Knitting pattern man was the first bloke I knew who really liked going down on me. Can't say that I was that bothered about it at the time, but he liked it and I stupidly liked him. Of course in hindsight it's easy to see I was naive and easy to see I was being used but at the time I was thrilled that this more experienced guy was interested in me. He looked like a taller Tom Cruise, I couldn't believe my luck. He wasn't married, that one, but lived with his girlfriend, hundreds of miles away in Portsmouth. I didn't care. She wasn't anything but a name to me.
There was this time, he'd called me in the office to ask if I was wet. My office was a Portacabin shared with 3 other blokes that all thought they knew he was fucking me, one of them handed the phone to me. I'd never done phone sex before and didn't know what he meant - how he must have smiled at me as I said it wasn't raining. He asked then if my pussy was wet, and this time I twigged and I didn't tell him about my two cats. I told him I was a little, but it was that time of the month. He must have been exasperated with me by then, but he told me he would be at the factory the next week and that he was going to fuck me again, in my green bedroom; he'd let me know when he could get away from the meetings.
I remembered why I called him knitting pattern man. That time he knew to come to my back door. He pulled the curtains closed as my flat looked out onto the road that went to the factory, everyone from the factory drove home past it. My next door neighbour worked at the factory too, but he was on shift at the time. I'd liked the thought that people could see in, catch a glimpse on the way past, but I guess he didn't.
He'd kissed me as I closed the back door, pushing me up against the kitchen wall. I thought his impatience was for how much he wanted me. He'd led me into my own front room, and pulled my trousers down at the same time as pulling me down onto the armchair. It felt odd to be bare from the waist down in my armchair. I could feel the texture of the tapestry material pressing against my skin. I could feel his breath over me. Warm. Warm breath, warm mouth. He positioned my legs over the arms of the chair. He kissed me down there and his tongue probed those folds. I wondered what I tasted like. But I thought this was something I should already know about so I didn't say anything. I felt something nice, but most of all I felt slutty sitting in my living room half naked with my legs over the arms of the chair, almost in the middle of the day, while a fully clothed man knelt between my spread legs and pulsed his tongue against me.
He took his coat off. He was wearing an ugly knitted jumper underneath, the kind that you are given as a present for Christmas and have to mumble "How nice," even though it isn't; but you don't usually wear them except to visit the person who gave you the jumper. It was very early in the evening, almost daytime even though it was dark because it was winter. It was a cold evening outside, and his fingers were still cold when he put them inside me and used his cold thumb to rub me where his warm mouth had been.
I stopped keeping track of time. It took me by surprise, that he made me come without getting his own release. After that, I wrapped my legs around his back and pressed myself up against his ugly jumper. I liked the idea he would wear the jumper with my juices soaked up in it. He picked me up and carried me through to my green bedroom and took the jumper off with the rest of his clothes. Not much later, he put the jumper back on and took off with the rest of his clothes. It was still early evening.
Yippee! Published at my favourite place here with this fantastic picture!