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There are a great many and varied approaches to the art of seduction; subtle and flirty, playing hard to get, invitingly sensual, confident romanticism, the casual long game, openly inviting, to name but a few. Each has their own relative pros and cons and each, if deployed appropriately, can be extremely effective in their own way.

Each also comes with something of an unwritten set of expectations. The approach very much tends to set the tone of whatever may ensue. If someone has spent the time romantically wooing you, chances are the resultant sex will be – at least initially – of the more sensual and ‘romantic’ variety. Equally if you’ve been playing a tug of war game of playing hard to get / will-they-won’t-they, the sex is more likely to be an explosion of barely contained energy as the hitherto unstoppable force finally collides with immoveable object.

But sometimes expectations can entirely subverted. And sometimes there’s a lot to be said to skipping the seduction entirely and jumping straight to the point…

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The night was one of general miscellaneous revelry and I found myself out drinking with a small group of friends amongst a somewhat larger group of acquaintances. We’d all but taken over a significant corner of the bar in which we’d occupied and, as large groups tend to, had either driven away other patrons or – as was more common given our delightful business – absorbed them into our evening.

One such individual who found our gravitational pull irresistible was Nathan; a man so painfully ‘my type’ that if I were to construct a police ID photofit of all of my most desired features in the opposite sex, you’d produce something that bore more than a passing resemblance to Nathan’s passport photo. Not that I’ve seen his passport, but I like the analogy too much to bail out now. Nathan was tall, broad shoulder and, doubt me though you may; most importantly of all, devastatingly and infuriatingly hilarious.

As such, I’d very much planned for *my* art of seduction to be somewhat blatant. As my friend noted not long after he’d joined our table; “Am I imagining things, or has your cleavage grown by two inches since he arrived?”

She wasn’t wrong. He was attractive *and* funny. I needed to pull out all of the stops. Or, in this case, practically pull out the tits.

For all I lacked subtlety, Nathan possessed it in spades. Throughout the first hour of his business I couldn’t be certain he’d even noticed me at all. In an act of desperation I entered full machiavellian mode and conducted some social engineering to enable the seat beside me to free up conveniently just as he was returning to the group from the bar. By which I mean I told my friend to fuck off and steal his seat so he’d have no choice.

I know. I’m a wonderful friend.

He sat beside me and the night continued unabated. I endeavoured to stay on finest form and remain witty and sparkling business whilst simultaneously fighting off the many and varied unspeakably crude mental images my mind conjured thanks to his mere proximity.

After several hours I was somewhat uncharacteristically ready to throw in the towel. He was utterly charming and engaging business but, as far as I was aware, possessed not the slightest interest in me or the graphic images I was foreseeing/wildly dreaming of. During one bathroom briefing in an attempt to resuscitate my flagging ego I theorised to my friend that he must be gay. I convinced neither her nor myself. She however was utterly convinced he was simply keeping his cards close to his chest and playing hard to get.

I told her in no uncertain terms that she was catastrophically wrong and my only solace in the midst of crushing disappointment would be watching her have eat her words when forced to endure the aftermath of my inevitable catastrophic failure.

Again; yes. I’m an excellent friend.

Unbearably, she was also entirely correct.

As we were all preparing to leave; some to move on to a new drinking establishment, others to finally break away from the gravitic pull of the unwieldy group and some simply to return to their homes/hotels, Nathan placed his hand on my leg and brought his mouth tantalisingly close to my face.

My heart skipped a beat. He gently brushed some strands of hair back from my face in hat cliched ‘significant touching moment of a movie’ manner, as his lips hovered mere millimetres from my ear.

During the half second this approach took, my brain fired into overdrive.

‘OF COURSE! He was just shy! Or perhaps was building to this beautifully romantic gesture. I’m not usually into the romantic approach but, just this once, I’ll go for it. He’s played it beautifully. Touching my hair first. So sensual! I wonder what sweet nothings he’s about to whisper…’

What he actually said was:

“Fancy hanging back from them and having a quick dirty outdoor fuck behind the bins?”

Reader; we did precisely that.

After making our excuses to the group – I told my friends I was hanging back to fuck him behind the bins and they had precisely no follow up questions – we made our way to the small alleyway beside the bar. I’d spend time describing it but for two elements; A) you’re probably already picturing the normal ‘alley to the bins’ style piss-strewn alleyway you’d discover beside almost every watering hole – and you’d be entirely accurate in your mental imagery – and B) I didn’t see much of the surroundings as during our brief movements to get there I was all but attempting to swallow Nathan whole.

Like seduction itself, kissing can take many and varied forms. Were it not dark and, mercifully, beyond the view of any passers by, it would have appeared that I were no so much kissing Nathan as trying to trying to actively consume his face. If you’ve ever seen the nausea inducing video of two newlyweds kissing for the first time wherein they resemble a hungry dog devouring a long overdue dinner, I can only imagine our sight to be comparable.

Once ensconced away from the eyeline of the street blocked by the bulk of the bins, we disengaged from each other’s mouths. I readied myself to squat down and revel in the excitement of Christmas morning unwrapping as I undid buttons to reveal what was hidden within, but was amazed to find that at some point during our brief amble, he’d already unleashed the proverbial beast for himself; his cock already sticking out of his jeans and fully erect.

