Soundtrack: No One Knows by Queens of the Stone Age.
Somewhere between the bar and Jane’s flat, the mood changed completely. It was odd. We weren’t giggling like drunken dickheads anymore, but the atmosphere wasn’t frosty, either. It was something in between those things. Something different. Definitely intense. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what, or why… but something had changed.
She paid for the cab, then I held her bag as she drunkenly fiddled with the key in the door, which slid out of her fingers at least three times. I thought might’ve been a little tipsier than I’d originally thought; but now, all of these years later, I can see clearly what I couldn’t see then: Jane was nervous. I know why the mood change happened now, too: sexual chemistry. I didn’t have a clue what was happening back then, but now, I do. I know that Jane had invited me back to hers for that “nightcap” that I’d seen so often in the movies, but hadn’t yet experienced for myself. The plan was to fuck. I didn’t know it back then, but I was about to find that out.
Promiscuous
For the longest time, I blamed absurd levels of drunkenness for everything that happened next, on both of our parts, but I wish I hadn’t blamed that now. I’d snogged plenty of girls before that night. Most of my female friends had been sexually harassed by me at least once. Sleep with a girl, though? Like, fuck one? Well, I’d never done that before. I was just sexually promiscuous with everyone, especially when I’d been drinking; gender didn’t come into it. That’s what I thought, anyway. It would take me a few more years to realise that I was, in fact, just a regular ol’ bisexual person.
That night with Jane, though? I had many first bisexual experiences. Many, many. It was a night and a half, and despite being very drunk, I remember (and continue to remember) many of the finest moments from it.
We fell through the building door, then stumbled up the stairs, then tumbled into Jane’s actual flat. And, of course, that flat had to be right at the top of the building, three or four flights of stairs up. I’d lost count somewhere in the middle.
She made us drinks first, as I kicked my shoes off and threw my jacket over the back of a chair.
“It’s nice,” I called to her, peering out of the window. “The view is lovely up here!”
“I thought so! Worth the stairs, right?” Jane returned and handed me a glass tumbler. “You like whisky, right?”
I didn’t, but I took it and sipped anyway, trying not to pull a face all the while. “I don’t know about the stairs. That’s a lot when you’re drunk and in heels.”
A few cardio jokes later, she walked off and into the bedroom with no explanation. Not even a quick ‘back in a sec.’ I wondered if she’d gone to bed without telling me, which was perfectly fine, of course… but a heads up would’ve been nice, you know? Thankfully, she came back a minute or so later, holding a small pink box.
“Have you seen these? I bought them a few weeks ago, but haven’t gotten around to using them yet.”
I took the small pink box from her outstretched hand, scanning the bold, black writing on the front. “Sex enhancing gels?”
For a second or so, I thought she was giving them to me, like a gift. Jane shook her head, clearly sensing my confusion. “Open it. Let’s try them out… on our hands, or whatever.”
“Ohhh, you want to test them,” I laughed, half of the penny finally dropping. I broke the seal of the box, then pulled one of the sachets out. “How about… tingle?”
Tingle
We agreed on the sachet that promised a minty, cooling ‘tingle’ sensation. She took another sip of her drink as I found the little groove in the corner to tear it open. I squeezed a little out on the top of my hand, then handed her the sachet.
“Rub it in a bit, I think,” she said, copying my actions.
I did as she suggested, then waited for a moment. “Nope. No tingling.”
“Hmm, me neither. Maybe it needs to be on like, your clit, or nipples, or… you know?”
I was too engrossed in the directions on the box to make sense of her words straight away. It took a few seconds. Ten seconds perhaps? Maybe even twenty. I carried on reading, and she carried on fiddling with the sachet of sex-enhancing gels; then, it hit me out of nowhere, like a concrete block falling from the ceiling and landing right on my head.
Donk. She wants to try the gel on some nipples.
My head span around to face her, and we just sat for a second, silently. “Do you want to try them on my nipples?” I eventually offered. I probably shouldn’t have. She was my ex-boyfriend’s sister and all.
