The Mammoth Book of Urban Erotic Confessions

by Barbara Cardy

  “I’ve always wanted you.”

  He said this quietly, as if it were simple fact. Maybe it was. More blushing as years of suppressed attraction shot straight through my body, peaking my breasts and slicking my thighs. I was vibrating with arousal and he hadn’t even touched me.

  “Eric . . .” I said, trying to think of something to say and coming up totally blank.

  He stopped in front of me and carefully, warily, as if he were afraid I might bite, he lightly cupped my neck. My breath caught. Kissss, my brain whispered. Kissss. We were finally going to kiss. We both knew it, and the ache of wanting it was almost too good to end. Slowly, Eric lowered his head. Electricity shot straight through me as he lightly brushed my cheek.

  “Do you remember when you all came to visit me in Barcelona?” he murmured. His mouth was a whisper from mine.

  “Yes,” I said.

  A little thread of something nervous and giddy coiled through my belly. My hand reached up around his waist, and he shifted closer; closer but not so close that our bodies touched. Not yet.

  “Do you remember that night . . .” he began.

  “. . . that night we went out with our parents,” I finished, evoking the nearly that had carved itself so deeply on my brain. “It was hot and we’d had too much to drink and I wished they’d go away and leave us alone.”

  He nodded. “You were wearing a black and red dress.”

  “I know that dress,” I whispered. He was leaning closer. I could smell rosemary and lemon on his hands.

  “I brushed against you so many times that night, daring myself to take your hand. I wanted to fuck you in that dress.”

  My hips canted, instinctively trying to find his. When they did, I all but moaned. God, he was so hard. He pressed himself into me, fitting his cock into the hollow of my legs. It fit; we fit perfectly, even through our clothes. Still we did not kiss.

  “How?” I said. “How did you want to fuck me?”

  He was pushing me back now, walking me into the counter. My arm tightened around his waist. We were both breathing hard.

  “I wanted to pull you down an alley, push you up against an ancient stone building and make love to you in the middle of the dark city.”

  My hips started to move, rubbing against him. I was so hot, I couldn’t breathe.

  “Tell me. Tell me more.”

  He started kissing my neck.

  “I imagined lifting that dress up over your hips and touching you through lace panties. I imagined you hot and slick and ready for me.”

  His lips found my pulse as my hand snaked down past his waistband and pressed against his ass. My voice, when it came, was a low, husky purr.

  “I wasn’t wearing any panties that night. I wasn’t wearing anything under that dress. I was thinking of you slipping the straps off my shoulders and sucking my breasts, touching me, quickly, so no one would see.”

  His mouth stilled on my skin. I could feel his heart hammering under my hand as he lifted me up onto the counter and stood between my legs. Slowly, his long, blunt-tipped fingers slid beneath the strap of my top. I caught my breath as he looked into my eyes and drew my camisole down, baring my breasts. Then he bent his head and brushed a kiss over my tight, aching nipple.

  “Tell me,” I whispered, “what did you want to do to me up against that wall?”

  He nuzzled my breast with his cheek, before attending the other one. Only then did he answer me.

  “Sometimes I imagined kneeling in front of you and kissing your sweet, wet cunt. Most of the time, I stroked you, rubbing your clit with my thumb as I slid my fingers into you. You’d move against me, whimpering, panting as that dress slipped off your shoulders, but I wouldn’t stop, not until you were on the edge, not until you begged.”

  We were both breathing hard, strangling on the syrupy air as his hand went up my skirt, caressing my thigh until he found me, flushed and bare – I wasn’t wearing any panties that afternoon either. Apparently part of me, the part that got dressed in the morning, had never stopped wanting this. I parted my thighs and he stroked me, just as he said he’d wanted to, circling my clit with his thumb before sliding two fingers into me. I gasped and clutched his shoulders as he slowly began to stroke. Pleasure, ancient and inevitable, began to build in me. Tears filled my eyes. It was nearly too much to bear – too much and not enough. My head fell forward and I whispered in his ear.

  “Eric, kiss me. Kiss me, please.”

