I awoke slowly...

...from a dream of tangled, intertwined limbs, fragmentary images of twisting, humping bodies and groping hands, hands everywhere, and realised that I was moving, had been moving continously in my sleep, pressing my body against his, lying warm behind me. Memories of the night before came trickling back into my mind as the sleep and the alcohol gradually released their grip on my consciousness: the party, the enormous amounts of drink, the moods by degrees progressing from mildly flirtatious through decidedly naughty to overtly sexual, the clothing dropping like petals in a breeze, no a cyclone of sex, the juices flowing. The silly games, spinning the bottle to strip-poker, all focused on the inevitable outcome, everyone all the while pretending that it was just a game, none believing, none fooled for a moment, everyone scandalised (but not really) when Gladys lay back on the table, naked, offering herself to everyone, anyone, and the laughter, the giggles, brittle like the sound of breaking ice. As though in a dream I watched myself gripping the buckle on Peter's belt, expertly peeling him like fruit, aware of the eyes and ashamed and simultaneously excited as I took his cock, still flaccid from the whisky, entirely into my mouth and felt him harden, everyone watching whilst pretending not to, as all paired, tripled and quadrupled off. Peter's hands caressing my body (where are my clothes?), a hand on my neck, a hand on my thigh, a hand on my ass, Peter has three arms, I thought hysterically as someone entered me from behind so easily and I surrendered.

I pushed back against his body and, still wet from last night, he was inside me almost before I realised that he was awake and rock-hard again. Hmmmmmm.