Friday, 9 February 2007

Now you see me... :: Part one

I was visiting my friend A in London. It was one of those ridiculously hot days, where nobody knows what to do with themselves in the city, far away from beaches and cooler countryside; where people pass out on the tube and the dogs of the homeless pant on the street corners.

See view by johnyblaze
Two weeks ago, I had dumped my long-term boyfriend. I hadn't really loved him anyway, but breaking up always means upheaval. A was sympathetic. "Nothing gets you over the previous one like the next one," she said, and talked me into staying with her for a week. She also knew that I wasn't very good at going without my daily shag, and that I might end up falling into my ex's bed if we were too close to each other as I hit sex withdrawal.

It turned out to have been a good move. My tiny flat would have been a killer in the heat, but A, who had made some financially sound career moves in her life, now lived in a top floor mansion flat overlooking Hyde Park.

The morning after I had struggled with my suitcase to her doorstep (where it was immediately taken over by a rather snotty doorman who clearly thought I was out of place in the establishment), I woke with a blasting headache. My room was already suffocatingly hot. I opened the window, leaving the curtains closed, and still half asleep, I grabbed for my little black bikini top and a mini skirt in my suitcase, dying to get outside.

Part of losing a boyfriend also means losing other stuff. I'd lost at least five pounds in just two weeks, and had also lost all my body hair save for a tiny landing strip. I'm sure the beautician must have known I was a newly single person, as I had asked for just about every treatment in her book. The weight loss had paid off as well, as the roundness of my bum looked fantastically bouncy and my stomach looked toned and tanned.

I threw the french doors open in the lounge, and to my relief, I could feel a cool breeze from the park stroking my body. I grabbed a glass of ice water (A of course has an American-style fridge with an ice cube maker) and positioned myself on one of the chairs on the tiny balcony outside.

Above me, the sun was almost directly overhead, and despite a little parasol in the corner, the wood was shockingly hot as I sat down on it. I leaned back and felt the warm seat press against my bum. I could hear the cars down on the street, but not see them, the treetops looking almost like an ocean in front of me.

As I rubbed suntan lotion on my smooth legs, I tried to ignore how much I was longing for someone to do it for me. I hadn't been touched by a guy for over two weeks, which was pretty much a personal record in the last decade. How was it that all my fuckfriends had gotten married all of a sudden? I thought about my last encounter with one of them, M, five years ago; his delicious, smooth cock and washboard midriff. I didn't even know where he was anymore; what a shame.

I looked across to all the other balconies; there was nobody there. The sad thing about having a fat flat in London is that more likely than not you'll be working so much to afford it that you will hardly ever spend any time in it. But good for me.

As I worked the suntan lotion up my thighs, I felt myself moisten at the touch. I love wearing no underwear. I managed to avoid touching myself, and worked across my belly instead. As I felt my hand brush against my bikini'ed breasts, however, I couldn't resist slipping a hand inside the tiny black piece of fabric covering the left one. My nipple, despite the heat, was already hardening, a process speeded up by my slippery fingers.

I closed my eyes and thought of M again, and almost without noticing, my other hand was moving towards my swelling crotch. I slipped it inside my bikini bottoms, and let out a little moan as I touched the lips. I couldn't believe how wet I was already.

Bringing the second hand down to stroke my clit, hard like an uncooked pea between the soft folds of flesh, I also put a finger in my mouth, remembering how M's cock used to taste when I sucked him after he had been inside me.

I wanted more than just my hand; my pussy was screaming to be filled. It was hard to stop stroking myself, but I halted and got up from the chair to get my vibrator from the suitcase.

Continued...

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