Back In The Day (The continuous and evermore stupid misadventures of pooflake part 2)
A couple of years had passed since part 1 of this post. I had a new g/f: a sweet, cumly lass of wealthy parentage, the type of which you would feel happy taking home to meet your mother. We were in the early throes of what would turn out to be quite a decent length relationship as I recall and things were purring along.

Now the difference with this coupling is that we were both now ‘experienced’. Gone were the days of ‘dabbling’ frantically here and there; we had each chalked up an impressive back-catalogue of previous conquests and were both pretty damn confident in what we were doing. To paraphrase Blackadder:

“Belts off, trousers down, isn’t life a scream. Hurrah”

The band was due to play a pub called the Golden Cross in Coventry. A delightfully dark and scummy shithole, full of ropey student dregs, with sweat and god-knows-what permanently trickling down the walls. Brilliant.

Unfortunately, this place is slap bang in the middle of the ‘olde worlde’ cathedral part of town, on a corner by a bit of a clearing. Parking was always an issue here at the best of times, and with multiple cars / vans crammed with band equipment to hump about, we could be on the arse-end of a logistical ball-ache of monumental proportions. So I decided I would go to the pub in the daytime, the day before, to check out the potential parking scenario. My new beau came along for the ride…wasn’t that nice?

Here's the thing...

You know, with pretty much anybody, when frolicking and frivolity is afoot, there is usually some sort of alert, a ‘heads up’ if you will. The conversation takes a certain turn…sometimes even an alluring glance can send the alarm bells ringing that you’re soon going to be ‘gettin it’. Kind of 'foreplay before foreplay'

Not this time.

Chugging merrily down the A45 in my little Rover 213, after a brief silent lapse in an otherwise ordinary conversation, and without so much as a ‘by your leave’, she puts her head in my lap and goes down on me…in an enthusiastic fashion.

Me: 'What the....? Yikes!.....mmmmmm'

It was such a shock that I didn’t even have wood at the start. Lil’ Pooflake could not have been a particularly impressive sight, but god love her, she persevered and within a few short moments I was standing so proud I could have taken an eye out (please forgive blatant self promotion for artistic purposes).

I weighed up the situation. We were still some way from the pub at this point, on a dual carriageway doing 60+mph and she was an expert in this particular field. I was supremely comfortable that I would be well spent by the time we reached any kind of public area…time to enjoy it...this won't take long...right?


WRONG


What a time to be struck down with a severe case of ‘stamina’. Typical.

When I'm in a bedroom , she’s on all fours doing the dirty talk and I want it to last for yonks, then I turn into a ‘2-push Charlie’; but when I'm getting the nosh in a comfortable 15 minute window of opportunity, I suddenly decide I could get blown for England if it became an olympic event.

Fucksocks.

On and on we continue…until we approach the middle of town, having already driven through enough populated areas to qualify for the QOTW 10 times over, I suddenly get the ‘call of the wild’…and for our mutual safety I have to find somewhere to stop the car.

The clearing by the pub was completely deserted. Result! I parked by a building and did my customary ‘quick check around’. Nothing. Get in there. Let’s finish off.

(I even knew that this young lady was a ‘swallower’ and so didn’t even have to worry about any jism-related stainage to myself or car. Ooooh yeah…)

A few more moments pass by and I lean my head back on the car seat, preparing to catapult my cock-cack. If this was my dad’s car I would be looking at the car roof at this point…

But this was my car, and I found myself looking up through the sunroof at the dozens of people in the offices above who had a perfect aerial view of the last 5 minutes of my sucking off, and were applauding my vinegar strokes with gusto.

I thought fast and had a quick check around again…there weren’t any children around or anybody who seemed to be shocked, so without my g/f realising, I gave them a nice nod, wink and a ‘thumbs up’ and let her finish me off before driving away contented.

(Forgot to look for a parking space though.)

Length? About 500 yards away from the pub on the night…and that’s fucking miles when you’re pissed and have to carry 2 amplifiers and half a drum kit.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Tue 16 Oct 2007, 10:16, Reply)