Losing it: Part II

Three and a half years had flown by but nothing much had changed. I was a still a virgin. Worse than that: I had never even been close. I was still so frustrated, so sexually active inside my head that I could have burst.

I'd left school and started work. There was a girl called Bev I'd known at school working there too, always giving me the eye, saying slightly suggestive things... but the older women in the office were continually making fun of me - there were 14 women and 4 males and I was still just a boy in my ill-fitting suit - and I imagined that Bev might be winding me up too. I gave as good as I got, verbally, but I daren't reciprocate the girl's advances in case it was a joke and they all burst out laughing, pointing at me, in the cruel way that some twisted women-in-office-jobs-who-aren't-getting-enough-from their-stupid-small-cocked-husbands sometimes do. I wanked about her all the time, imagining having her at work, upstairs in the toilets. I even wanked in those toilets a few times at lunchtime because I was so horny. And in my bed she came to me and we did it over and over till I wore her out and someone else eventually took her place... and on it went.

 

My small gang of friends had totally disbanded now but I was still pally with my old mates from the grammar school, all of whom were at university. One week in the holidays we arranged to go out for a drink and catch up while they were all at home (getting their washing done, probably). One guy had a brand new car his parents bought him for passing his 'A' levels. Spoilt bastard. My dad, by way of contrast, gave me £5. No danger of spoiling in our house. We all crammed into his Opel Ascona and went to the pub that I usually frequented. I walked in feeling somehow very grown up, having arrived by car; it was very crowded, very noisy, and we eventually got a drink.

'Let's go in the other side,' Greg shouted, 'I can't hear myself think in here!'

He didn't wait for an answer, just headed off through the throng, making slow progress, and the others acquiesced and tagged behind. I was about to follow when something caught both my eyes and ears. There was a commotion over by the jukebox - a gang of guys, some of whom I'd played football with, and a few others I didn't know, gathered round something, laughing, leering, saying suggestive things. I worked my way through the crowd, peered over and was amazed by what I saw: Judith leaning on the jukebox, glass in hand, swaying slightly, holding court to all and sundry. They were currently metaphorically at her feet, but were obviously after being about more intimate areas of her anatomy. All the local studs were there - the guys with tans and white shirts, faded flared jeans and gold chains (it was the seventies). All in their twenties, all with cars, all very experienced with the ladies.

 

'Bees round honey' was the hackneyed phrase that came to my mind at the time. But what sweet, sweet honey! She was at her made-up, Benidorm-bronzed, sexy, stunning best. She looked fantastic and knew it, and, despite being drunk, was fully aware of the power it gave her. I realised then how she had matured: she was in her element and had honed these man-baiting skills for years - from the days when I first knew her up to the present day - and was an expert. My eyes ran her over, well, as much of her as I could see through the scrum that had gathered, and then reversed back just to be sure - her dress was very flimsy, low-cut, short, scarlet, had gold embroidery around the hem and neck, and clung to her every unearthly curve. Her hair was her usual long, black, straight and shining. Her eyes said 'Come on then, if you're big and hard enough,' and her laugh disarmed anyone who got too close or said anything too risqué. She was a goddess. She looked up and saw me, her eyes suddenly even wider, her laugh even louder.

'Alex! Alex! Come here!' She reached out an arm and, instinctively, so did I. She pulled me to her through the melee, giggling, doing some leering herself. 'Am I glad to see you! It's been ages,' she drawled, looking me up and down, dark eyes shining, long hair swishing and swaying, always a beat behind her animated head.

'Fuck off, will you, you're getting in the way!' one of the lads growled as I pushed passed him.

'Are you coming for a ride in my new car then Jude, or what?' a very muscular though rather dim chap I knew as Jim-Boy, demanded.

'You must be joking!' She roared, '...and Alex isn't going anywhere, - he's mine,' she said, taking me in her arms and kissing me passionately on the lips like she did it everyday. 'Don't go, I want all these to go away,' she drunkenly whispered in my ear.

Phew! Kissing and intimate whispering... I'd been here once before, when I was twelve - God, it was good to be back in the old routine.

