Suzanne Portnoy

The sleepover. Over the past year, the sleepover guy has been virtually obliterated from my life. Sure, there have been the occasional men that, having missed the last train home, had to share my bed. And there was the ‘boyfriend type’ who wasn’t actually a boyfriend only behaved like one but we stopped hanging out in November. My usual guys just cum and go and that suits me. It means I don’t have to worry about making small talk over breakfast, brewing up some coffee, having to perform the usual woman’s morning ritual (shower, hair, make-up) in front of them. I can take my time.

On Tuesday night, I had a last minute invite to go to a posh hotel in Windsor for some late night fun. I love hotels but rarely get a chance to stay in one so, of course, I said ‘yes.’ Never mind that it was a ’school night’ and I had to be at work the next day or that I knew my lover wasn’t going to be free from his business dinner until past eleven. All I thought about was sleeping in a hotel with someone sexy and fun. Clean sheets, clean pillows, hot guy. I got in my car and drove to the place, arriving at ten. He had left the key with one of the bar staff so I was able to get in without disturbing his meeting. The room was small but well equipped, with lots of expensive Molton Brown products in the bathroom. Looking around for the mini-bar, I realised there wasn’t one so I popped across the road to the Londis, the obvious hang-out for the local bored teenagers and crack addicts and bought the best bottle of wine I could find. I settled into the bath for a while, poured myself a glass of New World chardonnay, put on some sexy lingerie and waited for him to arrive on the not-very-big double bed.

At midnight he walked in through the door, slightly inebriated and wearing a checked shirt but definitely up for lots of fun and for the next three hours we had a very horny time, especially once I got him to take his clothes off. The checked shirt was a major distraction and unexpected. Checked shirts really should only be worn by twenty-something hot cowboys or ironically by emaciated gay men. But no matter, the man loved eating pussy, I mean absolutely loved it and I love being eaten out. It just gets all my endorphins going and makes me very light headed. I let him take his time, enjoying his tongue circling around my clit. His cock was rock hard the entire time and feeling myself get so wet and ready for him, I begged him to fuck me. He did and in some very unusual positions, some of which were new to me. By 3am, we had both cum and both having to wake up around 6am, we agreed that we should try to get some sleep. It was the first sensible idea one of us had had all night.

But could I sleep? Hell, no! I lay on that hotel pillow and could have counted a thousand sheep but still I couldn’t get to sleep. I snuggled up against my lover but that just made me a little horny again. Fact is, I’m out of practise when it comes to sleeping with a stranger. For the next three hours, I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep, figuring that even a pretend rest was as good as no rest at all. By 6am, I was actually beginning to feel dozy but a large and very stiff cock was pressing into my back. Well, obviously, there was absolutely no way I was going to be able to ignore that so I stroked it and he played with me until I just had to mount him. Then he got on top, fucked me hard and came all over my tits.

I liked to imagine I was milking him slowly but as he said later on, ‘I enjoyed you having your morning wank on top whilst pretending it was actually about milking me.’ I came in about five minutes. I do love morning sex.

‘Well, actually, I was thinking about milking you but yeh, you’re right, it really was just about me getting off.’

We both laughed while I wrote myself a secret reminder to not be quite so transparent next time.

Last night I slept for twelve hours… alone. The overnight was great but I really think I need to get more practise.

Sitting at the breakfast table, eating my overly priced Dorset Cereal muesli and feeling horny.  The two hours of sex talk I had on MSN last night is to blame. Quite why neither of us picked up the phone and had a real conversation only struck me at 1am when I realised my fingers were going numb.  I learned to type when I was sixteen, was once tested at 100wpm but after a couple of hours of thinking and typing, my fingers wanted a rest.

Now all I want is to feel his cock slowly sliding into me again, the shuddering as he comes inside me and the exquisite pleasure of letting him drink every last drop of me as I come over and over again. A leisurely day in bed stroking each other’s bodies, getting me so wet that his cock glides effortlessly inside me and then lying side by side, slow fucking, neither of us aiming to come but just enjoying the feeling. That would be nice.  Or sitting at my desk and having him underneath me, lightly licking my clit and playing with me with his fingers. Bending me over my kitchen table, fucking me hard from behind before spurting a great load of cum in my mouth sounds divine.

Daydreaming at breakfast while everyone is asleep in the house is a rare treat.

Time to go to work…