He worked in a crisp factory. yeah, you heard right…a crisp factory. One week he’d smell a bit of cheese & onion, the next prawn cocktail. I know, right.
He was my best mate at school’s boyfriends friend. I was quickly accepted into their circle which involved mainly drinking beer and going to watch our local football team home and away.
It took a while to get anyway other than kissing, mainly on my part. He was older, I didn’t want to make a fool of myself etc etc. Luckily he respected that and wasn’t a dick about it.
I would drive over to his town in my parents car and return late at night.
One such night, we’d all been drinking. I was driving, so pretty sober. He suddenly leaned over, put his hand on my leg and whispered “Let’s go back to mine”.
Despite the fact he smelt of prawn cocktail, despite the fact he was slaughtered – I was flattered, and turned on.
We went back to his. A house he shared with some mates, or his brother, or actually what could have been a herd of pigs from the state of it.
I should have left.
But I didn’t.
We got to it on his bed that looked out onto a window. In the dark. My body was highlighted by the street lamp, he was in darkness. He could have been anyone.
His cock was small and hairy, like him. I mounted him and set to work. Bouncing up and down like a yo-yo, busting my best moves.
But something was wrong. He wasn’t hard anymore.
And then from his mouth emitted a sound no woman, girl or lady wants to hear.
He snored.
He was asleep.
I was trying to fuck a practical corpse. I’d love to tell you that I got off on him, rivulets of my juices cascading down his slumbering body. Me lost in a delicious orgasm, him lost in the Land of Nod. It didn’t happen. My shame overtook my lust.
I dismounted, collected my clothes and dressed in silence. Let myself out of the door and drove home.