‘I bit my Pillow!’ (how my tale began)

Third and final part to my true pickup tale.

Henry Scott Tuke (1858-1929)
I enjoy looking at great paintings and this Cornish Scene by Henry Scott Tuke (1858-1929) looks good on my post bearing in mind my story’s gay theme, btw exhibited at Tate Britain. (Copyright Warwick District Council)

I’m openly honest here on my WordPress, tooo honest sometimes, well I’m hoping you’ll have read my story ‘I bit my Pillow!’ and if you did you’ll remember I said I would let you know which parts are true as happened and which parts are fiction!

‘I bit my Pillow!’, I 😀 agree a bl**dy awful title.

When I said we had gay sex and kissed well that was 100% fiction sorry to disappoint, but as I said yesterday parts are true. So just to be clear the sex is drawn from my imagination………… lol I cannot make you believe me but jeeze I hope you do.

So now you’ve read the tale this is how the episode came about btw in the spirit of fairness and honesty this is an old tale I enjoyed re writing.

Many years ago whilst holidaying by myself in central France, late one summer’s evening I found myself sitting alone inside Le Man’s Railway Station waiting room. The tale of how I came to be there is a rather long and tortuous one just understand I’m feeling desperate, my spoken French is embarrassingly appalling, the Station is emptying about to close for the night and I had absolutely nowhere to sleep that night, my only certainty within minutes the Entrance gates would be locked shut and I was soon to experience how sleeping rough on the Street actually feels…………. a truly spine chilling thought and terribly sad for the people who have no choice!

Then with only minutes to spare a middle aged guy appears as if from nowhere, sits down beside me and strikes up a conversation with this weary disorientated very depressed traveller. I was far from feeling sorry for myself, couldn’t understand him and my tired mind was in the grip of fear and loneliness, he invited me to spend the night in his home and I said yes!

I ask what an earth would you do faced with a night living on the Streets? The possibility of being mugged raped beaten up murdered a possibility, or the comfortable certainty of being driven by a rather polite personable guy to his home? Better still an unknown home where he’d provide you with a warm bed to sleep the night in. What’s more he promised on his life he’d drop me back at Le Man’s Station early next morning!

Lol what a friendly treasure, who could say no?

What a predicament what a dilemma, even if I’d been at my strongest mentally the choice would have been challenging, THAT my mind was frazzled and unable to think straight made the decision easy. But if I’d been consciously aware and thinking straight I would have absolutely figured out he was a gay man with ulterior predatory motives, a guy cruising public places late at night looking for single men to take home and have sex with! If I’d been approached on a railway station platform in Britain I would have politely told the guy to,

“Get blank lost!” (I wouldn’t lol but you get my gist)

But this late French evening I thanked my kind Samaritan and let him drive me to his home, from first meeting him to being whisked across the City into his bedroom seemed a mere blur of five minutes, and to this day I cannot understand whether I was stupidly foolhardy or naïve, qualities that have plagued my adult life. 

So remember the sex in my tale was fiction all I can admit is I must have been frigging tired because to this day I still don’t no why I went to bed with him?…… Honestly the strangest evening of my life, ask me what went on and well the light dial was turned to a warming dim glow…..…..……, I gazed up at a light flex hanging from the ceiling, then got up and slept on his sofa. (We make bad choices in life get carried away suck it up and move on.)

And I felt wretched for months after, despairingly upset is closer to the truth, I understand why people do dread a terrible dark memory seeping into their consciousness, they drain you of all energy and I did lapse into a deep depression, because well I’m straight! Our meeting confused because I consider myself groomed taken advantage of and tricked into bed, and in those months after I’d gaze at myself in the mirror with feelings of shame knowing I had to face the cold hard fact that I was a naïve guy who can be too trusting…………… but hey show me someone who hasn’t made unfortunate choices and I’ll show you a liar!!

So you get the feeling I hated myself? And note my tale is far from sensationalism, all good story’s are prompted by true events.

And what of today? Thinking back all these years later, that I went to bed naked with a naked guy ‘who fancied me’ is deliciously hilarious, the irony now is every time I think back to our night together I cannot help laughing, where’s the sin in admitting I can be tricked when I know I’m straight and omg what a surreal memory and btw I hope you’re thinking to yourselves ‘whatever!’ 😀

I know I know complete madness going home with a guy I’d never met before, even worse when I came out the shower and he’s standing there naked, jeeze he’d lied to me tricked me groomed me and yes I could have been raped or worse it happens………… I wasn’t. I should add I hope you’re not tooo disappointed to read my plump round ass wasn’t lol violated, anyways all said and done my gay French guy tale will go down as the strangest experience of my life……… I only wish I’d been approached by a kind hearted woman with darker motives!

