- Added : June 24, 2020
- Words : 2028
- Views : 84 views
Now on their third meet up – not date. She hadn’t allowed him that thus far. – Floyd found himself sitting beside Izzy in a dingy magic–cum-comedy bar. On arriving he had put a false name by way of trying to make her laugh – with the fallback of her German heritage, arriving at the bar as “Hans” had done the trick enough to produce a snorted giggle from his compatriot. He was keen certainly, and still, only a month or so in, liked this girl but wasn’t sure if she was even allowing him to trust her yet. Izzy put these thoughts in his head – or didn’t allow them to drift into blissful possible positives, however, you wanted to look at it. With very little effort she could twist the world to how she wanted it. Izzy was a definition narcissist through and through and he couldn’t help but be turned on by that venom. One moment kind and helpless – the other nasty and vicious, pinpointing everything wrong with everyone else. They had met originally through your pick of the litter dating apps. Having broken up horribly with his ex, Floyd needed to let his hair down and pretend like he was OK, perhaps just to make his ex-girlfriend jealous if nothing else. Floyd was spinning out and suffering from exhaustion and had no idea what he was doing anywhere near a dating app so soon after the car crash of ending it with Emelia. Always a fan of blonde peroxide he had stumbled across: “IZZY, 25, 10 MILES AWAY”. Izzy was an overweight white girl with too much eye make-up and heavy rounded tits with pierced nipples. When they fucked he liked the taste of the hard metal against his tongue, contrasting so strongly against the flesh of her areola. Like when his mother would tell him off for biting against his fork at the dinner table as a child. He wondered if this specific comparative thought was Oedipus at play. He wondered if he did want to have sex his mother… and went on to surmise that at the very least that if he did then he wouldn’t feel so bad about asking for a lift home after they’d fucked.
He looked across at Izzy in the gloomy room with the tacky curtains and secretly he quite liked how shittily she treated him. So hot and cold, he was told how gorgeous and brilliant he was in bed before being told off when he made any sort of independent thought that she didn’t agree with. She could mock him and make fun of him non stop, always so funny and smart; always able to pick apart his flaws and then broke apart instantly as soon as he said the tiniest thing back at her. Alas, still so spun out from his reeling and concussion from having to leave Emelia, he actually rather liked Izzy’s fire. Fire that would burn his hands and leave blackened marks forever in his palms.
With the huge likelihood of awkwardness between two people who had never met before, only through a phone screen and purely through text narrative, this could have quite easily have gone horribly. However, after their first get together (not a date) he had, naturally, gone back to hers. Floyd had made a habit of picking the kind of dates (meetups? Rendezvous?) now where a one night stand was pretty much guaranteed. What made this one slightly different, however, was that Izzy had a personality too. A very funny individual (another huge turn on for him) she had half-joked midway through a serious sentence in the pub garden for Floyd to “JUST SIT ON MY FACE”.
From there the mood was clear: They were going to get really drunk on cheap white wine (for her) and the most standard of lager (him) and then fuck really hard tonight (them). Pleasantries had been passed back and forth and a smutty sense of humour had been established. The mood was there, the seeds planted and open for him to invite himself to hers. Floyd needed a win. The flirting in itself came natural and was welcomed. In between standard getting-to-know-yous and grey questions about work and colleagues, they co-opted a second language of innuendos and double-entendres that fit them naturally and made them lust for one another even more than they did already. Halfway through this first meeting, the compulsive Izzy couldn’t wait any longer. Another mid-sentence blurted line.
‘Are you going to kiss me then?’
She said it as if it weren’t a question. For a moment Floyd thought how terrible that would have come off if he wasn’t into her. He liked her confidence. He pressed his lips to hers. Moist and ready. Over-eager, like a friendly head butt. He needed to feel something once again. Izzy was more than qualified for this role, and more than happy to take the position too (multiple positions for that matter). In fact she invited it. She wanted him. She wanted to drink two more glasses of wine and then take him home and fuck him.
After a meandering walk through a part of town that he had never visited, despite being born in this city and having lived there his whole life, they held hands and made out at every layby they passed making the journey back considerably longer than necessary. Their tongues clashing and battling against one another, conjoined, twisting and fighting for dominance, slurred and poisoned by booze and too many cigarettes. She shone in the streetlights.
Her place was modest and indistinctive, with white walls and minimal artwork. He got the impression that no matter what number she had told him that she was overpaying on the rent.
‘We don’t have to be quiet. I don’t think my housemates are in’
‘What are they like?’ he said, trying to make conversation.
