Sunday 22nd November CONTINUED
So my trousers were round my ankles and Amy was getting her laughing tackle round my sausage and mash (I am going to use the terms from my sex book, because that is what God would want right?) It was incredible. I couldn’t actually believing it was happening, the way she just went for it, I mean, it was almost scary. CHILL OUT THERE’S ENOUGH TO GO ROUND kind of thing. But once someone’s started it’s a bit rude to ask them to calm down, “look I know you’re really fucking attracted to me, so much so I’m slightly worried you might end up biting it off, but would you mind just trying to reign in that enthusiasm a bit? You’ve been waiting your whole life for this, so maybe try and make it last?”
At this point I felt pretty fucking good. She stopped before I had a chance to reach the finish gate, which I considered to be a good thing, as if she hadn’t the game would basically be over…surely? Love mixing metaphors. I’m also proud to say I displayed my modest set of skills in their best possible light, and even managed not to be too overwhelmed after removing her top. Let me put it this way, although she hadn’t mentioned me coming back to hers earlier, her underwear left me in no doubt that it was always part of her plan for the evening. That made me feel really fucking nervous actually. It’s a good tip for girls, if you want us to not feel as nervous as we could, and therefore probably perform better, put on grey knickers and one of those weird sports bras (although I do actually find those really hot for some reason). Amy was wearing amazing underwear, and it fucking matched. Of the few glimpses of underwear I have seen girls in, I know that matching knickers and bra is a very rare thing.
Then she stopped, her trousers undone and her shirt off, and went to get us more drinks. I was a bit put off, “Really? You really think that’s the priority now? You think my thirst is the most pressing matter at this particular junction?” But it gave me a minute to calm down. Then I walked over to her and sort of wrapped my arms around her, but it was at the same moment that she was pouring the milk, so she spilt down my T-shirt by accident. We were then tangled up in this damp milky embrace as I tried to kiss her and she tried to keep her hair away from the smelly mess on my shirt. We ended up just taking the bottle of vodka upstairs with us, leaving the milk behind. I felt like the bottle was judging us with it’s little calcium brain as we climbed the stairs. I also think I may have hit Amy’s arse on the way up, which I think didn’t go as expected, and just ended up being a sort of lazy tap, not the sexy “You’re mine hot shit” thing I was going for.
Oh I just remembered, at one point I did worry that she’d be so inspired by New Moon that she’d ask me to do some Vampire role play (I watch too much porn) and that I’d either not know what to do, or even worse, embrace the role enthusiastically and freak her out, causing me to be referred to as blood-sucker-boy for the rest of my life. She didn’t though. Luckily/sadly.
When we got to her bedroom she oddly put on the telly, I don’t know whether it was just some habit she’s got into – walk into room put on TV, or if maybe she just wanted to alert me to the fact she had a TV in her room so I’d be impressed (I was), or that it was just there to entertain us in case we got bored mid way through. HELLISH THOUGHT. We drank the rest of the vodka and then she started trying to make it happen. Suddenly we were under the covers and she was pulling herself on top of me, I’ve never felt as terrified or as excited.
…I mean obviously I couldn’t get it up. But that goes without saying, it’s all part of the first time rules right? You have to be off your face, scared shitless, and consequently unable to get hard. Amy was so drunk she didn’t actually realise and was sort of trying to make it happen without noticing that it kind of couldn’t. Urgh god. After a while she sort of gave up, or I moved her to the side of me, I can’t remember which, and then she passed out.
I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t believe I’d got to this point and that the outcome was going to be such a fucking disappointment. I was so pissed off with myself, and her really. How dare she get me so fucking drunk? How dare she freak me out with her weird sex moves that involved way too much hair flicking, and not enough actual physical contact? Then I decided I didn’t hate her, which made me feel better, and that the only person to blame here was me (I just wrote ‘my mum’ there by accident, Freudian or what?!), which made me feel much worse. I sat up for a bit, and looked at shit in her room, and then at about 3am I went and laid down next to her in bed. She half woke up and murmured hello, and I was relieved the crazy drunk flirt had gone and she’d returned to normal, then she started kissing me. And then, finally, in her white single bed, at three in the morning we finally did it, and it was actually pretty fucking good. I mean, I have nothing to compare it to, but it lasted longer than 5 minutes, and she said it was lovely so…
Fuck. Fuck!