“Yes, and then mine,” she answered.
The deal was done. A plan was in motion. Time seemed to move both quickly and slowly after that. It moved quickly when she was undressing, but slowly when she was undressing me; quickly when she was running her thumb over my nipple, but slowly when she looked at me.
I’ve never believed that time is constant. It’s all relative. Einstein had it right.
We didn’t bother to move to her bedroom first; instead, we got down to business right there and then, in her living room, under the light of just one dim lamp, and with some radio station quietly playing away in the background. It was quite romantic, really. She dribbled a little of the gel on one of my nipples, then we both waited to see what would happen next.
My nipple reacted immediately to the gel, which did feel just as cold as promised on the box. It tightened in on itself, stiffening and growing not-so slowly as we watched.
“Does it tingle, though?” Jane asked.
“Not really,” I said. “It feels good, yes. Tingly? No.”
She dribbled some of the gel on my other nipple without waiting to ask for permission, or get consent. I’d have said yes, so it didn’t really matter, I suppose. The gel had the same effect as the first nipple, but still, no real tingling.
“Maybe it’s just not your thing,” she said. “Try me now.”
I waited for her to get comfortable, on the floor, but leaning back against the couch, then did exactly the same to her as she’d done with me: tingle gel squeezed on to both nipples, then waiting to see if any kind of tingle materialised. Exasperation soon followed when, once again, there was no tingle to speak of.
“Maybe it’s just a cooling thing,” I suggested, reading the sachet, then the box, once more.
“Or maybe it’s just shit,” Jane laughed. “There’s only one thing left to try.”
“Your clit or mine?” The words just fell from my mouth, and I think they surprised both of us. Who even was I? Was I seriously suggesting that I was going to eat her out? I’d never done that before, ever. I’d sucked a dick, yes. Licked a pussy, though? No. What if I did it wrong? What if I couldn’t find her clit? I’d had a handful of porn references to guide me, but was I really a pussy-eating kinda gal? Was I really promiscuous enough to go that far?
There was only one way for me (and Jane) to find out.
She drizzled the not-so-tingle gel all over herself. Some landed on her clit, some on her labia, some on the floor beneath her. I did what was expected: belly-crawled closer, lifted one of her shoulders over my leg, and tucked right in. The dim light didn’t help but I used the tip my tongue to explore her, tracing her folds and seeking out that little nub that I was afraid I wouldn’t find. Using memories of boyfriends before, I did to her what I loved them doing to me. I lapped the tip of my tongue around the clit, swiped it over the top, and lapped my flat tongue all around her cunt. After a while, I introduced a finger, then two, then took them away again, before repeating the cycle again. I was testing the waters, seeing which techniques worked and which didn’t. Honestly, none of them seemed to work, but I plodded along anyway.
“This?” I asked every now and then.
“Maybe,” she’d say.
I supposed, really, neither of us knew what we were doing.
Gradually, she grew more vocal. Yes. No. I like that. Nope, that’s terrible. And, gradually, I figured out how to eat her out. Not enough to make her come, though – and that frustrated both of us after a while.
“Lie down,” she groaned at one point, pushing me away and getting up.
Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t make me come, from down between my thighs. We bickered about it for a few minutes, but soon kissed and made up, agreeing to mutually masturbate, side by side, on her living room floor instead.
And that’s just what we did.
Ten minutes later, once the post-orgasm euphoria subsided, Jane and I agreed that it had all been a massive mistake, we shouldn’t tell The Fireman, and we definitely shouldn’t ever do it again.
Those were some very famous last words, apparently.
That tingle gel was garbage, by the way. Those sachets of “enhancing” gels have made me scowl ever since.
The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: Not Like That.
Thanks so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
Want to read all about The Fireman’s Sister, from start to finish? You’ll find that right here.
You can also read all about my disastrous dating history, right from the beginning, right here: Table of Dating Contents.
Alternatively, why not have a little peek around here: