By I, Voyager
The summer of 1980 seems a long time ago now. I’d just been medically
discharged from the Royal Air Force after a bad motorbike accident. At
twenty one I was working in a pub in York for the summer before
starting University in nearby Leeds that autumn.
It was a confusing time of mixed feelings and change. I’d spent four
and a half good years in the air force, always having wanted to fly,
but now fate had closed that particular future timeline for me. At
sixteen family circumstances meant I needed to leave home and I
therefore joined the RAF straight after my ‘O’ levels, thinking that
I’d lost the chance of a University education. Now I had a second
chance, thanks to the education classes I took in the air force, a
full student grant and the expected compensation for my accident.
On the change front I’d already moved apartments and I was coming to
the end of a once promising relationship with Edwina, the wild child
daughter of a senior RAF officer. It was dawning on me that she was
probably more turned on by my uniform, motorbike, lifestyle and the
fact that her father intensely disliked me then she was by who I
really was.
As so often happens in these cases sexual activity increased as the
relationship slipped away; we hardly talked but we fucked each other
with a desperate intensity. Despite the lust we shared she didn’t want
a student as a boyfriend, so she was already lining up a few possible
replacements at the nearby No.1 Flying Training School at RAF
Linton-on-Ouse.
One day that summer stands out among all the others for reasons that
will soon become obvious. It was a Fiday. I woke up at about 8:30am in
Edwina’s bedroom with a throbbing headache from drinking too much wine
the night before. I’d been roused from my sleep by some very noisy
lovemaking coming from the adjoining room, produced my Edwina’s house
mate Kelly and her Italian boyfriend. Kelly wasn’t so much a screamer
as a shrieker, making the most delicious high pitched sounds with
every received thrust.
Hangovers always had a strange effect on me. As usual I had a horrible
headache, a hard-on fit to burst and I felt as horny as hell. My
condition was aided by my mental pictures of the action next door –
Guido was certainly doing a hell of a job on Kelly – but also by the
fact that Edwina’s soft warm bottom and thigh were rubbing against my
leg and cock.
I felt it was fully appropriate and my duty as an Englishman to keep
my end up, so it were. Edwina was still asleep, but I gently
maneuvered her into position and started to ease my cock into her from
behind. Edwina stirred between sleep and reality. Ever the romantic,
she groaned, shoved me away and told me to “Fuck off and leave me
alone!” in a hoarse whisper.
It was obviously time for a charm offensive. She had a particularly
sensitive spot on the nape of her neck and another large erogenous
zone on her lower back just above her bottom. I kissed, licked and
nibbled one and stroked the other. The area on her back never ceased
to amaze me; it was almost like a six inch square clitoris. She was
tired, irritable and also had a hangover, but within a minute she had
a new primary motivation.
She groaned and pushed her hot arse into me. I moved my hand to the
front, slipped my finger into her nicely trimmed light brown bush,
stroking her wet cunt lips and gently tickling her clit. Pushing
forward I drove into her, feeling the sensuous pull of pussy flesh on
my cock.
We’d been quite active the night before and Edwina was very wet and
stretched, something that happened to her on occasion. I’d done it
with her like this before, with the trapped air giving her the farting
pussy syndrome, neither of us getting much friction and both of us
descending into giggles. This morning, however, I had to compete with
the increasingly noisy activity from the next room. I couldn’t have
the bloke next door listening to a wind concerto and coming to the
view that I was incapable of giving Edwina a good sorting out, so it
was time for Plan B.
Having fully lubricated the one eyed snake in her wet well, I withdrew
it and eased forward and moved toward the portals of a somewhat
smaller and tighter orifice, still stroking her pussy with my hand to
keep her warmed up.
It quickly dawned on Eddi that I was heading toward what Americans
describe as the Hershey Bar Highway and we Brits sometimes term the
Bourneville Boulevard. “Oh no you fucking don’t!” she muttered “I’m
having lunch with my Dad and I don’t want to be walking like John
Wayne!”.
I’d been here before, however, and knew the key to success. I held my
prick with one hand and rubbed the head of it gently around her tight
little arsehole. Silence. I slowed my rubbing and eventually stopped.
“Okay, just rub it a little bit more, if you like!” she said. We were
now on the final furlong. I rubbed the head of my penis on her
sensitive anus just a little longer, before she mentioned that perhaps
I could just ease the head in a little after all. I did so, but
needless to say it didn’t stop there.
Within seconds I was up to my balls in her hot, tight arse. “You
bastard!” she hissed. “You always fucking do this!”
I pistoned slowly but firmly into her hot arse, varying my angles,
stroking her pussy and biting her back at the same time. Pretty soon
she was going wild, so wild and noisy that the creaking of the springs
and the screeching from next door had stopped while they took their
turn to listen. The friction of her arse was getting to me and I knew
I wouldn’t last long like this. Usually I’d have gone for broke and
buried my semen into her tight arse, but today I wanted to give our
previously noisy neighbours the finale they deserved.
I pulled out and flipped Eddi onto her back, entering her in the
missionary position. I thrust into her only six or seven times, then
quietly told her to close her legs one at a time while I carefully put
my knees outside her thighs. When I’d completed the first part of the
maneuver she crossed her pretty little feet. She grinned in
recognition; she loved this position. It tightened her pussy for me
and ensured the head of my penis pleasured her clit mercilessly on
every stroke.
I moved into a rhythm of alternating long and short strokes. Her
breathing grew more ragged on every stroke and she started to swear
and request heavenly assistance with something. I was nearly there now
and had to think of the ultimate turn-off, our then Prime Minister
Margaret Thatcher naked, to enable me to gain some control over my old
man. Soon Eddi was in the throes of a rather sizable orgasm so I could
relax, stop thinking of England, and deliver her a full portion of
baby gravy.
As both of us panted, groaned and slowly recovered, I heard gasps,
giggles and a muttered “Bravo” from the next room. Belissimo, I
thought.
I got showered to the sound of Guido and Kelly finishing what they’d
started with a cresendo of groans and screams. As I dressed Eddi
appraised me. I was still a bit sensitive about the 12 inch scar on my
back, but other than that I knew I didn’t look too bad; I’d worked
hard for the 10 inch drop between my chest size and waist size. She
smiled a sad half smile. “You really, really, are a bastard you know.
You have your good points, though! It’s a shame and I’ll miss you.” I
felt the same way; any bitterness was gone. It was over, we wouldn’t
make love again but we’d finished on a high and without regrets.
As I left I met Guido in the hallway. We said hello, he said “Bravo”
again and asked if I was really English. A lot of people ask me that
question from time to time, and in truth I’m a bit of a mongrel, but
I’m at least 50% English so I answered in the affirmative. “Well”, he
said, “You look and you seem to fuck like a Latin. Maybe you have
some Italian blood?”
I knew I hadn’t, but I said perhaps and we both smiled. Then I had to
rush off. It was 10:05am and I was already five minutes late at the
Pub.