Scene from a Date Night

we’re out on a date in a restaurant nearby. my chair faces the window looking out on the high street, bathed in that evening spring glow.

my mind is flitting. too much work mulch, not enough “focus-on-the-love-of-your-life”. my mind flits and my eyes flit, and then i spot them.

a pair of pigeons. sat on a roof in my direct line of sight. they’re cuddling, it looks like. in that birdy way, their cooing heads occasionally forming a little heart.

i point them out to him and we watch, for a while.

then a third pigeon shows up. sits at a distance, watching.

“They’re shagging, aren’t they? We’re basically watching pigeon sex happening.”

“Yep.”

they’re shagging. in that evening spring glow – a beautiful, tentatively warm day – we are sitting in a restaurant watching two pigeons having sex on a roof.

briefly. before either of us can say anything else, the third pigeon intervenes and an actual fucking soap opera breaks out on that roof. feathers fly. one pigeon is unceremoniously pushed from its perch. it’s over in seconds but it takes us a short while to process what the hell we’ve just been observing.

and then the food comes and we talk and laugh and my brain stops flitting and starts shutting the hell up for a change. it’s nice. so very, very nice to reconnect in this most basic way considering we haven’t really had the chance to do so in the past few weeks.

pigeon-related drama and all.

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Hotel Style

Here’s a kicker: I like having sex in hotels.

Not that it’s something I’m well-versed in, but the few times that ILB and I have managed to sneak away for the weekend (which, few) have been bloody brilliant. None more so than the weekend we spent in Bristol for Eroticon – possibly the best sex anyone in the world has ever had (she says, gazing fondly up at the ceiling…)

I don’t know why I like it so much. Well, scratch that. I do sort of know why. For one thing, I like it because it’s part of being away from it all, just for a while. To me, it’s not all about just going to a hotel and having my boyfriend make love to me for hours on end, it’s, in the grander scheme of things, escapism.

Escapism coupled with making love for hours on end, but it is still escapism.

And it’s something we both need. There’s a sense of relief as you travel up to your destination, knowing that within just a couple of hours, you can throw your bags down and not care about the bits of your life you’ve been caring too much about for a while. You can just fall into each other’s arms, down on the bed and spend time in whichever way you want.

It’s getting into the holiday/being away mindset. It’s a chance to reconnect, not just by taking long walks, seeing sights and joshing about.

Another thing I like about hotel/holiday sex – actually having the time and space to have long/short/hard/soft/languid/rough/sweaty/loud/etc… sex with your partner. I especially like the having loud sex part, considering our current living situation where I get angsty about being caught by his parents at even the slightest EEK from the springs in the bed (which is a sofa bed, so yes, there are plenty of those EEKS.)

 

Not that I’m one to actually scream when fucking, but I am vocal.

Those are the main reasons I like hotel/holiday sex. There are plenty of little reasons as well – like…

  • His parents aren’t there;
  • We can walk around the room naked the entire day without any worry;
  • Incredibly soft beds are possibly a catalyst for even more awesome sex (a theory which I will write about at some point);
  • The tangible possibility that, if the mood takes you, you can have sex anywhere you want, not restricting itself to the bedroom (which is code for “I’d Love To Do It In A Park Sometime”);
  • Maximum opportunity for naked cuddles;
  • Maximum opportunity to try out a whole bunch of new sexy things;
  • etc…

It’s very freeing knowing that you could whisk yourself and your partner off to somewhere where it’s just the two of you, putting aside the Daily Life Stuff™ for a while and just… you know, relishing (and ravishing) each other’s bodies. To me, that thought is something that makes me smile, from both memories and future possibilities.

Of course, knowing that and not having the means or opportunity to do so in the near future is a bit less freeing and a bit more “AAAARGH.”

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Get It, Get It, Get It, Good

Moira Shearer In The Red Shoes

It began with a massage.

I love giving him massages. Even if it’s just a quick neck rub. I adore making him de-stress, and if he sinks into the mattress in bliss while I’m doing it, I know I’m onto a good one.

