Category: Sex (Page 1 of 3)

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.

It was one o’clock in the morning and we were just coming out of a fairly heavy round of drinking which may or may not have started with a musical jam in the little studio space our university hadn’t advertised as owning. We had made sure to put a little drum kit in there, and moved the piano to the same room, so it was at least possible to jam. Tom had his guitar; Em, her trombone; Sarah, her saxophone. I didn’t always remember to bring an instrument, but tonight, I had a bag full of percussion.

That, however, had been a few hours ago. For the past while, we had been drinking. I, of course, was completely sober – everyone else had their own varying state of intoxication. My job was to get everyone onto the number one bus from Old Market Square appropriately. Helena had come over rather giggly.

“I don’t love him,” Sarah was saying, “I really don’t. I keep telling myself that, that I don’t love him…”
“Have you told him that?” cut in Rachel. Helena giggled.
“…no, but really, I don’t. But I want to see him. Just once. I have to see him again.” Helena giggled.
“Are you sure that’s healthy?” pressed Rachel, who was looking serious. “Your ex cast you completely adrift…” (Helena giggled at this point) “…and you want to spend time with him, just to see him again? Does anyone think that’s wise?”

Nobody raised their hand. Two years prior, I’d stood in almost this exact spot, locked in a messy kiss with an ex I had decided I ‘just wanted to see’. I was wiser then, although there and then I would have kissed Sarah, Rachel or Helena, if only she could stop laughing long enough.

“I just want to see him,” Sarah shrugged, as if this ended the discussion.
“All right, you want to see him,” conceded Rachel. “But make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”
“Like what?”
“Like… sex.”

Helena giggled.

“Yeah,” said Sarah wistfully. “I miss sex.”

don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it

“I haven’t had sex for two years,” I said out loud, “and after a while, it gets easier.”

now go stand in a corner and think about what you did

“TWO YEARS?” yelled Rachel, who had just explicitly told someone not to have sex. “Nah, that’s impossible. Couldn’t do two years.”
“I do it, like, two times a day,” said Mouth.
“I used to have a lot of sex, said Em, “but then I dumped my…”
“…two weeks is a bit of a stretch…”
“…all these boys, I mean, why should I choose one?…”
“…(Helena giggling)…”
“…these beds are too small, when you’re not living in hall, it’s easier…”
“…three times a day if I can, I mean, if I’m free and lunchtime and…”
“…still don’t know why she did it, I mean, I was still right…”
“…told him I was gay, I mean, I am gay, but I still told him that…”
“…so needy, we had sex a few times and he thought I liked him…”
“…I miss sex.”

“Are you quite ready?”

We’d managed to make our way onto the number one bus without anyone noticing. The driver was looking annoyed for having been held up, but this was the terminus, and according to the timetable, he wouldn’t be leaving for a while. I dug around for my return ticket in the third pocket of my combats while Rachel and Sarah carried Helena, who was now experiencing paroxysms of hysterical mirth, into an empty double seat, where she lay weeping with laughter.

None of my housemates were awake when I got back. I had lectures in the morning, too. Vaguely wondering if Sarah would, in fact, sleep with her ex the following week or if Helena would ever understand the concept of “quiet”, I stripped off and sank into my bed.

“Yeah…” I said to the darkness. “I miss sex too.”

“Mmmmmmmm…”

As I roll over onto my back, the first thing I’m aware of is how hot it is. Humid, too. The air is like breathing soup. Through my closed eyelids, I can tell it’s bright in the room… which must mean that it’s bright outside too. At first, I wonder if I’m still dreaming – before I come to a steady realisation that I’m not. And I remember where I am.

“Wake up, sleepyhead!” she trills, which is enough to make my eyes slowly open. She’s already up. (In fact, she may have been for a while. I’ve no idea what time it is. Time has no meaning any more.) But she’s still wearing her night-dress, which is both a surprise and pleasant to see. Her hair is a mess, and her face is a bit pink; she looks for all the world as if she has herself just rolled out of bed and decided to wake me up to annoy me.

