Yes It Is For Real

*****

Eating Frankie was enormous fun but not a patch on boarding her like a bloodthirsty pirate. Oh good grief, how sensational was that.

Equipped with that curved toy I made to enter her unaided, but my attempt was futile. As soon as I moved an inch her hand shot out and steered me safely inside.

'Yes, yes,' she cried, wrapping her delicious body around mine, 'take me, take me, take me.'

At least she wasn't using the "f" word. Girls from her parts were obviously more refined than Bex.

And come to that, I knew next to nothing about Frankie. Our conversation hadn't been like that at all . . . no exchange of background information and childish experiences; no questions aimed at bonding . . . heck, apart from originating from some still active part of British Steel, I hadn't a clue about what she did, where she lived, what ambitions she had.

All honesty, my behaviour had classed me worse than any predatory male.

Even predatory males asked about the essentials, didn't they? Genuinely interested or not, they did go through the motions more often than not, knowing which side of their bread was buttered.

Realizing my shortcomings as I vaguely did, I was on her, inside her, and she was gripping me like she never intended to let go.

Stuff girly-girl exchanges of confidences. We could do that tomorrow, in some bar or other. This was not the time to put hearts on sleeves; not with me deeply in her sex and her wanting to be taken.

And taken and taken.

Clearing my mind of everything apart from there and then, I set to work.

'Yes, yes,' Frankie yelled, 'take me, take me, take me!'

It would have been rude not to.

*****

Does anyone want to know how many different ways I shagged darling Frankie? Yes or no?

I want to reveal all anyway so I'm going to do it, regardless. Face-to-face that first time, my lover soon unfastening her legs, anchoring her heels into the bed instead. Yes, responding to my urgent thrusts with a shamelessness that put me . . .

Well, to shame.

There I was, supposedly moving mountains for her and she, in the allegedly submissive position, was at me like a demon harpy.

No, make that like an angel harpy.

How wonderful was that first, ongoing penetration! I only wish I'd somehow recorded it. On-line it would have sold for a king's ransom.

Croesus watch and weep.

Later on we regularly switched positions. I enormously enjoyed having her on all-fours.

Having her flat out on the bed was fun too . . . and no, I didn't go for anal. We hadn't communicated, had we? Drunk on sex as I was, I had enough common sense to be cautious.

Best of all she gave me a below job. That's correct, dozens of orgasms into the whole experience she shoved me onto my back and blew me like the world's greatest expert.

Wasn't she good at it! I'd known girls who would below, of course, but most of them only before the shag. Frankie clearly had no problem with tasting herself from a wickedly curved toy.

Come to that she seemed to have waited to maximize the experience.

Soul mate or what!

Chapter Seven

Time for (yet another) digression. I really, really adore penetrative sex. That's probably why I cannot give up men altogether. And that's despite their obvious shortcomings, which I'm not going to dwell upon here and now.

No, here and now I'm going to dwell on the joys of strap-on sex.

Giving or taking, how good is that? And how much better is it to be with a shapely female than some hairy, refractive-period-prone man?

Not that I solely restrict myself to shapely babes, I hasten to add. I've had experience of many babes, from tall to short, fattish to thin, young to old and of every skin-tone under the sun.

Although I must admit, I've never had the pleasure of having sex with an Inuit; not yet.

Give me a couple of years or so . . .

That and a free flight to Alaska . . .

Back to those joys.

Staying power comes into the equation at this point. Okay, so some guys can produce a few repeat performances after acceptable intervals. Just about every girl I've been with doesn't want the fun to ever stop.

Intervals! What are they all about?

That's correct, in my experience girls want the fun to go on for ever, world without end. And most of them don't mind which end of the deal they happen to be on at the time.

Yes, yes, I know there are dyed-in-the-wool givers and takers, but girls are open to adventure, aren't they? Added to which, giving can be as pleasurable as . . . Well, as pleasurable as being pleasured.

Can't it?

Think of female bodies moving together. Boobs on boobs, hairless skin on hairless, smooth and silkily soft skin.

Shapely buns (that is to say, some of them) there to be squeezed and squeezed.

Gasped words of encouragement. Pleas not to stop obediently observed . . .

Face it, strap-on sex is brilliant. I can never decide which role I prefer. I love to give, and I love to be there on the receiving end.

And above all, I love to go on all night through.

Which made me a good match for Frankie, at least with me as the (supposedly) active partner.

How energetic was she! In all my years of same-sex I'd never known a more eager receiver.

Gripping my body with arms and legs, hanging on for dear life, letting go and digging her heels into the mattress, all the better to hammer her groin up at me . . .

She was as superb as that. And she only ever wanted more. Timeouts . . . my ass!

*****

Digression over . . . for now, at least.