There were no candles lit this time – the little bedside light served as illumination to my hands kneading and rubbing his back. The air was filled with the scent of vanilla (Sliquid massage oil, I thank you) and the arousal building was tangible.

Then, the lube.

A lube-y, slippery hand job, with the occasional kiss on his cockhead. It didn’t last long, because by that time, I was soaking wet and he was proudly erect.

So I straddled him.

Sitting on top of him, his hands on my hips, I rode him enthusiastically. His hips bucked to meet mine, and our bodies danced together… until he slipped out of me in the midst of things. Twice.

Never mind. Because then he straddled me.

We made love intensely, frantically, with me prompting him to get his orgasm. He’d deserved it – deserved many more of them. By the end of it, he got his orgasm, shuddering to a climax inside me.

Somewhere in between, there was a fantastically strange shift of positions, which looked a bit like this:  -¦. I’ll let you decide what you make of that. It did give me a fantastically intense orgasm.

So we both went for another one. And another one. And another one.

At the end of it, we celebrated the last fifteen minutes of his birthday by eating the rest of my packet of Oreos. For sustenance, and such.

 

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Sizing Issues

Sunday evening…

“Do you want to have a shower with me?” he asks, already undressing himself.

It doesn’t take me long to actually jump into the shower with him, seeing as I’ve been gagging to wash away the remnants of the past (and particularly shitty) week. Of course, having not really had the energy (or good health) to invest in a good sweaty romp in the past week, a light bulb (possibly penis-shaped) went off in my head.

Shower. Horny. Sex? Shower? Sex in the shower? SHAWERSECKSLOL!

There was a bit of fiddling, a bit of fondling, and a lot of kissing underneath the comforting rays of the hot shower. I watched his cock get hard and soft and hard again, as we soaped each other up with Snow Fairy and made our intentions towards each other very, very clear.

[approximation of the conversation that happened]

LLB – “Sex?”

ILB – “Yeah. Not here though.”

LLB – “Why not?”

ILB – “You’re smaller than I am. Thus, logistics.”

LLB – “Aha. Gotcha. Damnit.”

ILB – “Yeah. Still, sex? Bedroom?”

LLB – “YAS.”

So, the action shifts to the bedroom, where he helps me blow dry my hair. There’s a moment of nothing, in which he tries to initiate the proceedings, but I hold back because I’m deep in thought. After I spend a while scratching his back, I share my sexual ruminations.

“I want to try something else.”

“Sure. What do you want me to do?” he says, listing some tantalizing possibilities. He eventually starts with rubbing my back, admiring my arse. And then he admires my arse in a different way, by gifting it with a couple of good spanks which have me squirming to the point where my head swims and I nearly slip from the bed.

There follows kissing my back, kissing my cheeks and a flicking tongue near my cleft, searching the wetness that’s pooling between my labia.

And Jesus fecking Christ, it is a lot of wetness.

He fingers me, rubbing my clit with one hand and other bits of me with the other. My arse wiggles and squirms, as do I, in delight and ecstasy. There’s a valiant attempt at doggy style, but, again, I’m but a small woman and have a bit of a limitation as to how I can stretch and bend.

Nevertheless…

“I want you on top of me.”

“Great! Facing you? Facing the other way?”

Facing him, I ride him, managing to wiggle my hips and arse in a way that I can’t even explain myself. It’s hot. It’s necessary. It ends with mutual orgasms, and possibly the best set of orgasms I’ve had in a long while.

So, no shower sex this time around. But I’m sure we’ll find a way. And in the meanwhile, after-shower sex is pretty damn awesome as well…

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The Kissy Kissy

I knew he was up to something. I knew he wanted me, badly. He told me later that he’d been undersexed in the past few weeks, and I couldn’t fault him on it – so was I.

The playful, teasing, kissy kissy, want you, want me dance had been going on all day, with moments of work being interrupted by moments of “God, I wish I could jump your bones right now.”

We’d had sex a few days ago, which was nice, but a bit marred by the fact that the sofa bed we’re sleeping on is incredibly creaky. It’s almost like the bed’s going “Hello, I would like it to be known that there are two individuals getting it on on my back here.”

