So last week, in one of my more confessional moments, I revealed details of the challenge to my friend next door. This has had unexpected consequences. I am now actively and tragically being pursued by two desperate sirens, who overheard our talk, as they attempt to shipwreck my sexual odyssey. Both are deadly vixens, but the first we shall discuss later. The second is inarguably beautiful, yet from what I’ve experienced her personality prevents anyone from getting even close. She’s distant, aloof, sarcastic, the hottest ice queen you could imagine. Now then, my red-blooded readers, I ask you to watch my back if you can – best pantomime voices at the ready for “she’s behind you”.
I’m playing a bit of mixed sport, which is tactically great from me. Sport is basically sex with more people involved, or so I hear, anyway. The game finishes and we’re all going to head back to college, but I’ve left some stuff in the changing rooms and head back in to retrieve it. Ice queen walks in and comes across to where I’m sitting on the benches. She straddles me, and gently puts her fingers on my face. The look in her eyes is teasing, contemptuous, but she gets away with it.
She puts her lips so close to mine that they brush together, but keeps her eyes fixed on me, before gently reaching up to close my eyes. She gives slow kisses; a flicker of tongue and the pleasure of lips breaking over each other. I’m helpless, and try to hold her haunches as she curls up on me but she knocks my hands away. She pulls my shirt off and kisses down my neck, raking her nails gently down my chest. She pulls me to my feet and walks away, only as far as the nearest shower where, with a heart-stopping grin, she turns the water on full.
She pushes the water into the folds of her body; her shorts rise up to meet the tops of her legs as her shirt sticks around her breasts and hips. She beckons me, almost imperceptibly, and I collapse. I walk to her and kiss her hard on the mouth, cling to her, explore her, and she responds in kind. She peels her sodden shirt over her head, and as she reaches behind her to unclasp her bra she falls against the shower wall.
Every moment is an anarchic; I press up against her, glorying in the rush as her breasts touch against my bare skin. We clash teeth, biting at each other with desire.Then the water stops. Then she pulls away, utterly nonchalant, and leaves me dripping in the shower as she re-dresses. I can find nothing to say; she speaks first, with one quick look of disdain, before leaving. “Well, you’re going to have to work for it”.
Don’t know what she’s on about, readers; I’ve already told you I’m not interested.