One Night Stand

Amongst the anecdotes told following the suicide of the late, great Hunter S Thompson, was that he once remarked if he had actually consumed the quantities of drugs and alcohol his writings intimated, he would be long dead. Rather, he experiences a little so he can make up stories.

So here's a test for you lovely ladies. I will tell you a tale. The test is for you to decide if it is a tall tale or a true tale. I assure you I tell the truth but, of course, that, too, could just be a tall tale.

One night stand

I woke slowly, gradually becoming aware of the cold dawn light seeping through the glass of the uncovered bedroom ranch slider. I had fallen asleep on my right side, facing that glass, while she had attached herself to my back, her left arm over my belly, and we were still in exactly the same position: oblivious to the world for about three hours. But now my body clock had drawn me from my slumber. Her body was warm and still, her breathing regular and soft. I was in a strange bedroom with a strange woman whom I had fucked furiously a short time ago. Now what?

I remembered her rules for our impromptu encounter: I had to leave in the morning, but I could fuck her again first, if I liked, she had said. I liked. I've always been a horny bugger for morning sex! But she's dead to the world, so there's no hurry. So I just lay there for a while, waking up, allowing my erection to build nicely. Ah, the power of thought!

There's a particular skill to waking a woman for morning sex, for willing sex, not grudging sex. Grudging sex is better than no sex, I agree, but a little time, a little care, a gentle wakening with subtle stimulation, can pay substantial dividends in pure enjoyment. Sometimes.

So I carefully turned to face her. She didn't stir. Her face was in the repose of a deep, deep sleep. I remained like that for a minute or so then dropped my right hand to her belly and rubbed, in circular motion, occasionally slipping over her pubic mound, occasionally a little further down. Then she stirred.

She opened her eyes and stared directly into mine. She seemed to be thinking. I left my hand touching her labia, exerting no pressure, just touching, waiting. Then she inclined her head towards mine and we kissed. Just a light touching of our lips. Next, she rolled onto her back and opened her legs. I stroked between her pussy lips and discovered fresh wetness-success again! She was easily wet enough to fuck with comfort, so I moved on top and went to enter her, again. But she stopped me.

"I don't need to be worried, do I?" She asked. "Do I need to be worried?"

"No, sweetheart," I replied, sincerely, "I told you I'm clean; it's true."

Her resistance dissipated and I pushed into her pussy. I wasn't so much under the influence of drink, this time, and I knew immediately I was going to come quite easily. I didn't resist my ejaculation. I didn't want to. I fucked her firmly, repetitively, and without regard for her gratification. Probably five minutes of this and I came. I stayed inside her for a while so she could catch all I could deliver, then I withdrew.

Had she come this time? I don't know. I didn't ask. I wandered off to the loo and had a long, long, well overdue piddle. Then I returned to the bedroom, dressed, kissed her one last time and let myself out.

It all began last night, about 8pm. I was at the bar of a local Italian restaurant, one I frequent well enough to be known by name, minding my own business, sipping a Heineken and waiting for my takeaway pizza. It had been a particularly long day at work and it was quite late. I was tired.

And then into the bar swept a very cheerful lady who immediately greeted the staff by name as she breezily plonked her shapely butt on the stool next to mine and ordered a Pinot Noir. It was promptly delivered amid much banter with the proprietor, which I, being in such close proximity, inevitably joined.

Normal friendly, light-hearted conversation soon established that we were both in the same boat as regards marital status, and we traded christian names although, for the rest of out time together, we never actually referred to each other by name: quite appropriate, really, in hindsight.

Briefly, the conversation turned to politics as election fever was just starting to take hold of the country, and, after a mild remark by me on an employment law issue, she cheerily said, "You're a lefty, aren't you? A lefty!"

Well, I am a little, and I could not deny it. So I told her, smiling, that I could straighten out her thinking if she allowed me some time. "You can come for dinner," she boomed, "but," conspiratorially, "you can't shag me."

