Authors: C. Elizabeth
“What else
ya got?”
“
What about this?” Mark circles my nipple with his finger before I feel his hot breath near my crying breast as he swaps his finger with his tongue.
Again, I
endorse his proposals to drive my already fluttering butterflies into over excitably deranged ones.
Holy fucking hell.
I’m literally shaking – a mixture of trepidation and a flurry of ecstasy all rolled into a ball of ‘Give it to me right now before I explode!’
I open my eyes, the room is spinning and I’m lightheaded.
Jesus, he’s barely touched yet me and I’m losing control already.
I gently nudge him back and he sits up, as I lift
myself forward, guiding him off of me and into the bathroom. I rotate the shower tap to massage and turn it to hot as the bathroom quickly steams up. He climbs in with me following closely behind him. I watch his buttocks clench as he lifts his leg over the bath panel and steps into the tub as the powerful shower jets pummel water over his head. I stand behind him watching the water fountain cascade over his head and down his back as I lather it with the free hotel gel. He leans his head back and revels in the moment as he defies the heated water beating down on his face and chest. I work his robust biceps as his roaming hands worm their way behind his back and onto my hips and ass, pulling me in closer. I nip at his shoulder and he turns to face me with a consuming look of ferociousness, as if he’s about to devour me.
Oh god I hope so.
He
pulls my hair to the side, leans in and bites along the curves of my neck.
Bite for a bite I guess.
I delight in the euphoric bliss of his touch against my skin. My legs give in but he quickly lifts me returning me to my feet. I can feel his erection demanding its way in between my thighs. I twist my body and press my hands up against the inhospitably frosty wall tiles as I welcomingly spread my legs, inviting him in. He RSVPs right back and aids his lusty swollenness inside me. I remove one of my hands from the wall and manoeuvre it onto my breast, pinching and teasing my ardently rigid nipple.
Oh shit that’s cold.
I move my hand down my front and onto my imploring pussy, when I feel it being jostled away and rebelliously replaced with a helping of Mark’s generous fingers.
Holy fucking he...he...hell!
My breath is stringently snatched away from me. I push back so I can feel more of him. I want him deeper inside, until it almost hurts. I can feel him once again bulldozing internal organs I never even knew I had. I listen to him groan throatily, ploughing repeatedly into me, faster and assiduously as I almost lose my footing. I promptly recover as he withdraws his throbbing cock and feel an added heat on my back as he comes all over my buttocks. He stops for a second to gather himself but continues to massage my clit until I too reach a shuddering orgasm.
Ah, so accommodating and considerate.
I turn to smile admiringly at him and he returns
his gratitude and satisfaction with a benevolent peck on the lips. We finish showering and get dressed to some music, the rest of the wine and a tad few more vodkas.
I had
planned to take us to Gay Pride in Preston Park that day, so I rang reception to ask them to book us a cab. Unfortunately, it turned out that the hotel was in fact a bit of a drive away — about twenty five pounds worth of a drive. Each way!
“For fuck sake I’m so annoyed!
I’ve been looking forward to this for months and we can’t go.”
“W
hy what’s up?”
“
The cab prices are extortionate and that’s just to get there and back, let alone drinks all night. It’s just not worth it.”
I hadn’t anticipated it would be so expensive, so instead we decide to give it a miss and try again next year
. We instead just head into town to try a few bars and pubs. We’ll see where the Brighton streets take us. Mark gets up and tops my wine. I really do thank mother-nature slash people’s grape-squishing feet for wine.
I become excitable
again. We’re in Brighton after all and it’s always guaranteed a good night out no matter what. Well, so I’ve been told.
I decide to go all out and
wear my cute rockabilly swing dress, petticoat and heels as opposed to my standard and rather unappealing t-shirt, jeans and trainers.
“Ah babe, you look awesome in that dress,” Mark asserts with wide accepting eyes.
“Thanks hunny,” and I twirl round and round to let the dress take centre stage. It really is a fun dress to wear. I feel so pretty. There’s a knock on the door.
“Shit, the cab’s here already? Ah go wait with him please babe. I’ll be down in five,” I say as I pop Mark’s trilby on his head and shunt him out the room.
“I just need to finish my hair, find my ring, pack my handbag and put on my heels
. Oh and my lipstick. Okay, say ten minutes then. Sorry,”
I finally finish. I hastily gather my handbag from the bed and everything falls right back out. Not sure if it’s the half bottle of red, two vodka shots or the fact that I’m running around like there’s no tomorrow. I try again and run out the door.
We pull up alongside the beachfront. It feels like we’re on holiday somewhere abroad. Okay so not quite like we’re in the Seychelles or Barbados but it’s a holiday from home.
We climb out the cab and walk along the strip of bars on the beach. It’s packed with colourful and happy people – unlike in my home town where most are more solemn or pretentiously up their own ass. I don’t know what it is but I feel so relaxed and at ease – like nobody’s judging me for what I’m wearing, how I look or how I walk. I certainly couldn’t pull off wearing this dress in town back home. Here, everyone has their own diverse fashion. The best part is they’re all comfortable with themselves and don’t care two crisps what others think. Not one person looks at me oddly, in fact I get nothing but compliments and I feel great. The only problem is my feet are already killing me and it’s only 5pm.
We stop at one of the first bars along the seaside. There’s a live band playing. Already I want to dance.
“I have a feeling this
is gonna be a fun night. I can feel it,” I say to Mark as we wonder over to the bar to get us drinks.
We sit down at one of the tables nearby. I haven’t felt
as relaxed and calm for years as I do at this moment. Every day is just a constant rush and not in a good way either. Always dashing here, running there, scurrying back, speeding into work and speeding out just to get home early enough to enjoy a bit of sofa time before crashing.