Nathan’s cock it has to be said was perhaps the least impressive thing about him. Though, given my extensive extolling of his virtues, this is by no means meant as an insult. It was far from small but equally far from being described as gigantic. By definition some cocks must be average, but even that sounds insulting. So instead I’ll describe it as I did to my friends the following day:

Nathan was in possession of the median cock.

Slightly taken aback by the speed in which he’d released it, I hesitated for a moment before dropping to its eye level and allowing my mouth to get busy once again. However, a moment’s hesitation was all it needed.

“Turn around,” he said.

Oh. So when he said ‘quick fuck behind the bins’ he literally meant it. No oral pleasantries to warm things up, this would be wham, bam, thank you ma’am – not a moment wasted.

He took ahold of my hips and turned me around to face away from him, instead now enjoying the magnificent view of the bins themselves. In the same motion, he reached under my dress and unceremoniously tugged down my underwear; yanking them somewhat awkwardly down to mid thigh from the rear, whilst still straining around the upper thigh around front. Seemingly happy with this access, he pulled the dress up to my waist and, pausing only briefly to have a feel around the front to guide him into position, he stuck his cock in me.

Immediately my concern for being distracted by the unpleasant odour of the bins evaporated.

I’d been a little worried that the lack of foreplay was gonna render the experience somewhat perfunctory. What I’d failed to consider was that the preceding four hours had, in essence, been foreplay. Sometimes the actual fucking is the least interesting and exciting part of sex.

And sometimes it’s all that matters.

From his first thrust I was fully onboard. Not least because his exploratory hand had remained round front and was tickling my clit with a rapidity usually reserved for artificial devices.

As he thrust and tickled all I could do was endeavour to keep my balance and not fall face first into the wall. Plus holding my own arms out to brace myself against the structure also meant I was able to push back all the firmer.

After a few blissful minutes the thrusting continued but the tickling stopped as instead his hands moved north to grasp at my tits through my dress. I arched my back and leant back to kiss him over my shoulder, partly so he could enjoy maximum boob experience, but mostly so he’d not notice my own hand move to my clit to continue the ticking regime he’d started.

It was during this exchange that we found ourselves interrupted.

A couple with, I can only imagine, similar intentions in mind had wandered down the alley either having apparently missed the distinctive slapping sounds of flesh on flesh – or perhaps thump thump of jeans on dress in this instance – or were hedging their bets that there may be room for some more. As they crossed the threshold of the bins they encountered an eyeful of me being pounded from behind whilst – from the front at least – blatantly playing with myself.

“Fuck, sorry guys!” said the guy, not sounding entirely sorry at all.

I disengaged from our over the shoulder kiss to look at the duo, but otherwise we continued unabated.

“No worries!” said Nathan, if anything squeezing my tits a little harder.

The guy almost as though he was considering remaining as an audience, but the girl he was with seemed decidedly less keen. As she pulled him back toward the street he called back ‘have fun!’

“We will,” I said. And meant it.

Spurred on by the adrenaline boost of having been caught, things accelerated into overdrive. Nathan released my tits and instead took hold of my hips for a firmer, harder pounding. It was around this time that he tentatively whispered in my ear again suggesting that should perhaps ‘make a little less noise’. I was being neither quiet nor subtle, nor did I much care.

During this renewed vigour Nathan spotted I was no longer propping myself up with both arms, and he leaned forward to investigate where my absent hand and disappeared to. Upon discovery it was busy beneath my dress he reached underneath himself and with surprising forced swatted my hand away from its clit tickling.

The immediate aggressive rubbing he replaced it with was more than sufficient to push me over the edge.

The explosion of pleasure very nearly overwhelmed me. Had one hand not still been holding me upright I’d have faceplated the wall as, at once, every muscle in my body apparently contracted and relaxed in shock. Nathan responded by wrapping one arm around my waist to hold me close and continuing the hard rubbing and equally hard thrusting throughout my orgasmic seizure.

With either commendable restraint, overwhelming politeness or perhaps mere sheer blind luck, Nathan’s orgasm politely waited until mine was complete and I was once again able to stand of my own volition.

I’d assumed given the intensity of what had occurred he’d opt to simply finish inside me and I’d have to pretend this wasn’t an uncomfortable and potentially drippy inconvenience for the remainder of the evening and/or the trip to repeat the experience in a bed, but instead, like a true gentleman, as his own end neared he proclaimed;

‘Quick, finish me with your mouth!”

Which, without the slightest hesitation, I did.

Reader, even his cum was inexplicably to my taste. I swallowed it almost greedily.

We didn’t bother meeting up with friends for further drinks. Instead we headed back to his hotel and replicated proceedings, albeit with rather more foreplay.

We did the same again the following morning. Both repeats were tremendous fun, but failed to capture the same exceptional intensity of the initial adventure.

And I bet you were thinking that with a line like “Fancy a quick dirty fuck outside behind the bins?” you wondered the sex was gonna be garbage…

Another anniversary post. In this case both a metaphorical and quite literal trip down memory lane.

NSFW: yes

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