External Link/Members OnlyWarning: there is no sex in this review.
No penetrative sex, that is. I only realised that some hours later. Maybe we’d drunk too much, maybe the combination of music, dancing and conversation was such a powerful, so pleasant a brew, that the ordinarily obvious imperative to fuck had somehow been forgotten. Not, you understand, that I don’t have the desire to fuck Lily. Not that we haven’t fucked in the past. Not, I hope, that we won’t fuck again. On this night though we didn’t fuck. And yet it was in very many ways the most purely pleasurably night of my life.
Fluids were certainly exchanged, however.
So. We meet in Lily’s choice of restaurant and it’s a sweet, family-run Italian place where we’re sitting next to a couple of young broad-shouldered students who, we very quickly realise, would be scandalised to overhear Lily and I talk in detail about sex. Which is what she and I both want to do, so we up sticks to try to find somewhere where we can really talk.
Not the least pleasurable thing about meeting Lily for a meal prior to the fucking (or not fucking, as it turned out) is that she turns up in the most prodigiously sexy clothes. I don’t even know how to begin to describe how simply outrageously sexily she had dressed. A black top, a short black skirt that kept O my rising up, beige hold-ups with a lacy top, knee-length (£20, apparently) high heeled boots. I mean, she was DRESSED.
But, you know, we’re both thinkers, reflective people so you can kind’ve put the clothes to one side, gorgeously. They’re there, you’re under it, I’ll get to that later. Your sexiness is so tastefully but blatantly present that it underwrites the whole night. It’s a thing, being both flagrantly sexy and undeniably tasteful. Takes sass. Lily so has that down.
So we spent like an hour and a half in the reasonably posh restaurant talking about sex. And every conversation about sex - since it’s also a conversation about all the important things like love, identity, desire, power, reality - keeps opening up more doors so you could basically talk for ever. I say at one point that you know, we’re just going to have to carry on talking rather than fucking because it’s just all so fascinating. Not that we don’t touch, hold hands, muss each other’s hair, do sexy stuff. Not that Lily isn’t dressed to get a hard-on from a corpse. It’s just that whole paradox: the best sex is in the mind, and talking is what the mind does best. But sex is also what our bodies do when our minds have shut the fuck up. Go figure.
So we hit the street and we know that we both like fucking in the street. My head’s kindve racing but also like everyone else I’m wanting a simpler life. We kiss. (Any man with a pulse wants to kiss Lily.) Since we’ve done this before, we refer back to the good old days of fucking in the street. I finger her and complain that she’s not wet. Maybe, Lily points out, that’s because I’m fingering her arse? Well that would probably explain it. So now we go flagrant. It’s about 8.30, it’s light, whatever we do is going to be seen. So pulling her top down to lick her nipples is basically happening in broad, broad daylight. We are riffing on being publicly indecent. Trying to pick up the tune.
You know but the old cock has to be engaged. We kiss and grope against some railings in a pretty posh street around Victoria. I’m getting hard so push my cock up against her. I’m not totally in the zone but I’m getting there.
We totter on. A row of cars. I start finger fucking her pretty hard, although there are people walking very visibly by and I will carry the look of one woman’s judgemental survey of our shame to my grave. (This is why she voted UKIP.)
It’s clear where we’re going with this. You have to look around through 360 degrees to make sure it’s ok, but essentially we’re both wanting to take it as far as we can. Neither of us has thought to bring a condom out with us, though. So how far CAN we take it? Lily’s pussy is wet, we’re kissing, at one point I take her panties off and – of course – stuff them in her mouth but we’re hovering around consummation – because we have to, because actually cumming in public is the next stage and is risky, fraught.
By this time I really don’t care so unzip myself and take my cock out. I quite forcibly push Lily down. So she kneels and takes me. Keeping a lookout all the time, I start face-fucking her. She’s gagging but I go on doing it. A breather. Then again. I get hold of her head and force my cock in her mouth. All the time watching.
Then it gradually becomes clear that we can do it. I start wanking. “O God it’d be so cool if you could cum” says Lily and I think this could happen. I can feel, as it were, the spunk rising. Sometimes I need to thrust into her mouth as she squats there with me, behind the car in the late evening sun light and – honestly – I have to say that my cock is so hard by now that it makes a proud sight, going in and out of her mouth.
I really want to cum in Lily’s mouth. And do you know what: I fucking do. Really great release. Spunking In The Street. (Take fucking that, UKIP-lady.)
There’s a bit of spunk on Lily’s cheek but essentially she takes and swallows the lot.
We straighten up and sortve feel we’ve both very successfully achieved our short-term goals. So there’s a certain familiar smugness about our smiling at each other.
But anyway: the spunking’s done now so now we are going back to Lily’s place for, would you believe it, some more! This is SO why I do this!
Man but she’s in a cool, little bit cold, apartment block-type thing. (My balls are saying hey don’t bother to talk to me whatever happens now is cool.)
