Sunday, 1 July 2012

Five Alive


It's been a while since I've had sex five times in one night. Back in the day, when I was a young man learning my trade, it was de rigeur. In fact, I went for quantity alongside my quality whether I liked it or not, the competitiveness of youth pushing me on to make sure I left the arena with as close as a perfect six from my opposite number as possible.

And, of course, when T and I met, our attraction was based as much on shagging long into the night as it was on talking til sunrise. The gradual progression from lover to partner to parent to spouse, though, took its toll on the run-rate, so marathons went from rare to virtually non-existence.

A brief Indian summer blossomed during our short dallience with the UK swing scene - a couple of the successful encounters had me back in the big leagues - but when that petered out T and I settled into the familiar low-impact lovelife common among people of our type.

But on Tuesday, I was back. It was T who told me we'd hit five as we added a sixth before she left for work the next morning and I braced for the school run with a slightly smug smile.
We didn't even start the first til close on 11pm. I was on a late shift at work, a dull one, the kind that would normally have had me staring into space or internet banking. Throughout the latter part of this one, however, T was in front of the cam, toying with her audience, dressed in tiny, pretty things that apparently didn't always stay on. 

I knew that, because text updates of her evening kept me in the loop.
When I finally left my desk, then, I had to hide my half hard-on and force myself not to break too many traffic laws as I fled home.

But once back, I found myself cooling my boots - not through a dampened ardour, but due to the sudden realisation that our bedroom was in the public domain. So, instead of bursting in and directing my cock straight into her mouth, I went first to the family bathroom to freshen up.

I straightened my tie, smoothed down my hair, cleaned my teeth and took a deep breath before entering our once-private hideaway in what I hoped was an appropriately cool way. 

T wasn't at the desk, she wasn't on the cam, her show was over. She was waiting on the bed, wanting to talk about the site, about her night.
I coughed, readjusted myself and tried not to let the embarrassment at having thought I'd need to slip into the green room before saying hello to my wife be too obvious.

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