Following on from last time’s post about the great divide of persons between I’m inclined to continue with a focus on sex related to Christmas and New Year’s. Whilst my previous post addressed life as a singleton finding sex at these particular holidays I feel this week I’ll focus on whether there are any significant changes in sex at these particular times when in a permanent solid relation ship.
In short – there’s not. Being single and slutty or wife-ish and whorish has absolutely no impact on the kind of sex available and on offer on these dates. Somewhere deep in the subconscious the preferred date is seared not only on the brain but the loins and one responds accordingly.
Me? I like sex all the time and having never been in a proper relationship until my 30’s one thing I was determined to do was make the most of having sex on tap and available to me. No longer would I have to go out on the prowl to ensure a festive fucks.
Christmas is a time of giving and sex is readily available. But it is still a family holiday and when you have one foot Australia and the other in the UK it tends to mean you and your family are joined at the hip – at least in terms of accommodation at this time of the year. If in Australia I’d be staying with my folks and was not in a position to insist on Christmas clubbing and then bringing a random dick back to finally christen my virgin bed (which still remains so and I’m now 35!). If my family were over from the UK we’d be staying at a rather posh Downton Abbey-esque hotel by the sea in Norfolk which limited the amount of dicks available considerably– normally nil because it was a ‘family’ hotel of the English genteel so finding a single man willing to shag a horny common slutty Australian was difficult to say the least.
After I found a man I assumed all this would change.
Not necessarily so. Because Christmas and New Year’s fall in close proximity the same problems plaguing my Christmas cock endeavours also impinged on my New Year’s nobbing.
For the first New Year’s I had my boyfriend rather romantically we had been separated – me with my parents, brother and wife and niece and nephew in a restored barn in Lincoln; my fellow with his newly wedded father in London. Irrespective of the emotional blackmail his father burdened upon him (‘This could be my last Christmas,’ he wailed. ‘And I could go under a bus tomorrow,’ quipped my boyfriend.) He spontaneously caught a train to Lincoln to join me for New Year’s Eve. This wasn’t just to impress my parents, nor was it a grand gesture on his part confirming our shared devotion. It was a lusty journey because he hadn’t had a New Year’s fuck in over 10 years. Thus he felt it worth the effort and I was excited because not being a ‘New Year’s’ person I had never had a shag to welcome in the New Year.
Sadly it was all a little disappointing. My boyfriend was a recovering alcoholic and having recently packed in the booze was low on energy and physically recovering from excessive alcohol abuse for 3 years on his 45 year old body. The valium may have eased his need for the drink but it did render performance problems. I had never really had sex before with my parents in the next bedroom so couldn’t really let loose and ride in the New Year with any vigour or vocalisation. It ended up being a very vanilla style session. We adopted a very last session laying side by side, my leg raised for his entry and then a slow, deep, constant penetration to ensure the bed wasn’t rocking audibly and the headboard wasn’t banging rhythmically to alert my parents to what activity their little girl was indulging in. My orgasm muffled by a pillow and his tampered by his inhibited English manners. His inhibition was so great he was reluctant to even cum for fear of him staining the bed. It was a short celebratory session. Both of us smiling in the dark that we’d finally broken the New Year’s sex drought (mine at 31 years significantly longer tan his ten year abstinence) but also realistic at the subdued nature of the act of love.
What made it so disappointing was that only a week earlier we’d been be staying at a rather posh Downton Abbey-esque hotel by the sea in Norfolk and I’d been riding him and screaming down the house for three nights and mornings on the trot.
Even earlier in the Christmas season his lust had been so frenzied that when I’d been drunk and returned home from my work Christmas party in a cab because I couldn’t stand up straight let alone string a sentence together with any coherence and had vomit down my chin, he opened the front door where I was being deposited with the greeting, ‘Wow you look like a movie star!’ (Really??? In that state???).
It was true, it was the first time he’d seen me fully made up and in a dress but 6 hours of non-stop binge drinking really should’ve taken the shine off me. Instead he looked at me like I was a mesmerising Christmas tree in Times Square and began pushing me up the stairs.
I got up stairs and collapsed on our bed, only to wake an hour later with his hard cock pushing at my buttocks. The minute I groaned, authorising my state of wakefulness he wasted no time in pulling at my control knickers and tights. I could feel his hard cock placing itself between my plump bum cheeks and as he continued to thrust he reached around my front to see how wet I was. And even drunk I was wet and wanting. His hand could feel how moist I was and his fingers slipped in easily. After finger-blasting my vagina, spreading it and bringing my to my first orgasm, my responsive moans had him demanding a little more action from me.
He insisted I get on all fours for a doggy style ramming. My head was in the bed already pounding with tomorrow morning’s hangover. We agreed later, given my state, it was borderline date rape, but kinda sexy cause it was safe. I was begging him no more but he wasn’t having it. If anything he was making me look in the mirror to acknowledge how allegedly beautiful I was and then thrusting his cock into my mouth.
Knowing I was unable to physically prevent him from having his wicked way he then started telling me he wanted to ‘fuck my arse’. I love anal – as does he – but am normally hygienic about it and like to feel comfortable. Because I was drunk and worried about muscle control (or rather the lack of) I pleaded with him not too. I said I was worried about a mess and knew I had to go to the toilet so felt uncomfortable about it. All this was mumbled and he shook his head and said we’d done far filthier and had far bigger messes take place in the bed. When I expressed my concern about the passage not being clean he was not deterred by my concern and confession of a few stumbling, brown obstacles that may hinder the process of an anal pounding.
STOP READING HERE IF YOU ARE OF A NERVOUS DISPOSITION
In a festive fucking frenzy whilst using his fingers and some baby oil to prime my arse and widen the entrance for his overly thick cock he reached up inside and pulled three malteaser size balls of poo from my bottom. I realise this sounds gross but for him to do that and not lose his erection I can only assume I must’ve looked fucking gorgeous that night. To my shame I was so inebriated I was fascinated that he’d done it and while he forced his cock into my ring piece I watched with an almost childish joy as I saw the three little balls roll down the mattress. I was about to grab them, marvelling at how perfectly symmetrical, smooth and round they were but was prevented from doing so as my boyfriend slapped my arse hard, pulled my hair and thrust deep and then came, making me cry out and forget the poo and focus on the pain and pleasure.
That was certainly a Christmas cracker and a great start to the festive season in 2009. It’s just a shame the sexual start to the New Year of 2010 involved a rather bland, conservative and restrained speedy almost teenage pump. So being single or involved will not influence your sexual takings for these festive holidays. I’m now married and I have to say Christmas remains a bonanza spectacular style attitude to festive fucking (thankfully there is no more forceful faeces extraction required) but New Year’s we don’t even bother with – better to have no sex than bad sex. Who wants to start the New Year with a lousy fuck???
