My name is Kim. I am 53 years old, recently divorced and living in London with my wonderful daughter. I am writing about my sexual adventures, growing up in the 1980s as a way of making sense of my past and celebrating a glorious time when I was young and carefree. Between 1987 and 1989, I had some of the most gloriously uninhibited sex of my life. After that, came serious relationships, career commitments and, eventually, marriage and parenthood.
In 1987, I had an incredibly passionate fling with a man named Mike. I was 22; he was 24. At the time, we were both regular gym goers. I had been a dancer and athlete in my teens. I was slim, flat-chested and in great physical shape, but often got passed over for my bustier friends. Then came Mike.
Mike looked a little like a pop star (think INXS’ Michael Hutchence for a point of reference). He was dark-haired, pretty-eyed, muscular, volatile and unpredictable, and blessed with the largest penis I had ever laid eyes on (to this day, I have never seen one larger).
He had an on-off girlfriend and was separated from her when he and I started sleeping together. Me? I was single, had been for a while and was flattered by his attention and extremely turned on by everything about him: his eyes, his hair, the way he laughed, his prick…
I did things in the bedroom with Mike I had never done with any boy before. He called me his “Little Tomboy”; I nicknamed him “Double Dick”, as his penis was so big. The first time I saw it soft I thought it was a trick and he was wearing a prosthetic. It was almost as thick as my wrist and uncircumcised with a great fleshy foreskin. Our intense, boundary-pushing relationship peaked shortly before Mike and I split up with the time he and I pissed on each other. It was my one and only experience of water sports.
First, though, I need to explain who we were and the world we came from. Mike and I were both raised in what newspapers in Britain in the ’80s called “a broken home”. Unenlightened, yes, but that’s what they called kids with divorced parents. My Italian father left when I was very young and he pinballed in and out of my life, but it was my mother who raised me.
When I was 18 she married my stepfather. He was a good man, and as reliable as my father had been unreliable. His wife had left him and his daughter Lisa came to live with us. Technically, then, Lisa is my step-sister, but I only ever think of her a sister.
Mike lived with his mother and various half-siblings at different times. His family set-up was, shall we say, confused, and I believe that gave him an independent streak from a young age. He was bright, though. When we met he was a junior engineer at the Rolls-Royce plant in West London. But he was music-mad and wanted to be in a rock band.
Mike and his mother lived on the Racecourse Estate in a London suburb called Northolt, a few miles from Heathrow Airport. ‘The Racecourse’ was a council estate comprised of a maze of low-rise maisonettes. It wasn’t a great place to live, but it wasn’t as bad as some estates in London. I’d had a schoolfriend who lived there and spent some time on the estate before I met Mike. That was where I first saw the woman I later discovered was his on-off girlfriend, Rebecca.
I was on my friend’s balcony when I saw this astonishing-looking girl with two guys standing around bahis firmaları a clapped-out Ford Capri with its bonnet up. I was 18, 19, and Rebecca must have been the same. She looked like a Spanish gypsy, with this mass of messy, curly black hair, halfway down her back. She was barefoot, and didn’t appear to be wearing much more than a pair of knickers under a baggy ‘Frankie Says…’ T-shirt. (Those shirts were all the rage in the early 80s.) Even from where I was standing I could see she had big boobs and wasn’t wearing a bra. Facially, she reminded me of the girl singer in an 80s pop group called Deacon Blue; but years later I saw a film called Pushing Tin with Angelina Jolie, and Jolie’s character also reminded me of Rebecca.
My sister Lisa knew a few people on the Racecourse, and always said ‘Gypsy Bex’ – as they called Rebecca on the estate – was never that good-looking, but I was struck by how raw and sexual she looked. She had these wild, dark eyes, a sharp chin and a big slash of a mouth. She always looked, as one of my male friends crudely put it “like she’d just sucked someone off.” And I knew what he meant.
Rebecca was laughing and joking and smoking – over the car engine, would you believe? – with two guys whom I later discovered were her older brothers. Those two were fairly notorious in the area; both were very rough and very good-looking, and were supposedly brilliant at martial arts. One went to prison later after a pub fight.
Anyway, ‘Gypsy Bex’ and Mike had known each other since they were kids. Their respective single mums were friendly and there had been a lot of mutual child-minding and babysitting. I always thought it weird their relationship had turned sexual as young adults. I’d have presumed they’d have been more like brother and sister, but at some point Mike and Bex started fucking like rabbits.
Apparently, they’d split up, get back together, split up again, and see other people, but always gravitated back to each other. There were, apparently a lot of rows and dramas, and times when Bex would charge around the estate, always bra-less and barefoot, looking for Mike. She once turned up in the local pub, The Load Of Hay, with bare feet and was thrown out by a bouncer. I only ever saw her wear shoes – a pair of black leather bike boots – in winter.
I once asked Mike about Bex and her family set-up. My schoolfriend had told me she was pretty wild and there was very little parental control. The only thing Mike said that gave any indication was that he’d called round to her mum’s flat one morning, and Bex had answered the door in a tiny vest-top, without any knickers on. What really shocked him, though, was that one of her brothers had come stumbling down the stairs, having just woken up, completely naked and with a full erection.
Bex didn’t seem remotely fazed by seeing her brother’s penis – stiff or otherwise. She then wandered into the kitchen, with Mike following, and put the kettle on, while still naked from the waist down. Even when her brother came downstairs to the kitchen, fully dressed, she didn’t make any attempt to cover herself up. The brother meanwhile ignored his sister’s nudity and made himself a cup of tea.
