Yes It Is For Real

'Take me,' she purred. 'I'm yours.'

Stripping far less sensationally, I rolled a fresh condom onto that massive toy, impressed by the way a sheath could adapt to all shapes and sizes, aware a vagina could easily do likewise.

Isn't Mother Nature wonderful? And those johnny manufacturers aren't bad either, I must admit.

'Prepare to be taken to the seventh heaven,' I breathed.

'Trust me, my darling,' she sighed, 'I'm halfway there already.'

*****

Apologies for the aside, but the helmet on that artificial penis was something else. I'd seen plenty of real-life helmets in my wide and varied sex life, but never one anywhere nearly as large as that.

Slotting it into Bex, being soft and tender as I did so, probably thrilled me twice as much as it thrilled her. And it thrilled her alright; it thrilled her big-time.

'Fuck me, fuck me,' she wailed, penetrated by barely two inches. 'Please, please fuck me!'

Never the one to leave a girl wanting more, keeping it soft and tender, I eased the rest of the giant toy into her obligingly stretchy fanny then, using my favourite rhythm, I gladly fulfilled her pleas.

Car Wash by Rose Royce has elsewhere been reported as my favourite sex rhythm and it is up there, I must confess, but not that night.

No, that night I shagged her to the beat of Feel Like Makin' Love, the Bad Company version, recorded a goodly while before I was born.

Then again, what better sentiment could a girl have whilst bringing off her girlfriend again and again.

And again and again, again and again.

Repetitive lyrics, I know, but the beat is effective. Works for me every time, giving or taking. Try it for yourself and you'll soon understand.

Repetitive works when it comes to sex, doesn't it?

Sure it does, every time.

Bex definitely appreciated everything about the experience.

'More, more, more,' she kept yelling. 'Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.'

Guess what; I did exactly as she requested.

A girl couldn't let her friend down at a moment like that, could she?

Chapter Four

I'll spare you all of the ins and outs (literally). Let's just say I was relentless and Bex loved every last second.

Oh my, didn't she just! The air was blue with her demands and words of encouragement.

Talk about up for it. I'd had a million other lovers but none as keen as she was.

None greedier, either. Not even Mary Rose, my schoolmate and personal nemesis; one who is never going to go away.

And one I co-incidentally don't want to ever go away. Annoying as she is, life wouldn't be the same if she wasn't lurking in the background, avoiding me for months then pouncing like a panther, eager to make up for lost time.

Good grief, those only-too regular (yet strangely irregular) reunions . . .

Put it this way; Mare knows how to put the zest into sex and never fails.

But right then Bex went at it with more gusto. Or, rather, she lay back and taunted me until I went at it with more zest than fifty lemon groves.

In and out, in and out, by some miracle avoiding outright violence, making her cum and cum.

Scrap what I asserted earlier. Bex was even more orgasmic than me. And I'd rated myself in the world's top three.

'Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes,' she shrieked. 'More, more, more.'

By then I was unsure if Lottie was back in her room, a mere two doors away, and cared not at all.

By then I merely wanted to sate Bex as fully as possible, sating myself along the way.

Making a true friend cum? How exotic and erotic is that? Men can be okay or perhaps so-so, but sex with a fellow female is always supreme. No need for a coin toss. As you know, I do men from time to time, but girls . . .

Girls know exactly how sex should be done.

Leastways the hundreds I'd shagged with always had. Maybe it's inbuilt. Even the (supposedly) virgin ladies I'd slept with had all been exquisite. That's right, mostly taking but sometimes giving and often sharing.

Sex, sex, sex! Where would we be without it!

*****

Half a dozen johnnies into the experience I ditched the monster dildo, going for a mouth-on-boobies session instead.

And please believe me, I was doing my utmost to depart from Rebecca's schedule the night before.

Surprise is key, no? When it comes to sex repetitive is good, but why repeat all what's gone before, stroke by stroke? Why not push boundaries and see what happens?

Works for me every time.

Worked for Bex as well, going by her screams, commentary and urgings.

'More, more, more, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.'

What sort of bed-mate could deny pleas like that?

Not me, that's for sure.

*****

Some considerable time later, with daylight outside but no sunshine as yet, I abandoned her boobies and kissed Bex just everywhere else, top to bottom. She kept sighing appreciation; I kept going.

We were both enjoying ourselves, so why not?

'It's nearly six,' my otherwise compliant lover suddenly announced.

