As I write this, the temperature is warm. You can tell that it is warm in my little corner of the world because my Facebook feed is full of statuses by people moaning that it is too hot.
"It is hotter than the devil's armpit!" they cry, as I roll my eyes and run my fingers over my chest.
I love warm weather. It means that I get to go round the house wearing very little and tempting SH no end.
You see, he loves my boobs. They are huge, a 36K and he likes it when they spill out of whatever I am wearing. He likes it when the straps on my vest top slide down my arms. He likes to see a bit of bare shoulder. He likes to see my arse caressed by a tiny pair of knickers as I walk around the house. And I can do that when it is warm. When it is cold, my fibromyalgia decides my whole body should seize up and though SH always fancies me, it is when I am in a tiny pair of knickers and a vest top, looking wanton and my hair is slightly wet around my face that I quite fancy myself, not when I am in bed socks, fluffy pyjamas, a big dressing gown and clutching a hot water bottle in one hand and a blanket in the other.
When the weather is warm, I have more cum dreams. You know, those ones that wake you up orgasming and touching yourself. I love those. Especially as I can never quite remember what the dream was about, only that I was being worshipped in it. And I like to be worshipped. I like the feeling of being adored. The feeling of being lusted after. Male, female, non binary, whatever, I want you to show that you won't be complete until we have fucked. Call me a goddess. Do it now. Let me see by your face and your body language just how much you want me. When I reach out to you, flinch in anticipation. It makes me wet. So fucking wet.
Let me tell you about Gary. I was 32 and he was 20. We both worked as van drivers at a courier firm. The day I first saw him, I was sitting on the depot floor surrounded by parcels, writing up my manifest and he walked past. I was feeling kinda minxy and my fella at the time had been falling down on his fucking me senseless duties, so I caught his eye, gave him that 'oh hello sexy' look and watched him the whole time he walked by. He was watching me too, right up to the moment he walked into a cage.
He was mine from that moment.
Now, I love me a cocky young un. You know the ones. All confidence and cheeky looks. The eyes that tell you they are not messing about. The way they are fucking blatant about wanting you. The type when you tell them "isn't it past your bedtime?" will say things like "well come and tuck me in then." I had a lad once tell me, "don't play with me, I will fuck you and we will love it". And fucking hell, if I hadn't been terrified of my then husband, I would have fucked him till we passed out.
Gary was like that. I would see him searching me out in the morning when he arrived and make a beeline for me so that he could give me a morning hug and whisper "you feel that? I get hard just looking at you." And I could feel that. And it was mighty. And this boy had a way of making me feel so sexy and so fucking powerful, that it was inevitable that one day I would give in. He had made it very clear that he was willing to do whatever it took to fuck me, so I told him to meet me at a services on a saturday. We didn't usually work on a saturday, but it was the lead up to christmas so overtime was plentiful.
When he arrived I was still eating breakfast. He sat next to me at the table and kissed me on the cheek. I sipped my coffee using one hand and slid the other up his thigh under the table. It was on. I took my time finishing up just to torture him, and the look on his face told me he understood the game was afoot. He had to tuck his cock behind his belt to be able to walk out with me, and his discomfort was making me wet. It wasn't just the november wind that made my nipples stand to attention, it was this gorgeous (and he really was ridiculously good looking) boy pouring lust out of every single pore. I had parked my van in a quiet spot and I leant against it, holding his eyes with a slight smile on my lips.
"Come here and kiss me."
He did not need asking twice. This kid was an expert kisser too, just the right amount of pressure to show he was hungry, but also knew he wanted to savour me, just the right amount of tongue, we matched each other with our mouths while he rubbed that (to be fair) fucking enormous cock against me, the rhythm perfect, as if he was actually fucking me. Pressure perfect, speed set to oh my god, when was the last time I was this turned on by a dry hump.
Years later, when I remember him, I realised why it was so good. He was present. He wasn't thinking what was next, tits or cunt, he wasn't kissing me because it would get him fucked, he was there because he wanted to be, and in that moment, he wasn't going fucking anywhere. Do you know what a turn on that is? To know that the person you are with is content to please you and go at your pace? I have enormous boobs, I am not used to it!
I was getting more and more turned on. If you read Fuck My Mouth, you know how orally fixated I am and how much I love to suck cock. And man, what a cock that was. I licked and sucked and kissed every single inch of it. I was greedy for it, and I lost track of how long I was doing it for. I remember being on the floor of the van on a blanket that he had very chivalrously brought along and I remember him repaying the oral favour expertly and enthusiastically. He lapped at me slowly, firmly, thoroughly and he made me believe that he was doing so because he wanted to. After I came twice, in that really lovely way that reminds me of the orgasm you have when you dream, slow, quiet, encompassing, he was between my legs and kissing me again. I could feel he was wearing a condom but he was just resting at the entrance of my cunt. We kissed until I thought I would scream at him to just fuck me when he stopped, looked me in the eyes, and asked "you want this?" And nodding wasn't enough, he made me verbalise it. "Tell me, say you want me to fuck you." all the while teasing my clit with his helmet.
"Now Gary, I want you to fuck me. Please."
"Well, if you say so." and in he slid. Up until I met SH it was still the best sex I ever had. That boy fucked me missionary only but his rhythm was so good I came over and over and every time I did, every time my cunt squeezed round his, I could see the fight on his face to stay in control and not cum himself. I didn't want it to end, and the fact that we were fucking in the work van, surrounded by parcels, just made it all the hotter. He kissed me again then whispered in my ear "I'm going to cum now, that ok?" and thankfully he accepted a nod that time as I had lost the power of speech and when he did orgasm, he kissed me all the way through it.
Afterwards, as we lay there, kissing and smiling, he told me how beautiful I was. And in that moment, I felt it. He told me he didn't feel bad about what we had done and any time I wanted to again, all I had to do was call him.
I didn't. I was worried that I would end up falling for this beautiful, sexy, amazing boy and my life was already complicated enough.
I don't know where he is now, he was only ever Gary in my phone, so I couldn't track him down if I tried to. Which I wouldn't. Some things are best left in the past. But dammit, we get little enough warm weather here, let me enjoy the health benefits, the feeling sexy and the nighttime dreams of a winter's day in a van in Sussex.
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