When a mid-winter sprint became a marathon




“Shall we retire?”

In temporary silence which punctuated the end of the CD, my charismatic dinner companion rose from the table, selected a glowing candlestick from the table and offered a courtly arm. I carefully put down my brandy balloon, stood up and took the proffered limb, appreciating as I did so the feel of the deep maroon velvet beneath my hand, and the solidity of the arm beneath it.

So it had come to this. My pulse fluttered nervously, the question had answered one of my own, but provided no real resolution to others, including the big one I was too uncertain to ask; “Why me? Why now?” I glanced at the other two men in the room. Dan looked up from his lounge chair, raised one hand awkwardly from his self appointed task of petting the cat and waved goodnight. Colin was engrossed in changing the CD – no easy task by candlelight; flinging the discarded disc randomly onto the floor where it joined a dozen others.

My hearing had been assaulted at intervals throughout the evening by loud music and aggressive political lyrics, punctuated by occasional forays into conversation which mostly covered the topics of punk, literature and the house we were in. As Dan finalised the roast in the gas oven, and my taste buds appreciated the red wine and later the brandy that Gerard took as part of his wages from his uncle’s pub in Melbourne I learned that they had all been squatting in the house for about six months with the tacit knowledge of the owner, who planned to demolish it later in the year.

I stepped carefully over the tatty, disc strewn carpet, my hand on Gerard’s arm, wondering tangentially as I did so: What would become of our dinner plates? Would the dirty plates join the CD’s on the floor, or did a more novel fate await them? I glanced upwards to the pressed metal ceiling from which dozen’s of used tea bags depended. I’d never been in a squat before, Gerard’s arrival and dinner invitation had taken me completely by surprise, the decaying house similarly so.

No electricity, discarded CD’s on the floor, tea-bags hanging from the ceiling where they were flung after our tea was brewed. These aspects of the house competed weirdly and yet appropriately with threadbare middle eastern rugs, moth eaten velvet curtains, and an assortment of crumbling antique wooden furniture. The oven and the dining room fireplace were the only source of warmth in the rambling house, as I’d found when I had occasion to visit the bathroom earlier.

Leaning on his arm to steady myself, I accompanied Gerard to his cramped, chilly and surprisingly sparse room. Like the rest of the house, its walls were covered in faded and peeling plaster; riddled with small cracks and mysteriously pocked with nail heads. His bed, a chipped metal cot, occupied the wall on one side of the door, a metal rack covered in jackets, trousers and shirts, the other. A small table propped up on one side by stacks of books faced the door. Gerard placed the candlestick on the opposite end of the table and carefully removed his velvet jacket, hanging it first on a wire coathanger, and then on the rack. The light flickered slightly, caught by an unseen draught. Our distorted shadows danced across the ceiling, pools of darkness gathered around the edges of the room.

The sounds of  The Dead Kennedy’s  song “Too Drunk To Fuck” pounded through the doors and I laughed awkwardly, more than a little nervous. I  hoped that song wasn’t prophetic. That brandy had been strong, and while Gerard was part of the broader literature circle I moved in at Uni, he’d never indicated any sexual interest in me before this, although I’d certainly fancied him. He had, up until a couple of months ago been dating a girl my brother was now seeing. Dan, on the other hand was a mate but not a student, and I willingly went with the group when they’d arrived unexpectedly at my door and invited me to a roast dinner. I had little else to do, the midyear break was only days old and I was already bored.

Shivering a little in the cold, it was winter after all, I watched with frank interest as Gerard stripped off his stylish shoes, trousers, shirt and underpants but left his long white singlet and socks on, before lifting back the bedcovers and laying down on the saggy mattress. Following his lead I removed my boots, undid my jeans and took off my cotton knickers, smelling my own arousal as I did so; hesitating over my jumper.

“Leave it on, it’s too cold. ”

I made as if to get in beside him, but he gestured impatiently toward his cock, defiantly erect above the singlet, despite the chill.

“Get on the bed. Turn around. Sit on my face.”

Surprised at the abrupt command but compliant – we were clearly not going for the romantic kissy kissy option here,  I turned my ass toward him, and lowered myself toward his waiting mouth. Pulling me in close he immediately he began to lick my cunt, his tongue and thick lips working in unfamiliar rhythms, while his cold hands reached, shockingly, under my jumper to free both breasts from the bra I wore, pinching my nipples to instant attention. Gerard’s cock was wavering needfully in front of my face, and I balanced briefly on three limbs while I completed a one hand capture, taking first the head and then his length into my mouth. I’ve always found 69 physically awkward, I lose concentration too easily, my sense of rhythm is readily confounded at the best of times. In this instance the drinking didn’t help, although I worked with a will to match his enthusiasm, aroused but strangely distant.

After a short while his tongue moved away and I felt his fingers begin to work on me, pinching, thrusting and rubbing, creating slickness and a mounting heat, while I continued to struggle with my end of the equation.

“Sit on my dick.” A new command, but one I felt better able to manage. He gave no indication that he wanted me to turn around, so I shuffled down and impaled myself slowly on his thick, angry erection. Working my thigh muscles hard, I rose and fell, managing a more definite rhythm now I wasn’t distracted, occasionally circling and grinding my cunt into the base of his shaft. Sliding one hand between his thighs, I pulled and tugged at his balls, while he held onto my hips and thrust bruisingly upwards.

His rhythm slowed, stopped, then he raised my hips with his hands, pushing my wetness away from him. Surprised, I turned my head and upper body toward him.

