The trouble with heat waves in London, quite apart from them being something of a rarity, is that they're bloody wet. 's not as if it actually stops raining for the duration or anything. Nah, there's still bucketloads of the wet stuff falling from ever-grey skies. It just happens to be hot and clammy and humid and utterly, utterly horrible as well, considering that air conditioning is something that happens in America only–at least that's what they tell me.
Why this tangent, I hear you ask. Well, it so happens we're in the middle of a fucking heat wave right now. I mean, the canal is a mile away and I can still smell it stinking like a cess-pit over here, that's how hot it is. Nicky and Mairi did the sensible thing and took off days ago, gone to stay with friends in Cornwall I think, but Quinn and I are both stuck in the city.
Except, it's Sunday so I'm home and I'm hot and Quinn is nowhere in sight. Fuck knows where he's gone off to. I've been walking around the flat in my drawers all afternoon. Not that that helps any. The coolest place is the kitchen, but every time I try to sit down in there, the vinyl covering of the chairs sticks to my arse glued on by sweat, and that's even worse. Can't go and sit in the living room either because the windows are west-facing and it's fucking baking in there.
I've used up all the frozen peas for ice packs–and I can tell you I'm really not looking forward to having mushy peas for tea for a week–and taking cold showers is no fucking use either because the water coming out of the pipes is luke-warm. So I skulk into our bedroom and decide to take care of that other little problem I have this afternoon; I'm horny as hell.
I lie down on the bed, legs spread and head half-propped up against the wall, the sweat running in little trickles–who am I kidding? floods!–down my temples and spine and look down at my dick which is already half-hard with expectation. Oh well, at least some part of me is doing just fine in that goddamn heat!
I brush my palm across it experimentally. My hands are clammy, my groin just as sweaty as the rest of me, and that's just dandy as far as I am concerned because that means I don't have to try and bother finding the slick I threw across the room in the throes of doing something exceptionally acrobatic last night.
I start stroking myself teasing at first, slow and not too hard, just enough to pull the foreskin back a little bit further on each movement down. After a few minutes, when the skin is pulled all the way back, I start increasing my pace and my pressure. My other hand wanders down to brush across my balls slick with sweat–yeah, so what else is new? I trace my fingers across the seam of my sac, circle around each ball, and then brush my fingers further back and to my hole and push two in while pulling fiercely on my dick.
"Need some help with that Rob," Quinn asks huskily from the doorway.
"Fuck! You're home!" I yelp totally forgetting to continue pulling my dick in the process. Doesn't really matter though because Quinn's already shrugging off his shirt and unbuttoning his jeans and next thing I know he's crawling onto the bed, sleek as a panther, and licking a wet trail from my knee to my hip.
He buries his face between my thigh and my balls and inhales deeply, mumbling, "you smell-"
"Ripe?" I interrupt. "Disgusting? In need of a bath or three?"
"Sexy," he mumbles and then his mouth's on my dick and his fingers are reaching for my mouth and I suck them in eagerly.
He lets me suck them just long enough to get wet and then he pulls back his hand and two fingers are pushing into my arse as he swallows my dick. He's sucking like a madman, moaning around my dick, two fingers thrusting in and out of my arse and he's got his other hand in his pants and is working his own dick desperately.
It takes no time at all before I'm coming hard down his throat, screaming myself hoarse, and he's whimpering around my dick, swallowing it all. He collapses there with his head on my hip, letting my dick slip slowly from his mouth until only the head remains between his lips. He's licking it slowly, teasingly, like a cat that's got the cream, working every last drop of come out of me.
I lean back against the wall and close my eyes. Maybe heat waves aren't so bad after all.
© KJB 2002-2003.