After lockdown eased, I needed to be fucked so urgently I could barely think.
At first I was nervous, but then I reminded myself that not only had I been double-jabbed, I also hadn’t been anywhere. After several cups of tea to get my courage up and a rearrangement of bookshelves that I didn’t even try and pretend was anything other than procrastination, I ignored my pounding heart and signed onto Grindr.
I hadn’t been on there for so long I wasn’t sure my account would still work. Other people must have had the same idea though, and after the usual to and fro I found a guy who lived about twenty minutes away. He swore he’d been jabbed too, plus he’d already had Covid the year before.
As we exchanged details, a thought occurred to me about how I could reduce the transmission risk still further, while also fulfilling another ambition I’d had for ages. Excitement grew in me – my hands trembled, and I kept having to retype things. Soon, however, we had a scheme worked out, and although the encounter itself would be strange, this planning was a big part of the excitement.
I made myself up, with particular emphasis around the eyes – smoky but with a lot of red and yellow. I also added some glitter, shaded in excessive contouring on my cheeks, and paid even more attention than usual to my hair. Lockdown had done for my little black bob, and I now rocked a 90s-era Posh Spice look that delighted me. Posh was the best Spice Girl despite – or perhaps because of – the fact that she didn’t do much. I even put on a little black dress like the ones she wore.
I carefully sanitised my hands, not just for protection but because I love the sharp chemical alcohol smell of the gel. I then faced a conundrum – did I select a face mask that matched the dress (black – a bit manly) or one of my colourful ones that didn’t? After careful consideration, I selected a pale, skin-tone mask with a big red lip design. I hadn’t had the courage to wear it yet, but today was definitely the day. Slipping it on, I saw in the hallway mirror how well the mask went with my over-made-up eyes.
I pulled off the mask, picked up my handbag and walked to the car. Everything was very quiet. There were few planes, and although there was more traffic than there had been a month ago it was still noticeably quieter than before. The early summer was bright, tinged with gold, and fresher without the usual burden of pollution.
I felt outrageous, but also scared. After all, we’d spent so long being terrified of the air.
Feeling like I was doing something unwise, and perhaps even dangerous, I got in the Triumph and set off. I felt slightly breathless with a tension, made stronger by my lack of underwear beneath a tight dress with a bracingly short skirt.
The journey took less time than I expected, and I soon reversed up in the gravel drive of a mock-Tudor semi with a high Kentish slant to the roof. Although I could see the door was ajar, I didn’t get out of the car.
Instead, I prepared myself with lube, careful not to get any on the seats. I was tense, so I took a hit of poppers from my handbag. After a dizzy sense of displacement, everything settled. I pulled out a dildo, lubed that, and sat on it for a bit. Gradually, my tension eased, and the desire I’d been repressing for so long erupted out of me in a grunting cry, like an animal.
Taking another hit of poppers, I sank into the moment. I could hear birdsong, and voices from a garden nearby. The car was getting warmer, and I could feel my body heat increase.
I slipped on the mask and checked in the rear-view mirror that the covering was straight. It looked nice, but also slightly disturbing, which felt appropriate. I slid the poppers up my left sleeve, pulled out the dildo, and dropped it in the passenger footwell.
Opening the car door, I swung both legs carefully out. I don’t think the neighbours were watching but just in case they were I didn’t want to get into trouble for indecent exposure. Panting now, I was about to walk to the front door when I realised I’d forgotten the condom. I reached back into the car, got the pack out of the glove compartment where I’d put them before the pandemic and pulled a two-set out. Tearing it in half, I put one down the side of my left boot as a spare and tore the wrapper on the other, pulling the pale slippery edge of it out for ease of removal.
I closed and locked the car door, sliding the key up my right sleeve. I didn’t want to be encumbered with a handbag, and I doubt my partner was going to be paying any attention to my arms.
My boots crunched on the gravel as I made my way to the front door. I didn’t push it right open – I just slipped inside and closed the door behind me.
I found myself in a hallway with a chocolate-brown carpet and a polished wood staircase. The paintwork was a tasteful cream, shading up to a dark ceiling that rendered the space intimate rather than gloomy. Sunshine glowed through a window that faced a brick wall, illuminating the man who awaited me.
He was in his late thirties, and taller than me although not as fit. Nonetheless, he had that natural solid strength some men have, which suggests it will take more than a punch to dent him. As well as a mask with a paisley pattern, he wore a red Superdry T-shirt that was faded with use, trainers – and nothing else.
We stood a couple of metres apart. His expression did not change, and neither did mine. We had agreed there was no need for any kind of talk, or expression, to the extent that I must have looked as blank as he did. It didn’t matter.
The moment he saw me his breath deepened, and I watched his cock engorge fast without him even touching it, as if it were a machine. It was a decent size, and my mouth watered behind the pouty mask.
I had a sudden need to talk about the weather, lockdown, and how great it was to be doing this with someone new. But not seeing people had rendered me unusually quiet, and I realised it was that as much as kink that inspired me to insist we remain silent when we met.