The next time I saw Charlie his hair was still long and messy, but he had shaved, and on the whole he looked a lot more like I remembered him from our days in class together. We had met in a small, moody basement bar in Hoxton (let’s call it…I don’t know…Sadness Remembers?), and we were chatting with all the ease and tact of two people who are so certain that the evening will end with them fucking that, in making plans, in meeting and, thus far, in the evening itself, neither of them has felt the need to mention it. It was quite the feat, really, since virtually the last thing I remembered saying to Charlie was asking him to fuck me in the arse.
Author: itsonlycharlotte
Confessions of a (Sicilian) Lemon-Stealing Whore [FF]
Using a blunt knife, Alex cut two jagged slices from a lemon. She had picked the lemon herself, just that morning, while walking hand-in-hand with Rosa down a cobblestone street, wearing a cardigan that Rosa had lent her, since the mornings had been cold recently. She hoped that she had understood correctly: that the tree belonged to some distant relative or friend of Rosa’s family, and she hadn’t been goaded into committing a crime.
Alex dropped the uneven, wedge-like slices of lemon into a glass, added ice and chilled water from the fridge, and stirred the contents with her finger. Then she walked back through the terracotta living room, through a set of wood-and-glass doors and onto the patio at the rear of the house.
A Rebel from the Waist Downwards: Rebound fucking with my classmate [FM]
(As usual this is a bit long, so skip to the line below if you just want the dicks and boobies. Actually just the one dick.)
I was sitting in a mazelike upper level of Senate House library one autumnal afternoon, having told myself that I was going to get some work done, but once I had negotiated my way to a dusty corner where nobody would see me, I was mostly flipping back and forth between texting my friend Hannah and idly swiping through Tinder. It wasn’t the smartest idea, really; I was already missing a [sweet, nerdy, bookish boy](https://old.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/hi1jab/summer_sun_shower_fun_fm/), who had spent half the summer with [his tongue in my ass](https://old.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/hqgr14/psalm_235_fm/) and who I would likely never see again. It’s not a good idea, if you write for a living, to condition yourself to feel horny and sad whenever you’re met with the smell of books.
Hannah asked me if I missed Ethan. I told her I did. She told me that I ought to be conspiring to get thoroughly fucked as soon as possible. I told her that plans were already underway. She volunteered the services of her long-term, go-to rebound guy, a personal trainer with a name like Rod, or Lance, or Dick, or something, whom she assured me had a large and shapely cock, but who I knew had a face like a sack of rusty gardening equipment. I told her I’d think about it.
Tutta Bagnata [FF]
Rosa’s shorts, Alex thought, really were very short. Even though it was first thing in the Sicilian morning, the sunrise still just beginning to turn from orange to buttery yellow, it was warm. Rosa had let go of Alex’s hand and skipped ahead of her, twirling unselfconsciously as she left the Villa Giulia and made for the sea, and Alex laughed and watched her. Her eyes were drawn to Rosa’s legs, still strikingly pale in spite of the near-constant summer sun, glowing whitish in the half-light of the morning, and her mind was led to imagine the parts which were still covered by the denim. Alex had explored them with her tongue last night, in great detail and with careful attention, and it still filled her with a warm and steady glow of arousal to think about the plunging angles of Rosa’s hips, her carefully trimmed, caramel-blonde pubic hair, the mild, sticky smell of her.
She could still smell it on her fingers, she was sure, when she had woken up this morning, when it was still dark and she must only have been asleep for a few hours.
Psalm 23.5 [FM]
[That](https://old.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/hi1jab/summer_sun_shower_fun_fm/) wasn’t even the last time Ethan came too quickly, but somehow I never seemed to mind.
Actually, there were plenty of reasons why I didn’t. Like the way he always seemed to have another one in him, sometimes mere moments later. Or the way that his cum was always so pure and pearly-white, so copious, its mineral taste so sweet that I would happily lick rivulets of it from his flat stomach or the inner creases of his hips, or scoop it greedily into my mouth with two fingertips from the jagged pool it formed between my tits. Or, and now we’re reaching the crux of the matter, the way that his mouth was so eager and so dextrous that, given half a chance, he would have no trouble demonstrating that, in his position, I would hardly last long either.
