Sunday night, Monday morning

I met him once, five years ago. We had one date, after I went to see him do stand up and found out his show wasn’t the truth. Yes, I’m gullible.

We meet this time and instantly I’m quite shocked at his appearance. Think Kayvan Novak. He looks VERY good. We have a quick drink and then move on elsewhere. He’s easy to talk to and more wine flows. We compare sexual experiences, like critics discussing the finer points of a meal: he has the better stories.

Somehow, sometime late we are boarding a train to his. I have work in the morning but I really don’t care.


His apartment is all on one level, there are no animals for me to fall over and it is tidy. He has a collection of Star Wars figures on display and of course I gravitate towards it. We have another drink as we both pull figures out of the bag and name them…”Lobot”, “Hammerhead”, “Leia Bespin” – it is one of the strangest precursors to sex I’ve had. And then we go to the bedroom.

I straddle him, kissing him hard. And it begins. It doesn’t end really – a glorious melange of cock sucking, pussy licking and fucking. Yes, he has an amazing cock. Yes, I can’t leave it alone, working my tongue around it every way I can. I ride his face, I come. He fucks me, I come again. We break for a rollup, me brazenly smoking naked out of the window. And we continue. He runs out of condoms – he’s so damn hard the whole time. We have an awkward conversation about the fact neither of us have fucked without condoms for a while so that should be fine. It feels so good and so wrong. How it ends I don’t know. The sex is the best I’ve had in a long time – relentless and ridiculously good.

I wake up feeling like death and he finds me Nurofen. I do a walk of shame from somewhere in Croydon, babes.

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