Which isn’t handy when you’re actually staying in someone else’s house, let alone his folks.

But when it came down to the dirty bits, this time, I had no problems with the creaky noises. I was focussed on one thing: getting him off. He was reclining supinely on the bed, his erection jutting out and ready for my hand.

It ended up being messy. It ended up with him teetering on the edge of a huge orgasm whilst simultaneously trying to get me towards an orgasm with his fingers. I think he rather liked just how wet the act of me jerking him off made me.

Just a hunch.

By the time he was inside me, I didn’t feel like I was properly on this planet anymore. I’d had an orgasm which knocked the wind out of me, and was still flying when he penetrated me.

And for a long time after we’d finished too.

I liked the look on his face. I liked the way he said “Because you’re in love with me” and then said “I’m in love with you too” with that silly and adorable look in his eyes.

Kissy kissy. Want you, want me.

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The Almost Sex

It’s the middle of the night, after another one of those inopportune days. Between preparations for Christmas, accommodation-induced paranoia, feeling generally under the weather and just a whole lot of other shit, I’ve found it hard to sleep.

So has he.

He’s still awake when I ask if I can switch to his side of the bed. “Sure, sure.” he says, in that voice that always manages to soothe me, and wriggles around. There’s a moment where he’s on top of me, and he’s so warm and comforting that I just want him to stay there forever.

We kiss, softly.

We relish each other’s heat. His hand strokes me, idly. I want to ask him. I want to beg him to make love to me. Not because I need orgasms, but because I need more of that heat. I need to feel the connection, I need to feel okay again.

I don’t end up asking him.

But as we lie, spooning, like always, his hand still strokes me – leaving traces of warmth along my thighs and buttocks.

There’s been a lot of almost sex in the past few weeks. There’s been the feeling of his warm cum, painted across my naked back. There’s been teasing. There have been orgasms, had whilst touching and caressing each other.

Although, in a way, isn’t that also sex?

That hot, giddy, silly, ecstatic, loud, moaning, grunting, dizzying, HOLY SHIT kind of feeling … do you need penetration for that? Do you even need orgasms for that?

I don’t know. I don’t think so. All I know is that almost sex is quite nice too… and I’d like more of it. Almost.

 

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Suddenly…

It was the sort of sex that Alison Tyler would write about. Sudden, intense and much-needed. But mostly sudden. One minute, we were mucking about and laughing. The next, he turned me on my side and straddled me.

For about ten seconds, I was stunned by the sudden change in mood. I think I actually said “Wait, wha?”

“Because I was thinking about sex with you, and now I want to have sex with you!”

“But I’m still wearing knickers!”

Two seconds later, I wasn’t. The room was dark, his body was warm and the rhythm – however fast, however slow – felt comforting. And then uplifting. And then it felt like wanting more.

Not just a little more. A lot more. I felt the electricity, the connection, I felt it warming us up inside. It felt good. It felt like peace.

And after he pulled out, I wanted him back in. Badly.

Lying on our sides, facing each other, we kissed. After fumbling, trying to get each other off with our hands, I grabbed his cock and started rubbing it against my clit. And then, I started rubbing myself against his cock. It had an effect on him that manifested itself in a seemingly never-ending stream of words and breathy whispers and “Oh baby… oh baby”.

I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the pleasure it was giving him and how free I felt while doing it. Faster and faster I went, until he came. He then informed me that we will be doing that again in the future.

Who am I to say no to that, ey?

It was rather amazing. He was incredibly stimulated, I was incredibly stimulated and at the end, we were both incredibly elated. Epic winning.

There were more shared orgasms afterwards. Lying in the dark, watching him bring himself off to a climax in which the cum flew halfway up his chest…

It felt like peace too.

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Listen To Your Body

Sometimes, in sex (and life, of course), the body and the brain do not see eye to eye. Sometimes, the brain will want things of the body that, however willing, it isn’t able to do right then and there. And the body will rebel against the brain.

I felt exactly that last night.