I didn't contradict her for an instant. She seemed to have a clock inbuilt inside her head.

Or maybe she was just a super-efficient cheat.

Maybe her mobile had tipped her off.

Wherever it was secreted about her gloriously naked body.

'Time for a change,' she announced.

'Hey, hey,' I complained, 'I'm the girl in charge, and I've another hour to go, at least.'

'Excuse me but we started rutting much earlier last night. You've already eclipsed my efforts.

She had a point, I had to admit. She'd had perhaps six hours at me. I'd just had more like ten.

Mind you, rewards come to the deserving, don't they?

But not according to Bex.

'I want to watch you masturbating,' she said, as shameless as I'd ever been. 'Any time in the next ten seconds will do.'

I had actually played that game before. Accepting she really meant it, I fixed my eyes on hers and did what girls do to themselves. On my back, perilously close to her on a single bed, I paid slow attention to all the exterior parts of my sex.

Well, I avoided my clit as much as possible, doing my best to make myself seem like a girl in a video.

Controlling my orgasm as best I could.

And controlling it particularly impressively. Instead of coming after a few minutes I dragged it out for thirty minutes, maybe more. Then, my eyes still fixed on hers, I climaxed as vocally as I could, before drying up altogether.

Vocally, that is. Otherwise I'd rarely ever been so wet.

Know what I mean?

'Okay,' I gasped when the power of speech returned to me, 'your turn.'

Bex didn't protest in the slightest. Her eyes holding mine, never once straying, she brought herself to an orgasm that certainly matched mine.

In all honesty, hers might have been even bigger than mine, not to mention a whole lot quicker.

'Again,' she commanded, 'both at the same time.'

'You on me?' I wondered.

'No, that comes next. Do yourself while I do myself. And think happy thoughts while you're at it.'

*****

My thoughts were happy enough, even though we screwed up timing-wise. Two attempts and we were nowhere near mutual. We both finished seriously well, however. If only breakfast wasn't so imminently due we could have tried again. Or maybe we would have done each other, staring into lust-crazed eyes as we went.

But tempus had fugited. So Instead we shared a shower with little funny business at all. And we got to the dining room with mere instants to spare.

Guess what? The brunette was ordering drinks. Seeing me she mimed downing a pint. I gave her the thumbs up in response, as did Bex when the offer was made to her.

'Are you going to reward her with a smacker of a kiss?' my workmate wondered as we took the seats we'd taken Tuesday morning.

'Would you mind if I did?'

'No, as long as I get Friday night I'm cool.'

I must have frowned at that because she enlarged without being otherwise prompted.

'It's Frankie tonight and your policewoman tomorrow. That only leaves Friday for me. Promise me that and I'll put myself in a jealousy-free zone.'

'Frankie?' I echoed, secretly wondering how I'd forgotten about the WPC.

Not to mention her implied promise of handcuffs.

(I'd done handcuffs with a sexy WPC before, and it was still a treasured memory, one I recalled in detail now and then, usually home alone and feeling lonely, if you get my drift.)

'The brunette,' Bex persisted, 'the one you've been mentally undressing all week.'

Ah, so she was a "Frankie", was she. Somehow the name suited her.

'And you really don't mind?'

'Hev, the two nights were better than brilliant. I never expected so much as a snog. But I've seen the way you and Frankie look at each other. It's written in the stars. Go for it but save Friday for me and me alone.'

Hmm, the girl had me sussed alright. 'Okay,' I said aloud. 'I'll proposition her when I've given her that rewarding kiss.'

Bex smiled knowingly. 'Watch out for your hand,' she advised, 'it might get bitten off.'

Chapter Five

Taking Bex's word at face value I waited until the beers had been fairly distributed then approached Frankie. 'I owe you a kiss,' I announced.

'So come and help yourself,' she grinned in reply.

Trust me I did. Her Tuesday kiss had lasted about a minute. I made sure mine lasted three times as long, if not significantly more.

'Tonight,' I whispered before physically letting go. 'It's you and me. Up for it?'

Not bothering with a whisper, aware everyone had been watching us, Frankie replied boldly.

'As I told you already, I'm up for anything,' she assured me.

If you can't beat 'em . . .

'In that case don't expect to get as far as the Little John,' I said out loud. 'And don't expect any sleep, either. We'll be back in my bed by ten o'clock, maybe even sooner.'

'What girl could resist an offer like that? Not me, that's for sure. And ten sounds too late. Let's make it before nine.'

