Playing House

I’ve finally pinned him down to see me. He’s in a very complicated situation involving  a nuisance neighbour and I don’t realise the enormity of the situation until I’m there and see the riot vans and the armed police. As a result we are using his friend’s house as a temporary base for the afternoon.

We meet in the park, it’s a beautiful day and I see him before he sees me. There is no picnic or plan, in fact I’ve already got lost and confused but here we are now. He looks tired, a little bloodshot in the eyes but even just to see him is everything to me. We walk to get ice-cream, he gives me a crisp note and lets me choose what I want. Like the proverbial kid in a sweet shop. We drive around for a while, as always he talks ten to the dozen and has about 15 things going on at once, his phone never stops and he knows everyone in the area. To be in the car with him eating ice-cream is enough for me, for now. I love him, after all. I just haven’t ever told him.

We get back to the house that he built for a friend. It’s not much from the outside and we go in the back way. The first thing I notice is the smell: fresh wood. The walls and ceilings are light Scandinavian pine. It’s beautiful, and I instantly relax. He shows me around, the stairs, a skylight – its like something out of a TV design programme. I’m open mouthed as I take in the detail, carefully going back down the stairs.

We settle down to watch some comedy – remember this is how he relaxes – and he lies his feet across me. I get orders to itch here, scratch there. He shows me how to massage his neck properly. We lie opposite each other and he starts to massage my feet. Wow. I’m shot back to the first time we met 18 months ago when he did the same, explaining sexual pressure points are in your feet. And then he pokes my pussy with his finger. I can feel it getting wetter as he strokes it over my knickers.

We both shift positions and he puts his head in my lap, still eyes on the TV, occasionally grasping my breast through my dress. The desire to take a photo of him like this is intense, I want to capture the moment and how he looks. I scratch his neck in the way he likes. I feel like I’m on holiday, in someone else’s house, with the boy in my lap. Lazy afternoons like this forever please.

We’ve spoken about me helping him shave his bits and I’m waiting for the cue. He leaps up and tells me he hasn’t showered yet – I mean no shit, I could tell. But I like a man who smells of man rather than aftershave.

He pulls off his clothes and is framed in the doorway. His dick, his beautiful dick hangs down and I take it all in. He starts the shower, telling me to find the clippers and I go scrambling everywhere for them. I pull off my dress and underwear and join him in the wet room. The floor is polished concrete and slippy. I have clippers in my hand and his beautiful thick dick in front of me. What could possibly go wrong?

Have I ever done this? I recall a guy doing it to me but never this way around. He holds his stalk out and he’s hard. He reaches down and kisses my breasts and I slide around a little. I switch on the clippers and start at the top. I don’t really want to shave off the hair, I like it. He’s not even particularly hairy, just a downy fuzz. We slip and slide around a bit and switch positions. I manage, with his help, to trim him how he wants.

I can’t remember which happens next: did he then shave me or did I kneel down and take his beautiful cock in my mouth?

I lick and suck the end then the length, a little like I had done with the ice cream earlier. He’s not 100% clean which is unusual for him, it’s not unpleasant but just a shock. Either way he’s showing me how to squeeze the end with my hand how he likes it, and is very soon grunting and spurting all over the floor, the white jets splattering on the black concrete floor.

He tells me he hasn’t come like that for a while. Oddly I don’t really care.


We go out to grab takeaway, a Lebanese and return back and eat it very quickly. It’s late now, around 8. He’s prepared some halloumi to go with it which also disappears. We chat a little bit about what’s been happening in each others lives. He’s poured me a glass of wine and I’m slowly drinking it when he tells me we’ve got to go.

I wasn’t expecting to or even sure if staying the night was possible. I grab my things and replace my clothes. I stalk out and he calls me back to say a proper goodbye but we don’t really do kissing.

Once again, I leave his house more disappointed than sated, the girl who always wants more.