Having woken up at two in the morning midway between a boiling boyfriend and a chilly bedroom I found I had some time on my hands. I don’t know where they’d been while I was asleep but there they both were, when I looked at them; covered in the stuff. The left rather more than the right if anything, dunno why. So I put my old mans slippers on my old mans feet, one on each, and went into the kitchen, which is right next to the bedroom in my boyfriend’s flat, to have a …… no, no, to make some tea.
You thought I was going to wash it off, didn’t you? Well I wasn’t!
I do still have one or two pleasures left in my life and drinking tea, often in the middle of the night, is one of them. Especially when I have time on my hands.
Like you I felt confused. The streetlights on the hill were making weird patterns on the window and my head felt woolly inside. Worse, my jaws ached for another reason entirely. Trouble is you see, what with having driven to Lincoln in a fit of pique and an old Ford motor car I seem to have mislaid at least one day of my life somewhere. I am a bit annoyed about that, not having enough of them left to be able to afford to lose any, so over the last few hours before we went to bed I’d hunted high and low for it. In the kitchen and in the carport, even in the rubbish bags under the bed.
All to no avail. I hadn’t driven fast enough to experience jet lag, crossed the international date line or anything (there hasn’t been one on the A17 since the Tories got in) so where the hell was it? It was maddening, so maddening that I’d been nothing like my usual self when we finally burrowed under the quilt together.
He’s not that sensitive a man, more a man who knows what he wants and goes all out for it. Sometimes at a rather brisker pace than is comfortable. I didn’t tell him I had a headache or anything, or that he was making me sore and would he please be careful. I think I’d have been wasting what little bit of my time I suddenly seemed to have left. So I kissed him and drifted off into a wonderland somewhere, a place inhabited by compliant hermaphrodites with chocolate coloured skins and lovely large nipples. Yes there is another story in that vein, you can read it as soon as it is finished. It’s a whole damn book in fact but fear not, I won’t bore you with all of it.
His double grunt and sigh presented itself, right on cue, dribbling away onto the plain white towel placed specially. He didn’t ask how was it for me afterwards, no, he just fell asleep. There and then, straight away, with a capital Zed. Yes girls, I know that sounds familiar! To say I slept fitfully after that would be a lie. I lay awake and ground my teeth with a hard on. The few teeth that remain, that is. Lay awake and scratched and jiggled and thought about the slim, blue skinned creatures in Avatar and what it might be like to have it with one of them.
Eventually, as I was saying, I got up to make tea, so I’ll get on with the story.
I did feel really quite weird, sort of light headed and heavily bellied. Being mostly male and mostly too old I knew it couldn’t be pregnancy so I concluded it must have been something to do with the wrong kinds of food followed by the wrong sort of sex. For a while I wondered if perhaps he’d drugged me but then, why would he bother? I do as he tells me anyway. I’m a good girl, I am, when I am with him.
But what made it all the more disconcerting was the fact that all the streetlights in Lincoln dimmed and flickered when I switched on the kettle.
Obviously that did not bode well for poor Mr. J. Watt, the man who runs the local post office, power station and lunatic asylum. It meant he had to get out of bed just like me, don his ten league boots and start pedalling furiously on the city’s standby electricity generator. Otherwise there’d not be sufficient current to boil the water in my kettle and keep Lincoln’s lovely empty streets illuminated at the same time.
It would be hard work for him I knew, and sorry is Watt I shall tell him when I see him in the newsagents in the morning, but I just had to have tea and while I was up, and presumably awake, had to write this whale of toe down too before I remembered it impletely, if that makes sense.
I heard him move in the bed while I was halfway down page two. The kettle had boiled by then, which allowed poor Mr Watt to stop pedalling and go back to bed.
Moments later the apparition called Julian materialised in the room.
A short, pointless conversation ensued, and when I say conversation I mean that in the loosest of senses:
Ju: “Wass time?”
Me: “‘Bout three!”
Ju: “Godz knees!”
Perhaps some smartarse playwright could have invented an entire three act tragedy from those fourteen little words, perhaps some other clever sods at Oxford or Cambridge might have compiled themselves a dictionary, I don’t know, I wouldn’t put it past them. I mean, if you can write an epic poem about the shadow behind the pendulum on a grandfather clock then you must be smartarsed and clever enough to be able to write about anything.
What I did notice straight away however was that Julian was standing in the kitchen goosepimply naked; and speaking of which, sometime about then Julian noticed the same disturbingly familiar phenomenon in relation to me.
"Cold innitt?" he suggested hopefully, to which I agreed most readily that yes, it certainly was. Due mainly to the fact that both the kitchen and bedroom windows were wide open. Alright, it was wintertime and yes, Lincoln does stand on a large hill directly in line with the north pole, but, as Julian says, the two of us do a lot of breathing when we’re together and if all the flats windows were closed, who knows, we might suffocate.
Do you know, Julian had shrivelled almost to insignificance by then and, dammit all, when I sneaked a look past the belly, so had I. There was only one thing for it after that – hypothermia, which was way beyond either of our budgets, so, rather than upset our respective bank managers by asking for overdrafts, we both went back to bed.
I made Julian cuddle me; stuck my frozen backside in his lap and made him caress my nipples. No, he didn’t do too bad a job of it. He even laughed when my tummy began to rumble as it worked out what to do with the unscheduled and hurriedly swallowed cup of tea.
His body is nice that way around, rather like sitting in an old fashioned armchair for me, only lying on my side if you see what I mean. Lovely with his arms around either side of me and his palms resting on my tits.
His cock is nice that way around too, especially when, after a while it hardened again. I didn’t have to move very much for him get it up me, an inch on my hip, half an inch upper leg. That was enough. I didn’t even have to hold him for more than a snitch.
I love taking his cock that way, love the blunt sharpness and the initial pressure of his push. I can relax so easily when I’m lying like that, loose and listening to the eager way that he breathes.
This time I was still slippery from the last time, still slick enough for it to be almost effortless. Effortless!
Better still, as I curved into him, drawing my knees up very nearly to my chin he moved one hand from a nipple down onto my prick and in a couple of minutes made me cum, oh so easily, oh so lovingly, spurt, spurt, at the very same time as he did.
We slept softly and warmly after that, both of us, with Julian fantasising about Charles Atlas, I’ll bet and me, well you know, after Julian had teased that much needed cum out of me I got in several hours of plain, simple dreaming.