Thinking Of Sex - Sex Stories

Thinking Of Sex

Men think of sex every six minutes; women think of sex every ovulation. Every joke has an essence of truth but, when it came to Sybil, it not quite the whole truth. When Syb thought of sex it was with an urgency neither of us could resist. She thought of it each ovulation and again two weeks later. It was Saturday evening. We were at restaurant celebrating I don't remember what. It was late and I'd empty soldiered much more wine than I should have. The waiting staff were plainly glad when we chair-sc*****d to our feet, over-tipped them and made our way onto the street. I surrendered the car keys to Sybil. I hadn't d***k too much for that. Anyway, I liked being chauffeured. It gave me space to slip into my own thoughts. That's where I was before Sybil had even pulled away from the curb. At some point I was aware enough of our surroundings to say we weren't on the route home. 'I'm taking a different way,' she said. I left her to it. She parked on a grade. There wasn't a grade outside our place. Outside my window was one of those boutique hotels with gun-barrel foyers that were resettling the inner city wastelands. Beyond Syb were four lanes of street starkly unnatural in the absence of any traffic and, further, a single lit shopfront. 'Come on,' she said. 'Come where?' 'There. It will be a lark.' We were half across the street before I made out the mannequin in the shop's window. It was backlit in red, a ham-fisted attempt at sophistication, and wore black lingerie. The ...

... material covered more than one would have seen any day at the beach except for openings for each nipple and another, not quite apart, lower down. It wore black Whittington boots reaching almost to the panties. In the left hand was a bullwhip that dropped to the floor before winding between its feet. Sybil's hand was in mine. Her momentum was carrying me on. 'Come on,' she said again. That sort of shop wasn't her usual milieu. Nor was it mine. We went up three steps and past a sign warning that we would find adult material within. Sybil tugged me forward before I read it all. The shop was about fifteen feet wide and forty long. The left side was racked with magazines then, further from us, paperback books. The opposite wall was taken by shelves of display boxes. The ceiling was high and the space above the shelving was taken by inflatable dolls and mannequins attired more or less as the one in the front window; mostly less. The center of the shop was occupied by high lipped display tables. From the entry I couldn't see the contents of the tables or of the shelved boxes. There was counter at the front of the room. The sallow failed academic looking attendant sitting behind it was afforded a clear view of the whole establishment. His eyes met mine for an instant. There were a good dozen customers, all male and all along the magazine side of the room. To squeeze between them and the tables meant bodily contact. Sybil took to the goods display side. The men acted as if we, and everyone ...