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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago
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1.
I remember this one time we were having one of the hottest summers on record and all everybody anywhere wanted was for it to rain. I was also having a bit of a drought as far as sex goes. The sun was out everyday, beating hard against my brown skin until it darkened and glistened. I walked the streets every day with a spring in my step and a smile on my face. The beauty of this weather was that everyone wore less, and it was socially acceptable to. Everybody drank more and it was socially acceptable to. People met up and spent time together more, even in London, and it felt normal.
The only thing about the weather was that it wasn’t just my dick that wasn’t getting wet; nothing was. All of the local parks, and there were loads, went from green spaces to yellow spaces. The grass everywhere was dying. If it wasn’t being starved of goodness it was catching fire. The problem with the hot weather was that it was always hot. All the time. A bit like me. I was hot all the time. The flowey, flowery summer dresses that showed half a thigh made me hot. Everything showed at least half a thigh and my bastard imagination was like a kid in a candy store (Not those American ones in central London because those are almost certainly money laundering scams  ). I was hot ALL the time.
Dates to beer gardens came but I left just as thirsty as I arrived. And so after one particular trip to a pub near a familiar tube station, I’d finally had enough of the cold showers or ice baths after the latest game of 21 questions. I was on my knees for a fuck at this point. I felt controlled by my desires and I hated it.
I messaged an ex.
‘Hey Jane, long time. Hope you’re all good. Just thought of you today as I am out for a pint at your local’.
I’d always laughed at her name being Jane because to me, she was far from a plain Jane. She was a beautiful flower with beautiful petals which opened up and revealed even more beauty. Things were fun between us until they weren’t. But we stayed friends after. Or we said we would but just stopped sending polite check ins after a while. You know how it goes.
Suddenly I was hot in terms of body temperature. Awaiting her reply, I began biting my lips, running my hands over my thighs and squeezing.
‘Why the fuck did I do this?’ I muttered under my breath between large gulps of my Guinness.
Ding.
‘Hey Jordan, It’s been a while!! If you were local you should have said, it would’ve been really good to catch up!  ’
Smiley face? Two exclamation points? It’s happening, I thought to myself. So we flirted a bit and then I asked if she fancied coming out for one and she responded saying she didn’t fancy coming out but I could call round to hers for a drink.
I was outside the front door, unsure whether to knock or not so I messaged instead. Lol. We sat and we drank. It wasn’t awkward. It was really really lovely. She hadn’t made the effort. Why should she? She was at home. She was wearing a pair of Black bicycle shorts, the ones you can see through, and an oversized white T shirt with Tupac’s face on it. She looked cool. Cooler than me. I was only playing it cool. I was hot. I eventually took her glass of wine from her, a cold dry white, and placed down on the coffee table. And then I meant into her and kissed her mouth. This was met with a deep breath and then a soft moan. And then she leaned back into me and kissed me back. Passionately. She pushed with her body until I fell back into the sofa into a slightly upright position and she mounted me. My cock was throbbing through my shorts and she slowly, carefully positioned herself well on top of my visible bulge. This time it was me that groaned softly. She began to slowly grind, to rock her body gently against the print of my shaft, which continued to throb in a similar boat like motion. It was too hot for clothes- I wanted to lose those next.
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