 

 

I looked round sheepishly. All the guys' expectations and erections deflating as I did so... and mine miraculously inflating, pushing against her. And when I saw their resigned faces I stood even taller in every sense. And what's this? My erect penis rubbing against a girl? OK, it's through clothes, but still a definite first for me. I mentally licked my finger and ticked it off the 'Things to do in my life' list that floated just next to her beautiful head; the first few items on the yellowing dust-covered sheet made innocent, boyish reading, but then a familiar theme emerged:

1. Climb that giant ash tree by the little dam in the woods.

2. Keep up a football more than 1000 times.

3. Play for Manchester United and England. And then Brazil.

4. Rub my erect penis against a woman/girl through my clothes without her slapping my face.

5. Woman/girl rubs my erect penis with her hand through my clothes

6. Woman/girl plays with her tits in front of me.

7. Woman/girl lets me touch her breast.

8. Woman/girl lets me touch her nipple

9. Get my hand into a woman's/girl's panties and touch her pubic hair.

10. Woman's/girl's hand touches my penis, flesh to flesh, wanks me a bit. And then tells me how big I am.

11. Get my fingers inside a woman's/girl's inviting wet cunt.

12. Put my cock inside a woman's/girl's inviting wet cunt.

13. (Unlucky for some) Fuck a woman until I cum. NB. Make sure she is on the pill first... or use a condom if you have one, or else that's where the 'unlucky' bit might take effect.

14. Lick a woman's cunt and make her cum

15. Woman/girl simply sucks my cock... cumming into her mouth would be an unreasonable expectation. Oh, go on then... and I cum in her mouth.

I'd got nowhere near any of them before tonight. I tell a lie, I was up to 757 with the football juggling and imagined that once I'd achieved that one, Man United would automatically come and sign me up anyway... international honours would inevitably follow. So that was two out of three almost in the bag. And now No. 4. Whatever next?

 

 

'Ooooh,' she giggled a little too loudly, biting her bottom lip and wiggling her hips, 'I can feel that'. She reached down and secretly rubbed my crotch. Now that was also a first. 'Alex looks down his list till he finds an ambition with the nearest definition - there it is, No. 5! He scores! Oh my word - almost word for word. Look at his celebration!' Another imaginary finger strikes the air, forever marking another auspicious event. She was leaning on the jukebox and I was leaning against her. We were about the same height, so no bending was required to communicate in this very loud place. She merely leaned forward a little, pressed her tits to me even more, her leg eased even further between mine, and I turned my head slightly as her breath brushed my ear.

'It's my hen do,' she announced, my face blank. 'Do you like my tits?' again too loud, though the background noise and the jukebox playing 'Jimmy Mack' probably drowned it out to all except me. 'You're resting against a pair of 38D's' she informed me. I wasn't sure what that meant either, but I thought they were even bigger... maybe X's, or even Y's.

 

I looked down, like a fool, as if I'd never seen them before and was going to give her an honest, first-impressions appraisal. The nipple to one of them was almost out and I motioned with my eyes to it, simultaneously pulling my jaw to one side in that 'Oops!' sort of way. She glanced down, laughed, and nonchalantly fed it back into her bra with a cupped hand. A woman playing with her tits in front of me -another first - well, near enough. Tick it off! Fuck me, at this rate I'll either run out of imaginary spit or I'll poke someone's mind's eye out before the night is over... or poke something much better if my luck holds. What a singularly/doubly fortuitous series of events that led us both to this place at this time. This is fucking fantastic.

'It's your what?' and, 'Er, yes - they look fabulous,' I somehow managed to string together, between her suddenly very hungry kisses. This is a busy pub on a Thursday night, my local if I have one, and this is not how to behave with anyone, never mind a woman who in forty-eight hours will be getting shagged by her new hubby. Her friends weren't too impressed either, trying to drag her away a couple of times. They too were 'proper women’, not girls, and I was having no quarrel with them; but, when I stepped back to let her go, Judith pulled me to her even harder, touched parts of me that no girl had touched before, licked my ears (which I found a little unsettling) and stuck her tongue right down my throat. They soon realised they were only winding her up to perform more public outrages and sensibly left her alone.

'My hen do! I get married on Saturday... day after tomorrow. My last night of freedom!' She put a strange emphasis on 'night', which I put down to the drink. Then she winked.

Hen do? I'd never heard the term before. Anyway, who gave a fuck why she was there.? She was there, clutching me to her titties, occasionally surreptitiously stroking my cock. Some strangers appeared, a bunch of lads, and looked like they wanted a word.

 

'Alex, we're going up to The Pheasant for the last one.'

Oh, yeah, the people I came with. I just nodded then I offered, 'See yer then!' as an after-thought as they slunk away. They all had resigned, embarrassed, but still oddly blank-looking faces; and not one of them bothered to ask if I was going with them. How very rude! Ha! But how perceptive and adult they had suddenly become. Not too long ago they'd have been making indecent signs and gestures behind her back, silently singing 'Alex got a girlfriend, Alex got a girlfriend' - see what a couple of months of university education can do to your maturity and your social skills.