Mike admitted the scenario had made him uneasy, and he changed the subject. But I couldn’t help thinking about it and imagining the incident in my head. To kaçak iddaa be truthful, it turned me on: Bex’s vagina, the casual nudity, her handsome brother’s hard-on…
Everything about Gypsy Bex fascinated me. I envied her, but because of this tangled sex thing with Mike, I also felt weirdly close to her. I’d always considered myself very heterosexual, but she made me question that. The truth is I did sort of fancy her.
Most of the sex Mike and I had was at my mum’s house. Once I was old enough to keep an eye on Lisa (who was more than capable of looking after herself), my mum and step-dad would disappear at weekends to their holiday caravan. However, Mike and I were at his mum’s flat the day we urinated on each other.
I’d only been there once before, and didn’t like it. It reminded me of the council flat mum and I had lived in until my step-dad came along: it was clean, but it was small and claustrophobic, and you could hear his neighbour’s TV through the walls, and his dog yapping on the scrap of grass outside. There was nobody else in the flat and we went straight to Mike’s bedroom. It was little more than a box room, and made me realise why Mike spent so little time at home.
The two of us bumped into each other as we took of our clothes, the place was so tiny. We ended up fucking for ages on his unmade bed. It was one of those languid, leisurely Sunday afternoon sex sessions; I was a little hungover still from the night before, and I think Mike was too. A bunch of us had ended up in The Load Of Hay until closing time; Mike and I pretending not to be an item.
I loved Mike fucking me from behind. In fact, I’d initiated it the first time we did it; bending over and presenting him with my rear, like an actual bitch on heat. The memory of that sensation as his enormous cock arced upwards into my vagina has remained with me ever since. The first few times I was tentative about taking him from behind as he was so big, but I quickly realised my vagina became wetter with Mike than with other men and expanded to accommodate him. That afternoon, I remember climaxing on all fours (still a rarity for me now), shuddering and muffling my cries with his pillow.
About ten seconds later, Mike came. I instinctively knew when he was ready: I’d clench my ‘cunt muscles’ (sorry, but that’s what we called them), and feel his penis pulsate. There would be three, sometimes four hard squirts as he emptied himself inside me. I’m ashamed to say, we never used a condom. Didn’t even consider it. Didn’t think about the risks. I wanted Mike’s semen inside me. It made me feel wanted and desired. I shudder at that thought now, and I’d be mortified if my daughter behaved the same. But this was another era.
Lying on his wet bed, the subject of what we now call ‘water sports’ came up. Mike mentioned a porn video he’d seen in which a couple peed on each other. My friend Angela’s boyfriend had seen the same film, and there’d been a lot of jokey talk in the pub and even at the gym: all the girls acted disgusted and all the boys acted as if they’d love to try it. Me? I acted disgusted in public, but privately it was a different matter. Which is how, an hour later Mike and I were standing in his bath, covered in each other’s pee.
It’s funny the little details you remember. It was around six o’clock, it was late October, and it was dark kaçak bahis on the estate. I remember we put the little light on above the bathroom mirror, and I remember glimpsing Mike’s neighbour walking his yapping dog through a gap between the blind and the window.
We were both giggling but we were both turned on. I wanted Mike to ‘do’ me first. There was no discussion about where he was allowed to pee on my body. We were so fine-tuned to each other sexually, anything was permissible. He had an erection and I remember instinctively grabbing it, until he told me to stop: he needed to concentrate.
It took a while and then the flow began. Mike’s prick was so hard, the piss arced up like a fountain, narrowly missing his chin before landing on mine. I took it all, happily. Once again, I felt that now familiar, delicious surge in the pit of my stomach and pelvis, as Mike hosed me with his piss: across my vagina, my stomach, my titchy little boobs and back over my face. I squinted to avoid getting any in my eyes, before grabbing his penis and directing the flow over my chin and face. I wanted him to piss in my face and I opened my mouth to take it all, until it overflowed and dribbled down across my chin and nipples.
I remember Mike literally grunting with lust. I think despite Gypsy Bex’s untamed sexuality (I’ll save those stories for another time, too), this was a first for him as well. His urgent groans of pleasure only turned me on more. When he’d finally emptied his bladder, I informed him it was time for me to return the favour.
I felt as if I was having an out-of-body experience; as if I was watching some other women perform these acts – and it wasn’t really me. Mike slid down and lay on his back in the bath, while I stood over him. The bathroom was so small he had one hard-muscled leg propped up against the tiled wall and the other dangling over the side of the tub. I remember noticing how large his balls looked against the bright white enamel of the bath.
It took me a while. I squatted over him, my legs apart, vagina gaping. Besides ‘Little Tomboy’ Mike’s other nickname for me was ‘Lips’ on account of my enormous labia. He was the first guy to make me feel good about my unusual endowment. “Come on Lips,” he hissed, while stroking his fat prick. I felt nervous, aroused and, of course, appalled – all at the same time. But eventually my bladder loosened up and I let go.
The force of the flow surprised us both. Mike groaned again as my piss landed on his cock. He grabbed his penis at the base and held it upright as if presenting it to my splayed labia. I leaned forward and continued peeing – over his stomach and chest and finally on his face. Like me, he opened his mouth and took it, letting the warm liquid spill back down over his broad shoulders and pecs. My heart was pounding so hard, I thought it would burst out of my chest.
“I needed to taste you,” he said finally, as my piss slowed down to a weak trickle and we both came to our senses. I nodded in agreement, and wordlessly lowered myself onto his shaft. My vagina was wet in more ways than one and I needed satisfying again. I braced myself on the tiled wall and took him all the way in, inch after delicious inch.
The familiar estate soundtrack – the distant warble of a neighbour’s TV, the faraway bark of a dog – provided a backdrop as Mike fucked me to another shuddering climax. That day, though, I really wished Gypsy Bex could see and hear us. I wanted to show her exactly what her beloved boyfriend got up to with his Little Tomboy…
To be continued…