A. Shepherdson 2018 (Just so as you know I had a blast writing these last 3 posts and 😀 I really hope some readers were left disappointed) 

 

 

‘I bit my Pillow!’ (so was it Truth or Fiction?)

Yes I realise ‘I bit my Pillow’ wasn’t the best title to have been penned by an erotic author……………. lol sorry it was the best I could come up with and yes I am happy to say I’m an author (of sorts). Aren’t we all?

No messing. Short and sweet. I’ll get straight to the point and say my tale called ‘I bit my Pillow!’ is fiction HOWEVER DON’T leave my blog quite yet because parts of that tale are true as happened.

(Btw if you are at all concerned, don’t be, my semi true tale is very tame reading but there is a context and I’ll reveal that tomorrow.)

The gay sex, the passionate kissing, the fingers in my ass never ever happened, though for very unique and quite frankly unusual reasons I did go to bed with the Frenchman in my tale, and yes we were both naked both not wearing a stitch of clothing!

So are you relieved? Or disappointed?

Tomorrow I will to tell you why in heavens name I slept with the guy, and how I came to be in his house taking a shower in the first place! It all makes for a fascinating read to myself, but perhaps not interesting enough to share.

(Btw a nature walk with photos follows sooon!)

Should I be admitting all my honesty here? Perhaps not but hey I’m not ashamed of anything and if you wish to read more well tune in tomorrow. 

A. Shepherdson 2018

 

 

‘I bit my Pillow!’ (Erotic)

Remember a tale for adults, all very tame stuff ‘and NSFW.

‘I was tired from traveling bewildered with nowhere to sleep, the choice was stark a park bench for the night or him, so I chose him relieved to be safe at last.’

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gaycomicsboypost.com4I guess an emotional shock heightens sharpens the senses and I remember every detail, he’d taken a chance just as he probably did every evening, he was a lovely guy, a gentleman, he didn’t force himself upon me which I’ll forever be grateful for, I could easily have been raped only to end my days as dismembered body parts in an unknown grave, a missing person never heard of again. Understand he was a nice guy!

Nervously I crept out of his en-suite bathroom wearing only a towel round my waist, clasping clothes bundled in my arms, my comfort blanket, I’d just had a lovely warm and pleasant shower only to be faced by the French guy standing naked a few paces from me. And to say I was startled no shocked is possibly the biggest understatement ever, we’d never spoken simply because my French was non existent and he spoke very little English, call him Gallic relaxed confident, and although nervous and a little fearful I didn’t panic, I’m a good judge of character and he’d been a lovely guy this whole evening.

In fact he’d been a perfect gentleman ever since picking me up at the Station, but beneath my very invigorating hot shower I’d slowly come to my senses, I finally understood he’d been more than very friendly striking up that conversation in the waiting room, he’d been cruising, I’d been picked up! The penny had dropped whilst hot water cascaded down my slim pink body, and I knew as I’d suspected, at long last I was sure he was gay.

Having showered, clutching clothes bundled in my arms I nervously stepped out the shower and walked into his en suite bedroom, omfg there my Frenchman stood like a statue in the doorway, all pink and naked and possibly the biggest fright of my life ‘gulp!’ 

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Life is a matter of Luck and Chance!

I’m not at work. It’s raining outside. So why not write a post?

On any given evening, by the time I’m ready to turn in for bed only one all consuming thought will be on my mind, perhaps I should re phrase, yes I’ll be brooding reflecting on several but only one shocking story will accompany me to sleep.

Brooding

Brooding is the worst, preparing myself for the next days hassles I’ll face at ‘blank’, a ‘blank’ full of his own self importance, his personality traits verging on narcissistic, classic inflated ego traits with delusions of grandeur and a ridiculous misconception that he is attractive to women. Jeeze at age # and chasing after 18yr old Virginal students (🤔 questionable) is sad to the point of creepy we’ll watch open mouthed staggered with,

“Is he serious they suck up to you for one reason so as he’ll complete their…….” we say to ourselves,

Yes they’ll bring broken bikes into be fixed but little do they know he sniffs the saddles soon after they’ve gone, do women have any comprehension this goes on? Does the thought ever cross their mind that men will put a nose to their saddles hoping to smell intimate feminine odours?

