Sex by numbers - it works for me!  

jj40vv 57M
7 posts
1/24/2006 10:58 pm

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

Sex by numbers - it works for me!

It’s great to wake thinking about sex, it’s even better to be doing it. To be actively engaged. To be at it. I was at it alright. Humping. It crosses my mind, as it so often does at moments like these, that what I am doing may not be real. What was I doing a moment ago? Before this? I’ve forgotten already.

There’s no way to tell.

“Doubling numbers works best,” she says,

She is pretty. She is keen. I give her my attention. Her grip is tight, her shaft slender and short. I recognise her voice, I put a hand into her hair. I am back with her? But when? We had ... we were. I didn’t think we ever ...

“You told me that.” She says, turning her head.

Antonia. I smile. I know the face, if not the body. This is good. I enter a place I’ve never been to and find we are having sex.

I reach in front of her and find her sex. I touch her clitoris and her buttocks push against me. I can’t hold back the twitching in my balls.

“If you can’t hold your concentration - you’ll get this.”

I look round as a leather twitch nips my buttocks. It is held by a Fiona. My balls go tight, my prick stays stiff. Best to obey orders, at first at least. They know why I am here even if I don’t.

Nothing surprises me. I no longer think ‘where did she come from, or he come from, or they come from. Stuff happens, Events occur. I appear and reappear, disappear and return at random. I always have and will always do.

Fiona is in her early twenties, so is Antonia ‒ I guess that makes me the same age too. Its one of the first things I want to know. How old am I?

Fiona is naked except for a fur coat, A fake. It’s the first thing I recognise. Dad called it ‘the bear.’ I gave it to Oxfam, which allows me to place myself at some time in the 1980s.

Fiona’s skin is pale, not a tan line on her. I spot the tampon string hanging between her legs. She gives me another twitch with her stick just as my mind is able to connect her with a name and a life drawing class. I did a drawing of her naked a month or so ago. She had her period then. I annoyed her by spending longer sketching the intricate twirl of the string between her legs than I did on her eyes.

I can assume by this stage that I’m a similar age.

My task is to fuck my friend Antonia until Fiona says I can come. We’ve done this before. And look. I’ve just put a name to these buttocks and this back. She turns as if hearing me call her name from inside my head. Fiona I love, but we’re not lovers. Antonia has been my obsession for a decade and this is the second time I’ve had her.

I smirk. Antonia grins back. Fiona beats my buttocks. She wants me to ride her friend, not get intimate. I am a horse.

We’ve been drinking; they have at least. There’s a giggly bravado about what we’re doing.

‘Ouch!’ The sting makes my penis swell; the strangle grip of Antonia’s sex is too much. I want to pull out. I think I might rupture, I won’t come, I’ll burst then bleed to death.

We rearrange ourselves. I sit on the edge of the bed, Antonia climbs over me. I enter her. We clasp each other like two sides of a shell. Fiona is not pleased, it’s as if we’ve shut her out.

I realise where we are. It is called ‘The Tapestry Room.’ The bed is an oak four-poster; there’s even a date on it - 1599. The location is Appleby Castle, Cumbria.

Antonia rubs her clitoris against me. I can feel her wanting to cum. I mustn’t. It’s hard to distract myself. I have dreamt of having sex with Antonia since I was 14.

Look. Doing well here. I know who I am with, where we are and my approximate age. I know also that I must not let on, not suggest that I live this life at random, that yesterday, if any sense of the day before makes sense, I may have been in my forties, not my twenties, the day before yesterday I could have been in my teens, I may have been at school or nursery school, or on my gap year, or sitting my Finals or getting married, or attending my sons birth.

I get married, I have children!!

Another smirk crosses my face. I must have a happy life then.

Jonathan’s life is not lived along a timeline. One day does not follow another. His life is like a hundred thousand leaves thrown into the air ‒ it has no end and he has yet to find the beginning. All that he knows is that it doesn’t bare thinking about for long, he does so and the moment could evaporate. He MUST live for the moment or lose it and maybe never experience it again.

