Friday, 6 October 2017

Mikado

"We should go out," she says, "and get a lot to eat. Then we won't need to graze when we get back."
"What are we going to do when we get back?" I say, although I know the answer.
"Let's watch a DVD."

Okay, that's not the answer I'm expecting.

The lovely couple who have set up this four-star B&B have themed all the rooms. This one's called "Mikado", leaving very few doubts as to what the theme is. It's actually quite restrained - it could have bordered on the offensive - but is isn't. Anyway, I negotiated this room. I suppose the "Camelot" room wouldn't have been so bad, but I wanted this one.

I browse the DVD library that they have also provided, perhaps trusting that those who visit Brighton and are comfortable enough with staying in loosely themed rooms managed entirely by a gay couple won't start stealing things. It's a safe assumption, since all the DVDs are still there. We look for something sexy, or at least something with sexy people in it. I eventually choose Chicago, partially on the grounds that I've never seen it, but mostly because she says the costumes are hot.

"Okay," she says. "Maybe later we can... because the... and we'll want to..."

The rest of her sentence is cut off. Maybe she didn't know what to say, or maybe she was being coy. I don't know. It's my fault. I've pressed my lips to hers.

She responds, wrapping her arms around me and holding me in a kind of semi-aroused, semi-surprised hug. I'm still not sure why she was so taken aback that I was so keen to kiss her. I like to kiss.

I lift her up just a little and put her down onto the bed with a soft flump. We kiss again; I gently lie her back. Looking down at her from my standing position, with her hair a mess against the bedclothes and her breasts straining against the fabric of my favourite blouse, she is impossible to resist. She's always been. I'd be thinking about this, but in the moment, I'm not really thinking much at all.

I hitch up her skirt and tug at her pants. They slide off. Easily. Slick with lust, she spreads her legs for me, grabbing her skirt to stop it slipping back down. I'm growing harder and bigger by the moment. (Now, it looks a little passé. Back then, it was real, and adult, and exciting.) I'm not wearing a belt, so my trousers practically fall off my legs with the lightest of touches. I take her sides, lean forwards just a little, and slide into her.

Her sex contracts around my shaft, fitting around it as neatly as the rest of the puzzle around a missing piece. Standing, I'm unable to thrust as effectively as I would while on top of her; I steady myself as best I can and push my hips forwards. She makes a sound - a positive one, impossible for me to transcribe here - so I do so again.

And again.
And again.
And again.

I stop, hold it for a second, and pull back out. Both our faces flushed, I help her sit up. We swiftly re-dress; she readjusts her skirt, brushes her hair back into place, and takes my hand. We haven't yet explored Brighton; we haven't eaten anything yet. But we have just had sex - at least for the first time this weekend. It'll probably end up numbering about three or so times. At that moment, it's the excitement of not knowing that makes it fun.

We end up in a trattoria. The waiter shows us to a table. I'm still flushed, a little; I've never had sex standing up before. It's a new venture for me. She has a little more decorum.

Lights go down across the seaside town. We go back to the room and watch Chicago. The costumes are hot. I return the DVD to the library, turn, and go back to the Mikado room. By this point, she's already naked. Naked, and ready to finish what I started.

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