I don’t! Never have! Never will!!!

I’m digressing but a fascinating case all the same.

Reflecting

At the end of the day several thoughts will be on my mind, problems I’ll face tomorrow, hassles I’ve encountered that day, family issues that have to be faced up to, my father’s health is a frigging nightmareand the overriding days disaster that’s hit a part of the globe.

If there’s only one certainty in life it’s that one single awful shocking catastrophe has occurred today! Or as in yesterday, being a section of Italian motorway and bridge disappearing taking 39 people’s lives along with it, the longer I live the more I’m convinced life is but a matter of luck and chance. One of the images of that disaster I’ll probably remember will be that stationary truck stopped but meters from the roads end, 2 seconds later and both lorry and driver would be underneath rubble coming to rest in a stream.

Luck and chance!

Jeeze the number of posts I’ve written in draft themed, life is a matter of how lucky we are to avoid something anything, and how a life s direction can change simply by chance, bump into a lady in the supermarket and 3 months later you could be standing alongside her dressed in white, you about to put a ring on her finger.

Luck and chance!

Thoughts of tomorrows problems, family issues, a world disaster will accompany to bed AND one quirky unusual darn right creepy story that’s been on my mind ever since I first heard this sorry tale as I did today.

Shocking

The true story, is true because I trust the BBC never to publish fake news, a young Romanian woman’s account of the day she’d been snatched from the street, bundled into a car and driven to the north of England, locked in a suburban house for nine months and forced to prostitute her body for sex.

Yes she’d been seconds away from entering the front door of her house, the key inside the lock then hours later she was having to endure the hellish existence of men she didn’t want having sex with her. From the time she was captured to the day she’d been rescued this European citizen working in London had been in effect raped by 1000 men……… I guess ghoulishly compounded by the fact every penny had been taken by her captors, yes she’d been fed but their slave had been denied medical attention because she’d bled many times.

That human beings are enslaved in third world countries I’d read about, and accepted as drawback of living in an ‘uncivilized’ country, that a young woman is pulled off a busy London street and driven to a house for men’s depraved sexual  pleasure was honestly shocking, one because Britain is a prosperous country with laws an excellent police force, two because well Britain is a moral and safe place to live.

Then I had the sudden realisation, a cold shudder down the spine moment, how many more young women are right now living in housing estates across Britain, being raped daily and worse still may never be lucky enough to escape or only when they’re no longer of use!

Hmm scary thoughts as I went to bed, if I had a daughter living alone in a far away British city I may at that very moment make a phone call check, enforce rules, warn and lay the law down………. well I haven’t but you get the idea, but is enslaving human beings a new phenonium in England?

Of course not 200 years ago in Victorian England brothel owners would visit stagecoach stations looking out for young naïve country farm girls, attracted to the bright lights of London hoping to work as chamber maids for nice decent city families. However I’ve read a very different tale of one notorious well-known London madam, an infamous criminal who would meet those coaches arriving from deepest rural England, who would trick the girls into coming home with promises of a safe bed for the night, yet little did they know the bedroom meant years of disease ridden sex work.

So what has all this to do me? Nothing only last night that shocking thought was sex slavery still goes on.

A. Shepherdson 2018

Poohsticks ‘World Championships’ is played in my Town!

(I haven’t seen Christopher Robin as of yet, I’ve heard it’s very good so I’m 🙂 sure I will)

A home Town (may be mine) every year plays host to the World Poohsticks Championships, and yes I’m rather proud even if the event is just a bit of fun. 🙂 03/06/2018 to be exact.

Btw, The Championships are taken seriously and Money is raised for Charity! (The photo below was taken a few days in advance)

pooh-sticks-bridge-championships-2015

Below E. H. Shepard’s original drawing of Christopher Robin and Winnie The Pooh playing Poohsticks from Pooh Bridge, the photograph of the bridge is to be found on Langel common………. incidentally bridging the River Windrush!

And yes I realise this ISN’T the true Pooh Bridge from literature, but for some reason the ‘Rotary Club’ changed location……….. possibly something to do with car parking issues?…….. No matter the day is fun packed with live music and stalls so no one minds
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Now reading the banner at the entrance to the common, lol see I’m not telling fibs 😀 my Town hosts it’s very own World Championships, and I should add walking beside Langel common’s long grasses brought on a sneezing fit………… my (blank) hay fever!

