“What the hell am I doing? I’m a good girl. I just do not do things like this.”
A tiny fraction of my brain was murmuring at the back of my mind, but the remainder of my consciousness was sending my hands on a thorough exploration of the thickly haired chest that had appeared from beneath my companion’s polo shirt. The fact that I never liked men with hairy chests seemed irrelevant.
John thrust a hand beneath my top and squeezed my left nipple hard – wonderfully hard, making me squeal with pleasure. For a split second I remembered how thin the walls were between my house and my neighbor’s, but I was instantly deflected from worry by the speed at which my top was being removed, and my breasts freed from their suddenly tight confinement.
Seconds later, I was grabbing at his trouser waistband, but somehow my fingers wouldn’t work properly, and John had to help me pull them down. A neat pair of grey boxers appeared, swiftly followed by – Oh My God – the most beautiful dick I had seen in years, perhaps ever.
The voice in my head was reminding me that I hated giving blowjobs. I liked neither the taste, nor the sensation of being gagged, but my body was working on instincts I never knew I had. Taking John deep within my throat, I felt his fingers drag urgently through my knotty brown hair, scratching my scalp as I greedily worked him around in my mouth.
I flushed with a perverse pride as, through his groans, John told me he’d often wanked himself off whilst thinking about me, making me wonder if I should confess about the stolen moments I’d spent alone with a silver vibrator and filthy visions, which usually featured him.
His cock felt fantastic in my mouth, but the ache in my pussy rapidly became unbearable, and I pulled away. The moment I dropped his shaft, John pulled me up, wrapped his arms around me and grasped my arse, kneading it in a way that would give me bruises for days to come, while kissing me as if his life depended on it. Conveniently forgetting that I never liked the feel of stubble against my skin, I relished the burn as his unshaven face grazed my own, scraping my cheeks as our lips and teeth clashed together.
My head buzzed with new sensations, and, as my nipples were tickled by those unexpected chest hairs, I began feel overdosed with desire. I badly wanted to slow everything down, but at the same time, I wanted to go faster still. I wasn’t far from climaxing, and the idea of our illicit situation, as we slumped unceremoniously against the sofa, was enough to send me to the edge.
As if reading my mind, John shoved my knickers unceremoniously to my ankles. My breath snagged in my throat. I heard the sharp rip of a condom packet being opened and, only seconds later, his blissfully thick cock hammered into me. John was talking into my neck as he thrust his hips against mine, but I couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying, because he’d just jammed his thumb up my arse.
We moved together, frantically, back and forth. I began to tremble then, trapped between John’s hand and cock, as he cried out he was about to come. Clinging onto his heavily tattooed arms (and ignoring my aversion to body art), I relished in the glorious warmth as John shot his spunk into my naked body.
I smiled reassuringly when, almost as soon as our breathing levels had returned to normal, John told me that he had to leave, even though he really didn’t want to – he was already behind with his rounds.
Stroking my hair briefly, before dressing, John left in a flurry of promises that he’d return the following week.
How the hell had that happened?
I stood for a few seconds after the front door had closed, feeling my pulse hammer against my chest in the eerie silence. John had been in my home for only thirty minutes, and twenty of those had been spent discussing the DVDs that he’d come to deliver, just as he did every Tuesday. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, he’d hugged me, and I’d looked up into his wide dark brown eyes, and...Wow… In all of my thirty-eight years, I had never witnessed a look of lust like the one he’d given me at that moment – it burnt into me like some sort of erotic radiation.
Is that what they mean by a quick, dirty fuck? If so, then I want another one, and soon. Shit, I don’t even know if he’s single…
Running up to my bedroom, I stripped my hastily donned clothes back off and stared into my full-length mirror. Did I look different? No. I was still slightly plump, my arms were still a touch too flabby, my backside too big, and my skin too pale. But boy, did I feel different! A happy confidence flowed through me, and I knew that, even if John resigned from his job tomorrow, and never came to my home again, I would remember those precious ten minutes for the rest of my life, and be glad of the day when I went totally against type.
Read the rest of "Going against Type" here.
Originally published January 2009