Pink Is The New Black

A girlie day today. Lynda came round with photos from Halloween of the pair of us dressed approximately as cats (cue snarling at the camera while sporting velvet headbands with cat ears) and then she dragged me all the way to Hoxton while I kept up a constant barrage of, “But I’m cold. My umbrella’s all floppy. I think I’ve got a poorly knee.” It was worth it though because she took me to Sh! Which is a women-only sex shop (it’s pink).

We both bought something called Flower Clitoral Orgasm Enhancer. This comes in a stylish little tin and looks rather like lip balm – in fact we tried it in the shop by rubbing it on our lips and yes, tingly throbbing stuff happened. Lynda also bought some rhinestone handcuffs and I bought some pink bondage tape (pink is the new black) and for D I bought a cock ring.

When I say I bought it for D, what I really mean is that I’m going to hand it to D but it’s a present for me. It’s made by Lelo, which is the Swedish company who made my favourite i-pod style vibrator. Because it’s for men it comes in manly colours. I chose burgundy – why you can almost smell the rich mahogany, button-back Chesterfields and cigar smoke of an exclusive gentlemen’s club. It’s elegant, minimalist, rechargeable and contains no instructions about which way up you wear it. Does the vibrating bit go at the top or the bottom? Only extensive trial and error can answer this question.

In the tea shop, while I crammed my face with coffee and walnut cake and lemon drizzle cake because I couldn’t decide and I’m a fat pig, Lynda’s mind wandered to the tin burning a hole in her pocket. “I’m going to try it now” she announced and scurried off into the ladies, leaving me spraying crumbs as I tried to answer her. There was nothing for it; taking the remainder of the lemon drizzle cake with me, I followed her.

We sat opposite each other on the train, sneaking sly looks at one another, dimpling as we tried not to laugh and ostentatiously crossing and uncrossing our legs, squirming slightly in our seats and sighing theatrically. The pleasing warmth and tingle of blood rushing into our clits subsided long before the journey was over, but the suppressed hysteria kept us sufficiently wound up to break into a little run as we neared Lynda’s flat, scrambling laughing up the stairs and flopping onto her bed.

Lynda pinned me on my back with my hands over my head as she wriggled her fingers underneath tights and knickers while I struggled and moaned “No, please, I’m a virgin! They’ll make me leave the convent if they catch us!” I was struck dumb by a sudden, sharp, intense orgasm that left me slumped on the bed, eyes and mouth perfect Os of surprise. “Golly!”

If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll have spotted Lynda making a tactical error in buying rhinestone handcuffs. It took a considerable struggle and a banged elbow (hers) and shin (mine) before she was safely locked up. But then there was absolutely nothing to stop me spending the rest of the afternoon teasing, tickling, blowing on but not quite bringing to orgasm her swollen clit, while she kicked her legs furiously and screamed and called me several names I’m too well brought up to repeat here.