Fucking a stranger at the BBQ where everyone could hear… (28f) [MF]

Hallelujah. A word that the more you look at it the more it seems like either a) a truly random keyboard mash of letters with no possible discernible meaning or b) something you’d probably cough up after necking a bottle of expectorant. An odd choice of word therefore to kick off a sexual anecdote post, you may think. But the truth is that there really is no other word more appropriate.

Because what occurred really did feel miraculous.

Long time readers will know that I’ve found myself in something of a dry spell, sexually speaking. Although ‘dry spell’ doesn’t really come close to capturing the magnitude of the issue. Draught is probably closer, but still lacks the gravitas or scale of the pit of sexless despair in which I’ve found myself trapped. So instead I’m going to say I’ve been suffering an everlasting ‘imanust event’ – which the observant among you will have noticed is Tsunami backwards – for only reverse tsunami so perfectly describes the scale of the ‘dry spell’, and lack of action contained therein.

Which is, essentially, a very long and needlessly metaphorical way of saying that, thanks mostly to being a stickler to the national lockdown rules, I’ve found myself in the midst of my longest break from a sexual encounter since I started having sexual encounters.

And I’ve not been coping *at all* well.

I’ve documented elsewhere the length and breadth of my solo depravity, so i’ll not retread old ground. I’d advice you not to seek them out though. There’s little in the way of dignity to be found within.

Suffice to say the lack of sex was very much taking its toll, and I was starting to get.. I’m hesitant to use the word ‘desperate’ as that wouldn’t strictly be accurate. It is however close. I’ll make up my second word of the post and say I was ‘despeROUTE’, which is to say I *was* desperate for sex, but only via acceptable routes.

Thankfully, this coincided with certain routes potentially opening up.

I’ve already waffled more than most find acceptable for a post ostensibly about a crude sexual encounter, so I’ll not now get bogged down in explaining the specifics of UK lockdown rules for those who aren’t aware. All you need to know is that for the first time this year things have eased and now allow small groups to meet up outside and in the gardens of residences. I.e. For the first time in what feels like forever, you can actually meet people in person – albeit only outside.

Mercifully though the stars aligned and this occurred at a time when, surprising to all who hail from our shores; the weather was actually glorious.

And glorious weather combined with mandatory outdoor time can mean only one thing in the UK:

Barbecue!

(Little insight for fellow Brits – I’d originally written that line as ‘BBQ’ but I kept looking at it and thinking I’d written B&Q, which is a hardware store. Totally different route to picking up some hard wood)

Friends with the largest garden were instructed they were to host a gathering at the soonest possible opportunity, and all necessary arrangements were made.

Now I acknowledge that, in my stickler to the rules mindset, I was perhaps being being more than a little naive as I can say in all honesty that it simply didn’t occur to me that there’d be more than six of us gathering. I was expecting myself, five close friends and for that to be all.

I was wrong.

So as not to rule-shame my friends, I should clarify that the numbers weren’t excessive – this was certainly no ‘wild party’ or similar, and everyone was very sensible – but there were certainly more than six of us.

Which meant it wasn’t just the friends I’d been expecting to see.

In fact it wasn’t even just friends that *I* personally knew. Including… A GUY.

From the moment I saw him, everything changed. By which I don’t mean a cliched ‘our eyes met across the garden…’ or that he was so unbelievably good looking that I simply had to have him. Those would both be acceptable and arguably preferable. The truth is far more vulgar. All I could see was a miracle. The first guy I’d seen in person in months who was a living, breathing *viable prospect*. An opportunity to bring about the end of of miserable imanust.

I immediately lost all interest in actually socialising with my friends. We’d all been chatting regularly and still meeting up weekly for Zoom nonsense anyway, so being able to see them in the flesh was of no real consequence. Instead I shamelessly zeroed in on this poor unknown friend-of-a-friend and decided that he would have my undivided attention all night as I attempted to use him to finally moisten the draught.

There it is. The most revolting metaphor I’ll ever write.

I cursed myself for not having the forethought to be wearing a HIAATAMT dress and realised I’d have to find another way of picking up the slack. I strode toward him and, not even waiting to be introduced by our mutual friend, launched myself at him – conversationally speaking.

I pride myself on being reasonably eloquent. On being able to discuss almost any topic or debate with detail, delicacy and/or decorum. On being a, for want of a better phrase, sparkling conversationalist.

But when faced the prospect of an individual who could end the dry spell? Reader, these things I was not, nor crucially was I the other most significant of social niceties; subtle.

I won’t bore you with the conversation, not least because I can’t recall – or have chosen not to be able to recount – the vast majority of it. Suffice to say fewer than ten minutes into first meeting the poor guy, I’d somehow managed to crowbar in that I was suffering a dry spell and was looking forward to an opportunity to be rid of it.

In all it was the conversational equivalent of standing in front of him erotically tonguing a banana, before swallowing the whole thing down in one gulp.

But somehow – god knows how – it worked.

It transpired that Gavin had broken up with his girlfriend just prior to Christmas and so he too had found himself without opportunity to scratch the itch for a while. Not as long as I’d been suffering of course so he wasn’t quite so one track minded when it came to remedying the issue, but it certainly helped that he was lamenting that lockdown had robbed him of the traditional ‘rebound’ encounters.

While learning this the BBQ was ongoing and alcohol was freely flowing. I was entirely ignoring friends and focussing all of my attention toward Gavin, and several of my closer friends had noted and understood the intent behind my eyes and thus were giving me a wide berth.

Eventually though the enormous cresting imanust wave had to break. For my sins, it was myself who eventually suggested it, in perhaps the least subtle manner I’ve ever uttered;

“So. Should we maybe just fuck then?”

