We left the bar it was gone 11pm, in fact closer to midnight by now. I know this because inside the place just above the double-doors was a clock a couple of feet across, oversized I thought but the ceilings were high, almost cavernous. I think it used to be a bank and that’s how old bank buildings seem to have been built, massive and imposing. It was fascinatingly and intricately steampunk in design made of cogs and levers, screws and bolts. I marvelled at its clever mix of steel and brass while a glint on the minute had seemed to wink back at me.
I wasn’t drunk, as such, tipsy is the word. I still walked straight, didn’t slur a single word but did it seem talk at speeds that would defy any translator for a foreigner. It happens sometimes after a drink or two. I seemed to have a man attached to me, or I was snagged on him perhaps, my bracelet on his jumper maybe. Or, it was what it was and I had my arms linked through his as he was, or I was, guiding us out into the late April streets with their sodium lights teasing and taunting the shadows from the hidey-holes; or making them scurry away.
As we found the pavement outside where I’d left it hours before upon entering the bar with my friends to meet their friends, one of whom was now clung to me, or I was clung to him; that was yet to be established, I was struck by how I felt I fitted in with the theme of the clock, being I was wearing a flared short skirt with slightly longer lace layer on top, black, not goth as such, and my zip but corset top. No, it wasn’t fancy-dress, that’s what I wore as normal, normal for me, me not being that normal at the best of times at the age of 18, even more wayward at times than I am now.
I glanced up at him, significantly taller than me at, I guessed, six foot one perhaps, compared to my five foot three (and a half). Though my ankle boots gave me no more than an extra inch at best, not one for high-heels, it was not a problem. I was by then used to others, especially men, being that much taller than me. I think I’d grown extra especially malleable neck muscles to compensate all the looking up I had to do.
We turned the corner still beside the pub but now just beneath one of the semi-glazed windows, I found myself with my back to the tiles which rather ornately lined the lower part or the wall and we kissed. The first kiss of the night; I thought, why not, I wanted too clearly as much as he did and it was just as well we’d both been drinking otherwise either my breath or his might have been off-puttingly beery. As it was we were two of a kind out there in the late streets on a Friday night with no one to see, as far as I could see, with the sound of the hubbub hubbubbing inside like the droning you’d find inside a bee colony.
He kissed good, very good. How old was he? I wondered most probably for the first time that night. Certainly older than me, I guessed late twenties, perhaps early thirties. I could ask, but wondered if that might be rude. Why would it be rude? I didn’t anyway, deciding it didn’t much matter anyway. He kissed good, who cares.
He said something, can’t remember what, but I noticed his accent. Of course he has an accent we all do, but his wasn’t English, but it was in English. Of course, I’d been listening to it half the evening, he was Scottish and yet it seemed to be tinged with something else I couldn’t identify.
It was a good accent, very inviting, almost I might say romantic, in a ‘stood on the edge of a gorge kind of way watching a waterfall leaping to its fate’ kind of way.
I sunk into the kiss far too easily. Bliss. We both were bathed in yellow, making our clothes not what they should be and our skin most alien. His eyes were almost black as was probably mine. The air was cool but not cold, warm but not humid, it sat in between, perhaps undecided or perhaps indifferent; either way it wrapped us inside it and I felt it had no intention of letting us go for a while yet.
He took my hand and took me down the length of the pub’s wall and into the alley behind where the sodium just about penetrated and the voices inside came to sound more like cotton wool for sound if it could speak: the din inside that became a hubbub outside now was a muffle of barely-noise. A few feet into this more confined space away from the eyes of the street I once again found my back to a wall, this time a brick wall and, as usual, neck craned upwards with my lips latched onto his like a limpet. He was a good kisser; I hoped he thought I was too, though I guessed he was that much more experienced.
It felt exciting in its way, secreted away in this alley, outdoors, the frisson that can sometimes be felt when behaving in such a way in a public place, though this wasn’t in itself very public, though neither was it private in the same way as his or my flat would have been. It was an ‘in-between’ space we found ourselves where underfoot were cobbles, or some at least. Clearly at some time or other they must’ve been covered with tarmac, which is a bit like vandalism to me, and most had worn away over time and use.
I soon realised what long, lean hands he had, very long, pianist’s fingers perhaps though if he was that never came up in an earlier chat. I felt them pressed against my hips now moving up my waist, lingering there, holding me close, between him and the wall in our in-between space in this nameless alley behind the muttering pub. I admittedly was as enthusiastic as him, as I wrapped my arms around his waist feeling his spine squirm as we sucked at each other’s faces. Breathing was tricky but worth the temporary discomfort for the pleasure of the moment.
I suggested, in between kisses, maybe we should go to his place, or mine, we could call a taxi. I had a distinct feeling this was going somewhere, if it hadn’t already been obvious. I was young but not that naïve.
He said, yes, we will, but then we carried on kissing. He continued fondling, stroking me, his long, slender hands becoming more adventurous. By now one was over my breast, squeezing, all the while rubbing his groin against my hips. I was sure I was feeling his growing bulge straining inside his Chinos. I knew I was getting excited. I recognised the signs, my body was also moving as much as it could, being I was pinned where I was. His hands slipping into mine, our fingers entwined and he lifted my arms above my head and full-pressed hard his weight against me, my back becoming one with the wall, I could also feel the imperfections of the cement in the pointing digging into my clothing, my buttocks while his hips began to grind. Inside them he was clearly as aroused, if not more, than me.
