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I have wanted to tell the story of Trish for a long time, not so much to brag as to simply honour a great woman from whom I learned so much. Literotica seems like the best place to do it…so here goes
It was a scorching hot summer in London. I was permanently horny, which was tough because I had been living as a radical Christian – a Jesus Freak in modern parlance – and the whole “No sex outside marriage” thing was getting to me. Wanking was considered a sin, but many guys struggled… especially when surrounded by hot women in skimpy outfits… the final nail in the coffin had been a trip to Turkey with my Mum and her baby sis – my youngest Aunt. May 2002 I saw more beaver and uncovered cleavage in a week than in the entire previous twenty years put together…And in a Muslim country. “who’d-a-thunk?”
So here I was working nights and going through the motions pretending to be a good-lil-christian during the day. I became a chat addict, on my mobile phone, tapping the keys with my thumbs as fast as I could to message women in chatrooms.
At first it was her sense of humour that got my attention, but the thrill I got when she first said “Hi” to me and tried to PM me – I swear it was like winning the lottery. She was a “reg” and I was a “newbie” and our first phone conversation had me wired with adrenaline and sweaty palms… I rambled on, asked the usual dumb questions… she wasn’t looking for a relationship and still was wondering if it was a mistake exchanging phone numbers with me as she liked to keep a safe distance from most blokes. I told her I respected that and asked her to tell me to get lost or back off if I said or did anything to make her uncomfortable.
We began talking every night. Clean stuff. Small talk. Something I had never been good at but somehow could do well with her. I remember going to a Stag night in Southampton and talking to her in detail about it and about my so-called mates from Church. The guy who was getting married had recently come back from Afghanistan still with full beard in case he needed to go out there again to discreetly evangelize. Oh, and he was wearing a purple dress, slightly sheer, showing off his effete body. I recounted my delight and loud laughter at the shock sight, and how he came out to all of us and confessed he had been a cross-dresser but was repenting through marriage. It had been a great night at a Curry house.
Trish seemed to enjoy hearing about my world as it was so alien from anything she had known in her atheistic Mancunian suburb where churches were being closed and turned into Nightclubs or Employment agencies.
Our conversations became more about sex and sexual preferences. She had worked as a receptionist in a brothel and as one of those dirty-talkers on the premium rate phone lines. She had her “regs” there and the pay had been good but was not the kind of thing a person could do for too long as some sickos would leave you slightly shaken. There was always the fear of someone learning where you worked and stalking you. It was bad enough that they got fan mail and gifts via their own PO box numbers. That was sometimes spooky. She also told me her stories of working in a care home, and an affair with a colleague that she had never been able to explain as she didn’t even like the guy.
One morning, half asleep and Anadolu Yakası Escort at home, I vaguely remember replying to a text from her by saying “Sit on my face, I’ll eat you for breakfast.”
BANG. Like the Universe exploding into existence our relationship started there. July became August; became September. A lovely card from her for my birthday, and discussions of whether we would actually meet as we had exchanged snail mail addresses removing all barriers between us.
She had chosen to tell her daughter about me, something I took as a good sign and even asked me to say “Hello” to her down the phone. Her daughter was three, and this freaked me out as I figured this was not healthy for a small kid to know about “Mummy’s friends,” especially with her ex Hubby regularly coming round.
So I took a huge gamble. One night I was in a rotten mood and called her on my way to work to calm me down. The subject of letting me travel up to see her was not well received. She did not want to “meet” anyone. It was just harmless fun. It was just her and her daughter. That’s all. Keeping life simple. “End of!” As they say in Manchester.
But I was not going to accept that. I told her it is all or nothing. I told her either we meet to explore the possibility of a relationship or we end it and stop speaking because (and I quote myself exactly here), “I have enough friends!”
I think we both cried that evening but eventually it was agreed for me to travel up to see her. We picked Hallowe’en. I booked time off.
We met at the Coach station. We walked around a bit. I had a rucksack that was stuffed and heavy. My ticket was a Day Return but the baggage gave me away as hoping for a sleepover. My embarrassment was matched by her own nervousness. We went to a pub for a drink and I pulled out some photos in an album of my family. Then another of friends, and of my second car which had burned out spectacularly on a main road with me still in it. We walked around some more, aimlessly.
“So, what do you want to do?” she asked.
I had nothing to lose here, so I did one of the bravest or dumbest things I have ever done in my entire life.
“This,” I replied and gently kissed her straight on the lips.
She seemed pleased. She kissed me back and invited me back to her place. I tried to accept the invite casually as if it was the most natural thing in the world but inside my head a voice was shouting “YEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!”
Her place was in a slum part of the city. As an added twist we walked past a road where a pen pal had lived from when I was fourteen. I had told her the address and the story of how I had given up writing to the pen pal as I was not doing so great mentally at the time. Trish was nonchalant, I was just amazed. The coincidence of having had a pen pal half my lifetime earlier, who turned out to have lived three minutes’ walk from a woman I was to get involved with a decade and a half later.
We got to her place. I got the guided tour of the house. She had decorated it through the summer, describing every detail down the phone. It was immaculate and tasteful. Her bedroom was gorgeous. Her assurance that the bed had not been “Christened” got me a little excited. I figured if I had the honour it would be appropriate as I was technically a virgin.
Hallowe’en Kadıköy Escort in Manchester is a bigger deal than down South.
