The Drought

I hadn’t had sex for over 18 months, the driest spell for me in living memory. I had even stopped wanking. It was like I had become asexual.

To rectify this, I joined a dating website and added “casual sex” to my list of preferences.

I had a couple of dates with a few guys, nothing special, but enough to get my confidence up again.

This guy I met chose a damn good cocktail bar as the venue. I had come from a friends Christmas drinks so was already pretty tipsy.

Upon seeing him, I remember being immediately disappointed. Maybe it even showed on my face. Whatever, I was too far down the line. The place had fancy cocktails, so I was already smitten. The chat was easy, we had stuff in common.

I remember going to the loo the first time and looking at myself thinking ‘oh god I really can’t do this’.

At some point during the evening, maybe on the second drink, he started touching my knee with his hand, without a word. This sounds like nothing, but somehow his delicate yet urgent touch sent a Hotwire to my cunt and I’m immediately turned on. I have no idea if I was meant to react to him or just ignore it.

He kept doing it. Grasping the sides of my knee like he wanted to pull my legs apart. I was freaked but also intrigued. If this was his ‘move’ I was unsure how to play it. Do the same to him?

I made some excuse about retouching makeup and again consulted the mirror. This time I decided ‘Fuck it, let’s do this’

I went back to the table and this time sat right next to him. I wanted him to kiss me, start something else but the moment appeared to have gone.

We were asked if we wanted more drinks as it was last orders, we declined and he said something about having wine in the fridge at home.

The tube ride to his was probably the most erotically charged underground journey I’ve had. The carriages were busy, it was late and we stood side by side swaying in time to the movement of the tube pretending we didn’t want to jump each other’s bones. My entire crotch was on fire. We slowly and casually adjusted ourselves and eventually ended up in a sexy, all guns blazing snog. Hot dawg that felt good.

As we exited the tube station he grabbed my hand and we walked to his place. I still find that funny even now. Far more intimate than fucking, holding someone’s hand. For me anyway.

At his place we drank more and chatted and ended up in the bedroom. I made a joke about wanting him to fuck me in the wardrobe. He didn’t agree but we talked about fucking in his swivel chair if he actually took all the clothes off it.

And then we were at it. I remember being embarrassed about not having shaved my cunt but he didn’t seem to care at all. He dived into it like a man possessed, pulling me up to his mouth to sit on his face. No guy had done that before and wow where had I been? I was in absolute ecstasies. I came again and again, grabbing his headboard and riding his stubble, sliding up and down. He flicked his tongue into my ass and I cried out in surprise. Another first.

We switched positions several times, him gently feeding me his cock whilst I lay back and played with myself. Him playing with my tits and sandwiching his cock between them. When we finally did fuck we came at the same time which I remember being really shocked about. We dozed, then started up again, shifting into different positions, making each other come again and again. My memories of that night are a delirious melange of pleasure and delight, the details are less clear. The drought had ended, I was back on the horse.

In the morning the retrieval of clothes, the adjustment of makeup, the muted goodbye, the walk of shame. Except it felt like I had just won the lottery.