Mostly Wanking

Another pointlessly hot and humid day. This morning it felt like everyone in London had boiled a kettle at exactly the same moment until the whole atmosphere was heavy and wet with steam. I tried lying on a sun lounger in the garden which was OK until it was time to turn over and my shriek as naked flesh touched metal frame could be heard in Pimlico (and parts of Vauxhall). It's eased off a bit now but according to the BBC, tomorrow morning the humidity level is going to be 93%. How is that possible without London being engulfed in a flood of Biblical proportions? And if that is what's going to happen, what do you think my chances are of being among the righteous who are saved?

In the absence of anything better to occupy my mind, and having had all the baths it's reasonable for one person to have in a single morning, I spent most of the afternoon sprawled on my bed imagining I was an Athenian woman, kidnapped by ruthless Persians and lashed to the mast of their ship for the general amusement of the galley slaves. This offered the potential for a fantasy of feverishly rough sex and a big sail flapping in the breeze to keep me cool.

Very far from cool - dripping with sweat and in a room that, despite the huge sash window being wide open, now smells strongly of cunt - I lay sucking my fingers as D came home. "Hello, today I told a mother of three that we're going to switch off her 42 year old husband's life support. What did you do?"

"Mostly wanking."

"Can I have sex and then ice cream?"

"Shall we have a bath first?"

"No."

He peeled his clothes off, his shirt wet against his back and climbed on top of me, jerking his cock erect and pressing it straight into my already-sloppy cunt, one arm hooked under my knee, lifting my thigh, his other hand on my cheek, his thumb in my mouth. Then he buried his head in my shoulder and began grinding his cock slowly into me, his skin sticky against mine.

This is 'had a fucking awful day at work' sex. It's selfish, foreplay-free, angry humping and it gets me crazily steamed up. I bite his thumb, slowly sinking my teeth into its fleshy pad, leaving their sharp dents. He grunts and grips the back of my thigh in his hand, pressing it down, my ankle over his shoulder. I lift my other leg, flailing it in the air, my body shoved up the bed with each thrust, before I can hook it over his other shoulder.

He kneels up, his cock sliding from my cunt, a hand on the back of each of my knees, and then he slams into me again and I gasp and moan. Again and again he pulls right out and rams back in, then he sprawls forwards, my legs splayed wide, his weight on top of me again and now he's hammering his cock into me, the tendons taut on his neck, his eyes screwed shut, the headboard banging against the wall.

With a roar, muffled against the pillow, he pumps his spunk into me, rolling off immediately, breathing hard, his face red. Outside, car doors bang and neighbours chat. A blackbird sings and someone clips a hedge. After a few minutes I go downstairs on shaky legs to peer into the freezer and see what sort of ice cream we've got.