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Memoirs from over the years
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Memoirs from over the years The bottom line is – I’ve always loved sex. Not just enjoyed it. Not just laid there and thought of England. No. Definitely, definitely loved it. So many great memories made over the years, when ‘impulsive’ and ‘carefree’ were top traits of mine. Where to start? Let’s see. It was 1984 and the first time I got drunk. I was 19 and a newly wed. We had just arrived in Hong Kong. We were out for the night, brilliant atmosphere, loads of friendly banter, and I was being goaded into drinking. Having convinced everyone that I didn’t like the taste of alcohol they went on a mission to find one I would enjoy. Different wives promising me that their tipple was going to be the one that I liked. Malibu and coke – yuck. Bacardi and coke – double yuck. Whisky on the rocks – help, my throat is on fire. And all the while I was grabbing the pint of beer on the table to wash the hideous tastes out of my mouth. And then I got to the stage that it didn’t taste of anything anymore. And the inside of my mouth was tingling away and I was light-headed and everything was great. And when the night was over we started walking home. One step forward, two steps back. Hubby was laughing at the state I was in. We’d probably managed about 20-30 yards when I asked him to have sex with me. Right here. Right now. For the first time ever he said no. No? NO!!! Pleeeease….. (whiney little begging voice) But he didn’t mean no. He just had an ulterior motive. OK, but only if you take off your dress and thong (I was bra-less in those years) and walk across the rugby pitch, around the posts – bearing in mind the posts were adjacent to the 24-hour manned guardroom – and back to me in my heels, stockings and suspenders. Easy! Well, it would have been easy if I could lift my arms above my head to take off my dress. Help was there in the form of my husband. What a gent. And would have been easy if it wasn’t for the fact that my feet didn’t go one in front of the other easily. But I was determined. Determined because I was desperately horny. Determined because, in my drunk state this was very liberating. So, after what took forever, I got around the rugby posts and back to my hubby and was rewarded with a well-earned fuck! I must admit, I can’t quite remember the details of that fuck. Brain wasn’t functioning how it normally does. Then he kindly helped me back into my clothes (see, still a gent even after having sex, now there’s a man!) and it took at least half an hour to get assisted to the other end of the rugby pitch and up the hill towards home. And we were at the top of the hill, in the early hours, not a soul in sight and I needed to rest. Just for a minute. I recall lying face down on the grass (so I probably fell) and actually it felt really good. Really comfortable. And it was still such a long way home (Just down the hill – about 50 metres) I could just sleep here tonight. Pleeeeease. And he agreed to stop for a while. And I pulled him down on me because I was now feeling horny from the thoughts (drunken thoughts and drunken giggles) at what we’d just done. So he laid me back across the nearby rock and started fucking me again. Ouch. Shit. What’s that?? Ow, somethings biting me. Shit, fucking green ants. Bastards, even I couldn’t ignore them for the sake of a fuck and I could ignore most things. So home we go. Or the time in 1985 when I lived in Hong Kong and was having sex on the beach – at night time – with my squaddie boyfriend (by now separated from my husband as I realised I had married too young). We found a private place at the bottom of a cliff edge and, stark naked, he was on top of me, fucking me deep and hard. All of a sudden there were loads of torches shining down on us. Shit, how do we escape this – am guessing that no doubt I was being pretty verbal as noises just seem to escape my throat even when I try to keep it quiet, and the noise must have carried up and over the cliff and there must have been some kind of accommodation up there. So, there we were, in mid throw, and suddenly, lying still as statues, rabbits caught in the headlights wouldn’t be a bad phrase to use at this time. The torches were flashing on and off. The shouts in Chinese. The giggling voices. Shit, shit, shit. What shall we do. What can we do? Lay still. Lay still. Please don’t let them manage to get down to us. We can’t move until the torches are off. For once, thank god it wasn’t my arse on top! Eventually the torches went off and we grabbed out stuff and scarpered. Or the same year in Hong Kong, that we went to a fairly quiet beach, dug a deep enough trench in the sand for me to sink part of my body into, and my boyfriend was slowly, deeply fingering me. How I managed to stay almost still and mute is beyond me. My lover was very experienced, knew my body inside and out and was definitely hitting the right spot – consistently. There were plenty of people dotted around the beach but there is something so horny about being fingered, in a sand dugout, with the very hot sun beating down on my entire body. And the many times we went chest deep in the water and I straddled him while he fucked me. The cold sea water around his cock contrasting with the burning heat inside my pussy. And each time he thrust into me he thrust the coldness of the water in with him. It was in Hong Kong that I first learned the skills of the ‘gobble on the rocks’. All you need are a few ice cubes, your mouth and his cock! I can only imagine the sensations he gets from this. The ice, my tongue, my teeth grazing gently, his cock rock hard. Mmmmm. Yes please. Our equivalent of course are a couple of ice cubes popped inside (after rubbing them gently over the nipples and clit