There are lots of reasons Ed and I should not have sex. But they are boring, and we do, anyway. It is enough to say that once, when I was sixteen, twenty years ago I fell out of a tree into a pair of strong arms. Blah blah blah. So, as I walked into the pub, he walked out. He stopped, he called my name: he suggested we should go to a town nearby, to dance. It's not respectable, or decent, so we took his handsome young cousin as cover.
He was worried, for a moment: do you like him better? I laughed. We reached a club. We had a drink. He took me to the dance floor. At first, we jived like decent people, then he pulled me in, the pulse of his muscles following the music. He threw me around like a rag doll, then drew me in close. Then the kissing started. He gripped my togue so tight that a line of welts appeared. He treasured each lip separately then ravished them together with his mouth, raising florid, puffy bruises. We sat down. He put his hand on my knee, then moved it up.
The kiss continued as his fingers pushed aside the sodden fabric of my pants. But we were in public. I caught the eye of a bouncer and I didn't want the night to end in trouble. I pulled his hand down and laid it on the table.
As the music started again, his hand danced, grabbing mine and stroking every inch of skin. Then he pressed my hand to his face as if I were a blind person learning the shape of his handsome features. My other hand he thrust to his groin: he was high and solid as the mountain on which he farmed. I was desperate to leave but no, we waited, kissed every scrap of each others faces, for two hours, whispering obscene thoughts and desires. When I went to the loo, the face staring back at me in the mirror was almost foreign, with my lips welted up into puffy cushions of desire. Lips, noses, foreheads, ears: we kissed until we could bear no more. Then the cousin announced that he, inspired by our display, had found a girl and we were free.
It was as though the kisses had built up an unendurable charge. We drove to the hillside where we could be alone. We touched, stroked, grabbed, licked and probed with crazy fervour. He threw me onto the bonnet of the car, burying his face between by juice-wet thighs. I rode him until he cried, then his strong, thick fingers found the tight dark path. Bending me over, he delved with his strong curved cock into the recess of my arsehole until I yelped with pain and pleasure mixed.
And when the sun rose, showing spit, spunk, sweat, cum and tears across our tender skins, he said: 'We should go dancing again.'