'Ike and Mike,' I countered, 'we think alike.'

And we were hooked up, simple as that.

*****

That afternoon was, I must admit, uneasy. I was conscious of Rebecca looking at me all the time. And I was conscious of her and Lottie back together as a pair. Helen had clicked elsewhere and those two WYB workmates of mine were as close as twins again.

Not a bad scenario, obviously, but an uncomfortable one, considering my position.

(Being the boss, and all that. Thank Goodness we were playing to unbendable Christmas party rules.)

And how sexy was Lottie? Not in the same class as Bex, perhaps, but fitter than fit all the same.

What am I like? Saying fitter than fit! Am I a dinosaur or what!!

Moving swiftly on . . .

The dynamic female duet entertained us again that Wednesday afternoon and they were as funny as ever. If anything they surpassed their previous entertainment levels. They even had me musing over a threesome with much older women.

Yeah, yeah, I had done sex with older women before, just not with anyone quite as old as those two.

Still, sex mixed with limitless giggles and outright laughs . . . Well, it was a thought, wasn't it?

But the timing didn't work. I had Frankie on (or preferably in) my hands tonight and handcuffs to be dealt with come Thursday.

The pressures of a modern girl's social life!

Anyhow we somehow made it through to teatime then set off in the usual mob downhill to town, descending that impressive driveway with ease, me secretly noting prime spots to have sex on our way back.

As if I needed have bothered. Arm-in-arm in the first place we got half a mile . . . halfway down that drive . . . and suddenly Frankie was kissing me as if her life depended on it.

Well, I'm only human, aren't I? I kissed back and next thing I knew our pack of thirsty females had as good as disappeared off the face of the earth.

Heck, we couldn't even hear them, and some of those girls were very, very vocal.

Three or four of those girls could drown out crowds at Wembley or Hampden Park, without trying so hard.

Twickenham? Forget it.

But not right then. Right then we were deserted in the silent middle of next-to-nowhere.

'Time to sixty-nine,' Frankie announced brightly. 'Up for it or what?'

'You bet. But it's still broad daylight. And we're due drinks.'

'You'd rather have drinks than sixty-nine with me?'

'No, of course not. Let's find somewhere more secluded and maybe grab drinks later, back at base.'

'Sounds like a plan,' said Frankie, taking my hand and pulling me away from the driveway, over a lot of close-mown grass and towards a small, secluded grove of trees.

Yes, I know I should be able to identify the trees, but at the time I didn't give a fig.

Except to say they certainly weren't fig trees.

As if I really know what a fig tree looks like. Back on the farm we had apples, pears and an awful lot of horse-chestnut. So rule them out. Otherwise I haven't a clue.

Well, it wasn't oranges, lemons or limes. Or pines or silver birches. Retentive memory or not, that lot exhausts my tree knowledge. Oaks . . . that's another . . .

But scrub all that, back to the action . . .

How like a sex video was the whole experience. Still full daylight, slowly stripping each other . . .

Drooling as we did so . . .

Sinking naked to our knees on the grass, eyes locked together . . .

Aware that, remote from the driveway or not, we might be visible to any passers-by . . .

And aware passers-by were considerably more likely at that much earlier time of day . . .

Trust me, those factors only added to the thrill.

One of the best thrills ever, if you ask me.

Seeing all, sunshine still on us as we began.

Yes, yes, yes!

*****

Remember the "Confessions" film series from the 1970s? Confessions of a Driving Instructor, along with Confessions of a Window Cleaner and a few others. Prehistoric British-made sex films, different from the much more famous "Carry On" series, but not by an awful lot.

Both still funny and entertaining as they are even now, almost half a century later.

Please don't think the sex films were in any way explicit. As you'll be aware, just about anything can be accessed on-line nowadays. Back then you (apparently) had to buy home-made videos unless you settled for the softer, closely censored stuff.

And that softer stuff certainly did not include the sights of a helmet in all its exposed glory, up eager to meet any and every challenge.

As for gushing guys and gals . . . facials . . . boob floods . . . forget it.

The best you'd get in a Confessions film was the window cleaner's attentions being interrupted by a bored housewife's hubby unexpectedly arriving home, cueing him to exit out of the casement, ASAP, usually minus his trousers.

Happy days or what!

I mention this latest guff because that Wednesday evening out in the sunshine, under the trees, had that sort of a feel about it. Maybe I was expecting Frankie's (non-existent) hubby to walk in on us.

