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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago
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This story is true. Identification giveaways have been applied.
It happened many years ago but is still fresh in my mind, like so many things we do for the first time. I met Jo in London via a relative I was visiting. She lodged with her. We socialised and had really good, raunchy sex, straight away and got on so well that before long, I found myself living in London with her.
All was well, except that there was one issue that I found really difficult to cope with. Her persistent flirting got to me over a period of time and I won't elaborate on the symptoms, you all know them, until one night we had an enormous set-to. It wasn't about her flirting as much as the money we were spending, socialising. I had given up a good job to move to London and was doing scratch-about jobs to pay the bills. Jo wanted to live life to the full and so on this particular Monday night I thought it prudent to stay in. It didn't go down very well, however. I was a 'miserable bastard' etc. and we were finished and I was to sleep downstairs on the sofa, until I moved out and the quicker the better! That was her final instruction before she went out to her favourite restaurant in Covent garden. Now this italian pizza house was significant, because the italian staff showed Jo the full gamut of italian adoration and she was not slow to show them the reactions they wanted. The exaggerated laughter, the overlong glances in their direction, the appreciation of absolutely everything they did all made me feel sick and I really hated the place. I couldn't have known that she had gone there that night, it wasn't the original arrangement, but it crossed my mind through the evening, no matter how bad it was for me to think that way, that she would be enjoying her new-found freedom to the full and boy did it hurt. I still liked her a lot. She was really good fun with lots of naughty sex thrown in and though I knew the relationship would never come to anything more permanent, such as marriage, I would miss her. I couldn't sleep that night. I felt as if someone had thrust a bayonet into my belly. Then at about 1.30 am, I heard a car pull up outside on the road and I tensed up as I waited for her entrance and her annoyance to find me in our bed when I was supposed to be on the sofa, but nothing happened. No car door closing, which I assumed to be a taxi, or front-door opening, until after about 30 mins. when I heard Jo bidding fond farewell to someone and then closing a car door. Well what's been going on there then, or need I ask? The bayonet twisted in my belly. They probably talked. It was definitely a guy because she would not have said such a fond goodbye to a woman. It was like waiting for a doodle-bug to drop as she opened the front-door and came up the stairs. She went into the toilet and then threw open the bedroom door and put the light on. At this point, I don't think I need to tell you how I felt, as I laid on my side staring at the wallpaper. She began the dialogue with a slight drawl, which was good because she was always more placid when she had partaken of a bit of strong drink. She opened the firing.
'Hey, I'm not sleeping with you, you're sleeping downstairs,' she began.
'I'm not going anywhere, you sleep down there.', I replied.
She lifted the lid of the ali-baba basket that we had and dropped her dirty knickers in it, almost falling over in doing so and then came round to my side of the bed.
'Come on, get downstairs, you shouldn't be here. You're downstairs,' she was pulling at the sheets to little effect, as she spoke.
'You fuck off', I said, 'go and sleep with your new boyfriend!.'
She started to hit me in a really feeble way and clambered on the bed with her knees on my stomach, still lashing out pathetically. I can remember that whole drama as if it was ten minutes ago and that horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. She started hitting my face and with one of the blows her nail scratched my face. 'Ow!, you fucking crazy bitch. That's enough,' I said and turned onto my back and grabbed her arms. The abuses flowed in both directions as she shuffled forward and put her knees on either side of my face and bounced up and down on my chest and then as she twisted to one side her skirt parted and I saw her naked fanny and there was an odour, too. The distinct, unmistakeable smell of another man and I froze.
'You fucking filthy bitch,' I said, 'I can fucking smell him!'
'He's a real man,' she said, 'not like you, fucking misery guts and he's good looking, you're not.'
I said something back to her, can't remember what but she had stopped fighting, if you could call it that and decided to get to me another way. Rub it in, so to speak. She lifted her skirt, slid forward right onto my face and said, 'He stuck it up there. Oh yes, he did, he fucked me. Better than you do.'
Now this was the turning point, because this mental torture that was supposed to hurt beyond any blow, suddenly turned me on and did so like nothing I had ever experienced before. It was just absolutely delicious. I just put my hands on her buttocks and stuck my tongue in her sex and licked along the crease.
'Oh my fucking ...., what, what are you doing? Fucking hell, oooooh, you dirty bastard! Dirty bastard, dirty bastard, oooh!'
That mix of fanny and spunk and erstwhile cock is undescribable along with an extremely excited woman and the most vile hate dialogue imaginable between us was just, well incredible.
We fell asleep a couple of hours later after some sensational sex and continued our relationship for another few months until she fell in love with someone else.
Now that did make me jealous!
There is another little thing that she did later in the relationship. Might post that too at some time. |
