When the music's over, turn out the lights - Sex Stories

When the music's over, turn out the lights

It was one of those teen/twenty parties, where everyone sits around drinking and smoking weed until no one can really function anymore. That’s how I was, anyhow. I had gone past the stage of dancing and then past the stage of sitting there, listening to the music and thinking ‘wow, this is the best song ever’, until the next one comes on and that is the best song ever. I had duly elected King of my Castle by Wamdue Project as the ultimate, until the 49ers stepped in with Touch Me. But that’s cheating, because they sampled Aretha Franklin and she, nailed to their killer disco, could rule the entire universe. Anyway, my euphoria was being dragged down by fatigue. Now, at about three in the morning, those who were going home had gone, and the rest of us were staying. I had gone to the party with two boys, who had both got lucky and were elsewhere – probably in one of the three bedrooms, which our host had informed us were now full and out of bounds. We were welcome to sleep in the front room. That meant on the floor, because they had put all the furniture in the garage to make room for dancing, and everyone was too stoned to think about bringing it back in. There were a few cushions and pillows and blankets and a couple of sleeping bags, which had been grabbed by the less destroyed of the gathering. I had secured a pillow and a blanket, so that was fine. And I was sharing them (not my idea at first) with this guy called Al, who was quite good looking in a juvenile way but ...

... didn’t give me the ‘take my clothes off and fuck me’ feeling that some slightly older guys did. However, Al was quite sweet and I felt he was unlikely to murder me with the pillow, so we cuddled up and he initiated the inevitable wandering of hands around my body. To be exact, he was interested in two areas. He kissed me and his free hand slid up my sweater and felt my tits like he was testing an avocado, then retreated back down to my belly, where he began playing with my navel. He was putting his middle finger into it like it was a very short vagina, and I was seriously concerned that he had missed every sex education and biology class there had ever been, had never looked at a porn magazine and didn’t have a sister, because my little tunnel of hot jelly was just inches away and he was making no attempt to visit it. I don’t know about other girls, but I’m not used to having to conduct the fucking orchestra, so I just lay there and tried to will him to make a serious move. His hand strayed down to the top of my jeans and he ran a finger all the way back and forth, then slipped the hand a couple of inches in. I was au naturel in those days, and I could tell he got a thrill from touching the fringe of my pubes, but for god’s sake, that’s just the beach. The barbecue was taking place further inland, and he would have been a welcome guest, but I wasn’t going to just tell him that. I stretched a little, as if to get comfortable, and undid the button but not the zipper. Al’s reaction ...