And so, to the case in point. There we were again, that same summer, in the bedroom of my flat, and while it wasn’t quite as hot as it had been, the windows were still open, the evening sun was shining, and a hint of a breeze was ruffling the petals of the fifteenth pure-white orchid I had bought from Ikea and would, in due course, neglect unto death. Ethan lay back on the crisp sheets of the bed and gasped: naked, I knelt between his spread legs and licked slow circles around the tip of his cock as my fingertip, lubricated with plenty of spit, slid into his ass.
La Scorsa Notte [FF]
‘*Grazie*.’
Alex mumbled her thanks to the waiter, but he was moving so quickly, his hands so precise as they balanced the tray of drinks, that he had disappeared a split-second after her second glass of Nero d’Avola hit the table. It was late in the evening. The bar was a stone’s throw from her apartment on the Via d’Aragone, a narrow and dust-coloured street where the cobblestones had been polished smooth by generations of feet, and it was alive with chatter. Customers, Alex among them, spilled out onto the mismatched tables which were scattered along the road and into the square.
Alex looked around her for a moment, long enough to confirm her suspicion that, of the cheerful Friday-night crowd here, she was the only person who had a table to herself.
It didn’t much matter, she thought. Her flight left early tomorrow morning. But still, she had to admit that her two weeks in Palermo hadn’t been quite what she expected.
The Soul of the Matter: Or, that time I was face-fucked in a Bloomsbury basement. [FM]
So I was sitting at a table in my favourite restaurant, eating lunch—a certain place a stone’s throw from the British museum, with writing all over the walls. I was in my own little world, my privacy bubble, in the middle of the afternoon with the place mostly empty, and I barely noticed when a guy sat down across from me.
‘You’re very pretty,’ he said.
I had my hair in a messy bun; I was wearing no makeup; it was a cold day in early winter and I had on my most shapeless and colourless jumper. I was also holding a book up to my face with one hand, and enthusiastically eating bibimbap with the other. I was not very pretty.
I looked up, ready to tell the guy to leave me alone, and it was Daniel.
Daniel is my ex. He is rather handsome, and he dresses like a man considerably richer than he is. He is not an especially nice man, nor a particularly unpleasant one. He used to have what I felt was an odd proclivity for pissing in my mouth. Quite possibly he still would, given half a chance.
Comic-Consent is Sexy: When I was their Plaything [FFM]
So, as I might have implied the last time I posted here, I like nerds. I’m not sure what that says about me, to be honest. Possibly just that I’m a nerd. But anyway, the fact coincides nicely with my Reddit hookup story: you can probably imagine my delight when I saw an r4r ad that ran something like ’30s [MF4F] London – In town for Comic Con, be our third?’
It was a warm Saturday morning in May, I had clearly woken up horny and impulsive, and I sent a message right away.
(I’m sorry, this gets a bit long—the line below is where clothes start coming off.)
My days of finding sex on Reddit are long since over, but even at their height I wouldn’t say I had much luck. I had got off to a rocky start when, maybe a few months before this one, I thought it would be fun to give a blowjob to a man with a cock as long and as wide as my forearm. It felt funny to swallow for days afterward. Deciding I had earned a little reciprocation, I posted a while later asking for someone to eat me out, but I balked at the thought of sorting through two hundred messages from guys who wanted to worship my precious flower until I squirted so much that they drowned and went to heaven where, they tended to assume, they’d just find my pussy waiting for them again anyway.
Summer sun, shower fun. [FM]
The warm weather has been descending once again on London, and as always seems to happen around this time of year, the heat and the humidity reminded me of my favourite summer fling from a few years ago. It’s not such an unusual story, really—he was just passing through for a couple of weeks, his Tinder profile made clear he wasn’t looking for anything serious, and almost as soon as it started, it was over—but the sex was mind-blowing while it happened.
The first time he came back to my flat, I said I’d meet him at the Tube station. It was well over thirty degrees outside, hot and sticky (that’s in the nineties for the Americans, sorry!), and I just wore a white sundress with a little bit of a floral print.
I had figured I could go without a bra—it was a short walk, and I have tiny boobs anyway, with nipples too pale to show through—which proved to be a slight misjudgement. When Ethan emerged up the stairs and into the sunshine, I threw my arms a bit too exuberantly around his neck as I got on my tiptoes to give him a peck on the lips, and as he pulled away, my nipple slipped out of the dress. Ever the gentleman, he reached out and tugged the fabric over to cover it, allowing his fingers to graze me just a little in the process. I hope nobody saw.