I may have been tired, but not that tired to miss an opening a mile wide: "If I can't shag you," I said calmly, "I'm not coming to dinner." She looked at me directly, searchingly, but did not reply to that and our conversation moved on.

Out of the blue, she said, "I'm 42. How old are you?. I said 45. She absorbed that information silently, perhaps pondering her next question. When it came, it was a beauty: "So if you have been single for two years, why haven't you got a girlfriend?" I shrugged and said that obviously I'm not good-looking enough; it seemed easier than saying I preferred to just fuck as often and with as many women I could find or buy. Quantity, not quality, has been my priority since separating.

"Well," she replied with a directness I was now accustomed to, "you should know that if I'm talking to you, you are." I'm really quite shy, and I didn't know where to look, so I looked at the floor.

She insisted we swap cell phone numbers. She repeated her offer of dinner but no shag, so I decided to try another approach. "Tell me," I demanded, "when was your last shag?" She returned my gaze, thought carefully and replied that it was about three and a half months previous. I looked into her eyes and told her, quietly, that celibacy had never appealed to me. She averted her face and engaged the proprietor in conversation, ignoring me. I had probably blown it, I figured.

But I could tell her demeanour had changed. She was quieter, now, more thoughtful, and she took to snatching glances at me, sometimes lingering glances. I knew I had disturbed her. I thought I had gone a bit too far, again. I don't like to hurt people. I hoped I hadn't hurt her.

Suddenly, she turned to me and asked, "Do you know how to leave?" I knew what she meant and assured her I would never outstay my welcome. She turned away yet again. But not for long. "OK, you can shag me tonight. But I want to drink and dance a little first. Can you do that?"

Is the Pope Catholic?

Are the Kennedy's gun shy?

Eventually, we arrived at her apartment, walked through the lounge and immediately entered her bedroom. The only bedroom, as it turned out. It was spacious, modern, with an inviting king size bed taking pride of place. As we reached the bed, she switched on her bedside lamp, which imparted a soft glow to the room, nice for lovemaking, then turned to face me. I immediately took her into my arms and kissed her deeply. She returned my ardour and opened her mouth, allowing my tongue a delicious entrée to the warm, wet welcome I was soon to receive elsewhere.

Then she broke off the embrace, stepped back a little and, looking directly into my eyes, said, in that firm tone of hers, "You can fuck me now and fuck me again in the morning, if you like," and pulled her sweatshirt over her head, exposing those lovely breasts I had been furtively fondling earlier, in the bar. I followed her lead and quickly disrobed, revealing a cock already stiff with desire. She perched on the edge of her bed, reached around my buttocks to pull me closer and took me into her mouth, just like that, fondling my balls with her left hand while positioning my cock with her right.

"Mmmm, nice cock," she murmured as she briefly lifted her mouth, "and lovely dangly balls," then resumed bobbing her head up and down, up and down, deeper, deeper, until I could feel the head of my cock exploring her throat. Brilliant.

My hands dropped to her breasts, and I could feel her nipples hardening as I gently caressed her nipples, her breasts, under, over, and the sides. Women love the sides of their breasts being caressed as well, I know. But I was becoming eager to home in on the physical focus of my lust, my desire, my need. I gently lay her on her bed, on her back, and knelt between her legs. I allowed my eyes to rest on her pubic area, taking my time, savouring the thought that soon I would be penetrating her with my tongue and my cock.

I saw her pussy was unshaven, maybe trimmed a little for the hair was nice and tidy. I saw her clitoris peeking out, cheekily, seductively. I gently reached forward and parted her labia with my thumbs, and I saw her lovely silky flesh glistening with sexual excitement.

I leant down and pushed my tongue into her opening, sliding up to her clitoris, over her clitoris, around her clitoris. She was wet, wet, wet. I slurped around and around and around then I decided I could wait no longer and moved above her, kissing her on her lips, allowing her to taste her sweetness as she opened her mouth to receive my tongue, positioning my erect cock so close to her pussy I could feel her wetness. One slight push, I would be there. Then, for the first time since she lay on the bed, she spoke: "Should we be careful?" she asked with an inquiring, but not assertive tone, as she placed her hands gently on my chest. I paused: she spoke again: "We should be careful, shouldn't we?"