 

 

Her inhibitions were off doing aeronautical displays over the town hall at this point. Mine were just behind and gaining on her in her slipstream - we were like the Red Arrows, and the crowd on the ground were dispersing as if they could sense we were pushing things too far, our antics were nearing the limits, and a disaster was on the horizon.

 

I don't drink. It's funny, but I've always got 'into the swing of things' without the need for alcohol; joining in, stone-cold sober, as people around me lose their heads to the booze.   It’s about fitting in, I suppose, but on my terms. So – I was a T-total oddity even back then - I famously, invariably, got dafter as my friends drank more:

'If I have another one, Alex is going to be dancing on the fucking bar, buck naked, wanking into a pint pot!' was one memorable observation on such an occasion.

And this was no exception. So she had another sip and she kissed me again. And I kissed her. And we 'surreptitiously' touched, and whispered and giggled. And on it went as the crowds thinned and it was just Judith and me and the jukebox - oh, and maybe I should mention three very angry, determined friends of hers who maybe thought I was taking advantage of the poor, drunken girl so near to her momentous life-changing event. No, I'm sure they knew her better than that. But were they angry with me, or was it with her - behaving like a whore in front of the whole town, while the lovely man (and he was a nice man, something that made me feel bad later on when sobriety descended) she was about to wed was having a quiet pint with his mates about two miles away?

 

 

'I want to take you home,' she moaned into my ear with a heady mixture of alcohol, lust and saliva. 'Come on let's start walking'.

'It's freezing out there. Haven't you got a coat?'

'No, I came with Pat and the others... in her car.’ Pat silently snarled at me from across the room. She was the designated driver, a friend of the groom and quite rightly in no mood to let a skinny kid ruin the planned celebrations.

We got outside, despite her friends' protestations, and started the long, snaking (the roads were straight enough, but she was pissed, there was frost on the ground, and those heels were very high) journey home. We'd got about a hundred yards when Pat and friends pulled up in her car.

'Get in and come to my house for a coffee.' It was the closest a pleasant request ever got to an order.

'Only if Alex can come with me.' Then to me only a tad quieter, 'I said… only if you can come with me.' More giggles. Just from her. None from me. I was standing in shocked wonder, trying to think what to do. I had no experience at all to fall back on. But I knew what was right: I should just go home. But my foot - and swollen cock - were in the door to the wrong house, and there was no way that door was going to be closed before it definitely had to be.

I was silent. She held onto my arm as I got into the front seat of the car - then she sat on my knee, wiggling and giggling, and in less than two minutes we pulled up outside Pat's stone-built terraced house.

 

 

I can't remember how this happened, but we ended up on the floor (me and Judith, not me and Pat; but let’s be honest, that night anything was possible), kissing, touching, giggling some more (her alcohol still taking effect on me) while her friends sat silently sipping their coffee, hoping beyond hope that she'd sober up and come to her senses. My hand crossed her belly and up over her breast - No7, quickly followed by No8: inside the dress and bra and felt for a nipple... and it hardened like it said it would in Mayfair. How good did I feel? But better was to come. What's this? I felt her hand slide over my crotch, under the waistband and into my pants... inside, touching me, touching it, murmuring her approval. There was not much room in there, but she pulled the foreskin back and wanked me gently. No 10 in the bag, and it's only 11.15...

'If we get too carried away I'll ask Pat if we can use the bedroom.' I really hoped she didn't ask that, for all our sakes.

'Woah, that's nice!' she breathed in my ear. 'I can't believe how big you are! All these years I've known you and never guessed you had something like this tucked away,' and she half-growled/half-purred, a poor imitation of a sex kitten. No.10 bites the dust before No. 9, but there was no rule that said I had to do them in order. I blow across the tips of my smoking fingers and place them back in their imaginary holster. I can go back and pick off the ones I missed later...

 

 

Music started playing, probably to mask the noises we were making... ‘Motown Golden Greats’, Volume III, I think.