Held left my arms where they were, where they stayed with thinking as his ran over my breast having found its front zip and was pulling it down. I reached one hand to stop him but he continued until the last link where it came open too easily, my black bra, laced edge peeked from beneath where his hand was now exploring, covered my one boob ins his palm. We kissed, my heartbeat missing every other beat, or so it seemed, my chest heaving with every snatched breath. I felt the night air on my sodium-dappled skin, the little that seeped into this alley, pockmarked I shadows. He tugged one cup and down almost bent double bending his knees to wrap his lips around my nipple which immediately grew erect catching on his teeth.
I fixed my eyes on the opposite wall a few feet away in which was, peeling paint and was fascinated by the click-latch which for a moment imagined the sound they make when you open the door: I love that sound. I wondered what was beyond that door, a magical kingdom or a tiny claustrophobic concreted yard, with two rusty bikes. I didn’t know why two. He bit my nipple and this brought my attentions well and truly back to the moment but by now I had missed his other hand now lay on my outer thigh just below the hem of the lace of my skirt and it was sliding upwards. Before I could react his other hand was doing the same on the other side and my skirt was riding up my bare legs. I reached down, as best I could being pressed to the wall still and attempted to slow this ascent but only found my hands and arms moving with his undaunted in its upward trajectory. I looked down both ends of the alley; an instinct perhaps, was anyone looking.
No signs of life but us, two heaving and unquestionably horny bodies slinking in the shadows and sodium chinks.
My skirt was hitched to my hips before I knew it. His hands played over my knickers, pink knickers printed with tiny black flowers. Not that it mattered as everything here was now an unearthly yellow-hue. His lips locked on mine again, we were sharing breath as his fingers grew livelier down there, between my thighs. I held onto his hips, half-tempted to move one hand to his bulge but still reluctant.
I jumped as he clasped his hand over my mound and squeezed, fingering my knickers into my sex. My body shook in surprise at just how sensitive I was. For several minutes he continued as I felt his fingers one by one work their way under the elastic and tease them aside, touching the fine hair covering, blindingly guiding the tips into my folds now moistened with foreplay. I bit into his shoulder through his two shirts, tasting cotton, tasting his scent: masculine with a hint of some kind of scent right then I couldn’t identify. Strangely, it might have been ylang-ylang.
His fingers slipped inside me lifting me almost onto my toes and starting to feel me inside and out, inside and out, catching my clit until I felt myself collapsing inside and an orgasm forced its way to the surface with an irreversible shudder of my entire body. I pinched my legs together pushing his fingers out of me for fear I might faint if I didn’t catch my breath after that.
He knelt down on in front of me as I was dealing with the aftermath of that sudden moment, and with hand up my skirt pulled my knickers clean off my hips and down my legs lifting one leg at a time to carefully but swiftly remove them and slip them into his pocket. I was too dazed to stop him; I was looking down as he raised himself again to his full six foot and an inch or so. He kissed me, I kissed him back. I felt the air seductively clambering around under my skirt around my sex. There was his hand again, then there was the other, both slipped underneath with me still pressed to the wall in this twilight alley, around to the backs of my thighs they went lifting me with ease as though I was a doll.
What I hadn’t paid attention too, among all the other things I had like the sight of a crumpled can of what might have been a cola a foot away, was what I saw when I glanced down having got a strange feeling to see his jeans unfastened, pulled down at the front and his bulge no longer a bulge but an over-sized sodium-licked pole of an erection. I was lifted just an inch or two, my legs naturally in this position easing apart and then lowered onto it, feeling its tip touching at first my thigh, then the other thigh, then eventually stretching me, eager to find its target. I gasped as I held onto his shoulder to ease the sensation of his hardness opening me, entering me, until I felt his tip popping in and then the rest of him, literally taking my breath away. I was trapped now, there was no going anywhere but all the way or wherever he wanted to take me.
His hips moved fiercely but slowly into me, into me, into me, into me, forcing the air from my throat in quiet but vocal exhalations. Not what I expected. I suppose we weren’t getting a taxi the, not for the moment anyway. Each thrust shook me and kept e against the wall, balanced as I was so precariously but most definitely, there, hidden in plain sight, bar for the sodium lights.
I glanced up to stare into one, amazed that at the number of tiny insects, mostly moths, buzzing around it. I thought, now all we need is bats to appear and indulge itself on this unwary buffet the light had provided. I felt each time he came up and I came down he went deeper but that wouldn’t be possible as I was sure he was already all the way in. My arms wrapped around his neck hanging on for dear life. We kissed and inside he went almost knocking the kiss right out of my mouth. We bumped our teeth: in me again and again. It felt like ages as once again I looked left and looked right and luckily we were still well hidden and no one came past. My breasts squashed against his torso. I saw stars now, literally, only faintly because of the street lights it was only possible to see the brightest of them. Luckily it was a clear night at least.
I knew he was close, I could feel the desperation, the effort for both of us, the strain on his legs must have been painful but he didn’t seem daunted and in me as we fucked a little more before I felt his body tense, mine too, and explode his seed and sperm into my teetering hips, some of which straight leaked out. I felt it travelling down one leg then the other and pictured its white creamy texture, warm but cooling quickly in the night air.
He made sure to empty all of himself into me before lowering me back to the ground and kindly holding me up as my legs could barely do now what they were designed to do. He wrapped himself around me until we’d both remembered how to breath normal again, before he tucked himself back in and handed me my knickers, which I slipped back on awkwardly, relying on him and the wall to not fall over joining the remnants of cobbles and cola can on this questionably clean alleyway behind the pub. I felt the marks his fingertips made on the back of my thighs.
After a few minutes we appear into the sodium illumination, looking to all intents like an innocent couple out for a late evening stroll, though the slightly seedy alley from which we emerged and my flushed features for one might have gave us away to anyone passing, and to finally, finally, find a taxi. I will sleep well tonight.