Vicarious

Julie entered wearing a short black skirt and a long T-shirt. Her nipples protruded from within the shirt. “Shit, what’s wrong with you?”

“Long story, I’m actually glad to see you.”

“You were supposed to come and get me, I basically had to sneak in here, everything OK with you?”

He reached for her and drew her close to him and the blanket. She laughed. “You can’t be cold, it must be thirty degrees out there, what’s wrong? Are you seriously OK?”

“I’m having a residual attack, hopefully, I’ll get over it soon, sorry for not coming to get you, but, I just woke up, don’t worry, I’ve got energy when it counts, make yourself a coffee if you want.”

“I’d rather a smoke.” She leaned over him and got one out of the packet. Steve, despite his illness, felt under her skirt. She drew back with an impish set to her face. “So much for being sick.”

“I said I could power up when it counts. Fuck me, suck me, the whole lot.”

“We’re in a caravan, it’d fucking rock.” She pulled Steve’s tracksuit pants down and covered the head of his dick with her mouth. Steve could only think of Kirsty and her tall, womanly shape. He knew it was a sin to think of another lover when one was trying their bloody best, but, who cared? Thinking of Kirsty brought on his libido rapidly, despite Julie’s amateurish fellatio, he found himself nearing climax, he had three fingers inside her, feeling the soft mucous linings and her clitoris. Kirsty was foremost on his mind. Her presence was in his head, he wanted her. He stopped Julie. “I’m about to come, you’ve got me at a horny stage of my career.”

“You serious? Julie masturbated him. He heard her girlish laughter as he fell back on the back. He felt the warmth of his semen on his stomach and he heard Julie’s mock-disgust and she wiped her hands. The orgasmic release seemed to fade his nausea and chill somewhat. He seemed partly energised, his fingers worked on her again as she straddled him. She examined his dick critically, feeling its contours and folds. As his fingers achieved a certain level in her, Julie’s play became more animated and frantic. Soon, Steve felt aroused enough again. She almost tore her clothes off and shoved her breasts in his face. Steve introduced her to the pleasures of soixiente-neuf, even pronouncing it in French for her, her vagina was moist, almost wet to repletion and his tongue found places of divine origin. He massaged the fuzz on her mons pubis, feeling the fat pad, and down in between her labia to her clitoris and urethra.

She watched him expectantly as he rolled the rubber on, and she watched him even more expectantly as his dick plumbed depths between her legs. He was gleeful at the bizarre admixture of sexual play and narcotic-induced infirmity. It’d gave him a delirium of sorts and he moved in and out of Julie like he was a pantomime in some Grand Guignol stage, slowly warmth returned to his bones and he sweated now from genuine humidity and heat rather than anything else. For this he was grateful, he tried to picture Kirsty beneath him, her tanned and healthy body writhing in contact, the concept made Steve truly elated and his love action with Julie developed a stridency. His tongue felt her fillings, the crannies and crevasses in or near her molars, their tongues feeling each other, tasting saliva, lips generating frissons of delight, Kirsty! You want love? You fucking teach me!