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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago
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The Smell of Sex...........
While I was on the train this morning my mind was working over time I was still half asleep but yet a myriad of different ideas passing through my head and not stopping for answering tripping over each other as they fought for space. The train undulating none to gently as it travelled the straight track into town. Passing the sea it was calm due to the icyness outside and the motorway as the cars whizzed passed at a none to gentle pace, the speed opposing the calmness of the rest of the surroundings. Further down the track a loan canoist paddling away through the manmade inlet of the lough.
I have very heightened senses today every little sound droning in the background polite conversation the rattle of the tracks the conductor shouting for tickets. The zipper of the man beside me as he searches for what I imagine to be his wallet. I find myself wondering several things all at once.
One sex on a train… the rocking motion would leave you none to steady on your feet but yet perhaps enhance a clandestine experience in the not too hygienic on board toilet. Too many people and too light no where to move for anything else. Not even a handsome man in sight……The thought of meeting a total stranger and by meer eye contact signalling that you wanted to fuck them…..of never a prospect of seeing them again but using them for a brief minute or two to satisfy an urge……
A large green lorry carrying packages resembling silage bails passes swiftly passed in my peripheral vision. High risk sex…..publicly on a train or on the top of a high speed moving vehicle….. Not safe ….but yet would the heightened adrenaline of the prospect of falling off heighten the experience….
What about a canoe …balancing …..every movement threatening to knock you off balance to send you into the cold icy water……
For no particular reason a memory comes flooding back perhaps triggered by the site of the railed off area on the underside of the railway platform grilled wired fences hiding a mess of barrels and equipment. I cast my mind back 17 years to the shed… An old chicken house …the size of a warehouse not the most tranquil of surroundings.
It used to have several boarded off areas dividing walls separating the rooms .the chickens long gone. The kitchen a dirty cobweb covered ironstone sink situated in a long formica sideboard leads to a games room of sorts a table tennis table and board games strewn on the floor were someone had broken in. To the other side a room the floor covered in mattresses they were there for seats a place to sit and talk we had thrown them there as they were more comfortable than the wooden seats we had lifted from the local tip. Alcohol stained the already yellow covers they used to be clean the mice had obviously been making the home and they were no longer a welcome resting place for anything other than the rodents themselves and spiders.
Then the main hall the scene of the crime or crimes in reality a room with unpainted plasterboard walls and at the far end a cheap Dj machine the retro sort with flashing light …. Oasis or the Lightening Seeds blaring out in the semi darkness. What we liked to call the dance floor the walls covered by a mismatch of old suites of furniture mostly clean as our parents and others had given them to us to make it seem more homely. We called it ‘The Shed’ nowhere else to go in the middle of nowhere and now too old to climb trees and terrorise the local band as they practiced in the neighbours barn… we met there for parties.
An excuse for most of them to meet and drink without parents permission feasting on alcopops and pringles and anything other substance they could partake of to seem ‘Cool’ I did not partake always the sensible one….I did however have my vices as I still do now…. It was also a place to take my older gentlemen friends in relative ‘comfort’ I use the term loosely but then there was nowhere else to go and they were married. I was still a teenager but was drawn to the older men as I still am now.
After church on a Sunday evening I would take the key from the place where my father kept it and walk up the road the short distance to ‘The Shed’ At the time there were also alcoves big enough to hide cars or vans for the matter in between this shed and the next. We would meet there among the grime and dust of what imagined was perhaps caused by the cremation of the long gone chickens.
Not much light other than from the dilapidated DJ decks as the electric lighting had long since packed up. Just enough light to see each other in the dim beams. One or other of the gentlemen and myself would keep most of the clothes on avoiding the mattress the raggedy sofas were a better choice. All be it they had odour resembling stale alcohol and mildew.
Antipation of getting caught of being and doing something I shouldn’t turned me on. When our lips met is was as if someone turned the gush button and I could feel the wetness between my legs. The long skirts which I was made wear to church not long in being pulled up to the waist ….the underwear underneath a stark contrast to the sedate outer garments. Satin pants now soaked pushed to the side as a large throbbing purple tipped cock slid in the wetness rubbing my clit before demanding to enter me. Slowly at first as I have always been tight first the helmet slowly stretching then the shaft inching itself inside until it fills me entirely. Hands grasping at buttocks pulling closer demanding to be penetrated fully ..if it was too deep even better the feeling tips me over the edge the pain of the cock pushing right inside me , too much, but it feels good too. I cum none to quietly, but then who is there too hear. The sound echoes around the dark dank room as the shadow of the coloured lights on the disco machine flicker they will not work much longer. I am aware of my surroundings now that I have cum more so than the feel of the man still thrusting away close to orgasm. I glare into the shadows my mind no longer at the task my needs satisfied my mind is elsewhere.A few strokes later and he is done a chaste kiss to the lips and forehead and he withdraws. The buttons on the trousers firmly closed and my Sunday best rearranged so that there is no sign of impropriety but there is the smell that of dampness. …Both from the wet furniture and from between my legs. The smell of sex…. |
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