Tuesday 13 March 2018

Wave Hello

This week I've dusted off my blog and twitter feed and have been saying hi again to people I met at Eroticon last year. And being a bit more public facing, one or two friends I have known for a little bit longer have noticed me and got in touch for the first time in ages. 

Three things happened. 

First, I deliberately made some time, with the altruistic support of my lovely man, to think dirty thoughts. That hasn't happened in a "making time for myself" way in a little while. Pretty sure I'll blush at our meeting later in the week when the social worker asks me if I've been making some "me time" this month. 

Next, the wonderful Wicked Wednesday theme is games... and the prompt picture had me thinking more board games than mind-fuck games, although I am sure there will be wonderful stories about both types submitted and I look forward to reading them all. 


Then a friend waved. 

It started last Tuesday when you waved to me on Messenger.

I waved back.

Sam waved back.

Home for the weekend with Lilly and the kids, we meet at the Harvester so they can run off some steam. Eight years since we could be in the same place at the same time.  Lilly looks great. The kids have grown. Your parents are still well.

Even here, a place not even built then, I am 20 years ago and taking you with me. Sam and Lilly talk about something they watch on the TV. My skin is prickling with your nearness and your eyes are black with memories.

A news program crawls across a 60 inch screen above our table but all I am aware of are your nails scoring down my back as I lie across your hard bed in the Uni dorms. First man to mark me. I am so glad you shared that with me.

Sam knows and his hand creeps to my thigh beneath the table. Something small. My tell.  But he carries on talking as though nothing important is happening.

You know too and turn the conversation back to an innocent remembrance. A birthday playing card games. But it is not innocent, is it? We are both thinking about what happened an hour later when your friends asked me to be your birthday present. When they begged me to blow you in your parent’s sitting room. Plied me with vodka-cokes as though I would need them and forgetting I could drink you all under the table.

We played Baccarat, the game we taught ourselves to play so we could be cool like James Bond. Our friends made excuses to leave and I turned the flirt on them. Asked them to stay. Dealt another hand of cards. Loosened more clothing. Eyes widening and chests tightening as I played the role they thought they’d chosen. I was so fucking ready for you to use me. For them to watch.

They thought I was a vamp. Thought I was seducing you. Didn’t know we were both more than aware of the other. That even as innocent as we were, I knew you.

My skin is prickling against my bra. I don’t see them anymore, our friends from Physics class. Just you. When you are home. Or when I am.

I want to show you my new piercings, hiding, shifting behind the lace. But my body belongs to Sam, reclaimed for him post children. This isn’t the body we shared.

You drift into the conversation with the others and I stay on my knees on the crimson Wilton in your mother’s best sitting room. Feel your cock choking me, balls hairy against my chin as I pushed myself to swallow your length. The glorious freedom of four pairs of eyes watching me as heady as knowing I could get you off. The slick wet sound as one of them pumped their own dick and I matched their pace with my mouth, streams of spit dribbling from lips stretched wide and tight as I struggled to breathe and swallow and suck. The wonder as you gave in and fucked my face, holding my hair tightly as you bucked and took my mouth.

Messy and innocent and raw. Pumping bitter and thick into my throat as I tried to swallow like Cosmo said I should. The ache in my jaw. The damp cloth someone brought me so I could mop up my drool. Redoing my make up in the tiny loo under the stairs and wondering why I seemed so wet. Down there.

I am wet now. In the noisy pub with the scalding lasagne and our seven children running wild. You are shifting in your seat. Who we are with Sam and with Lilly began with those games.

Sam’s fingers dig knowingly into my inner thigh. He has been looking forward to this meal all week. Lilly smiles and kisses you softly.

The kids pile back to the table and we eat ice cream sundaes and talk about their upcoming exams. Watch as your eldest and mine dance with words and glances as we did at their age.

We are not now what we were then. I can’t call you my best friend and you can’t just ring me up for a game or to test a theory in a lab or a bed of our choice.  

But I love you. For who you are and who you were.

I know Lilly reads my blog. Sam wonders if she plays cards? 


  1. Oh my goodness - I loved that - it so resonates with me - I dont know your blog or history - is it based on your life?

  2. Some things are...a bit blurred. But that might just be the vodka and the 20 something years since that birthday.

  3. I loved this, so real, so poignant, the tensions, the memories but absolutely NO regret (why would you?!) Love your strong relationship with your (now) partners.
    Your blog is going on my 'follow' list!

  4. This is really good, I would have loved to be there to watch too!

    It's so good to see you again and I love that we will see each other in London this weekend!

    Rebel xox