Jonathan talks to himself, in his head, often. Always.

‘I have a way of holding my concentration.’ He says to himself , ‘Of keeping myself erect. I take any number below thirty, and then double it. Then keep doubling until she is ready.’

‘Twenty Seven’ I begin.

‘Fifty Four’ I continue, smiling to myself as Antonia’s eyes, partly open, roll into the back of her head. Someone else does that, I think to myself, but for now I don’t care who.

“One Hundred and Eight.”

I reach for Antonia’s right hand and place it between us. She must touch herself, she must help herself this way or we’ll never get there. It works for ... oh never mind.

“Two hundred and sixteen.”

I feel myself get cramp in my left foot, exactly the kind of cramp I get when swimming, 60 lengths into a 100 length swim.

“Four hundred and thirty two.”

Antonia touches herself and opens her eyes. I find the sensation of her knuckles down there exciting. I’d like to watch Antonia masturbate, but she’d never do it for me. I wonder. She can tell I’m thinking about something. Does she think I’m thinking about someone else.

“Eight Hundred And Sixty Four.” I say out loud.

She looks at me for an explanation. She doesn’t understand.

‘The number of times my penis has thrust into your vagina.’ I say.

She likes the sound of this and rides me. I wonder where Fiona has gone. I look around. There’s music. Instantly familiar, Human League.

‘Is there a party on somewhere?’

I look across the bed and the floor. There’s a dress, not mine obviously. And DJs. Black tie. I need a mirror. I need to see how old I am.

Antonia is light. I place my feet on the carpet, lift Antonia, her legs wrap around me and I walk over to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room.

I’ve had a shock doing this, thinking I’m in my twenties and finding I’m an old man ‒ I doubt I’d be carrying anyone across the room, impaled on my penis if I were in my sixties though.

I see a prat; I smile at him. I didn’t think of myself as a prat at the time, but I do now. I see myself as if looking at myself in a movie of the life of ...

‘And it’s my party! My 21st.’

There’s a knock at the door.

‘Jonathan!’

It’s my mother.

‘Just coming!’

I say.

Antonia giggles. I press her up against the tapestry, one of her legs drop. I push into her. She gasps.

‘You can come now.’ She says, but I don’t want to.

‘Jonathan, they’re waiting!’

‘One Thousand Seven Hundred And Twenty Eight’

‘Jonathan!’

‘I must make it to a million and something. I must make it to a million. I always make it to a million or more.’

Mum tests the door, I hear the latch lift ‒ she’s going to come in. I take Antonia’s weight, my left hand under her buttocks. I walk to the door and shove it shut.

“I’m coming.” She whispers into my ear and begins to shake like a mental patient going through electro-shock treatment.

‘Three Thousand Four Hundred And Fifty Six’

I take Antonia over to the bed. She turns boneless, like a duvet that’s been dropped into a swimming pool. My penis deflates; I’m not about to ejaculate, There are other things on my mind. I rest the exposed head of my limp penis against Antonia’s sex.

“They can’t find the brick!” My mother says from behind the door.

‘The what?’ I think. ‘A brick?’

I use my penis like a fat finger; I play with Antonia. It arouses me that he sex is so open and so wet. It’s as if she is in coma, in a dream - gone, fainted from sex, knocked out by her own orgasm. She twitches as the head of my penis kisses her clitoris. She reaches for me with a hand and tucks me in, puts a hand out and entangles me with her legs.

‘Not yet. Let me ... I just. Let me.’

‘A brick?’

And then I remember. To get everyone out of the disco and into the swimming pool I’d said that the first person to find the brick in the bottom of the pool would win a case of champagne.

Antonia grips me. She gets my attention. She snatches as my penis.

“Come for me,’ she says, and I do. Or nearly do. I don’t know, because at the moment of ejaculation I vanish.

Which kind of sums up my life, I never know if I am coming or going.


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