Losing It In Style

”I read in the paper the other day” She said, as she traced lazy curlicues with her fingers among the hairs of my chest, ”That people in general are not getting enough sleep”.

I thought this was a bit rich, considering it was well over midday and we were still in bed.

”It said” She persisted. ”That it is puting a strain on relationships, what with men dozing off in front of the telly as soon as they get back from work, and women falling asleep during foreplay”.

”Well, there’s one way to get around that problem” I said, climbing on top of her.

”Cut out the foreplay!” We said in unison…



”You wicked, wicked man” She whispered, as I gently withdrew my thumb from her semen-drenched arse and dragged a fingertip longingly over her slippery clit one last time, causing her to shudder amid the aftershocks of her orgasm.

It was now well into the afternoon. The change to summer time had been heralded by mild, springlike weather and we hadn’t yet turned down the heating to suit the milder weather, therefore our bodies were glistening with sweat. As I had squatted behind her, grabbed her round the throat, and jabbed my cock deep into her tight but welcoming arse with little pelvic thrusts the sweat had dripped from me and pooled in the little hollows of her back. Now, as we lay together, we felt delightfully sleazy with the slipperiness of our bodies, and the smell of our sex, and the recollection of what we had just done with each other.

I don’t know why it is, but there always seems to be something going on at the weekend when the clocks change. When we lived in the UK, and especially in the years B.C. (Before Children) we would very frequently visit our friends George and Kat up in town at weekends, or they would come to us for some good Hampshire air, not to mention ale. Without consciously planning it, we always seemed to be together on the weekends when the clocks changed. In the spring we would reason that if we were going to lose an hour we might as well lose it in style and this would be the cue for drinking late into the night, while in the autumn, the gift of an extra hour was clearly an hour’s extra drinking time and would be the cue for drinking long into the night.

Alas. Those happy days are no more, but it just so happened that last Saturday night we were invited to a birthday party. And no ordinary birthday, either. Heather’s oldest friend, Lene, was celebrating one of those birthdays that end in an ’0’. More than that, she’s half way to the birthday that ends in ’00’. Like Heather, she doesn’t look 50. We’re all still overgrown teenagers really, although we didn’t get to prove it on Saturday night.

I remember Lene and her husband, Poul, held a party at their place some years back where the first thing that greeted the guests as they came in the door was a big glass bowl full of a variety of condoms. No such luck on Saturday night; it was a sit-down meal sort of thing for family and friends. A very good meal, it has to be said but, with the obvious exception of us overgrown teenagers, everybody just seemed so OLD and sensible. Even Poul, who was a legendary troublemaker in his time, is now a respectable family man with a thriving business. I don’t really know what I was expecting: Certainly not a full-scale swinger orgy, but perhaps something a bit more lively to prove we’re not ready for the knacker’s yard just yet.

Perhaps, instead of gift vouchers for the local clothes shop, we should have bought the Birthday Girl a couple of male strippers.

Anyway, as the second hand on my radio-controlled watch reached 2am, faltered a little, then reset itself to 3, the minibus we had ordered turned up to take the contingent from our town back home and we were all still more-or-less sober. It was about 4 by the time we finally got to bed and we just crashed out, my arms round Heather's neck, her hand on my cock, too tired to fuck but happy in the knowledge that we had all of Sunday to do whatever we pleased.

Happily, when we’re in the privacy of our own bedroom we can still carry on like a pair of teenagers.