I hate the winter. It makes it so much harder for us to fuck.
In the summer we can explore parks and woodlands, dark alleyways and quiet footpaths on summer’s evening when the air is warm and ground is dry. Even when it is raining it is still warm enough to find someone quiet and dark to park your car or mine and indulge our lust for one another. By the time we are done the windows are usually steamed up and shine of sweat clings to our skin but if we have picked our spot well and we are getting good at finding them we can open the windows or if we have found a particularly good spot step out of the car and let the warm evening air cool our hot sticky skin.
Do you remember that time when you fucked me over the bonnet of your car in that car park by the fishing pond? The place was deserted and the only way in and out was down the little dirt path so if anyone had come we would have heard them a long time before they saw us but I was still nervous. I even tried to put up a bit of resistance when you pushed me face down over the car and pulled up my skirt but that just turned you on even more, which I knew it would. I was sad when you sold that car. Maybe this summer we should return there and make some memories on the bonnet of your new one. I like the idea of you thinking about me bent over your car with your cock buried inside me. Don’t you?
The winter is such a pain though. It is too cold and wet for fucking outside. OK that is not strictly true, after all we did in the woods last week with my tights and knickers round my ankles and my arms wrapped round that tree but it is not the same as in the summer. There is no time to linger, no chance of exploring each others bodies with hands and mouths. The cold gives it all a sense of urgency in the winter we are like rutting animals; it is quick, hard, fucking. Not that there is anything wrong with that mind you but sometimes I want to savour you, us. Sometimes I wish I could take you home and keep you. Sometimes I wish we were both braver and admitted to our sins but I know you will never leave her which means there isn’t much point in my leaving him.
Do you remember that little pub we found last year; The Thistle, in that little village on the way back from one of your meetings? Now that was the ideal place for a winter tryst. They had that gorgeous little fire in that side room with that large comfy sofa right in front of it and the place was deserted. We spent the afternoon there drinking tea and watching the flames of the fire dance in the dimly lit room. I don’t know what possessed me to wear that dress with the buttons up the front but I am damn glad I did because you spent the afternoon popping open those buttons and leisurely exploring my body with your hands until it was dark outside and I had come more times than I could count. You teased for me ages afterwards because I even fell asleep in the car on the way home and it was only as you dropped me back at my car that I realised you had not come at all that day. I did make it up to you next time though.
Such a shame that pub is gone now. We wasted a precious afternoon driving all the way back there only to find it was all shut up and with a For Sale sign outside. I guess the lack of clientele last year should have been our clue. Maybe we should buy it? In the right hands, with the right attitude it could be a gold mine in my opinion and at the end of the day when we locked up imagine what it would be like to fuck me in front of that roaring log fire. I think I could even learn to love the winter then.
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