'Oooh, I love this one. Listen to the words,' she whispered, and then commenced grinding her hips against me, singing right into my ear: 'See how I'm walkin', see how I'm talking...' Her hand, now out of my pants, moved up and down in time to the music against the tip of my very hard cock which was now protruding above the waistband of my hipster jeans... Could her friends see it? I couldn't give a fuck; in fact I drunkenly kind of hoped they might. '...Feel the need in me-eeeee!' she sang along, looking into my eyes, an invitation. So I slid my hand up her dress, then into her panties... 'Oh God! Can't believe I'm doing this'. I felt her soft skin and the pubic hair - that led, in all the mags I'd read at least, to ecstasy - and followed it down between her legs. She opened them a little and sang again, in time to those very timely and obliging fellows, The Detroit Emeralds, 'Feel... Oh feel, feel the need in me...' and I pressed my fingers to her cunt lips. I fiddled a bit till they parted and there it was: my first touch of that slippery wetness of which I have come to love the thought, taste and feel. The list was now a long one. Is that No.11? 12? Keeping track was putting me off a bit, endangering the rigidity of my member; turning a wondrous moment into a data-collection assignment. Eventually I resigned myself:

'I'll write it all down tomorrow while it's fresh. God, I'll be wanking on this for years and years!'

It's funny how my stiff penis can often give me great foresight.

I heard that song on the radio, just the other day, and I was instantly back there: her breath in my ear; hand in my pants. I'm stroking her pubes, slowly edging my hand down further for a first sample of the 'honey', that mystical fluid I had heard so much about but with which I had no acquaintance whatsoever. Isn't music fucking wonderful?

 

Her friends then gave up, their resistance visibly withered. I didn't hold up the glistening finger and shout, 'Whey hey! Look what I've got!' but I might as well have. They kindly bundled us into the car - before Pat's husband came home from the stag party and beat me up - to take us home. This time there was more room in the car - after a brief 'Hubble, bubble, toil and trouble' moment that the friends shared outside the house, I noticed the weasel-faced one set off to walk the short distance to her home - so I clambered in the back. We soon pulled up outside Judith's house and there was no doubt that time, the cold, and the coffee were taking effect: she was now sobering up. They knew I lived just round the corner but motioned for me to stay put.

'Now we're going to drop you at home you little shit so fucking leave her alone,' the big Swedish-looking one spat, pointing a finger in my face. 'She gets married, day after tomorra, yer little bastard'. She could have been in Abba if her choice of words had been a little less fruity. Where there had been resignation on their faces, there was now hope and a new surge of energy.

'He's coming in for a coffee with me,' Judith said belligerently, sticking out her chin almost as far as her nipples. She released the catch to let the front seat fall forwards, then reached in, clung tightly to my arm and pulled me out of the two-door vehicle and onto kerb. She linked arms with me. 'So fucking keep your fucking big fucking noses out,' could have followed as a post-script, the message in her tone and manner was so obvious. I shrugged, trying to look as helpless as possible, a picture of innocence. The girls' plan was, no doubt, to take me away with them and thus save Judith's 'honour' (and not for the wild threesome in the woods which my sex-addled newly-optimistic brain was imagining) but it failed. It thankfully, spectacularly failed. As their car drove away, sending out a plume of gases only marginally less effective at preserving chastity than they had been, Judith led me quietly through the squeaking wrought-iron gate and across the yard to the back door of her dark-windowed house.

 

'Mum and Dad will have been in bed ages now, and they never wake. Our Christine will be in too, but she's got more sense than to come downstairs.'

Fuck! The night is long but reality dawns. I'd never even thought about them. Oh well, that's it then. Despite her rather optimistic assurances of privacy, there'll be nothing further going on here if I have anything to say about it. Catching the lad round the corner shagging his elder daughter just before her wedding is not what her dear father deserves for all his financial and emotional input into the event... so just coffee it will have to be... maybe a snog and a fumble? No, not even that. My big, big night essentially ends here. But wow, it's been fucking superb, a truly 'big night' by any standards! I set off for a drink with some mates - all of us virgins, unless they'd got unbelievably lucky in their first term - and just a few hours later I get all the way to number eleven! Number eleven! Now that's fucking progress! What a night for firsts!

 

We pause at the door as she searches for her keys. The rush of the evening suddenly stops, like an avalanche reaching the foot of a mountain. When the dust settles and the last rumbles die away I look up and see the starry night, black and clear. It looks just the same as usual - well, maybe a little sparklier... I, on the other hand... I am so, so different. As the lock's oily mechanism silently turns and she tentatively opens the door, I take equally silent stock. This is not a dream: a few flakes of dried cunt juice on my fingers; a few centilitres of real-woman-induced pre-cum in my pants; both will bear witness. The darkened, silent space that had just been a door beckons us in. Despite it not being my house, I suddenly feel - arm in arm with the most beautiful, sexy girl in the world - right at home, and the world seems a much brighter, clearer and simpler place to live.

 

I make a mental note. First job for tomorrow: go and climb that fucking tree.

Continue reading Losing it: Part III

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