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Photo taken by me a few days before the event

Confused? Then please read on.

(As an aside I met an old friend on the day with her young Granddaughter, even at 70yrs Rosemary’s still a good looking woman, her eyes ACTUALLY sparkled in the sunlight)

Wow to think my English rural Town stages a World Championships is quite something and better still the afternoon’s event has absolutely nothing to do with a Sport involving balls now that’s impressive! On the Sunday of which I speak children descended to the common coming from miles around to play a game first written about in in 1928 by author A. A. Milne, and that children are competing in a game taken straight from children’s literature is something to be truly celebrated……….. don’t you agree?

That the day’s fun has nothing to do with action superheroes, ‘nonsense’ names in AI video games or overpaid Sportspersons and their balls should be applauded.

Now as I said, aficionados will know the game of Poohsticks was originally played on a footbridge across in Posingford Wood, but not to worry, my Town is famous for holding a World Championships and I think that’s fabulous and pretty cool.

(OK lol it’s not quite the Olympics but I DO try hard on my Blog)

Now 🙂 do I really have to explain how the game of Poohsticks is played seeing as you are all writer’s on a blogging platform, remembering Winnie The Pooh and his little band of chums is a classic book written for children? Of course not, you’ve probably read yourself as a child, read it aloud to your children or grandchildren it’s a wonderful story that’s captured imaginations for decades (and many more)…………. hmm I may even read again one day, and why not?

Ok you’ve twisted my arm, I’m at a loose end this afternoon so why not write about Winnie The Pooh without plagiarising that damned Wikipedia! (I’m probably breaking umpteen copyrights showing these pictures but I make NO money from blogging!)

The actual story can be found in the book ‘The House on Pooh Corner’.

Winnie The Pooh Christopher Robin and his friends hang over the rail of one side of the bridge……….. safely I might add!! Each or them holds a stick importantly owned only to themselves, they each drop their stick at the very same time then rush to the opposite side of the bridge, hang over and note SAFELY if you’re ever going to try, then wait and watch until the sticks come into view.

Remember I said each with a stick recognisable to themselves, well the first stick that comes into view wins! And if you yourselves play for heavens sake take care and stay SAFE!

El-puente-de-los-cinco-brazos

Lol aren’t you a tiny bit envious of my Town 😀 seeing as you are all writers? Only joking but the tale is still pretty cool and do you know what, I’m going to throw a stick off the bridge one day on the way to work!! 

A. Shepherdson 2018 (Artwork ©someone else)

 

So MOMS do you consider yourself MILF?

A fun mild adult post with themes prompted by the current heatwave sweeping the UK, turns out my suggestion has come true, middle aged women in my home City have thrown caution to the wind and ditched their bras and I’m not being sexist remember, the older woman has found enough inner confidence to go braless and I’m NOT complaining.

Link to An open apology to women not wearing bras.

Perhaps I ought to say if you’re an adult who doesn’t understand what MILF stands for…….……… then lol perhaps this isn’t the post for you.

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Anne Bancroft in The Graduate

When I sat down to write this post I thought to myself I so SO hope a few Moms are reading, now I understand ladies you are never going to comment and reply but lol I’ll ask anyway, if you are a woman of more mature years reading this post, I’m curious to know have you ever stopped and asked yourself am I a ‘MILF?’

Mom I’d Like to F#ck?

But hold on before disappearing rather disgusted by my all to personal question, I’ll have you know MILF is an affectionate phrase because we men all love sexy older women……….. nothing wrong in admitting human beings are sexual mammals. AND hold on before answering because this anacronym is applied to a very particular type of older woman, she has to be sexually attractive to young men 17-21yrs! And I’d go as far as to say most teenage boys will have had a crush on a friend’s Mom or School teacher at some point, a childhood fantasy and nothing else.

I know I did, age 14 my first love was Miss Aspley my massively boobed Physics School Teacher! A lovely woman and :/ the sobering thought is she’s probably no longer with us time moving on and all, but jeeze they must have been Double D’s at least!

Anyways that’s quite enough of talk of boobs or you’ll be giving me a #METOO tongue lashing 😀 .

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Dustin Hoffmann’s iconic line, “are you trying to seduce me Mrs Robinson?”

