Shooting Stars & Sex in Cars

It’s been a couple of days, sorry about that. How have you been? I’ve been busy. Too much work, too much other work, socialising, trying to have a life, you know. I’ve seen Jock too. We’re still plodding along in that way we do, although we haven’t yet had the chance to book another sleepover. That doesn’t mean we haven’t fucked, though. There’s been plenty of fucking, don’t you worry.

He took me out on a great date yesterday. He dropped his step-kid off becoming coming to pick me up around lunchtime, and I’m assuming he never had THAT conversation with the ex. That’s good. Big phew. I’m not ready for it. The more I think about it, the more I’m sure I’m not ready for it … I just don’t really know why I’m so against it.

We went for dinner. Italian. It was lovely. We walked and talked, held hands, and were generally a super cute couple having a whale of a time. We shopped for a while, did some shopping, and even popped back to his for a mid-afternoon quickie, and then I happened to see something in passing on my phone: a news piece about a meteor shower that was due to peak that evening.

“Hey, Jock … how do you feel about going huntin’ for shooting stars?” I asked him.

“Sure, why not!”

And we did. He drove me to the middle of nowhere, stopping on some dead-end road that ended right in the middle of a dark field. There wasn’t any traffic around. We were the only ones on the road for miles — and we could see for miles all around, too. We hadn’t seen another vehicle for about three hours, but it was quite late at night.

We loitered for a while, switching between inside and outside of the car, all the while staring up at the sky and waiting for it to get cloudy enough and clear enough to see some meteors fly through the sky.

“Are you cold?” he asked me, an hour or so later when we still hadn’t seen a single shooting star.

“Yes,” I replied, my teeth chattering loudly.

“Come inside the car, I’ll undo the sunroof and you can lie down and look from there,” he directed, opening the car door and beckoning for me to get back inside.

And that’s what we did for a while: laid back and stared at the sky through the sunroof, occasionally making jokes. It didn’t last long, though. Twenty minutes, perhaps? That’s when he kissed me and all thoughts of seeing a shooting star literally shot right out of my mind.

We went from zero to off-the-charts horny in less than three seconds flat, furiously tearing each other’s clothes off in the limited space of our car confines. I straddled him, impatiently giving up on the idea of getting his trousers off and instead letting them sit somewhere around his ankles, and slipping my g-string to the side. There’s something so very fucking sexy about being that impatient about fucking someone that you can’t even wait to get fully naked. That’s what I think, anyway.

I rode him. Furiously. Intensely. Our heavy petting and making out had caused the car to steam up quite badly, even with the sunroof (at this point) partially open, and the whole thing would probably have been quite romantic if it hadn’t been so … urgent. Because that’s what it was: urgent. I urgently needed him, in the back of his car, underneath the stars; and he urgently needed me, riding his cock, desperate to make us both come. It was badass fucking. No softness. No love. No teasing or tantalising or edging. Just wham, bam, I need to come right now, thank you, ma’am. And I did come, once. As did he, once, finishing off in my mouth so I didn’t have the post-sex drip in my underwear for the drive home.

“Did you plan for sex?” I laughed once we had untangled our bodies and lit up a cigarette each.

“Well, I thought that’s what you had in mind when you said stargazing …” he laughed back at me, a cheeky smile beaming from his face. “I didn’t realise it was going to be like that, though.”

And then there was a pause between us … a pause that needed to be filled with words. But neither of us said anything. Instead, I saw something flash across the sky from the corner of my eye and we half-nakedly stared at the sky again for a while. Just long enough to see two stars shooting right across the sky.

“Did you make a wish?” I asked him.

“Of course I did,” he replied.

Things were a bit weird for the journey home, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on why. Had I ruined the moment with my fast n’ furious sex? Should we have opted for slow, passionate, under-the-stars-style lovemaking? It can’t have been that, surely? It takes two to tango, right? And we were both dancing that furious, passionate tango. He coulda slowed it down at any point, right?

By the time we got to my front door, I was convinced something was wrong. Nothing was wrong, but something was definitely out-of-sorts. Our conversation hadn’t flowed as easily as it usually did, especially after such a fantastic day and then evening. Maybe he’d gotten some bad news and didn’t want to tell me about it? I’d asked a couple of times if everything was okay, and he responded with: “Yeah, fine,” each time.

I guess we’ll find out soon enough …