  My legs wrapped around his waist as his mouth hovered, a whisper from mine. Then his lips found me and took my breath away. I had wanted that kiss for so long. So, so long, and now it was there and I wanted more. He slanted his head, taking the kiss deeper. His fingers withdrew as he brought his hands up and held my head, wrapping his fingers through my hair. The crest of orgasm receded, leaving behind the promise of steadily mounting pleasure.

  I reached down and unbuttoned his jeans. His cock sprang free, bigger and duskier than I would have imagined, and I’d imagined quite a lot. He was thick and gorgeously hard and I wanted him. I wanted him in me. My mouth practically watered at the thought of him filling me up. I took his shaft in my hand and slid down off the counter before stroking him from base to crown.

  “What did you want to do,” I asked, priming him, “when I was ready? When I had begged.”

  He groaned. “Fuck you, Mags. Fuck you against the wall where anyone could see.”

  “Fuck me now.”

  He smiled, heavy-lidded and predatory, so unlike the Eric I knew and had grown up with. Then he picked me up, his strong shoulders bearing most of my weight as he turned and pressed me up against the fridge. Magnets and minutia avalanched off the surface. I didn’t care. I parted my legs as he took his shaft in his hand and slowly, inexorably, guided it into me. I could feel that night, our Barcelona – the impossible heat, the scent of cigarettes and brandy, the Moorish stone against my back – as he began to move.

  “More,” I gasped. “More. On the floor.”

  He grasped my ass and held me close as he lowered us to the ground. Then he mounted me and thrust as I writhed beneath him. We fucked, hard, without finesse, fueled by years of pent-up wanting. When the orgasm ripped through me, it felt like something had wrenched free, deep inside. On top of me, Eric groaned and pulled out just as he came, coating my thighs with his sweet, sticky cum.

  For a moment, we lay there, panting, resting in the aftermath of what we’d just done. I waited for regret and awkwardness to set in, but neither did. Eric propped himself up on his elbow, looking smug.

  “You are really fucking gorgeous when you come,” he said.

  I wanted to say something clever, or at least equally complimentary, but I felt unexpectedly shy.

  “Did you really want me like that, then?”

  After years of fantasizing about what might have been, I couldn’t quite trust what we’d done – despite the fact that we were lying in a sweaty, semi-naked, post-coital heap on the kitchen floor. His eyes turned serious and I was gratified, finally, to see him flush a bit.

  “I wasn’t lying when I said that I have always wanted you, ever since we were kids. Barcelona just crystallized it. You’ve always been my fantasy, Mags. You’ve always been it.”

  “Fantasies can be dangerous,” I said.

  “Sometimes they are,” he said, nodding gravely. “Sometimes reality is better.”

  He kissed me, softly and very sweetly, on the mouth. Then he grinned.

  “For what it’s worth, I had planned on making you dinner first.”

  “I’ll forgive you,” I replied, “just this once.”

  And that, dear reader, is how I became lovers with my second cousin once removed after years of frustration and gorgeously stockpiled tension. Needless to say, we owe quite a lot to Barcelona.

  Anonymous Sex

  Liza, London

  I’ve always found it sexy, being part of a writhing crowd at a gig. It’s the deafening thump of the bass that interferes with your heartbeat and
sends that breath-stealing vibration through your entire body; the jumble of hot, sweating bodies; it’s the way you can hold onto a complete stranger’s warm, well-muscled arm in the hope of staying upright without him batting an eyelid. In any other situation, that could be heavily misconstrued – but not in the pounding half-light of a gig. At least, not unless you want it to be.

  That night, Jilly and I started out, as usual, at the front against the barriers. I had my favourite bouncer and she had hers, and we were there so often that we were almost on smiling terms with them, and that’s saying something because these men could scowl for England and looked as though they’d be able to crush you with one hand and wouldn’t think twice about doing so. They had also apparently attended a course on how not to fraternize with the crowd, which was a pity, because Jilly and I had spent many an entertaining half-hour over a pre-gig bottle of wine fantasizing over what we’d like them to do to us. They had perfected a not-unfriendly look, especially for us, which just missed being a smile and sailed above the tops of our heads. I didn’t hold out any hope for either of us as far as making our fantasies real went.