“Yes, yes, good morning,” I mutter. “Just let me…”
“C’mon, wake UP,” she wheedles. “Let’s have breakfast. I’ve got so much to show you. Breakfast first. I’ve got lemonade or orange juice. Or orange juice mixed with lemonade.”
“Can I have some coffee?” I say, reluctantly crawling out from under the duvet. Her bed is like a dream – soft, smooth and easy to sink into. As a matter of fact, that describes her pretty well, too.
“Coffee?” she says dreamily, as if she’s never heard of the concept before.
“Coffee. I know you have it; it’s grown in this country. You’re aware of what it is, right?”
“Riiiiiiiight…” she says, taking my shoulder and gently guiding me back onto the bed. “Yes, coffee. I’ll get you some coffee, it’s just that…”

And then I notice that her eyes have strayed from my face. My morning wood isn’t morning wood.

“…change of plan. Can we have sex first, then coffee?”
“We had sex three times last night. You’re ready for some more? Is that what you’re saying?”

At which I realise we are both too far gone. She isn’t wearing anything under her night-dress, and I’m far too hard and far too willing to do anything but sigh as I feel her soft folds splitting, her sex contracting around my shaft as she kindly – but firmly – sinks down onto me.

“Sex first,” she repeats as she begins to ride me. “Then coffee.”
“Sex first,” I echo. “Then… uh…”
“Sex. Now shhhhh…” she whispered, placing a finger on my mouth and flashing me a toothy, full-beam smile as bright as the sun outside. “I want to enjoy this.”
“Hah…”
“Ooh…”

*

I’m still on my back, but this time I’m covered in sweat. Her hair is messier than it was. She’s still wearing her night-dress, but you couldn’t really tell. The main difference, as she’ll tell me a few minutes later, is that she’s full of cum, and had been buzzing for it ever since she woke up. Her head is on my chest, her breathing steady and body warm.

She speaks first.

“Yes. That’s what I meant. Now let’s go. I’ve got so much to show you. Breakfast first. I’ve got lemonade or orange juice, or…”

She stops to laugh at the arrested look on my face.

“…fine. Coffee. And then we’ll get on with our day, okay, sleepyhead?”
“All right,” I acquiesce, hunting around for something to put on. “What are we doing after breakfast, assuming I get my coffee?”

There is a pause.

“Sex?” she offers.

Ring ring
Is that you on the ‘phone?
You think you’re clever
But you’re never saying nothing at all

It was the middle of a lazy Saturday afternoon when the ‘phone began to ring. My parents were out, my sister was away, my gran was at a day centre, and my dog couldn’t use a ‘phone. Moreover, the landline was just outside my bedroom, so it was easy for me to get.

The problem being that I wasn’t really available to answer it. We had decided to take advantage of the empty house and spend an hour or so of having very energetic, very messy and very loud sex; not content with re-aligning her spine on a regular basis, we were now trying to murder my mattress. She was certainly making all the right sort of noises, and tight around my shaft…

I was going to come inside her. I was so close (and she was approaching something like her second or third orgasm), so I couldn’t just stop now, could I?

Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring.

“How long does it take you to answer the ‘phone?” squawked Lightsinthesky by way of a greeting. “We were wondering if you were going to come and sit in when we record the song?”

The song! I’d totally forgotten about it. I’d even written a verse myself and hovered in the music room making suggestions while Music Man strummed chords. I owed it to them – and my token black friend (whose song it was, nominally) – to turn up.

“I was… was… going to…”
“Are you coming back to bed, love?” she said, loudly and breathily, grabbing my arm and hauling.
“Yes, yes,” I gabbled. “I’ll come…” (at which point she laughed) “…I’ve just got to finish something first. I’ll be there, I’ll be…”

She took the ‘receiver from my hand and hung up. We went back to bed, and half an hour later with my cock still tender and her full of cum, we turned up at Lightsinthesky’s house. None of those present had ever met her before, but one supposes meeting someone in their “just got railed” state isn’t an entirely unpleasant experience.

*

Later that day my mother deemed it prudent to ask the perfectly innocuous question of what we had been doing that afternoon.

“We went to Lightsinthesky’s house,” I said, perfectly truthfully, “and recorded the song we wrote for my token black friend. It was very good; she was still singing the chorus afterwards.”
“Did you say hello to Dane?”
“Dane. The builder, Dane.”

I knew Dane. He had helped to convert our attic into a third bedroom. But I’d no idea he had been present. Maybe he had come by while I was at Lightinthesky’s?

“I didn’t see him – when was he here?”
“He’s been here all afternoon, finishing the bathroom floor! You didn’t see him? What were you doing for most of the afternoon?”

😳

He’d certainly done a good job on that bathroom floor. Six years later and I was still fucking on it.