It's not that you need to have some sort of excuse to have great sex, but it's always nice to think of one, particularly if it's a good reason. (Note: your hamster's birthday is a good reason, as is the anniversary of the the time the guy who your friend's cousin's work partner's hedge-trimmer's grandfather walks the dog of found a penny down the back of the sofa.) I know our anniversary was last week, but since the girl I was willing to have sex with was in France at the time, we had to wait until this weekend just gone. Accordingly for two young and relatively free spirits, we went away for a bit, to a place called Cannington near to a place called Bridgwater.
No, I hadn't heard of them either.
We did some quite couply things while we were there, and during the good-morning-let's-have-pre-breakfast-sex sex, we discovered a terrible - yet wonderful - thing... the bed we were on (and bear in mind that we were staying in a smallish B&B) creaked. Loudly. Still, the amount of noise shows how much I truly care.
So, yes. Anyway.
We went for a walk - by which I mean, we spent six hours walking. Well, there was nothing else to do. Eurovision wasn't until the evening, and in any case, there were some nice places to walk, even if the maps has been drawn in the early 80s by someone who had taken the aforementioned walk three years beforehand. The imagination is a wonderful thing. We had some food in a pub and then made out way back to the B&B.
The time it took for us to get a little frisky didn't take long, unlike the sex.
Oh. My. God.
This was truly amazing. Like, super cool ultra high density. "Mega", as B. D. Snail may put it. I was actually quite desperate. Not for sex, exactly, but I was acting desperately, if that makes sense. Moving frantically, using the creaks of the bed as a sort of rhythm to time my thrusts to - well, when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, and all that - making sure that anniversary sex was exactly what anniversary sex was meant to be: mind-blowing, wonderful, hot.
Orgasms made their presence known, and I made my way down to continue, 'cause I wasn't quite finished yet - I'm hardly going to pass up an opportunity to administer ILB's Oral Sextravaganza™, especially when she's willing to receive - and licked her back to orgasm. I recognised the symptoms of orgasm, at least. Legs closed behind head and a familiar spreading sensation. Check. But by this time I was hard again (there's something wrong with me, surely). So, showing incredibly kind forethought, she bent over forwards and I entered her from behind, turning my head to the side and grinning at nobody in particular.
I like this position. I mean, I like all the positions, but this one lets you use different parts of your body, so I wasn't exactly straining anything that had already been strained (the bedsprings notwithstanding, but they don't count; they only creak). I like the slap of flesh against flesh. I like the way I can grasp at her back and hold her sides. I like the way I can look down at her whole body during sex. I also like the way she collapses with a little lustful sound when neither of us can take any more. Which, duly, she did.
And so we spent our early evening. And then we read Watchmen and did sewing and other things before watching Eurovision (kitsch, as ever), complete with picnic.
However much noise we made, however, I'm pretty sure we weren't the only couple having some fun that night. A pair of newlyweds turned up at breakfast the following morning, and what that must have been like, I've no idea...