There might be virtue in having a roll in the hay in the countryside as long as you’re not a hay fever sufferer but for me sex in the city is the best place any time of the year.
Even if you just go out for a frappucino or a latte in your local coffee bar there are normally people around, customers the barristas who you could spend some time fantasising over while you blow the froth and lick your lips suggestively at the filthy thoughts you’re entertaining. Somehow fantasising about strangers is deliciously taboo. You know absolutely nothing about them apart from their appearance that you’re drinking in and attaching to scenarios you might not even share with your best friend.
Take the cute little tight-assed foreigner I came across the other day. I’m not sure where he came from but he looked Mediterranean, perhaps Portuguese or Italian? Anyway his heavy accent was the first turn on which is why I followed his stroll behind the counter. Given a little lube and some interesting toys I conjured up the pair of us together, me in a teasing set of seductive sexy lingerie and him oiled up and glistening absolutely naked. I entertained the blissful image for a moment or two then I wondered how I would cope with the language barrier we might face. No problem, thought I, the language of love (well, lust in this case) is universal so demonstrating a little bit of work with a dildo should soon encourage him to join in and then I’d show him my toy collection for him to choose something for himself to wear or use on me.
Just as I was getting all moist in my pants I was snapped out of my reverie by the dreamboat bringing me the bill for the coffee I had ordered, which reminded me that my lunch break was over and it was time to get back to the grind.
I was oddly looking forward to it; the grind…there might be something worthy of my attention back at reception, who knows?
