Back in April, Livvy wrote this epic post about our first sex party. We had to wait another six months for our second, but when it did finally come along it was every bit as wild and hedonistic as we’d both hoped.
The theme was ‘Sexy Time Machine’, and the party took place in a photographic studio near Clapham Common. We went as Doctor Who and the TARDIS, and while we both knew our costumes were unlikely to stay on for long, one of us at least looked little short of spectacular.
It’s two days after Christmas, and she’s getting ready to go back – back to London, back to work, and back to a cold, empty flat at the end of it. My parents’ house is neither cold nor empty; it is quiet though, or maybe just calm and content after a festive period full of life’s most basic pleasures – good food and drink, sleep, comfort, and conversation.
I lift myself out of the mid-afternoon lull (and the armchair in which I’m enjoying it), scoop up my mug of tea, and slip out into the hallway. I pad up the stairs towards my bedroom, tugging at my clothes even before I’ve opened the door. I know she won’t be far behind, so once I’m naked I move quickly. The bag of sex toys has travelled with us from London to Dorset, and now here, but this is the first time I’ve delved inside.
By the time she enters the room I’m under the duvet, with just my head poking out. The mug steams silently on my old chest of drawers – it’ll be cold by the time I pick it up again.
“Take your clothes off and get in here,” I say, and she complies without hesitation, clambering over me before snuggling her perfect, naked body up against mine. I let her get comfortable, pulling her even closer and kissing her neck as her fingers reach for my cock. It takes her no time at all to get me hard; her hand moves with a practised rhythm that I know I’ll soon find almost impossible to resist, especially with the warmth of her skin and the scent of her hair surrounding me.
I played hockey yesterday on a pitch that occupied one small corner of a sprawling sports complex, shared with local football and rugby teams. The weather was filthy when we arrived and got steadily worse once the game was underway. The wind whipped across the exposed fields, rain slanted sideways into our faces, and a winter gloom seemed to creep in a little closer with every passing minute.
By the end of the match, I was sore, tired, and ready for the bright and warmth of the opposition’s clubhouse. For pasta bolognese, a pint of beer, and rueful reflection on the defeat we’d just suffered. After some initial uncertainty, I now really like the group of guys I play with, and few things can salve wounded pride better than hearty food and good company.
Even those comforts do little for aching muscles, however. They require scalding hot water – the kind that feels like it might strip the skin from your body – and a proper scrub. After everyone else had left, I went over to the rather austere, chilly shower block and found an empty changing room. Livvy came in with me and took a few photos as I got changed, snapping away until my sweaty kit lay in a messy pile on the floor. I left her sitting on a bench while I waited for the water to heat up, then closed my eyes and let it wash over me.
This week’s Sinful Sunday prompt was ‘artificial light’, which offered an almost overwhelming array of options for weird, wonderful, and sexy-as-fuck photography (as the other submissions make very clear).
In fact, as I first started to give it some thought earlier this week, I realised that I’ve already played around with a whole bunch of artificial light options over the last couple of years – from all the night-time shots I’ve done, lit by different lamps in different rooms, through to Christmas tree lights, street lamps, and even the fluorescent glow of a London Underground train.
One thing I’d not yet explored? Shadows. So when Livvy suggested projecting my body up onto our bedroom wall, I wasn’t about to say no. When she leaned over me, her freshly-washed hair tumbling down onto my stomach, and her lips grazing the head of my cock, I wasn’t really able to say much at all…
A couple of days ago I popped into my favourite London sex shop, Sh!, to pick up some lube and check out the latest additions to their (excellent) range of own-brand dildos.
By happy coincidence, my trip took place on Black Friday, increasingly an important retail ‘event’ even in this side of the pond. Sh! was running a big toy sale (which extends across this entire weekend, just FYI…), and suddenly my casual browsing became a whole lot more purposeful.
I came back home with a neatly-wrapped box, which I presented to Livvy later in the evening. I don’t yet know how I – we – will use the contents, but what I can say for certain is that she looks absolutely fucking fantastic wearing them…
“What happens when people open their hearts?”
“They get better.”
Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood
~
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about threesomes over the last few years, it’s that getting started is the most awkward bit – even when you have it all figured out beforehand. I knew what I wanted to do a couple of Fridays ago. I wanted to fuck Jenny’s throat till my cock was coated in her spit. I wanted to leave her naked and trembling on the floor beside my bed while I went downstairs to fetch Livvy. I wanted to push Livvy up against the wall and kiss her hard, then find her bare cunt with my fingers and stroke her clit.
I wanted to lead her upstairs and open the bedroom door. To show her Jenny, kneeling like the good girl she tries so hard to be – still ready and eager for cock. I had this crystal-clear mental image of Livvy scrambling up onto the mattress, dress already hitched around her waist; of sliding one hand around the back of Jenny’s head, fingers twisting up into her long blonde hair, and using the other to unbuckle my jeans…
From there the plan got kinda hazy, which is exactly how I like it. Sex is a bit like going on holiday – it’s good to be prepared, and to have a basic idea of what you want to do when you get there, but if you map everything out to the nth degree you’re not really going to experience it. Spontaneity FTW, in other words, which is why I’d kept things broad.
When you walk into a bookshop, are you ever just overwhelmed by the sheer magnificence filling the shelves around you? All those hundreds upon hundreds of books, filled with adventure and magic – wonder and delight – waiting for you to open them and find out what’s inside.
I can rarely leave without buying something, which means my shelves (and cupboards, boxes, suitcases…) now bulge with more words than I will ever be able to read over the course of my life. It’s comforting and thrilling, all at the same time. They cover the spectrum of human emotion and experience: life, love, death, sorrow, fear, friendship…and sex. Books and sex are inextricably, gloriously linked – let’s face it, books themselves are sexy as fuck.
Sometimes I want to take all those books off my shelves, out of my cupboards, and just roll around on a big pile of them. That feels like it would be pretty sexy too.
Warm outside.
Warmer inside.
And very sweaty by the end of it…
It’s two years now since I first ‘donated’ my Sinful Sunday post to anyone who wanted to take part in the meme but didn’t have an easy way of doing so. Over the following 10 months a bunch of bloggers, tweeters, friends and fuckbuddies took me up on that offer, and I was lucky enough to host some really fantastic photos – including some from people who subsequently decided to join in on their own sites.
It doesn’t exactly fit with July’s ‘Change’ prompt, but for some reason this felt like a good time to revive the ‘Anonymous’ concept. In fact, in some ways marking an anniversary is the opposite of change – although in others, perhaps it’s just another side of the same coin. I dunno. Either way, the photos below made it a very easy decision, and I’m glad I get to share them here today. Enjoy!
…waiting is hard.
