"Living-in-London Budget Erotica for Millenials"
Here is some more erotica to keep you moist this week!
This week's erotica may ring true for any of you who live in a city, work on a zero hour contract, are on a budget and are slowly prepping for that dreaded tax return...
(It's almost entirely based on my previous flat and flatmates in South London.)
[This is a picture of me trying to look cool in Australia]
It was Friday night, it was Movember and the air of London was heavy with mystery, opportunity, and regret.
In other words, it was foggy.
Jenna had just finished cycling home from the gym, she was hot and sweaty, her body tired and tender from an intense night of Zumba Classes.
After scrunching up her portable bicycle in the small hall of her Dickensian, cosy, semi-detached townhouse in South London, (Stockwell), which she shared with 18 other tenants, not including small children and unknown rodents, she limped down into the basement, unlocking her newly rebuilt front door, (recently replaced after last month’s burglary).
She slipped her soggy body into the sweltering heat of her balmy basement flat.
£800 per calendar month. Before bills. ;)
“Oh how naughty!" she coughed as she looked around her minimalist palace, decorated in IKEA bedsheets draped across lone radiators and door handles, “I see the big black mould has returned in the bathroom. We do need to sort that damp out!”
“I know what else is damp ;)” replied the purring voice of her long term partner, “The dry rot in the bedroom”
His voice pounded in her.
Like a migraine.
He stood there before her. Entirely naked except for three socks.
“Oh baby you put the heating on! What’s the occasion?” she purred, looking at his emaciated, slender Vegan frame.
Body like a ladder. Jutting and easy to climb up. But fragile if not lent against a wall.
Arnold, standing there at 27 years of age, his BA in Natural Sciences and his zero-hour contract at the Sports Direct.com filled her with satisfaction and sexiness, as well as the attractive risk taking thrill of not knowing when he would be able to pay his half of the rent.
“I’m just going into the bedroom to get undressed, care to watch?”.
Arnold was so excited, he tripped over their futon, knocking the houmous to the floor.
Jenna, to Arnold, was as sexy as a recently repaid Student Loan.
In the bedroom he watched the angular shape of Jenna remove her clothes... Bit by inch, inch by bit.
First, she removed her cycling shoes.... then her hiking socks, then the Lycra wetness of her Gortex waterproof jacket and trousers, then her very, very, very wet baselayers.
Until all that was left was her dimpled ginger body...
Beige Sloggi Sports Bra...
And her Cycling Helmet!
“LEAVE THE HELMET ON!" Arnold commanded, sliding off his Poncho which he’d bought on his gap year in Tanzania.
“I am going to comfortably and respectfully spoon you so hard! You dirty, liberal minded, vegetarian feminist!”
He was her Marco and she was his Polo. With a hole in. For sex.
Arnold let his penis flop to the bottom of the bed...
Jenna clasped it around her large carpenters hands with the grasp and dexterity of a rock climber.
At the same time Arnold fingered Jenna as if he were unknotting a necklace.... his fingers exploring her origami-looking sashimi feeling love dungeon.
He explored her body the same way Christopher Columbus explored the Americas.
Slowly and with naval encouragement.
And by accident.
Arnold made love to Jenny at a consistent and adequate speed -so as not to overwhelm her or get her hopes up too much. Also, due to his veganisim he had serious iron deficiency which really depleted his energy levels.
Jenna laid on her back and spurred him on, as she was still tired from Zumba and she hadn’t stretched properly.
After 7 minutes, like two National Rail Trains, they both came eventually - despite slight unexplained delays.
The two lovers then fell soundly asleep on their second-hand Gumtree bed to the sound of the upstairs tenant vacuming at 00:30 in the morning, for no explainable reason...