  The band playing that night had been popular since the eighties, although I’d only vaguely heard of them, and the place was pretty much packed out. Even while the support was on, there was a lot of jostling and pushing coming from behind us and already I was being pressed too forcefully against the barrier. Jilly, who was at least a head taller than me and of a more athletic build, was holding her ground, but as soon as the headlining band came on and there was a new, intense surge, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to bear it. There’s friendly jostling and there’s determined barging, and what was happening behind us was definitely the latter. The crowd parted grudgingly to let me escape and filled the space I left like quicksand. I made it through to a point where people were standing more or less still and stopped, my heart pounding as though I’d just wrestled my way out of a mass brawl.

  Where I stood now, the sound wasn’t quite as deafening but the beat seemed to bounce from wall to wall with a life of its own. I closed my eyes and tried to relax into it, inviting it to join the pulse of adrenaline running through my veins. I craned to get a glimpse of my bouncer, who was at that moment, no doubt, shoving people back from the barrier with his strong, capable hands. I thought – not for the first time – about those hands hoisting my leg up over my shoulder like the dancer on a poster that I’d seen plastered all over the Underground, while he took me roughly against a wall. My cunt clenched around his imaginary cock and it wasn’t long before the throb of the music had become one with the throb of lust. I opened my eyes and looked around. Nobody was taking the slightest notice of me. They were all entranced, bodies swaying in a sort of mass-hypnotic state. I was nobody to anyone here, except Jilly, who was so far away now that I couldn’t see her.

  I was seized by a sudden sense of utter freedom and I’m not exaggerating when I say that it was like a revelation. Everything that was me, everything that kept me going to university, doing my studies, being polite to people and phoning home every week, fell away from me as I stood there with my heart and crotch pounding. I was anonymous. I could do anything I wanted. Nobody I cared about would ever know. I slipped my hand into my bag and took my emergency condom from its secret compartment, palmed it and then dropped it into my jacket pocket as my head whirled, full of daring possibilities.

  I looked around again, more carefully this time. The thing about living in a huge city like London was that I was highly unlikely to run into the same random person more than once. Most people didn’t even live there – they just came up for the day and then went back again on the last train. I ran my eye over several men too old for their ratty ponytails and considered each of them, but only for a moment. They looked like students who had never moved on and I knew without getting any closer that their clothes smelt of dirty carpets and mildew. Not what I was looking for.

  I pictured my bouncer again; smooth-skulled, clean-shaven, bulging with well-worked muscle. A man like that would have a big fat cock to fill my greedy cunt. My pussy walls clenched again and I exhaled, seeking to calm my body’s desperate reaction. My nipples ignored me and leaped to attention. His thick fingers would be perfect for rolling a nipple. He’d squeeze just the right amount – enough to have me squirming and begging to be fucked. I glanced at the man on my right. His belly strained against his shirt but it looked firm. I imagined it bumping solidly against mine as he shoved his cock up me and was nearly doubled up by a twinge of lust so painfully strong that it took my breath for a second or two. I dared another look. His legs looked long in what were probably expensive jeans and he wore camel-coloured lace-up boots. That was a good sign, because trainers never do it for me. I studied that belly again and felt the heat spreading like lava between my legs. I’d never really considered a belly before that night, but it was certainly doing strange things to me. My stomach lurched and I was consumed by a powerful urge to slide my fingers between the buttons of his shirt and touch the flesh of it. I stood very still, trying to pull myself together as intense horniness crept through me, sending a tingle down my spine and a burning flush over my scalp. There would be hair, soft hair, and the deep dip of his navel. I swallowed hard and lifted my head to find his eyes on me. They were dark brown and for a moment I let myself fall into them.

  “You all right?” he shouted. He was in his late thirties, I’d have said. Maybe forty. I looked past him for a woman, his wife perhaps. There didn’t seem to be anyone with him.

  “I feel a bit weird,” I shouted back, which was perfectly true.

  He offered me his plastic beer glass, still half full. I didn’t want it, but I took it anyway and placed my lips where his had been before drinking deeply, figuring that a little Dutch courage couldn’t hurt. As I handed it back to him, I made sure our fingers touched. I released the glass slowly as my heart hammered uncomfortably, at odds with the reverberation of the bass. He was looking at me intently. I hoped it wasn’t purely concern.

