When I woke up this morning I was determined to write a sexy story for your delectation. I had it all there, right on the tip of my tongue, ready to write down, word for word, before it was forgotten but by the time I’d found the pen, which was broken, and the paper, which appeared to have had fish and chips wrapped in it, I’d forgotten three parts of it and the fourth soon became so muddled and mired in aggravation it was hardly worth even thinking about. So I got back into bed, turned onto my side and stared at the back of my still sleeping companion instead. He lay unmoving, blissfully unaffected by the machinations of this new day, as large as a hippopotamus, breathing languorously and lazily.

To suggest I was annoyed would be to put it mildly. A few moments before I had words worth writing down, sentences close to speaking out loud, metre like slick saliva on the tip of my tongue, thoughts worth remembering, worthy of enshrining, all racing around in my head like the sounds of the rain which had awoken me and brought me gifts in the shape of silvery dewdrops. Gifts whether I wanted them or not, whether I even believed in such things. Juicy snippets of information like succulent pomegranate seeds to be chewed on, spat out and mulled over thoughtfully.

Now all I had was a jumble of disjointed bits and pieces, oddments, fragments only, some not even remotely related to anything erotic at all.

Distantly some bells denoted the time while closer at hand a familiar discomfort denoted a need which no amount of turning from one side to the other would alleviate. So I left the bed again, even more reluctantly this time, greeting cool air with some trepidation, this time venturing forth further, encountering some not entirely unexpected monsters on my way to the loo.

Debris strewn, the living room greeted me like a long lost friend. Impudent and irrepressible it glowered gleefully, displaying the remnants of battles both won and lost amid the wreckage of what evidently must have been one of those evenings;

I counted seven bells, distantly and a least a dozen empty bottles closer to hand. And a nameless sticky something imprinted into the carpet by the breakfast bar which implied at the very least that a murder had been committed there.

Seven a.m? God……and a Sunday! So much for the cathedral’s chimes! Then two dozen wine slicked glasses on a little table and Juliet’s legs, which I recognised by the tattooed serpent around her left ankle, sticking out beside the sofa with one of Julian’s overcoats covering the rest of her.

Someone had not flushed the loo after they’d used it, I noticed the moment I got into the bathroom, nor washed out the basin after they’d been sick in it. Someone else had used up the last roll of loo paper…...

Yes I really do love all man, and woman, kind sometimes! They are SO thoughtful!

Oh yes, and there was someone asleep in the bath. Someone who jerked and grunted horribly when I flushed the loo with perhaps rather more violence than was really necessary. Someone who, when they struggled to sit up I didn’t recognise. It……she, was female obviously but, as the assorted bathrobe bedclothes fell aside revealingly I found myself at a loss to give her a name.

You remember our friend Jane don’t you? The girl from accounts with the short blonde hair?

Well it wasn’t her.

This one had dark hair, shoulder length and bigger tits than Jane had got. Yes we’ve all seen Jane’s little titties, haven’t we dear?

It wasn’t Emma or Kate either, nor was it……

Damn……

Then I had an idea.

Perhaps I’d ask her what her name was!

But first I’d have to piss before I burst.

“Ah, the opening bars of the first movement!” the body in the bath said gaily as my jetstream tinkled and splashed merrily.

No it wasn’t Stevie either.

“Where’s Julian?” the mystery woman asked.

“Still……asleep……” I managed.

“Theres a dear!” she said.

I have to say I’d never felt less like making erudite conversation with anyone than I did at that moment. Clumsily I’d already splashed my own legs and added a drop or two to the already extensive puddle on the floor. Now, as the apparition heaved itself bodily out of the bath the disjointed lines of some stupid ditty came unbidden into my head.

“Bathing in custard in good for you skin,

Fill up you tub and clamber straight in,

And when you find it’s removing your skin,

You’ll realise you should have used Badedas……..

Or something like that.

Perhaps I meant acid, not custard.

I told you it was stupid, didn’t I?

“What is?” the apparition asked.

I hadn’t realised I’d spoken aloud but I suppose I must have done. Mechanically I dabbed the end of Percy with a stray bit of tissue, not for one moment wondering where it had come from. The tissue that is, not Percy. I know wh……

Look stop it will you?

Dabbed and fiddled while the apparition peered at me.

“D….do men always do that?” she enquired eventually.

Erudite? Well maybe. Actually it was something I’d always taken for granted.

Actually the bit of tissue was about the size of a postage stamp. More like the torn off stump of a cigarette paper in fact.

“Well I always do!” I replied uncertainly. It seemed to be a reasonable sort of answer.

The apparition nodded.

“Skin and skin don’t rhyme” she said. “Perhaps you meant ‘sin’. Didn’t you?”

Obviously she’d heard much more than I’d intended.

“Dunno” I told her.

“Do you always quote poetry first thing in the morning?” she asked.

“It’s my favourite time to do it” I told her.

“Mine too” she said.

“I thought for a moment I knew who you are……” I began.