It wasn’t bad sex. Not at all. It was good, decent, god-we-needed-this sex. But it was marred by my body wanting nothing more than a good night’s sleep. I’d been ill for most of the week, with Wednesday night being a particular low point as I struggled to do just about anything other than keel over in immense pain.

So, my body wasn’t exactly fit to be fiddled.

But my brain tried to convince me of the opposite. It just went sex sex sex more sex shagging shagging fucking COITUS.

And who am I to deny my brain?

I should have thought better of it, to be honest. Should have listened to my body instead. And from the impression I got, as we were lying on the bed afterwards during the come-down, he wasn’t feeling on top of his game either.

“We should practise more.” he said. I agreed. And then added “But with a slow build-up, right?”

He nodded, before telling me that he wanted me to masturbate along with him because he wanted me to have my orgasms as well.

Needless to say… I slept very well last night.

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And When The Rain Begins To Fall

It started out with a bit of fooling around. I was reading a book, he was editing a website. He’d gone downstairs to check the availability of the kitchen and came back to tell me that it was occupied.

He clambered on top of me and suggested making bunches of French toast. I said something Jilly-esque about bunches of French people.

“Nah. I’m more in the mood for Belgians right now.”

With that we started making out, and just as the thought of “Hmm, I could go for sex right now” popped into my head…

“Do you want to have sex?”

I think the word you are looking for, darling, is “YES”.

After a brief escape to the bathroom, I came back to find that he had obeyed my request to get naked, so I found it only fair to return that request.

He licked my pussy, flicking his tongue against my soft folds and making me writhe in relief. I needed that, to be inside my body after being so far removed from it for a whole week. He relaxed me so expertly, and the eventual feeling of his cock inside me sent a flood of more relief over me.

We made love while up in the skies, the Gods decided that rain would fall. While we came for each other, the heatwave started breaking.

And when I woke up two hours later, hungry and suspiciously craving chocolate with nuts in it, it had indeed begun to rain. Fiercely, that.

He came into the room and smiled at me. “I should make some dinner, really.” he said.

And it’s silly how my heart behaves at the most unexpected times. Looking at him, still naked and somewhat erect, my heart just filled with so much love.

The rain burst out onto the pavements, and I thought of how I loved it so. Both the rain and loving him.

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Spoon!

One of my preferred post-coital activities, other than greedily nomming down a Nutella sandwich, is spooning.

You’ve heard me moaning about how badly I wanted to be spooned last year, and now that I’m in a relationship with a man I love dearly, I can’t get enough of it. We do it every night, much to my joy. Not that we’re such rampant fuckers that we have sex every single night (but our sex drive seems to be increasing as the summer lurks) but we’re people of simple pleasures who like to enjoy spooning and shooting the shit about our day and assorted geeky stuff.

While, of course, being stark naked.

Because, let’s face it, most good things can be highly improved with nudity added to the mix. He tells me that he would often walk around naked if his parents weren’t around, and I’m miffed that we can’t really do that here. Unless of course by some divine miracle the entire household decides to go on holiday somewhere. Then it’s Naked City, population two.

She looks well game. Him, not so much.
She looks well game. Him, not so much.

Ehem. Back to spooning. In an intimate context, it can be one of two things : either an intimate embrace in which one person is backed against another or the spoons sex position, which is basically the same except you’re fucking.

(Quick fact for you. When the smaller person in the couple (which in our case would be me) is being the big spoon, you are “jetpacking”.)

As I’ve said, we spoon every night, but we’ve never tried spoon fucking before. Not that I haven’t been tempted to ask him, but I’m struggling to see how it would work logistically. How would he place himself? How far would I have to spread my legs? And so on and on. I mean, I like the idea of fucking whilst being so close together, but I’m also keen on kissing and looking into his eyes during the sex. I need visual stimulation and that’s exactly what this lacks. Admittedly, the notion of it being a prime G-spot-hitting position appeals to me, but only so much.

 

I think we’ll just keep it at naked, snuggly spooning for now.

Although I am open to other positions…

 

 

 

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