Us Brits don’t tend to party like the Americans do but at least the kids really went for it in Trish’s neighbourhood. Several times through the evening there was a knock at the door and all these little folk in fabulous costumes. I was like a big kid trying to get Trish’s little one to come and see the great outfits. Alas we had no sweets to give out and certainly no money but I was polite and cheerful wishing everyone a safe and fun evening.
We had dinner (or “Tea” as they call it, much to my amusement), and watched a film. We played Spot The Intro which I sucked at. Naturally I got thrashed as Trish’s music knowledge blew mine away for every decade and genre.
Out of sheer terror I opted to sleep on the couch after some awkwardness.
I spent the night staring at the ceiling wondering if I should text her. I wrote a dozen saucy text messages but chickened out of hitting SEND with any of them.
We had once had the conversation of if I was staying over but NOT in her bed would I have a wank in the toilet? To which I had replied that I would. I remembered her saying that the idea of that was a turn on for her. For this reason I made a point of jerking off in the morning in such a way that she should have heard me at it, and certainly could have smelled it.
We had the day to ourselves pretty much. Her Mum lived next door and was taking care of the munchkin. She confessed she had written lots of texts in the night and I confessed I had too. So I was in. Her argument was she did not want to be a slag and felt we should not do anything on my first trip up. I told her I respected her enough that if she was saying “No,” then I would have to accept that but, fatally, she confessed to being attracted to me.
For some time I teased her about her “No” possibly being a “Yes.”
I may have seduced her with all that as it was unusually bold of me. Not like me at all. In the end her heavy breathing and flushed cheeks gave the game away. She told me she was going for a lie down.
So she had said NO firmly and repeatedly to the idea of us doing anything more than kissing and I had to overcome my insecurities and nervousness and just go for it.
I walked into her room uninvited. Her door had deliberately been left wide open. She lay on her back, her huge breasts still impressive through her t shirt. I kissed her tummy and went to lift the t shirt. “NO! Not the T shirt!” she insisted.
She could not tell me why but asked me to trust her on this and confessed that she was getting really really wet down there.
“Rrrrrrealllyyyy?” I asked gleefully, and proceeded to undo her jeans without permission. She did not stop me. I pulled them off down her legs. I then went for the panties. Her muff was untrimmed and very bushy, suggesting she really had not had sex in ages and had not been planning to have sex with me.
I explored the perimeter and the jungle with random kisses. The insides of the thighs and tummy got plenty of attention too. My fingers followed the pathways set down by my tongue and my lips were like electricity on her skin making her moan and buck.
We regularly looked into each others’ Ataşehir Escort eyes and kissed each other as well. I could smell her arousal. The scents were quite new to me. Womanly. Deeply intimate and carnal. They say a man loses his sense of smell when aroused and yet I am not convinced, based on my experiences with her. I tried everything with tongue, fingers and lips. Then I went for the clit with a rhythmic motion and held my mouth in position so that my tongue worked her love button for what felt like ages but could have only been five minutes. My saliva and her juices dribbled down my chin as I beavered away at her beaver. Her orgasm was quite obvious and definitely real. She ejaculated powerfully. My fingers had been inside her as had my tongue – quite amazing how much she loved the penetration just as much as the clit action – and my triumph was complete as she told me that was the best ever cunt eating she had ever known. She could not believe it was my first time with a woman. I had come clean and told her everything about my childhood. There were no secrets between us. I had had sexual experiences but not the GOOD kind.
I had to allow her to suck me off now. I was not hard. I felt the shame of not being able to get hard or even feel desire to fuck her any more. The novelty had worn off. Real sex – I was to discover – is in fact so real that it requires a totally different mindset to wanking. It feels totally different. My twenty-eight year old body had a lot of reprogramming to do as it had only really been comfortable with my right hand doing stuff to it all these years.
She got me fairly hard but I had to finish myself off by hand as her jaw was aching too much. That was to be her one ambition the whole time we were together, that she desperately wanted to make me come; but she never achieved that, not in thirteen months of often great sex.
We got dressed and tried to have a normal afternoon as if nothing had happened.
That night we made love. No condoms, no contraception of any sort. I hardly felt anything as her cunt was still quite loose from giving birth three years earlier. But we made love rather than had sex so it was okay. I finished myself off by hand each time with help from her lips.
The next morning, I phoned sick at work to extend my stay and could not get a coach to London for a couple more days anyway. When I finally had to go I was devastated. I could not return to my life after these magical blissful lazy days. My awful bedsit; my crappy, filthy job as a night cleaner… oh HELL!
But my consolation came from the smell of her on my clothes and the taste of her still in my mouth. I smiled all the way back to London, and then took a tube all the way from Victoria to Heathrow to work that night. I was late but did not care.
I had started a relationship with a thirty year old at the age of twenty-eight. My first full-on physical relationship. Exactly half my lifetime I had been wanking myself off. Now I had a chance to quit masturbating and let someone else do the hard work for me. Or so I hoped. I had wasted all this time with all my fears, insecurities, hang-ups and then had hidden behind Religion for three years. All of a sudden I was feeling very grown-up. I knew what it felt like now to have a cunt around my cock. I knew what cunt tasted like. I knew exactly how it feels to have a pair of gorgeous, full, red lips around my dick. My imagination had done a good job of filling the blanks but now there was no doubt and no mystery.
It truly was a moment of awakening. November 2002 was when my life truly began.
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