So what prompted this silly post rather than part 2 of my London daytrip? Well the reason quite simply is the post isn’t ready (needs polishing) but not to worry………. hmm I’ll publish it this Friday.

Streaming into my computer the other night courtesy of amazon prime I watched ‘The Graduate’ a movie I haven’t seen in years, actually I’d quite forgotten how great it is, no not great ‘The Graduate’ is a cinematic classic and I really enjoyed myself. I’ll spare you my own film review because you’ll all know the story of an older woman seducing a college graduate and if you have yet to watch then I heartedly urge you to, the screenplay is crisply paced, Simon and Garfunkel’s music fits beautifully and afterward I thought to myself’ I don’t think Dustin Hofmann has ever bettered his screen performance as Benjamin Braddock a very shy innocent young virgin!

And of course as all good films usually are, The Graduate is based on a novel by the same name, funny how great movie screenplays are inspired by great novels, all the special effects in the world can’t save a movie if the storyline is crap!!

At this point I’m wishing my readers are screaming “SAY SOMETHING ABOUT ANNE BANKCROFT FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE!” And yes Anne Bancroft is utterly devine, her portrayal as sexy seductress Mrs Robinson is truly iconic, perhaps unusual for its time an older woman seducing a college boy rather than the roles being reversed and I’d say Anne will forever be the poster lady for the anachronym MILF………….. the personification of older woman sexiness and sensuality, because what Anne lacks in youth she more than makes up for with her skills of seduction, hmm would the movie get made today with thoughts of creepy Weinstein and the like? I’d hope so because she doesn’t rape him.

So returning to my post’s premise MILF is far from being a disgusting term (here in the UK anyway) in conversation we men will endearingly use the phrase to describe a sexy older woman, a confident woman of such experience and aged eroticism that she’ll appeal to older teenagers! Hmm I wonder if the older woman wishes this could happen to them in real life?

So any Moms/Mums reading, do you consider yourself MILF? (I’d 😀 guess no one answers.)

A. Shepherdson 2018

I visited London yesterday……. museums and art galleries

(All photographs taken by myself A. Shepherdson 4th August 2018)

I visited London yesterday…………… here’s my photographic journey!

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The Houses of Parliament, by me

A (very) short introduction

Anyone who Follows me on WordPress knows for sure I enjoy interacting with other bloggers whether that be tags or writing challenges, well this fine Sunday morning I have a response post for blogger Juliette Turrell, oh and of course anyone who’d like to see photographs taken on yesterday’s daytrip to London.

Juliette Turrell pretty much 1 week ago (read her blog here) visited both the National Gallery and Victoria & Albert Museum for her own personal daytrip, and note both are FREE ENTRY though she’s themed her post Architecture, which I’d forgotten about………… Well seeing as Saturday was such a beautiful sunny day I thought why not visit the V&A Museum and here is a photographic journey taken that day.

🙂 Thanks Juliette for inspiring me to visit London and NOT spend the morning in bed!

But first before I begin 2 pictures of the coach and underground tickets! 04/08/2018 🙂

The V&A museum Google for more detail

The 2 hour Oxford to London journey shuttled me deep into the heart of London, then from Victoria Coach Station I took the Underground directly to The V&A Museum, I’ve never visited before and being quite excited thought it would make a good start to the day!

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Entrance to the V&A (Victoria and Albert Museum)
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Western Cast Wall remind me of a Victorian backstreet, must be spooky at night with just moonlight streaming in

(Above) just look at the effect bright shafts of sunlight has on the structure!

Below The Hereford Screen, I actually stood gazing at this magnificent choir screen for what must have been 10 minutes…….. loved it! (Text courtesy of that fountain of knowledge Wikipedia.)

‘The Hereford Screen is a great choir screen designed by Sir George Gilbert Scott (1811–1878) and made for Hereford Cathedral, England in 1862. It was one of the Gothic Revival works in iron of the nineteenth century and when it was unveiled at the 1862 International Exhibition it was hailed as the “grandest and most triumphant achievement of modern architectural art”

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V&A Museum entrance Hall, more spectacular sculptures!

Juliette you visited the National Portrait, well I’ve been inside before though admittedly not for a few years! But decided on Tate Britain (picture and sculpture gallery) instead and I loved it! The paintings are truly spectacular by artists such as Turner and Constable, incidentally ‘The Hay Wain’ is displayed here……………… ok but I’m not a landscape man :/ .