  “I’d like to go outside,” I shouted, leaning in close so that he could hear me more easily, “but . . .” I indicated the wall of bodies between me and the exit and shrugged, hoping to look pretty and a bit helpless.

  He looked almost wistfully at the stage and then, to my delight, placed an arm around my shoulders and turned to push his way through for me. I slipped my arm around his waist, pretending to stumble a little, my pulse galloping at the closeness of his unfamiliar body and the clean, woody notes of his aftershave. We reached the back of the auditorium and he opened the swing door for me, treating me to a cool blast of air and the eye-clenching brightness of the empty foyer. I struggled to calm my breathing as I realized that he hadn’t yet let me go.

  “Thanks,” I said. I rested one hand lightly on his belly. It was as firm as I’d imagined and desire ripped through me again. I’d come this far. The worst he could say was no. I slid a finger between two buttons and stroked exactly what I’d imagined: silky hair on hot skin. I felt him stiffen in surprise and dared a look at his face. His pupils dilated as I watched and his full lips opened in a silent breath. He was a nice-looking man, but I didn’t want to spend too much time looking at him in the light. I wanted him to be as anonymous as I was. Under cover of darkness he could be just somebody to fuck, and that was what I was aching for.

  “I’m going outside,” I said, slipping a second finger between another pair of buttons.

  “Would you like me to come with you?” His voice was deep but soft and he was fairly well-spoken. He looked at me expressionlessly but those huge pupils told me what he was thinking.

  Without removing my fingers, I started to walk, bringing him with me with the arm I still had around his waist. He pushed against the fire-bar and we were out of the door and into the cool, dry night air. A security guard was smoking outside but he took no notice of us as we turned into the narrow passage beside the venue. The passage became darker and darker as we walked deeper into it, finally turn
ing a corner and finding ourselves in a tight space with the wheelie bins. My hands were shaking as I released him and backed against the wall. He came straight to me, the solid mound of his belly pressing against the base of my ribs as he slid a hand into my hair and looked down into my face. I could just make out the glint of his eyes. His lips came down on mine very suddenly, as though he’d battled with himself and lost. It didn’t matter to me whether he had or not – all I wanted was a few dirty minutes of his time. His tongue snaked into my mouth and I pressed mine against it, grasping the back of his head and pushing my aching cunt against his trousers. I wanted him to know that we hadn’t just come round here for a quick snog and that I knew what I wanted. What I wanted was the thrust of his cock inside my cunt in the dark, nothing more.

  He peeled my jacket from my shoulders and laid it over the flat top of one of the bins. The cool air brushed my skin, making my hairs stand on end. I let him tug my T-shirt up over my breasts while I started on the buttons of his shirt. I hadn’t worn a bra; I rarely did. My tits were small and pert and right then were screaming to be sucked. As his lips closed around a nipple, I nearly left the floor. He sucked hard, curling his tongue around it and tugging with his teeth as he cupped the other breast and pressed the nipple hard between his finger and thumb, just the way I’d imagined my bouncer would. This man knew what he was doing and was enjoying it very much if the bulge he was grinding against my hip bone was any indication.

  The last button on his shirt slipped through its hole and at last the curve of flesh that had got me so hot and bothered was mine to touch. His muscles tightened in response as I slid my hands across it and round to the sides. I sought out his navel and pressed a finger hard inside. He groaned softly and gave my nipple a savage tweak that made me gasp aloud as a ribbon of delicious pain shot straight down to my clit. Emboldened, I spread my fingers and pushed the tips under the waistband of his jeans. He growled in the back of his throat and released my tits to tear at the button on mine. I took that to be the go-ahead and did the same. In a grunting, panting flurry of hands and legs, we stripped each other of everything that was in between us, leaving me standing naked from the waist down, thighs glistening with excitement, and him with his jeans around his ankles and a hard-on so long and thick the sight of it made my knees shake. When I curled my fingers around it they barely met and the image I’d had of being shoved full of fat cock against the wall with one leg beside my head shot straight back into my mind. The leg thing was out of the question, but I’d never wanted to be full of cock so badly in my life. Taking me by the waist, he turned me so my back was against the wheelie bin he’d laid my jacket on.