I was already inside her.

“Not fair,” I whimpered alongside her gleeful bounces. “It’s too hot to resist.”
“Nobody resists me,” she laughed. “Hot or not.”
“Hot,” I moaned. “Definitely hot.”
“Uhhhhhhhh…”
“Mmmmmm…”

Ten minutes later, as we lay entwined, a very welcome breeze blew in through the French windows.

“That feels nice,” I said.
“Doesn’t it always feel nice?”
“I mean… the breeze.”
“That’s what I meant!”
“Oh.”

And with that (and a shimmy I wouldn’t have been able to manage, even if I hadn’t been so hot), she slid from the bed, a mixture of our juices leaving a glistening trail across the floor.

“Where are you going?”
“More lemonade, of course, silly,” she grinned as she collected our glasses. “I could do with one more, if you feel me?”
“One… more?”
“One more lemonade?”
“Oh. Yeah, yeah. That’s what I meant.”

Because it was, as I may have indicated, very hot.