Tate Britain fabulous! I loved it! Perhaps Wiki for more detail!

The Tate (note not Tate Modern at Battersea) is a picture gallery home to so many great artists through centuries past and or course many painted scenes from the Bible (loved these fables have inspired great works of art)……………. I’ll visit again simply because you could spend a whole afternoon looking at just 3 paintings……………… couldn’t you!

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Entrance, many Victorian museums had these magnificent stone structures built ESPECIALLY for them! Hmm Britain had a rich Empire back then.

The ‘Lady of Shalott’ (below & 1 of 3 versions) can be seen here, a truly beautiful image and I can assure you my camera hasn’t done the painting any justice…………. the light inside the gallery was poor and the public cannot take flash photography!

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The Lady of Shalott by John William Waterhouse

And below my favourite sculpture of the day, in fact my favourite art piece housed in Tate Britain, can you guess why? And very pert smooth and shapely she was tooo! Her name?………. I’m afraid I forgot my pen and paper sorry.

(Looking at the sculpture once again I’ve just this second noticed something I hadn’t seen at the gallery! Look closely below her feet and I see a snake coiling itself around the plinth…….…… which says to me the lady in the sculpture is in fact ‘Eve’ from the book of Genesis, she gave Adam the fruit so lol all blame should lie at her feet?)

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My favourite…… omg she’d look spectacular in my rear garden!

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EROTICA, for Centuries women have found pleasure upon the faces of men. Rosie!

Mildly adult themed therefore NSFW, incidentally did you know the anachronym stands for Not Suitable For Work? Hmm I didn’t until just recently, true.

oralI remember the afternoon I tasted a woman for the first time, close my eyes and I see two naked adults laying on a bed together, one a middle aged guy the other an Irish lady with dusty blonde hair and a few miles on the clock. Curvaceous she was with round perky tits, a tiny waist as you could ever hope to see and conversely wide child bearing hips giving her a classic pear shape figure as only English girls usually have.

So there we lay in a swanky London bedroom (hmm we’ll name her Rosie) the day she agreed to me going down below, she wasn’t sure mind biting her bottom lip with thoughts of I want to but let him wait, and a guy must never EVER pressurise a lady into doing something she’s not keen to. There Rosie lay on a friend’s large double bed, a window to our right curtains drawn with Autumn sun streaming onto us two naked lovers, passion filled and excited as two giddy intoxicated teenagers making love for the first time, the warmth of the sunlight making the temperature just right against a new season chill.

I asked, she agreed and neither of us had come after much kissing and fondling building to an intensity as only fabulous foreplay can do, the consequence both our brains were nervously excited and sexually stimulated as I moved from laying beside her warm fragrant body of sizeable hips and boobs jiggling like cold jelly sitting on a plate. Rosie parted her thighs, slowly to reveal sweet honey as you lift the lid of a beehive, a wonderous gorgeous moment as her lips curtain open, a moment I will never tire of till my dying day ❤ . 

Rosie now laying in the most receptive position a woman could ever give of herself if a little precarious, her outer labia parted revealing moistened pink flesh, plump soft folds near succulent to eat now made ever more shocking contrasted against milky white skin! But no I wasn’t going to slip and slide my hardness inside, no not for a while anyway, this afternoon I’d been given permission to lick and taste this wonderous beautiful oh so erotic opening leading deep inside a woman’s physical soul. 

I knelt before her as if praying at a religious altar, a special Godly place where you discover the meaning to life after entering heaven’s pearly gates. I smoothed the palms of my hands up and down her milk white silken thighs, touching for a second the pink patch surrounding her V, a colour of skin hidden by a woman’s panties and ever so erotic if you happen to see a lady her skirt drawn up her thighs, her intimacy hidden by soft white cotton delicates, if lucky you can just make out this flush tinted skin and yes very different to the rest of her body. Erotic. Secret and seldom often seen?

I’d waited my whole adult life for this moment, Rosie wide open her wet treasure glistening in the sunlight, me kneeling stroking with a finger, touching her pink rose petal the surrounding to her lips only to quickly pull away, tease her, arouse and excite, then Rosie having had enough of my annoying foreplay says,

“Go on Andrew lick me!”………….. a woman of few words was Rosie and if you want something badly enough do you need to ask twice when the connection you have with a lover is a near telepathic joining of souls!

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