Fling no longer

I suppose I should say something, on this blog, not on the other, though what can one say?  I’ve never gone in for quantitative sex, being more interested in understanding it.  I suppose I do and there’s nothing more for me to understand except quantitative sex itself but little point blogging what you all already know from your continual practice (except Matt who’s forsworn sex).  Coals to Newcastle. 

The station was being buggered by engineering works.  It took me some time to reorient, advising a Chinese girl to get to Putney by train when she’d been told at the trains to get a bus.  There had been a bus outside and would be one for Clapham Junction but I probably gave her the best advice by directing her to the stop outside Waitrose.  I then enquired myself and decided there was no point waiting for John since he’d be late coming by bus and that I’d time to pick up the cream cleaner from Waitrose en route home. 

From the outside door, I thought I recognised him walking up the road, pausing to be sure.  He looked back; I waved.  During an intermission I found out he had arrived at the stipulated time and got off the bus outside the station.  I was probably in the concourse at that moment. 

We did better this time.  Apparently it doesn’t matter how well we do since he’s happy just to be with me.  He’s accepted he is going to have to meet my neighbour at some point or other if this is to go on and he’s keen it should.  It sounded like it’d been love at first sight for him.  He asked did I remember his asking me the time out front.  I didn’t.  Apparently I’d told him the time.  He was doing all sorts of things then to get to me.  He’d dumped the wife.  I suggested he not make a big deal of it when he did see the neighbour, as in the course of things he would, since the neighbour would probably reach a conclusion silently at the sight of us together.  He stayed for lunch.  He had seconds.  Then we had a shower together. 

There’s not much point describing the sex.  I failed to fuck him; he failed to fuck and suck me but it was all rather satisfactory and this time I did come on him, with him, and he with me, twice.  I liked the look of his sexualised face.  “What are you laughing at?”  Sex doesn’t always have to be po-faced.   I asked why he’d become so sexually adventurous.  He’d had a lotof time to think about it and me in prison.

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About johnbrucecairns

I'm a retired history teacher who's written for most of his life with a book readied for publication.
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