His name was Stepan and he was Czech. It turned out he was inspiring, enchanting, charming and quite obviously really fancied me. An hour of chatting and a beer later, our faces were close, we looked deep into each others eyes and touched each other occasionally, as we told each other the things we like, the things that bother us, the things that had shaped us in our past. My eyes were shining, my cheeks were burning and I was completely infatuated with my former student. I had come here to pull, arrogantly assuming that plain sex was all these young blokes could be good for. I considered revising my judgement. Yet another half hour - and another beer - later, we went outside into the back garden, to seek privacy. We kuddled up, held hands and soon started kissing. I barely knew him, but he made me feel more intense than any other man I had met since I first came to England. He was fantastic. He held me, stroked my back, and we kissed, sometimes tenderly, sometimes passionately. They were long kisses, and they tasted a bit like onion, but mainly they tasted like saliva that's not your own. His hands crawled up my chest searching for my breasts. Intensely kissing me, he fondled them, worked them, and I let out a little whimmer of pleasure. I felt his breath, his warmth, the broadth of his shoulders. I wanted him really badly, his hands left burning traces on my body, I inhaled deeply to memorise his smell and the smell of this moment, I was overwhelmed by him. He was only 21! His hands sneaked under my top, sought contact with my skin, while mine wandered down his chest into his lap to acquaint themselves with his cock. He moaned. It all felt so natural and so good. He pulled my top up and my bra down, so the evening breeze could blow over my now exposed breasts. He bent over to kiss my nipples that were sticking out into the moonlight, took them between his teeth and gently chewed on them. I melted with lust, my hand on the bulge in his jeans. From the periphery, I saw faces peeping out from the inside, watching me massage his cock, watching him kiss my naked breasts, but I did not care.
Another half hour later, I found myself inside again, my hair slightly messy, but fully dressed and on my own. Stepan had gone home, because his flight for Greece, where he would spend the next four months, would leave early in the morning. He had taken my number and had promised to call, assuring he could not wait to see me again. He had held me tight and had looked at me, with a delighted smile. I could see myself through his eyes, and I saw the most divine and admirable creature in the world. I knew he meant it at the time. But I also knew that he was 21 years old. So after he had left, I felt disappointment and desillusion creep up on me, staying behind, and I figured that, in this state of mind, socialising was the better option than going home alone to a cold bed. So I joined a table of four. I had the choice between whiskey with apple juice and just whiskey, so I went for just whiskey, even though I was quite drunk already at the time. One of the blokes at the table was quite attractive, he was also tall, slender and dark, but in a different way. Maybe more Italian looking, even though he spoke with an American accent. He seemed a couple of years older than Stepan, but clearly less mature and self secure in character. I poured myself another glass of whiskey. They were in a good mood, teasing each other, and every time that handsome Italo-American made a witty comment, he glanced over at me for my approval. He had been giving me the eye all evening, but I had dismissed him in favour of Stepan. He seemed to either not realise or not care. I emptied my second glass of whiskey and opened the bottle to pour a third. I thought about Stepan being woken up by his alarm at 4 am, imagined him get on the bus to Gatwick, tired, but not tired enough to not check out the pretty blond hippie girl with the big backpack who was getting on as well. She registered his look and took her seat right next to him, so they could pass the otherwise boring busride joking and flirting... I watched the American. He was clearly very good looking, and, despite his boyish, almost puppy-like gestures, there was something quite manly and appealing about his movements. Had I not earlier...
I thought about those voyeuristic faces at the window. Me making out with Stepan must have been the prime party gossip, even though people were way to English to make me realise; what was on my mind now was not actually thinkable. A clear and simple choice emerged: I could screw both my good reputation and that pretty American, or I could screw nothing at all and walk home alone - now. I smiled, koyly, but unambiguously, at Mr. America. The whiskey had clearly taken over the better part of me, it was plain social suicide. He looked a little startled. I winked, a little too fast, it could well have been a nervous twitch. I think what was left of my good education tried to intervene. The encouragement put an expression of bliss on his boyish face, as if I had just granted him an increase in pocket money. Oh dear.
When I came back from the toilet, I walked straight up to him, put my hand on his shoulder, stood there for a couple of seconds and then sat down on his lap. He was surprised at first, but quickly regained his concert. He slowly placed his hand on my knee, stroking my thigh just with his thumb, careful not to make any mistake. Damn, he was cute! He never got distracted from their jokey conversation, which he was dominating, it was more the others who had difficulties hiding their surprise, even if they said nothing. Soon, his hand became a bit more ventourous and disappeared under my skirt to stroke my thigh. I did not say a word, I just sipped my pure cheap whiskey, and my pussy got wet and wetter. He laughed at someone's comment about his lack of skill playing basketball, when he reached around me with his other hand to rest it on my hip, lightly padding it. I put my arm around him and started gently scratching his neck. Minutes passed like this, my arm around his neck, one of his arms resting on my hip, the other one under my skirt petting the insides of my now parted legs. He turned around to face me, for the first time since I had launched my crude attack on him. He abandoned their conversation and looked me in the eyes. He seemed to hesitate, but then I felt his hand go all the way up my thigh to my soaked knickers, grab my pussy and squeeze it several times, and then let go again. I closed my eyes and gasped for air as it happened.
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