By Mads Hansen
Chapter
I
I had some more wine all the while Florence fondling my private parts. Someone turned off the light and Mark, Molly, Florence and I moved towards our bed. We only had one large bed in our room and an inflatable mattress on the floor, which Harry and his girl had occupied. That’s three people in a studio flat for ye! So as we lay four people in one bed, lights off and Dire Straits softly playing in the background, we all got ready for round two. Round two for me that is. Florence and I hardly had any room to move around on our side of the bed, since Mark and Molly (terrible names if they ever were a couple) used up almost the whole bed. Needing a bit more fuel I got up, found the bottle of wine in the dark, took two big hits and tried to lie down on the bed. I somehow miscalculated, slid off the side of the bed and landed on the floor. Everyone started laughing. Truly embarrassing. The drunken fool is once again the only means of laughter for the masses. I got up and looked at Florence. She was laughing. Fuck. How could I fail in this hour of triumph, turn-ons, hard-ons, lust, wine and orgy?
“So I guess I lost all my charm right there.” I said quietly to Florence. She nodded. Damn. Not what I needed.
She put her arms around me. “Now come back down here.”
I was on top of her kissing her lips and neck moving down to her breast. She seemed uncomfortable with the situation so she pulled a blanket over us allowing me to take off her bra and caress her bosom. I moved further down, all the while kissing her every inch, but as I came to her panties wanting to go down on her again she put two hands on each side of my face, implying that this was not the time to go clit hunting. Either she wasn’t in the mood, I hadn’t done well enough of a job in the toilet, or she was not comfortable with my face between her legs, while her friend Molly was being finger-banged by Mark and she was ferociously stroking his member. If the latter was the reason all I have to say is “To hell with Molly and her stupid fake name!”
I moved back up without kissing her body, took off her pants and was in. At this time I heard Harry on the inflatable mattress pounding with an incredible speed and force as if he was attacking the girls vagina with all his might. At one point it sounded like he was trying to split her in half. But she had obviously had larger, wider beasts inside of her and made no sounds of pain but more sounds of pleasure. Maybe because she was on MDMA. She, still can’t remember her name, moaned as loudly as she could allow herself to without interfering with the two other couples on the bed. Her moaning was still loud though. Everything seemed awkward and wonderful when suddenly a song came on that made all we were doing seem idiotic: ‘Twisting by the Pool’ by Dire Straits. We had been listening to their quieter songs such as ‘Romeo and Juliet’, ‘Tunnel of Love’, ‘Your Latest Trick’, but almost as a joke played by the gods this upbeat, jolly and meaningless song filled the room and we could not do anything but laugh.
Still inside Florence, I tried to hold back the laughter but it was too late. I couldn’t stop it and the laugh took over me and I was gone. Laughing away everyone else, probably having thought the same, broke into laughter too and in that moment, as my eyes were filling with water, it was like the six of us had known each other for such a long time, all been friends and one night we had all just had too much to drink, and been a bit too horny, and so we had ended up in bed together. Apart from the arm-wrestle bit which some found funnier than others, this was the first time we all had a good time together, and all understood that what we were doing was surely strange, and how wonderful was that?
Chapter
II
I pulled out of Florence and walked over to the iPod playing the music. Still the same song but the laughter had died down, and now it was just annoying. Found a different Straits song. A quiet one. Can’t remember the name. I got back into bed with Florence, this time almost about to fall off the bed again, but managed to put one leg down on the ground to keep me up. Me falling off would just have been plain pitiful this time. I got back inside Florence and began to move slowly. I had no intention of making a ruckus, such as Harry had been doing, I had been ungentlemanly enough for one day. Maybe. So I gently, still with determination, fed her my penis, holding her tight and she fastened her grip holding my hair. Mark and Molly were still playing the old tug and fingering game. Good for them. I got Florence on top and thought it a good idea to try to put my slong up her ass. Slong? Anyway since I had recently come I thought I might have to push the limits and venture into uncharted territory. She was up for it. Good for me. Or us depending on Florence of course. she tried to wriggle her anus down over my penis both wet from her vagina. Easy access when wet. But something was wrong. She seemed a bit uneasy with the whole situation. Like someone not at home so I whispered into her ear.
“Let’s go outside. I know a place.”