We
chat as we take in the beautiful sunset and laugh at the hilarious outfits walking by.
Now who’s judging who?
Loads of hens and stags so most groups are in fancy dress. What better evening than to spend with my favourite man in the sun near the sea with music playing and drinks flowing.
We slow
ly stroll along the strip as we peek into shops, trying on beautifully crafted jewellery made from shells. As we continue to make our way to the bar across the street, I can’t help but dance my way through the entrance and to the bar. Yep, I’m that person!
“Two Jaeger bombs please
,” Mark shouts over the bar as I continue to dance and scan the room.
What a great vibe
.
We down the drinks and I pop upstai
rs to the ladies room. I approach the staircase but am stopped by a woman who pays me a compliment. So I think it is anyway. It’s something to the effect of “You’re a tall fresh pint of water”.
“Oh thanks,” is all I can say as I
curtsey. Yes, I fucking curtsey. Unsurprisingly, she raises her eyebrows almost in shame that she’s just wasted her chat up on me. I lower my head in contempt and continue my ascent cringing at my clearly drunken response.
I pee
and touch up my reddened face with more foundation in the hope that it hides the excruciating embarrassment I’m suffering, or at the very least disguises me from the girl I no longer want to come face to face with again. Or I may just die.
I
exit the ladies and am stopped by two extremely hot girls as one of them tells me how gorgeous my dress is and the other, how stunning I am. I’ve learned my lesson and I simply say thank you very much and tell them they too are rather lovely, and walk out...without the addition of an unnecessarily formal gesture.
Mark is standing at the bottom of the stairs watching me as I walk down towards him. It’s his turn for a visit to the gents whilst I wait holding our drinks. He takes all of five minutes to pee, shake, zip and wash as opposed to my typical fifteen. We down our bevvies and head next door. He’s spotted a karaoke bar.
Mark has a good voice. I love it when he sings. He often plays his guitar and sings to me and every time, like the complete over sensitive loser that I am, I cry. We often go out on the piss, come home and continue drinking indoors, whilst he strums on his strings and we sing our hearts out. Of course the neighbours probably don’t appreciate it as much.
There are
all of around six people in the karaoke bar, including the barman – three gay guys towards the back, a transsexual in possibly the biggest Dolly Parton styled wig ever. She’s on the karaoke machine. And a lesbian couple. I’m buzzing already and it’s not even seven o’clock yet – that’s what no food, three glasses of red, one glass of shitty tasting rose, bombs and shots do to a gal who’s had a week from hell and is now excited to be out in her idea of heaven of being surrounded by hot lesbians and bi-sexuals.
The guys come straight up to us and tell me how gorgeous I look in my dress and of course, as one does, I twirl for them. We all get chatting like we’re old friends meeting up for a routine
Saturday night out. One of the women gets up on top of the bar and I join her. Coyote Ugly fuckers! I finally get to dance on a bar.
So
I’ve been a contender in the South African Gladiators, and yes I hopelessly lost. But I’ve done something as amazing as that but never had the opportunity to do one of many simple things in life, like dance on a fucking bar. Finally I do and it’s brilliant. Although we quickly get shunted off by the sad barman.
I climb down, most ungracefully in my pretty dress, trip over to the transsexual, grab the mic
rophone and fire up into song. Now let me fill you in, I don’t do karaoke, because no matter how much singing or at least whaling I do indoors in the privacy of my home, I don’t sound at all great. I really don’t! But of course tonight is about doing anything and everything that comes our way so why not sing with a transsexual, who too by the way couldn’t sing if her wig depended on it.
S
ing-song over, drinks consumed; we air kiss our friends goodbye and head off to the next watering hole. About seven minutes of sauntering and talking utter bollocks along the pebbled way, we come across an outdoor pub, which even has its own strip of fake turf outside. We buy another shot and Jaeger bomb each, knock them back whilst Mark has a quick smoke break. Just a quick pit stop before moving on.
It’s
quarter to eight and still gorgeous, bright and really warm. We stop into one of the local mini markets. It’s about time we had a bite to eat and soak up some of the alcohol we’ve ingested so we can last a hell of a lot longer. Because undoubtedly I do not want this night to end, not any time soon anyway.
As if
I’ve lost all control of my bodily movements, I randomly jump, clap my hands and squeal in excitement like a child. Mark, of course, looks over as if I’ve gone off the deep end and unhinged from the little sanity I have remaining and bursts out laughing. How could he not?
We gobble down a couple of cold sausage rolls.
Boy oh boy does crap grub taste so good when pleasantly intoxicated.
“
Next place!” I bellow excitedly.
We end up in a bar I don’t
really remember much about. I deliberate as to whether that’s down to it not being that great a place, or the possibility that the measly sausage roll I had guzzled ten or so minutes ago hasn’t yet begun to fulfil its duties of soaking up the bloody alcohol.
It’s suddenly
, well, rather sudden to me anyway, relatively dark outside. Still hot though. A bus with blaring party music is idling in front of us. As it slowly starts to pull off, I scream out.
“I want to get on”.
Of course! Why wouldn’t I?!
It b
rakes and I run diligently towards it, yanking Mark along with me. We get to the open top deck, sit down and I’m instantly excited that we have absolutely no idea where we’re going. The coach pulls up outside a cabaret club. Oh my god I’m over the moon. This club is exactly what we’ve been searching for, for ages. 40s and 50s music and I’m dressed perfectly for it.
“Oh bloody hell, this is cool,”
Mark says placidly.
I know he’s eager too, he just
doesn’t show as much excitement as I do. I’m obtusely animated and high spirited in comparison. Just as well, one of us needs to appear sane and in control.