So where was I?

Oh yes, I was giving super-sexy Frankie as good a seeing-to as she'd ever had. Or so I hoped. Judging on her verbal feedback, I wasn't too short of the mark. Fancying a second below job, gritting teeth, I kept with the pace.

I'd varied my rhythm again, and not just to prove that I could. Forgoing my other old faves, I'd opted for Donna Summer and I Feel Love. Okay, so others got a look in, but not for long. Donna was so cool and beautiful in her prime. Moving to her beat was an honour and a privilege.

It was also exceptionally sexy.

And when I switched for the straight dildo, greeted and refuelled by that second below job, I went at her again as fresh as a daisy.

Yes, yes, yes. Ditching Donna and the rest of the gang, I opted for James Brown's Sex Machine.

Say no more. I could have gone on like that for ever, especially with Frankie pounding up at me.

Except she had less patience than me.

'It has to be four o'clock by now,' she finally said, abandoning her version of darkest magic.

I expected her to produce some sort of verification out of nowhere, but she couldn't. And, going by the light outside, she was off the pace. Clumsily grabbing my mobile I laughed.

'It's six twenty,' I told her. 'Sorry about that.'

As if I was in the least bit sorry!

'Typical guy,' she responded. 'All me, me, me.'

'So you've had real-life guys who've shagged you as long as that?'

'No,' she said after the briefest of hesitations. 'And no guy has shagged me nearly as well, either.'

'Always nice to hear.'

'Do I get a proper go at you?'

'I'm fully booked for the rest of this week,' I admitted, feeling my cheeks flushing. 'But we can meet up elsewhere sometime, can't we? Where do you live, anyway?'

'Barnsley.'

'Barnsley? I've never heard anyone with less of an accent.'

'Not even Dickie Bird?'

'Dickie who?' I held up a hand to show I was only joking. 'As if I could forget the best umpire cricket has ever had. Wasn't there one important match between Australia and England, when the Aussies asked to have him in the middle rather than any so-called neutral?'

'Don't ask me,' said Frankie, 'I'm more of a Katherine Kelly sort of a girl.'

That meant nothing to me, but I nodded anyway, as wisely as I could.

(I looked Katherine Kelly up later and now know she's a Barnsley lass who was in Coronation Street a while, and very tasty looking with it.)

"Tasty looking" . . . I'm off again. She'll be fitter than fit next.

As I keep saying, what am I like!

'So,' Frankie began carefully, 'we swap phone numbers and hook up again.'

'Got it in one. I've an expansive, restored farmhouse. You can come up for a long weekend whenever you want. And not just the once.'

'As opposed to my Barnsley council house?'

'Get out of here. Your home is probably as lavish as mine.'

Frankie nodded before speaking again. 'I'd like to see you more than once,' she said. 'And I owe you. Let's agree a date at yours. And, depending on how that goes, you can come down to mine.'

'I guess you're going to shag me at mine.'

'Trust me my darling, your lovely ass is going to struggle to survive. There again, I bet it will survive.'

I kissed her. 'No bet,' I purred. 'You are spot on. And it's itching for you already.'

Afterword

Frankie and I attended to each other in the shower and almost missed breakfast. And guess what? Lottie and Bex were together again, hot on our heels, no doubt following our exemplary example.

Helen was there as well, beating us latecomers to it, deep in conversation with a girl with world class red hair; you know what I mean, not exactly ginger but with a flame in it, like that sexy BBC1 GP.

Can't say I disagreed with her choice.

And I can't say I wasn't impressed by my fellow course-mates' willingness to venture there into the unknown.

Not that it was "unknown" for a lot of them. A lot of them were carrying on as per usual, albeit like a crowd of kids in a sweet shop, partnerships swapping and changing overnight.

Free of charge.

Or so I sincerely hoped.

'So,' Frankie began as empty plates and pint glasses were cleared away from our table, 'that is it, is it?'

'Only for now,' I assured her. 'We've swapped numbers, remember?' Then, noticing the proximity of Lottie and Bex to each other, 'I guess you'd best share a desk with me today. And please feel free to grope me under cover as much as you want.'

'Don't say that's all I'm getting.'

'Not by a long chalk.' I said most sincerely. 'Think of it as an appetiser. And visit me in Micklethwaite a week on Saturday, for the real deal.'

She kissed me long and slow before replying in words.

'Where's Micklethwaite?'

I gave her the postcode and told her to put in her satnav.

She chuckled as she recorded my details on her phone. 'Okay, it's a date.'

'Too true it is,' I countered, 'I'll be waiting by the goose pond.'

Luckily, that wasn't enough to put her off.

And I wrote a memo to myself, to make sure those darned geese didn't get chance to scare her off.