She pointed through the wall, and hushed herself slightly.
‘He’s SO boring.’
Floyd wondered if the two neighbours had shagged already and it hadn’t turned out well.
Always a fan of not rushing the moment, Floyd believed in warming up to the event. He believed like a set menu, you worked your way up to the main meal and the dessert. No no, as much as she pleaded for him to fuck her, as with every other woman in his life previous, they would make out on the bed still in their clothes first; slowly taking one garment off at a time and making her pussy wetter and wetter with each new exclusion. Izzy was no exception to this rule of thumb. As much as he did want to see her fat white ass and press his palms against it, digging his nails in and leaving marks… There was a process to this. His cock surged against the inside of his zipper. He grasped at her body through the clothes and smelled her bleached hair with the dark roots that would need to be recoloured soon, always such a distinctive smell. He knew he had to see her stout and stocky body. He knew he wanted to be a part of it, inside her. He knew even before seeing her naked that he would touch himself and make himself come specifically to the thought of time spent here days later. He pulled her jeans down and began eating her pussy. Although the room was dark (and uninviting) he could see how pink her lips and vagina really was, contrasting against her chunky pale white legs. Almost hungry to go down on her now, Izzy’s cunt glistened and shone like a puddle in a gutter left over from a rainstorm. Never a huge fan of oral he wanted it and needed it this time. The booze helped. She had a special taste to her, and enjoyed his head being so hot in between her thighs. He felt North up her body and grasped at her tit with his right hand as his tongue worked away on her, making her shiver and groan loudly. Never quite sure if this was the right technique or process, Floyd went about it like an ice cream cone, tidying the cool liquid up so it wouldn’t drip on to his hand. She seemed to like it whatever the Hell he was doing. Frantically, she clutched at his cock, hard and protruding from inside his boxers. She made an excited squeal at the size, knowing that it was only minutes away from being in between her legs, inside her and thrusting against her cervix. Pulling his jeans down now along with his pants, in one motion, she immediately put her mouth to him. Floyd quickly pulled his shirt from his torso and sat up on his knees, working his pelvis towards her mouth and the tip against the back of her throat. He wanted to kiss her, but wouldn’t dare interrupt right now. She looked up at him with eyes that read nothing more than a simple and straightforward “FUCK ME.”
Awkwardly taking his trousers from his ankles he then forcefully undressed her, showing his dominance and eagerness to be with her. Again, she looked at him, and pressed her hands to his thin and long body that he’d always hated himself for. She ran her finger over the scars on the side of his chest and she bit down on his skin and his arms and pulled at his cheap ten-dollar haircut.
Still far too soon to be able to thank her for anything, Floyd couldn’t yet realise that his ex had helped him open up in the bedroom. She had navigated him to unearth his kinks previously undiscovered. Floyd gazed at Izzy’s huge G-sized breasts now and knew that he was going to coat them in his cum, shooting his jizz like a water hose putting out a raging forest fire – or a water spray bottle shot in the direction of a noisy house pet. He wanted her titties to shine when he was done with them. He wanted to make her his. He wanted to feel the warmth of his seed against her body and knew that she would let him if he asked, begging him to do it. And when they were done, passion over and finished, energy exhausted, they slept apart and faced opposite ways in the dark.
Unsure quite what he had booked originally for their first night out in public, they purposely sat at the back of the room in an attempt to not be spotted by whatever tight-five found themselves on stage. They shuddered and both let out a shrieked “NO!” at the comedian asking if the two of them were a couple, purposely leaving zero room for any follow-up crowd work either. Izzy refused to hold his hand through the act. She blamed his sweaty palms. Instead, where he could, he touched and caressed her legs from the safety of a tabletop. Anxious and still eager to try and impress this girl, Floyd couldn’t pin the night down. That is, until in the midst of the second break, after the second comic but just before the third so customers could buy drinks, she leaned into him and said
‘I want you so bad.’
He remembered her tongue being forked as she said it but he couldn’t help but feel his erection in his pants and wanted to leave with her there and then. He wanted to jerk off to the thought of that one sentence in a cubicle in the men’s room.
However, they would wait. She would hoover up more white wines, Floyd another lager or two, and then they would argue outside the club before reluctantly getting an Uber back to his. They would act polite in the cab for the driver, to say very little to one another as they entered the house. Almost an act of routine a month in now, they undressed each other and had sex. She left the next morning and they gradually went different ways before bumping into each other in another pub just over a year later.
Izzy joked about her still loving to drink and this time he didn’t laugh. He didn’t laugh much when he thought about her anymore.