Somewhere about my brain had become not only pickled but also completely detached from the rest of my head. On an ordinary day I’d be doing quadratic equations by now. In my head and without making mistakes. On this particular, rather less than ordinary day I was so confused I could not even piss straight.

“Who I are?” the apparition asked with the tiniest hint of mimicry.

“Yerr……I……I thought……”

“Yeuck!” the apparition said.

Water! Cool, clean water with memories of a shivering winter and an arctic wind that blew the s…..

Desisit!

“I’ve stood in a puddle of pee!” the apparition squeaked.

Silly girl, I thought but, looking at her and where she was standing, I knew that indeed she had.

To tell the truth I hadn’t really looked at her at all until then, except in passing, as it were, while she lay sort of corpse like in the bath. Desperately I wished I knew shorthand, longhand, any hand, wished more than anything that I had some way of writing down what was in my head just then. Wished that……wished……until I looked at the apparition properly that is.

Even ankle deep in vintage urine it had a strange kind of appeal.

No I mean that.

It was shapely for a start, I think. No I mean all the parts were in the right place. Even the fluffy front was there where I expected it to be. So many girls shave themselves now, don’t they? Like Eva and Mary-Ann and the agency receptionist on level three, oh sorry I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t know that, but then I was an icicle in that lifetime, that’s how I knew. I’ve been raindrops and teardrops too. Wet ones and salty…...

So, shall I compare thee to a……no that’s been done already!

Shapely!

Even sitting awkwardly on the loo it had a certain something. It was the position of it’s knees I think. There in the middle of her legs. Just right!

So I tried again.

“You aren’t Pauline’s sister are you?” I ventured. I could see almost certain she wasn’t Pauline’s brother.

Mid piddle the apparition shook her head.

“Ah…...!” I muttered “I thought not”

She’d a little round belly, just right for the……

“Jean!” she exclaimed extending her hand.

Well it was a most peculiar situation and no mistake. I might have written a really good story about it. If I’d had a pen that is. Two naked strangers adrift in a bathroom sized ocean of assorted piddles.

“Whats that bit in the bible about someone’s belly being like a pomegranate?” I asked inanely.

I know it’s not something you’d ask a lady in any other situation. But…..

“Hell I don’t know! I’m not religious” Jean said.

She stood up and looked around for something to wipe herself on. There was an already damp pale green faceflannel by the basin so I offered it to her manfully.

Jean accepted my offer gracefully, throwing it into the loo without thinking when she’d done.

We both laughed at this, she realising her mistake and I thinking about Julian searching for it to wash his face with when he finally did get up.

For a moment I considered fishing it out, washing it, drying it even. Then, as Jean paddled deeper in the puddle of pee I knew what I must do.

Julian’s bathroom is equipped not only with the usual facilities but also with a delightfully large ‘two person’ all electric showering cubicle.

Jean giggled when she saw the way the seating was arranged and I knew what she was thinking. Manys the time Julian and I have made love in that cubicle. This time we sat facing each other, Jean and I, she, without hesitation putting her feet straight into my lap.

Well the shower was running quite hot and strong and the side jets were doing their stuff too, so I looked along her legs at her crotch while I could still see it, before it got too steamy, while she, dear girl, began to masturbate me with her feet.

It was only a taster of course, a ruse to make me hard enough to be able to fuck her, which had been her intention all along of course.

“You’re the only man who didn’t do me last night” she told me succinctly.

“Oh……” I said.

Jean nodded. “I was beginning to think you didn’t fancy me……”

“Oh……!” I said again.

“Well……”

“Well what?”

I got her to sit on my lap when she tired of the footwork, sit down with her back to me so I could get hold of her tits and pull her further down against me.

Her wetness was not entirely plain ordinary warm water, nor was her slipperiness merely sweet scented soap. Disturbingly the residues of her earlier encounters were apparent too and the thrill of that realisation made me suddenly, unaccountably uncomfortably harder

Our lovemaking was straightforward, rough, energetic and demanding, her bottom bouncing up and down in my lap of luxury at a rate of about twenty six to the dozen per minute while I, soon out of breath, rushed and puffed to catch her up.

Needless to say she didn’t wait for me, cumming with a series of sharp little yelps while my own parts were still thinking about it, which was an indication of just how randy she must have been. Incredibly, in a perfect example of role reversal it was I who gasped desperately ‘don’t stop! don’t stop!’

Thankfully she didn’t. Thankfully she was able to keep going for long enough, just long enough for me to be satisfied without actually hurting myself, my moans and groans, when I let them go seeming to please her no end.

“It’s rubbish you know!” she told me wetly, the instant we turned off the shower.

“What is?” I asked, not really caring.

“Your story” she told me “They won’t like it unless……”

“Unless what?” I asked

“Unless you describe in detail the way you fucked me” Jean said.

“Yersss……well……” I began, my thoughts interrupted by a sudden scream from Julian who, newly arisen but still largely asleep, had found his way into the bathroom and immediately discovered himself to be knee deep in a lake of piss.

© Aahlu 2010.

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