for a while to get you really horny) and then him fucking you with the ice inside. And as the ice melts a bit and the water runs down the crack of your arse ….. heaven, I am back there right now so excuse me a minute if you don’t mind. Then living back in the UK. Sometime around 1985/86 I often had people come over to my house after they had been out on the town. Didn’t want to go home this early and nothing open in our small town. Generally they crashed on the sofa or floor or in one of the spare beds. On this occasion two guys came over. One who was my lover. Our relationship was purely sexual, probably weekly-ish. I’d go to his for sex (which his mum frowned upon as he had a nice girlfriend who lived in Denmark or somewhere and she didn’t think he should be shagging me too), or he’d come to mine. This time he came over with an extremely good-looking friend. One I’d have shagged in a heartbeat but he had no interest in me. Why would he. He could have anyone. Anyway, the guys said they were tired and my lover and my Adonis made their way up to my bedroom and said was I coming too. Of course I declined. That would be way too ….. Not sure, way too what, but way too something!!! So I said I’d sleep on the sofa. And I laid on the sofa. And I knew who was in my bed upstairs. MY bed. ADONIS …. IN MY BED. Was I going to stay on the sofa? Like, seriously? Be brave. Be bold. Chance it. You’ve fancied him, like, forever!!!! So I went upstairs. I went into the bedroom. I took off my nightshirt and climbed in between them. And there I experienced the ultimate. A threesome. A fucking threesome. One girl, two guys. And I was there for their pleasure. Oh yes!!! And the thing about a threesome, and the thing about men, is that men are competitive and they both wanted to be better than each other. So all at the same time I had both of my nipples being played with, my clit being played with, I was being fucked, sucked, caressed. I was the focus of their desire, and their Alpha Male competition. Who was I to complain. Best just let them get on with it. Someone’s cock was in my mouth while the other was deep inside my pussy, and I was having orgasm after orgasm after orgasm. And, yes, you know it. It was with him! HIM! The very desirable Adonis. My lover had no worries about this. After all, I was his safe shag while his girlfriend wasn’t here to keep him satisfied, and he was my safe shag coz I didn’t have to be looking around for one night stands to satisfy my needs. Then there was the year I decided to drive around Europe for my summer holiday. In Italy, 1988, in a little triangular 2-man tent with a German lad I had hooked up with a few days ago. He was laying on the airbed and I was on top of him, slowly sliding up and down his cock. I was very slender at the time, and very naïve to my assets. Looking back, I had a fabulous body, but at the time I was extremely insecure about it. How would any man seriously want to have a girlfriend with small boobs when there were so many with big boobs to choose from. Damn stupid insecurities, but I suffered badly from lack of body confidence. I’m not saying I couldn’t get a fuck. But then, anyone can get a fuck really can’t they? So, where we were. Oh yes, in a tent sliding up and down his cock. Mmmmmmm, and here I am re-living that memory again in my head. Concentrate, you have a story to tell. Oh yes, the tent. Sliding up and down on his cock. Then some idiots started shining a torch on the tent. What is it with men and torches? And did you know if someone shines a torch on a tent and there is an object, say, a young woman – I was 24 – straddling an even younger man – he was 18, and probably had the best summer vacation ever with this horny English<b> older woman </font></b>– the silhouette of same object, joined at the loins, is projected prominently across the other side of the tent! Suddenly there were cheers and clapping. Shit! Not again. And we couldn’t even finish the fuck then. And everyone knew who was in the tent. Bastards. Moving forward, to the UK, there were various occasions in the back of the car. In the front of the car. Over the bonnet of the car. Then there was the time in Ireland in 1997, when we were on a road trip. No cars in sight for miles. Let’s stop, nip over to the rocks about 20 metres from the road edge and we can have outdoor sex in this beautiful scenic country. So, high on the thought of what was in store for me we rushed over to the rocks, got naked and tried to make a bit of a comfortable spot for me to lay back and enjoy. Enjoy his hands on my nipples. Oh, he knows me so well. It’s like they are the key to opening my legs. My legs will not stay together when my nipples are being rubbed/squeezed/kissed – anything action involving my nipples results in my legs spreading eagerly. And I don’t have a problem with leaning against this rock, the sunshine beating down on my body, legs spread. Sun hot on my pussy. In fact I am starting to orgasm when I realise I am being bitten to hell by fucking ants. Red Ants. RED ANTS!!!!! And my other half is too. He’s being bitten alive at the same rate as me. And we have to give in. Frustration, pain, itchy skin. Fucking ants. Why can’t you ever find a decent rock that the ants haven’t already claimed for their own? Or the time that I was giving my hubby a blow job, and needed to sneeze. But I ignored the feeling of the sneeze so as to finish off what I started, and he shot his load at the split second that I sneezed. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. As you may or may not know, ears, nose and throat are somehow connected, and it really stings your nose if there is spunk shooting down it!!!! CuriousFor3s If you have to have regrets, let them be for what you did, not what you wish you had done. |
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