So we’re in Lily’s apartment and the fun, the serious fun, begins. She has what I believe the young people call “Spotify” and asks me what I want to listen to and of course I want to listen to Dylan. And, having cum so outrageously, I want to listen to only one song: Foot Of Pride. Lily cues it, it starts, it’s too quiet, I want it louder so she presses the thing on a gizmo she’s brought and there, in its full panoply of gorgeousness is this majesterially, comprehensively astonishing song.
And so we fucking dance to it. I think Lily is everso a bit in a-conscientious-escort-needs –to-please-the-client mode as we dance but I want to put some distance between that and the pure joy of the music – not that I’m not utterly delighted to have her dancing with me and putting her arms round my neck – it’s just that, you know, the music comes first. I strip off and am dancing (naked) like a loon, and Lily is laughing at my slightly berserk happy idiotic cavorting and air-guitaring.
We lie back on the bed next to each other and this, no seriously, is the sexiest thing: we’re both dancing horizontally, kicking our legs out - and at each other - to the fucking remorseless drive of the beautiful thing, and the joy isn’t at all lessened by the fact that Lily’s just in hold ups and a corset. But, you know, first things first: the music is the thing.
At some point in this, I’m on all fours over her, and the music, and Dylan’s tight-wound, perfect lyrics are totally nailed to the rhythm. And I just out of pure joy go down on her. And it’s a bit of a sacrifice, frankly, because going down on Lily means I can’t sing along to some of the most perfectly-sculpted lyrics in rock history. I am trying to work out how I can lick her out and sing at the same time.
But, you know, it’s not that often you can pleasure a beautiful young woman. The eternal dilemma: pleasure now, or the imperishable pleasures of eternal art? I hope you will all feel that in giving my attention to Lily’s pussy I was doing the right thing.
It was, I have to say, in all modesty, a little work of art in itself. I think when any guy goes down on a woman it’s a bit Star Trek: to boldly go and all that. Too fast? Too slow? Up and down? Suck the whole clit? Horizontal or vertical? Spitting?
Anyway, I stayed at my post. And I could see/feel/intuit that my efforts were heading in the right direction. So I tuned it. Seems this works. Seems this is good. Really don’t want to fuck this up since you’re having such a good time. And since we both had such a devilishly nice time outside. (Besides, it was Lily’s turn.)
Sometime towards the end Lily asked me to finger her as she needed a tad more than my tongue.
(Oh, forgot to say: over the meal we’d discussed the fact that in our last but one meet Lily had squirted, so that was the goal this time.)
So, after the request for fingering, happily obliging on my part, I felt contractions start in Lily’s pussy and at one point she suddenly became very very wet. And – I think – shortly after she came, at the same time really, she scissored her legs together and viced my head. Then collapsed back breathing heavily. A draw. But always so good, to make a girl cum.
Which I think explains the loose, chilled, giggly, intimate atmos with which the punt ended. We talked, over more wine, about loads of important stuff: why “Psycho” is possibly limited by it’s conventional narrative schema, and why, therefore, more open-ended indie films are preferable. Whether sex can ever be the subject of significant art, as opposed to a given. Why “The Dreamers” is/ isn’t a great film. Loose, while-I'm-showering retrospective (about our past meets) chat. Lily leaning naked against the door jamb.
We walked back to Victoria and talked and smoked. Apparently my cock is the best size. Lily will be doing incalls again in July. Sometimes threesomes don’t quite work. Sometimes people can be arseholes. We had a fag together outside the station, kissed and hugged and went our separate ways.
And some considerable time afterwards I realised we hadn’t, actually, had sex.
But, lest I forget, we had had one moment where she was squatting down cueing stuff up on Spotify – O but Lily has such great taste in music – Betty Davis anyone – she so rocks – I mean, seriously – and I was saying how fantastically broad her shoulders were, so strong, with her perfectly proportioned waist and then I, still naked (as she was, corset excepted), sat behind her, held her round the waist and started into seriously licking her earlobes and that, for Lily, was one way to moaning pleasure so we collapsed on the floor and at that point I thought well licking your earlobes seems to work for both of us so let’s keep doing that for more than a little bit on the floor together shall we.
So yea. Average punt.
Almost forgot. You know when you were a kid, and you thought it was really really funny to blow raspberries on someone’s belly and try to make the most disgusting fart noises you could just because, when you’re a kid, there’s nothing more hilarious than the noise of a really deep, as bassy and sustained-as- long as possible fart? Well, turns out Lily’s taut belly is absolutely perfect for that sort of thing, and the next best thing to making a gorgeous girl cum must be making her limp with laughter. And then doing it again. And again. And again. And louder.
She wasn’t so good at it on me but, being a boy, I probably had had more practise in my youth and my belly has a tad more – well - give in it than hers. Sexy, lean stomachs are best if you’re into that kind of thing, it seems.