I thought that we should be careful, yes, but I know I'm clean and I was sure she would be too, so I replied, "We should be, but we won't," and entered her. Her eyes widened slightly as my cock went all the way in, then closed as she succumbed to her lust. We quickly established a rhythm and maintained a nice steady stroking for some time. Fuck, it was nice. It was all nice. Nice body, nice lady, fucking lovely pussy. Free, too; well, if you exclude the hundred or so I spent on drinks.

Ah, drinks. I realised that for me, at least, ejaculating might be an effort, considering the amount of liquor I had consumed tonight. She was pretty pissed, too, and I wondered how she would fare. So I stepped up the intensity our fucking. I fucked her harder and faster. She reciprocated, bucking her hips, pressing hard as our mounds met forcefully with each stroke.

I watched her face. Beads of sweat had appeared on her upper lip and on her brow. Her face displayed concentration, determination, her jaw tight, her eyes clamped shut: she was fucking going for it, I thought. What a little beauty! I felt the first stirring of my semen, that feeling of the creamy liquid being sucked towards the point of ejaculation. But, I could tell I needed a lot more stimulation yet: besides, I may as well make the most of it, I figured, it could be the first and last time, given the circumstances.

And I was tiring a little, so I slowed. She slowed with me. I slowed to a stop, resting. She looked at me and murmured, "Too much drink and drugs." I wondered what drugs she had consumed. Ah well, none of my business. But I understood she was probably more desensitised than I was. I rolled off for a rest. Then she leaned over to her beside cabinet, opened the bottom drawer, extracted a tiny vibrator, about six inches in length, and lube, the warming type, and handed them to me. As if I needed an invitation, she lay back and spread her legs.

I knelt between her thighs, lubed the vibrator, discarding the lube carelessly beside me, and gently eased it into her waiting pussy. But after a couple or five strokes I withdrew it and concentrated on her clitoris. I stroked the vibrator over and around her clitoris, using the whole length rather than just the tip, and she responded by flexing her hips, accentuating her pleasure. It took a while, and I had to be patient, but suddenly she pressed really hard against the vibrator, grabbing my hands and held the toy firmly against her knob. She stiffened her whole body, enjoyed her orgasm, then relaxed. I placed the vibrator to one side and entered her again, looking for my own climax.

But I think she was close to having had enough for now, and soon she looked at me and asked, "Can we do something else, now?" We sure can, I thought, and asked her to go doggy. Without a murmur, she flipped onto her knees, placing her face on her pillow. Her buttocks spread to reveal a very tempting anus. I enquiringly rubbed the head of my cock around that puckered hole. She lifted her head and said, firmly, "You can do anything you like, except that!" Fair enough. I slipped my cock into her very warm pussy, placed my hands on her hips, gripped firmly, and stroked away.

Then I noticed the vibrator lying beside me, and I had an idea. It was, after all, small enough to be designed as an anal toy. I picked it up, applied lube, leaned back to make room, and slipped it into her arse. She never said a word, but her hips began to move more enthusiastically. It was a good idea, obviously. I fucked her in her pussy with the vibrator in her arse. Every time I went in deep, the vibrator buzzed against the base of my cock. And her pussy buzzed, too, on my cock.

And then another good idea popped into my mind. My tummy muscles were getting tired, so I stopped thrusting and, instead, used my hands to move her hips. I looked down for great visuals. I controlled her so I could see nearly the whole of my tip before pulling her back to me. I felt like I was close to coming and increased the tempo and...Voila!

I probably pumped half a dozen times to empty out, then relaxed with my cock still in her pussy. I extracted the vibrator and threw it on the floor. I extracted my cock from her pussy and lay on my back. She turned off the light and rolled towards me. I turned onto my right side and she cuddled into my back, her left arm over my belly.

Sleep was almost instantaneous.