Poor Gavin looked genuinely dumbstruck. I don’t think he’d lived a life that had granted him the experience of someone being quite so forthright with him. Once his brain had time to catch up and compute, he agreed through a look of sheer bewilderment.

Here’s where a few minor errors in communication occurred.

He made no attempt to move. He’d taken the offer as meaning ‘perhaps sometime soon’, whereas I meant ‘right fucking now’. He was therefore surprised all over again when I started dragging him away immediately. To give him some credit, on realising my intention he looked delighted and incredibly enthusiastic. Which swiftly turned to confusion all over again.

Miscommunication number two: He’d sensible assumed that any such immediate activity would take place in the house. That’s what bathrooms (and/or bedrooms if you’re feeling bold) at house parties are for, after all. But to myself, being a stickler for lockdown rules – despite being at a gathering of more than six – it hadn’t even occurred to me that we could go inside. Outdoor gatherings only. Which was why I was leading him towards the bottom of the garden, planning to clamber behind the shed.

In hindsight this was, of course, a truly terrible plan. The friends hosting the BBQ are wealthy bastards and are blessed with a lovely house with a lovely garden, but we’re not talking acres of land here. While I may have been taking us out of sight of the BBQ, we were certainly not out of earshot. This should have been blindingly obvious. My excuse is that I was blind to it by this point, and was being auto-piloted by pure hyperactive libido.

The shed was positioned almost against the large hedge at the end of the garden, so there was remarkably little room for manoeuvre behind. I didn’t care. I was about to end a curse.

As soon as we were out of sight I turned towards Gavin and squatted down in front of him, pulling at his jeans like a woman possessed. With his assistance, both they and his boxers came down as one, and I found myself face to face with the first cock I’d encountered in person for far *far* too long.

I’d got lucky. Average length but exceptional girth. It was more than capable of getting the job done.

I paused for a fraction of a moment to savour the smell. Strange, I know. But there’s something of an aphrodisiac about the true scent of a man and there’s nowhere it’s more potent and distinct than the penis.

I could see he was already getting hard so, without a word, I took him in my mouth.

Weird again, but I’d missed the taste too. And the texture. Cocks are ugly looking things but what they lack in visual appeal they more than make up for in being so wonderfully tactile.

While I worked him to full attention with my tongue, I must confess to doing something I’d always otherwise proclaim never to partake in; I slipped my own hand down the waistband of my own trousers in order to have a quick self-stimulating play.

Normally I’d be of the opinion that this is the guy’s job. If I’m having to self-stimulate then *he’s* doing something badly wrong. But here I was just wanting to get a head start. There was an urgency to proceedings that couldn’t be ignored. I didn’t want to have to wait for him to warm me up. As soon as his cock was out of my mouth I wanted him inside me.

It didn’t take much. I was about to break my dry spell. I was ready for this.

So was he. It took no more than a minute of mouth work to have him hard and poised. I stood and slid down my own trousers and underwear as one as I realised with horror that I wasn’t wearing anything even remotely alluring beneath. I turned away from him and bent forward slightly, as if presenting.

‘Fuck me.’ I said, meaning it.

‘Do you not want me to return the favour first? I’m pretty good at it so I’m told…’ he started to reply.

“I said, Fuck me!” I said, in a slightly louder and more urgent tone than I’d perhaps intended.

Sometimes anticipation can spoil things. Build up a moment to such a degree that it can’t possibly deliver.

But when his cock went inside me – the first in many, many *many* months – it was *exactly* what I needed. My exhale of gratified excitation confirmed as much to Gavin, who took this as inspiration to have some fun.

The time for subtly having long since passed, he took a firm hold of my hips and did his best impression of a jackhammer to my own, surprisingly vocal, delight. It seemed Gavin had unexpectedly powerful thighs.

Normally I’m a big fan of variety when it comes to sexual exploits; doing any one thing for too long can start to feel a little ‘samey’ and sap the excitement out of the occasion. Unrelenting ‘in and out’ only usually gets you so far.

But in this instance, after going without for so long, I just didn’t care.

For almost fifteen minutes he fucked me from behind without cessation, the only minor variety being the placement of his hands; hips, my shoulders bending me over further, making a grab for my tits, and rubbing my clit, respectively.

Under any other circumstances it would have been distinctly average and un-noteworthy sex at best.

But it was sex. Actual sex. And it was fucking wonderful.

I can’t be entirely certain that I even achieved orgasm. Or perhaps I actually managed it immediately. Either way, I didn’t care. I had the same wonderful heightened ‘buzz’ regardless.

When Gavin declared he was going to cum my lack of recent practice showed itself for the first time, as my usually precision timed dismount, spin and to the knee proved somewhat slow off the mark and sluggishly performed. To my shame by the time I’d fully turned around two spurts of cum were already starting to drip down the back of the shed. I finished the rest and cleaned him up with my mouth partially as recompense, but mostly to reacquaint myself with cum once more.

I was practically giddy in the aftermath. Excitable and hyper, not unlike how I’d felt in the wake of my first time oh so many years ago.

We both dressed and tidied ourselves, ready to step back to the BBQ.

And, as we stepped round the side of the shed, we were greeted by a polite and heavily sarcastic round of applause from four of my friends, who had heard the whole thing.

Gavin looked mortified.

I honestly didn’t care. I was elated. It felt like I’d witnessed a miracle.

‘Hallelujah!’ I mouthed to one of my long suffering friends who was all too familiar with my recent plight.

‘Well done. But why the fuck didn’t you just go inside?’ my friend asked.

‘Gotta’ obey the rules,’ was my entirely inadequate answer, as I headed for the second time to stuff myself with meat.

Only this time it would be from the barbecue.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/mwg7nd/fucking_a_stranger_at_the_bbq_where_everyone