We got up, pants on of course, I’m not walking butt-naked with a hard-on by my friends. They might have a seizure, and no one wants anyone to have a seizure on a night of lovemaking. Apart from the wife who’s man is cheating on her. I’m wandering off. Sorry. We walked out of the room and down the sexless , almost life-depriving hallway, with its wall to wall, blue carpet and once white walls, now colored by time, to the washing room. This so-called washing room with its three washing machines, only one working, and dryer seemed to suck away more lust than the hallway. I kissed her quickly up and down her neck then turned her around and tried to enter her ass. But it had all dried up and was now a battle between my penis string (I’m not circumcised) and her anus. I pushed, knowing it hurt her, but it had to be done. I got halfway in, and started to move it in and out, hoping it would widen and make for easy access. But no. no, no, no. it hurt me as well. Screw it. I turned her around, lifted her up on the washing machine, and entered her. She had sort of dried up due to the pain I guess, but after a few pushes I slid right in. Ahhh. That good old feeling. The only feeling I would ever have in common with cavemen. The only feeling I would ever truly have in common with any man. If he was into vagina that is. I pounded away for some time, this time it feeling better than in the toilet, maybe because I had room to move. There was only one problem, my belt buckle kept pounding into the washing machine, making quite the racket, and the doors in the hall were terribly thin, so you could, if you wanted to, and some people did, hear any noise coming from the hallway. So awkwardly, I tried to pull my belt out of my pants, all the while moving forwards and backwards. I’m not good at multitasking. She probably felt that. My lack of concentration. Stop the sound being made by the belt or concentrate on her? I’d rather get rid of my belt then get caught in the washing room which we all shared, 10-14 people, and here I was banging a woman on top of a machine that was to clean all our clothes. It would be unseemly if I were caught. Off with the belt.
Anyway bac
k to it. I lifted Florence off, turned her around, again, and penetrated her from behind. Not in the ass just from behind. And here it was I saw something strange as I was pounding her. There was a mirror in front of us, and I saw my own reflection. My terrible reflection. I did not look like myself. It was some strange being that was, without logic or reason, forcing his rod (rod?) into a helpless female. I looked like a rapist I thought. Not that I know what a rapist looks like, but the fire in my eyes seemed inhuman. Maybe all men were inhuman when having sex. It might turn us all into some beast that has no purpose but to reproduce, and then dies. I quickly looked away in fear of what my so-called cum-face might look like. It must be the most horrible face ever to be pulled by a man. Don’t know why my past girlfriends wanted me to look them in the eyes when I came. There is so much about women I don’t understand. Good. Still got something to learn.
So I looked away, now concentrating on the task at hand: sex. I gave her the last of my energy, as I could feel I was about to come. I can’t come quietly. I always make a noise. It must have been even louder than the belt knocking against the washing machine. I roared and came deep inside of her, and she let out several moans, hopefully complimenting me, my work and my penis. That’s what I like to think anyway. We walked out of the washing room, down the hallway and entered the room. Mark and Molly were at it.
Chapter
III
“Ah come on!” Mark and Molly shouted at the same time as Florence and I entered the room. They had apparently hopped to have the bed for some time. I was later to find out that I had “saved” Mark as he really didn’t want to have sex with Molly, but just got carried away. Apparently I was the savior of boys led astray. The savior who came twice during a night of sex in a narrow, cramped room. The saint of cramped room sex? Florence and I got into bed, pulled a blanket over us and fell to sleep. Cramped, about-to-fall-out-of-bed sleep. Not the good kind. But I slept. It was around 5 or 6 in the morning.
I awoke faintly as I saw Harry’s girl and Molly get up and leave the room. Apparently they had some plans for the day. Florence stayed. Harry got up two hours later; he had to go to work. I didn’t hear him leave. I truly awoke around 1 o’clock and got up. I could still feel the alcohol in my blood. That’s the best way to feel after a night of drinking. You see then you can get out of bed, have a cigarette, something to eat and not feel bad. The pain came later, true, but when it comes, you have already done all the things you need to do, to get through the day. Mark, Florence and I went down to Mark and I’s local café, had a coffee and something to eat. I bought Florence a tea, she being English and all. We ate and sat outside smoking. She needed to take a train from Liverpool street station. Apparently she lived in Brighton. We didn’t talk much or Mark and I didn’t talk much, but Florence was even less shy when sober.
“I just love Lars von trier. His movies are so amassing. Have you ever seen his work?”
“Yes.” I said sleep deprived. “Yes I have seen some of his work.”
“See this?” she pulled out her phone that had a picture of Mr. Von Trier as a background photo. “I think he is just so exciting. I have this picture to remind me of my work.” She wanted to be a cinematographer.
“That’s cool.” I said not really caring about her obsession with Lars Von Trier. “I’ll follow you down to the station.”
“Thanks.” She said joyfully, as if no man had ever even followed her to the door to let her out.
We followed her down, I gave her a kiss and Mark and I walked, as we had done many times, too many maybe, around Shoreditch and just talked. We talked about what had happened the night before what we had thought in certain situations and then about life. And life was good enough. I guess. Apart from the oncoming hangover.