Or maybe everything seemed too perfect to be true.

I was also somewhat confused. She'd suggested a sixty-nine and I had no problem about that, not in principle, anyway.

But who did she want to take the lead? Three kisses so far, increasingly mighty kisses, and I guessed she'd edged it in the control department. Which was okay by me. All I wanted was for everything to go smooth as silk.

Don't ask why, but my words wouldn't come. Fortunately, Frankie wasn't nearly as tongue-tied.

After kissing my breasts she pulled my head down so I could reciprocate.

'Let's do the deed,' she said in the huskiest, sexiest voice I'd ever heard. 'Sideways on to start with. We can worry about who tops later, can't we?'

Turned out to be much, much later and I turned out to get the honour. Not that my lover didn't do her bit. I licked, nibbled and kissed down on her while she did likewise up on me.

Then we swapped roles and, if anything, the experience only improved.

And then, incredibly, the sunshine had gone for the day and darkness had as good as fallen.

Re-dressing in the murky twilight, more or less decently, we walked back up half a mile of driveway and found a girl there on the reception desk. I asked her if the bar was still open for guests and she exhaled noisily.

Spoilt brat impersonation or what. Eat your heart out, Violet-Elizabeth Bott.

'I have to cover the bar as well as Reception,' she said wearily. 'Normally nobody ever uses the bar after teatime. But, if you insist . . .'

'I'm standing the drinks,' I put in swiftly. 'And you're included in every round.'

'What about this desk?'

'All our mates will be in the Little John by now. No-one will show for hours yet, after you've closed up in any case. Better to have a few bevvies and something to do in the bar, isn't it?'

For perhaps the first time in living memory, the girl raised a smile.

'Go on, then' she said, 'twist my arm.'

Chapter Six

The receptionist/barmaid was called Ruby. With a couple of drinks in her she was a different person, chatty if not downright garrulous. She was sneakily good-looking too. Leastways she was smiling and not being a miserable bitch, the front she usually presented to all comers.

Not that she was going to get an invite to join me and Frankie, even if she did manage to detain us in the bar way past our scheduled nine o'clock deadline.

There again, we'd already had three or four hours of "getting to know each other". What was half an hour to worry about after that?

Okay, perhaps it was more like an hour and a half's worth of bar detention, but a girl needs her beer, does she?

Make that two more final pints and a couple of chasers . . . each, naturally. My magic card bought the "last round of the evening", but Frankie swiftly ordered another.

I was tempted to buy another round, aware Ruby would have as good as cheered if I did, but therein lay the danger of a round-on-round shootout.

Hey, we could have been there all night.

And there were much more preferable things to be doing all night, weren't they?

Lots and lots of more preferable things.

*****

Leaving a slightly tipsy Ruby in the bar, her reception duties seemingly forgotten, I asked Frankie if she liked outsized sex toys. Pulling a face, she said she didn't but a medium-sized strap-on wouldn't be out of place. Sadly, I confessed I had brought no such alternatives along with me.

'Then we'll have to go to my room and use one of mine,' she said smugly. 'And seeing as you bought most of the drinks, I'll let you go first.'

Magnanimous of her or what!

Never mind as good as cheering, I could have whooped with glee.

Indeed I probably did whoop with glee.

Fortunately, there was nobody around to hear. As if I would have cared if everybody heard me from Hathersage to Land's End and John o' Groats.

*****

Oh my, what an embrace we had just inside her door. I know I keep saying "biggest" and "best", but that one was world class however it might be measured. Mouths still clamped together, we stripped each other . . . again. Then, naked at last, Frankie produced a harness out of thin air.

David Copperfield wince in shame.

'I brought it along on the off-chance,' she explained. 'Like you probably brought along your outsized thingy, just in case.'

'Ike and Mike,' I repeated, already stepping into the harness. 'What goes into here?' I wondered.

Doing her magic tricks again . . . her and flipping Bex . . . she held up a dildo in either hand. Medium, in my estimation, but one straight as a die, the other boasting a promisingly wicked bend.

And both, co-incidentally, wonderfully realistic.

'Which do you fancy?' she enquired, flirtier than any champion flirt.

'I'll do you with both,' I replied, 'that curvy one first. Then the other.'

'Am I going to get a go at you?'

'Ask me about four tomorrow morning. And get your sexy ass on that bed. I have an urgent need to go down on you before we kick off for real.'