You don’t need Fireworks to end the night with a Bang… [FM]

With Halloween already a distant memory, now is the time of year we Brits would traditionally be looking forward to our next half-arsed quasi-‘seasonal’ event; celebrating the occasion when a bloke tried but failed miserably to blow up our ruling elite in the only manner deemed appropriate: Letting off a load of fireworks and gathering around communal bonfires!

To provide a little more context for those who’s never experienced ‘Bonfire Night’/’Guy Fawkes Day’, let me provide a little context for the typical ‘event’. For those already in the know, feel free to skip ahead. This will likely be a lengthy and mind-numbingly unsexy preamble, even by my standards.

Most UK towns and cities will play host to some form of Nov 5th celebration. In some cases these are tiny affairs with a small fire, a gathering of a few hundred people, and five disappointing minutes of things going ‘bang’ in the sky. Others are far larger with thousands of attendees, usually incorporate some live music in the prelude, and feature moderately impressive displays. At least for those inclined to look up into the sky and say ‘ooh’ at some pretty lights and loud noises.

But, regardless of the size of the event, they are share a few things in common. They always take place in a large park in which the ground consists of nothing but 6ft of mud. They uniquely take place on nights when it’s pissing down with rain and cold enough to induce feelings of numbness on any skin you foolishly leave exposes to the elements, meaning it is an essential requirement to wear at least three layers of clothing. Everything is shrouded in darkness, with all light having been extinguished to not distract from the fireworks, so everyone is having to move around and negotiate the terrain via their own torchlight. They take place to a near constant background sound of children crying at the loud noises. And finally; if you hadn’t already got the subtlety of my implication; I’m not a fan of them at all. In fact, I loathe the damn things.

So why am i telling you all this? ‘Cold, miserable, dark, many layers and crying’ doesn’t exactly scream sexy. And you’d be right. But this is leading somewhere, I promise.

I’d been dating a guy for a couple of months, and we’d just had an excellent Halloween together wherein we’d picked each other costumes we thought we might look hot in to attend a party, but enjoyed the look of each other so much in said costumes that we didn’t actually make it. But that is, quite literally, another story. He was the enthusiastic and easily excitable sort. And, much to my dismay, he seemed very keen to head to see the local firework show.

Being the kind and supportive girlfriend I am, I told him no. Not a chance. I’d rather leave him.

This didn’t go down well. After some sulking on his part, and, I suspect, the promise of sexual favours (my usual go-to when I need to crawl out of a self-dug hole) on mine, he was somewhat cheered and I reluctantly agreed to go along.

It was 3 degrees. It was raining. And it was dark. In order to not die I was wearing: Thermal leggings, a thick, practically fleece lined skirt, wooly socks, wellington boots, a strappy vest, a thick jumper, a scarf, a wooly hat, and a raincoat.

Sexy, I know.

Not that it mattered. It was PITCH BLACK.

The venue was a large open area of park, in which there was perhaps around a thousand or so people. It was a sizable area and groups were many meters apart (the only type of event where social distancing was commonplace before it became an everyday aspect of life) All that was visible on approach was the silhouettes of the crowd backlit by the bonfire itself.

I’d made some stipulations when agreeing to attend. I didn’t want to to be anywhere near any families with screaming offspring, and I didn’t want to be too close to the fire as given the amount of wool I was wearing, I was concerned one rogue spark would immolate me. As such, we trampled through the mud across the length of the park to the treeline on the far side. Others had similar ideas, but we were in the company of dozens, rather than hundreds.

I managed – heroically – about five minutes of standing before I declared this was the most pointless thing in existence, that I was bored and cold, and that my friends should have been more instant that we weren’t right for each other. He did his best to pacify me, but could clearly see my ‘Oh how I hate this and, by definition, you’ was turning from humorous pretence into actuality.

Which was when I felt a hand on my arse.

Not an ‘on the outside, boyfriend placing a reassuring but cheeky hand on the bum to remind you he’s there’, but a (fucking cold) hand that had found its way beneath a rain coat, skirt, leggings and underwear, firmly gripping one of my cheeks.

I gave him a look. ‘Just warming my hand’ was all he offered in return, squeezing a little tighter.

Now, he almost certainly meant it as a shock joke to shut me up. I’m pretty sure of this as, when I responded by squeezing my own hand through the waistband of his jeans, into his boxers, and firmly grabbing his cock in return, he looked pretty shocked.

‘Just warming mine too’.

We each kept out hands inside each other’s underwear, him intermittently squeezing, me very awkwardly stroking, for a few minutes. We knew there were other people around but they were a reasonable distance away. Plus it was dark. Plus, any moment now, they’d be distracted by the fireworks.

I pulled my hand out first. But just before he could make some smug comment about winning, i instead moved to undo his fly. He made a half-arsed attempt to stop me, but not sufficiently so to actually in any way deter my action. Within moments, I had his cock out.

He gave me a look of ‘Well done. Now what?’ as though questioning my motives. I tell him I suppose I’d better keep it warm or it might drop off. And begin, now with far better access, to stroke him.

The next few minutes pass by relatively enjoyable for him, though he does spend the entire time with his head darting back and forth, apparently paranoid the darkness will be broken by a spotlight shining from the heavens upon us, illuminating us to the entire crowd of cold and miserable onlookers.

Soon enough though, his paranoia relented and he began trying to reciprocate. I say trying, as the sheer number of layers he had to penetrate to reach anything of significance proved largely untenable. He did suggest I might consider losing a layer for better access, but I reminded him how cold it was and continued wanking him off unabashed.

Feeling confident that if we were going to be ‘caught’ it would have happened by now, I decided to be a little braver and made a move to start blowing him. Normally I’d drop to my knees but I didn’t fancy getting muddy, so I squatted down in front of him, and took him in my mouth.

I wasn’t there for long. Firstly because Squatting was incredibly uncomfortable and I was slightly worried my knees would freeze and I’d be stuck down there, but second and more significantly, because all too soon he actually grabbed my shoulders and pulled me up.

For a second I thought we’d been caught and he was doing his best to hide our indiscretion. But instead, and to both my surprise and delight, he told me he wanted to fuck me. Right here. Right now.

Well, not quite right here. We moved back behind the tree line for the sake of decency.

I hiked up my thick skirt, and pulled down my leggins and underwear in one. As my bare skin made contact with the air I considered putting an end to the ridiculous endeavour, but then I thought fuck it. Why not.

I bent over a little and he, holding up my raincoat, entered me from behind. I’d not had much in the way of foreplay, but a combination of the thrill of the risk and the blowjob meant I didn’t need much to get me going.

We started a little hesitantly, but soon built up to an exciting rhythm, and all thoughts of how cold our arses were, were dismissed from our minds.

Which was when the fireworks started.

And the thing about fireworks is, when they’re big , they’re also incredibly bright.

With each fired rocket the crowd was momentarily illuminated in a flash of white light. We were far enough away that we weren’t at risk of causing a scandal, but suddenly finding ourselves lit up, and knowing there were other groups just beyond the trees, we decided to abandon our al-fresco fuck, and head straight home.

We didn’t really see any of the fireworks as we were too busy negotiating our way through the crowd to get back as quickly as possible.

And once back in the comfort of our WARM flat, we finished what we started and finally ended the night with a bang.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/jnees7/you_dont_need_fireworks_to_end_the_night_with_a