What the fuck did I do?

Two particular delights for your consumption and delectation....

I've spoken before about the magnificence of tipping the velvet; the scent, the taste, the feel and most importantly the arousal it engenders.  Yesterday, I possibly got the best response ever.  S has legs that go on forever and henceforth will be known as Charisse (older readers will get the reference, the rest of you go read Wikipedia.)

Anyway, naked as we were, and having started on a course of 69, I then moved off the bed to kneel alongside, and pulled her by her legs towards me.  She offered no resistance as I pressed my tongue into her, pushing and flicking with firmness and speed against her clitoris.  Her moans told one story. That can be faked, I know. But coupled with the sharp intakes of breath, the white knuckle grip on the bed frame, the ever increasing flow and her pussy's vice like tightening I knew I was taking her onwards and upwards. And she came as she had done when we met before on a sofa on the ninth floor last month.  But unlike then, I didn't stop atop the mirrored sixth floor bedroom to permit her to return the pleasure.  And neither did she stop me. And so the moans turned to blasphemies. And cries. And she came again. But still I continued and still she let me. And this time she was gasping for air and crying to not stop, pleading for more, affirming the ecstasy. This orgasm was the loudest and all her muscles were tensed down her back, through her arms, up her legs to maximise what was exploding in her groin.  Tremendous. A beautiful, bounteous explosion of unmitigated pleasure. I couldn't give her more, my tongue was aching. She would have let me, but I needed to come up for air.  The many minutes she needed to relax her wearied body told the truth of her response. 

We started kissing and she threw me on my back and headed downwards.  She took me in hand and in mouth and I knew little would be required to bring me off.  But just as I was thinking how I wanted missionary not oral, she was astride me and impaling herself upon me.  And for an astonished moment I thought, what? no condom? And then I realised that somehow between mouth, hand and pussy she had dressed me for dinner and I had never noticed.  Even now, 24 hours later I have no idea how or when  she put the condom on me, but Christ as party tricks go, that will take some beating.  Needless to say it took me only minutes before I was spent, empty, but filled with awe.

Sex and The City.  Okay I did watch the SATC series on and off, enough to know their names, enough to want to throw my laptop at Carrie "Are-men-serial-monogamists-or-am-I-just-a-far-too-wealthy-too-much-time-on-my-hands-measure-my-success-by-Manolo-Blahnik-empty-headed-narcissist-who-can't-commit-and-somehow-think-that-makes-me-qualified-to-comment-on-the-world" Bradshaw.  But 2 and a half hours watching them primp and preen and discuss two dimensional men as though any of it mattered!  If SATC is the zeitgeist then Western consumerist capitalism deserves to burn in the ninth pit of hell.

Oh but before that, what about Coldplay? If you took half a pound of bland and mashed with a little dull and sprinkled a soupcon of public schoolboy on top before serving on a bed of smug worthiness, you'd have Coldplay.  All those plinky plonky major chords and nursery rhymes a la Noel Gallagher.  I previously described the current single as like Wings on a bad day, but that's a little harsh on Wings.  No, it's more like Oasis (who are already their own tribute band) watered down with Richard Clayderman...but without the profundity!

And finally The Apprentice.  How come that snake in the grass, back stabbing, know-nothing, arrogant, charmless oik Alex was not fired last night?  He was crap in interview, truly crap. Bland and defensive at best, conceited and smug at worst. Since when has being 24 been the best qualification for a job? As opposed to 23 or 25 or any other age? And as for his shitty little telling-tales-to-teacher trick in the boardroom that deserves a special firing all of its own. Out of a big cannon. Oh and go a buy a razor blade, because you're not half as good looking as you think you are.