Exorcism III

It’s the day before Valentine’s Day. Too hard to avoid these days as most shops and brands throw it in your face and everywhere there are hearts and red roses. He’s asked me to stay over, but to date our liaisons have been so complicated I don’t even believe it’s going to happen until I’m walking there. All day I’ve expected the excuses or the letdown. I have done the lady-prep of course, and I’m wearing a matching set of underwear at least. But so jaded am I from this dance I’m in trainers and a low key-work dress.

On the walk from the station to his house he calls and asks me to buy ham. He’s making me crepes apparently. I get the ham, a banana and a can of G&T. Dear reader, you know I don’t need to drink to fuck but it sings to me on the shelf and I grab it.


I get to his – he’s in the same grey jumper and jeans as always. But his smile gets me every time and I hand over the ham and crack open the G&T. He tells me to make myself at home on the sofa and shows me his tidy lounge – albeit with a half-built moped at the end of the room.

Apparently we are now having shepherd’s pie – I don’t care as the crepes were from a packet anyway. He wants to watch the new Blade Runner, so we eat first and chat a little. Even though I’ve been here a couple of times I relax. I’m here after all and that is enough.

We start the film. I wasn’t really a fan of the first movie, considering it a guy thing. But Ryan Gosling is never unpleasant to look at. We last 20 minutes, and I’d love to say it was because he started to ravage me. His attention span goes and we switch to watching Amelie of all things. When the movie came out I was in the throes of a relationship which I thought was going to be my one and only. We even visited the cafe from the film in Paris and ordered something not knowing what it was – pot au feux – and struggled to eat it all.

It’s a romantic movie, FFS. I’d forgotten its unashamed joyfulness, its intricacies and how the plot unfolds. It is perhaps exactly what I needed. As we watch the occasional hand touches my arm or my breast and there is both playfulness and eroticism in these movements. I purposely don’t make a move. I’m still so conscious of the fact that he’s not got laid in years.


I need the loo so I go upstairs to the bathroom. He’s talking to me and I can’t hear so I shout that back. He comes up and opens the door, brandishing his cock in front of him. It’s too much for me to compute – trying to pee while being signalled to that he is ready now. I manage to finish and wipe, he wants to touch me now.

My memory is annoyingly hazy as to what happens next. I think I go to his room and sort my stuff out, with a view to donning stockings and suspenders for his pleasure. This doesn’t play out. We fool around on the bed and are very quickly naked. I admire his strong thighs and the way his thick cock perfectly sways. He asks if he can pee on me, seeing me on the loo has turned him on.

I’m totally game and almost leap into the bath. In a perfect replay of the last time I tried this with someone else – he’s too turned on to pee and tells me not to look at him. I look instead at the rolls of my stomach and giggle. A few drops come at first then after a long pause a shallow stream across my breasts. He’s frustrated with himself. My teeth chatter as I’m freezing so I ask if I can have a shower, as he seems to be done.

The shower starts cold, I shriek, he farts in shock and it’s all a far cry from what I wanted to happen. But there is always laughter to cover the embarrassment. And a dry towel.


We climb under the covers, rediscovering each other. He has smooth skin with very little hair. A bare chest. Shaved balls that feel good to cup in my hand. A back that needs to be scratched really hard. I recall thinking that this is all too quick but soon forget that as his cock is rubbing up against my pussy lips. We have a terrible debate about a condom and reader, SPOILER ALERT  I’m afraid I let him in without.

We take it very slowly and I fall in love with him a little more for that. There is no pump action from his hips – more careful, measured movements which get me very aroused. I grab his thighs, we flip over and I mount him now, totally in control.

He cries out in pain suddenly : ” I can feel your coil”. I jump off him. WTF? I know he’s big but he shouldn’t be able to. I take him in my mouth instead as he lies back on the pillow. He’s moaning now which sounds right. I feel him harden again, and we try again. This time he’s on top and I will forever obsess about his thighs and our limbs enmeshed in absolutely fucking each other.

And then he comes. He does a series of yelping faces and noises, which is ironic because I’ve always been told to be quiet at his place. It’s pretty close to a guy I fucked a couple of years ago who I likened to “The Scream” orgasm face.

And that’s it. Game over. I already know he can’t perform more than once a night, he’s told me countless times.


In the morning I realise I always walk away from his house disappointed, but wanting to come back for more.

Fucksticks.

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