“Come up here.”

The command seemed gentler somehow, although his face was obscured in the shadows. We swapped ends. He positioned me at the head of the bed, his penis at my opening, entering me determinedly from behind. Holding onto the metal bed end, meeting him thrust for thrust, I clutched at his shaft, milking it with my internal muscles,  while his fingers worked my clit energetically. A hot liquid pulse surged through my cunt as he erupted with a sigh, setting off a chain reaction that in turn brought about my own shouted release.

Disentangling himself carefully from my body, Gerard vacated the bed, urging me to slide under the covers to stay warm, while he procured a drink for us both. Wrapping himself in a woollen robe he left the room, closing the door behind him. In the sudden silence that followed his departure I realised that The Dead Kennedy’s too, had reached a conclusion. Flipping back the covers, I repositioned my breasts inside the bra, hunted for and donned my underwear and then my jeans. I was lacing up my boots when Gerard returned, a steaming mug in each hand. Observing my self restoration, he nodded, and handed me one of the tea’s.

“I’ve just spoken to Colin. He’ll give you a lift home when you’re ready.”


“It’s better I think, the bed is very narrow, and it’s very cold in here. You’ll be more comfortable in your own bed.”

“Yes. Yes, I will. Thanks.”

Later that night as lay in my own bed, freshly showered, sober and wearing clean underwear, I puzzled over the evening, unable to decipher Gerard’s motives, and wondering what difference my drinking had made to the strangely passionless sexual experience itself. In retrospect the whole evening had taken on the gruelling pace of a marathon, although in reality it had really only been a sprint, and an odd one at that. I wondered what Gerard and I would have to say to each other when uni started again, I hoped it wouldn’t be too awkward.

As it eventuated I had no reason to be concerned. Gerard didn’t return to Uni at the start of the next semester, he went back to Melbourne and full time work at his uncle’s pub, although I only found that out by accident. With his departure Dan and Colin found themselves at a loss, and within a few short weeks they too had moved on. I didn’t see Dan again for about 16 years, and when I did, I did not recognise him. He’d been set upon by a group of Nazi thugs and badly beaten, eventually being given a pension and compensation by the Victims of Crime Association.

We sat at a kitchen table at a party reminiscing and getting to know one another again. He finally gave me answers to the questions that had lingered in my mind after that strange night so long ago, although he assured me that the answers he gave  were not ones he knew about in advance, and I had no reason to doubt him. It eventuated that Gerard had decided to have sex with me because of my family relationship. He couldn’t fathom why his girlfriend had left him for my brother, and in his confusion decided to “try me out” to see if it was something to do with some mysterious family sexual ability.

Funnily enough if I hadn’t been put somewhat off kilter by his unexpected interest, I may not have had as much to drink that night, and might have ‘performed’ more effectively, which in turn may have given him the answer he was seeking. While I wasn’t “too drunk to fuck” I was “too drunk to fuck well”.  Looking back, my life is full of strange twists and turns and this was definitely one of them.

I’ve said before that I have been lucky that I never compromised my physical/sexual health in jeopardy despite being active in an era when unprotected sex was common. While Gerard and I had both a ‘one-night stand’ and unprotected sex that night, this was a very rare occasion and I was lucky. I did have unprotected sex with my longer term partners (including Ryan) after our status and trust was established. It’s not something I would do in the current day and age, or something I would advocate others do. Just saying.


This post is linked to the following memes and prompts:
Wicked Wednesday – Marathon; KinkoftheWeek, Winter.
To see who else is playing click on the links below.







31 thoughts on “When a mid-winter sprint became a marathon

  1. Even though you could not perform the way you wanted that night, I still find this a very sexy account of the events. Also nice that you got some answer to your questions years later. I love how many personal accounts you share with us 🙂

    Rebel xox

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks Rebel! I appreciate the feedback as always. The funny thing was I didn’t intend this to be so long, it just kept on writing itself… I was going to document three ” sprints” as one “marathon” but I’ll save the others for later. The old house they lived in and the way they lived still fascinates me after all this time…☺️


  2. Oh Indie! What wonderful powers of description you have. Not only the sex, which is pulsatingly vibrant, but you have also brought that squat to life in a truly remarkable and memorable way. Brilliant. CP xxx

    Liked by 1 person

  3. It always surprises me in life about how years later you receive answers you never anticipated getting – Life dotting the eyes and crossing the T’s for us.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yes indeed. I recently discovered an interesting item in my late brothers effects that confirmed something I suspected about his sexuality. I probably saw it when he died but it had no obvious meaning until I began to look at Shibari bondage as a possibility. I’ll say no more – spoilers, but I do agree.


  4. Wow – he decided to “try you out”? That’s pretty twisted. *Does* your family have mysterious sexual abilities?! 😀 Your prose is gorgeous, Indie!!! I love how anachronistic this feels – candles and velvet jackets alongside CDs!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks so much Jo. I appreciate the feedback.It was all very peculiar.
      I believe my late bro did alright in the mysterious sexual abilities department, but there are some things a sib really doesn’t need to know! (And some things I’ve recently found out that I’ll share sometime soon). Many thanks! Indie xxx

      Liked by 1 person

      • Ha! I agree. I was just with my sister and best friend, and my sis brought up something about her sex life. I was visibly uncomfortable; my friend laughed and said, “Well – it’s about time someone else made *Jo* uncomfortable!” Hahahaha.

        Liked by 1 person

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