Author: Karl Shawlton
Title: Spontaneity 2
Summary: Sexiness in a south London suburb.
Chapter 2. Lights out
Keywords: MF cons

© 2015. All rights reserved, Karl Shawlton 

This all happened when I was sharing a house in an unfashionable suburb in 
south London with some friends. The line-up varied a little, but for 
several years there were three ever-presents: Dan (that’s me), my 
girlfriend Kate, and Becky. Now read on.

*** 

It was one of those times when the British government had fallen out with 
a trade union. The miners, the electricity workers, the petrol-tanker 
drivers, I can’t remember. Anyway, it meant we had power cuts from time 
to time. Scheduled, so we could plan our lives around them, but disruptive 
nevertheless. I guess that was the point, though …

Anyway, Becky and I arrived home to an empty house after work on a Friday 
evening, the others having gone away for the weekend. A house with no 
electricity. It was autumn, and still light enough to see. So we cooked 
some sausages and mash (thank heavens for gas cookers!) and ate them as 
an early supper.

“So, what now?” I asked, as we washed the plates in tepid water.

“The pub!” replied Becky.

That meant the Cricketer’s, our local, a few hundred yards down the road. 
It wasn’t spared the power cuts but, with a business to run, the landlord 
made sure he had plenty of candles and paraffin lamps in. And the beer 
was hand-pumped – at least the varieties we were interested in drinking.

We arrived to find Niall holding court at the bar. Niall owned the house 
we shared, charging us a reasonable rent because owning the house gave 
him access to the builders’ yard at the back, where he had a small business. 
A convivial Irishman, he could always be relied on to buy a round of drinks 
for his tenants, and we were not slow to take advantage of his generosity. 
(After all, we reasoned, it was our rent money he was being generous 
with!) With him was his wife, Sheila, and another couple of regulars we 
knew well enough to say hello to.

So Niall got the drinks in, and we started talking about plans for the 
weekend. Niall and Sheila had a big place down in Sussex, with a 
swimming-pool. As I looked at Sheila I couldn’t help imagining her in a 
bikini, or maybe topless, lounging in the sunshine. But it wasn’t the 
weather for that, and anyway—

“Dan!” A roar from Niall interrupted my lascivious thoughts. “I asked you 
a question, man! Where’s that gorgeous girlfriend of yours?”

“Umm … visiting her mum,” I answered. “And, before you ask, it’s not the 
‘gone home to mother’ cliché. It’s her mum’s birthday.”

“So,” said Sheila, “you’ve got the place to yourselves?”

“Yup,” I replied. “But with no power, it’s bloody cold, and there isn’t a 
lot to do in the dark.”

“You could always fuck,” said Sheila with a cackle.

Everyone laughed. I looked at Becky, who lowered her eyes. Then one of the 
other guys started a story about the effect of the power cuts on his DIY 
shop, and we went on to other matters.

An hour or so later, the last of the daylight had gone, and the 
temperature had fallen. Niall, Sheila and their friends announced it was 
time for them to leave, and Becky and I decided that the warmth we’d 
absorbed in the pub would last us for the rest of the evening. We walked 
back up the road in companionable silence to the house.

As I put my key in the door, Becky made a suggestion.

“There’s no telly, but we could try the radio. And a glass of that brandy 
you got from Calais might keep us warm.”

So five minutes later we were sitting on Becky’s bed, listening to some 
blues programme on her transistor radio. We were both wearing thick 
clothes and woolly pullovers, but the cold still penetrated. So we sat 
close together for warmth, and after a while Becky pulled the duvet over 
our shoulders. And with the brandy to help, we were soon feeling 
comfortable and warm enough.

Time passed without much being said. Then Becky yawned. “Must be the 
drink,” she said, but I’m ready to sleep.”

“Already?” I said. “It’s not even half-past ten.”

“Well, it’s been a long day,” she murmured. “And Derek’s here tomorrow.”

Derek was Becky’s fiancé. The rest of us … well, frankly, we didn’t 
understand what she saw in him. They’d been engaged for what seemed like 
forever, but was perhaps a matter of three years. Derek was doing a 
business studies course in a remote county town on the other side of 
London. I had to admire his dedication; from what I gathered he had no 
instinct for the subject, but was determined to complete the course to 
enable him to get a job that would allow him to marry Becky and support 
her in the manner he thought appropriate. Becky, for her part, eagerly 
awaited his fortnightly visits to us and (with only a few exceptions) 
successfully played the role of the faithful fiancée.

I must have seemed disappointed. She looked at me.

“Oh, come on,” she said. “The lights are out, we’ve finished the brandy, 
the batteries in the radio are giving up. What else is there to do?”

“Well,” I said, with a grin that looked more confident than I felt, “we 
could always follow Sheila’s advice.”

Becky looked straight at me. “What, fuck?” she said.

“Why not?”

“Well, I’d never thought of you in that way.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, I mean … Hey, I’ve got to go to the loo.”

She opened the bedroom door and disappeared round the corner. For a brief 
moment I thought about going to my own room, but decided to hang around 
and see what happened.

A couple of minutes later the toilet flushed, and Becky appeared in the 
doorway. She was silhouetted against the landing window and a fairly 
bright moonlit skyline, and it took me a moment to realise that on 
leaving the bathroom she’d left her jeans and knickers behind. She was standing 
in front of me wearing, incongruously, a thick knitted pullover but nothing 
below the waist.

“I was thinking …” she said, in a low voice.

She came towards me and stood just a few inches opposite. I couldn’t 
resist it. I slid my hands behind her and cupped the cheeks of her arse. 
She leaned up and kissed me softly on the lips.

“Thing is,” she said, “I’m not on the pill at the moment.”

I grinned. “Well, there are other ways.”

I didn’t give her time to wonder what I might mean. Gently I pushed her, 
so that she had no choice but to sit on the bed. I knelt in front of her 
and pushed her knees apart. I slid my hands up her thighs and bent my 
head towards the pale shadow of her sparse pubic hair.

“Lie down,” I muttered. As she did so, keeping her feet on the floor, she 
exposed to me more of her pussy lips, which were slightly open. I bent my 
head, and dipped my tongue inside her. Slippery, salty taste. Becky’s 
breathing quickened.

“Is that OK?” I asked. I blew warm air close to her slit. “Can you feel 
that? Tell me how you like it. We may not be doing this again.”

She brought her hand down.

“Give me your finger,” she said.

Taking my index finger, she guided it between her legs to the surprisingly 
large nub of flesh.

“Rub me there!” she commanded. “Hard. And put your tongue in as far as you 
can.”

I switched from index finger to thumb to give myself a better angle and 
started rubbing, moving sometimes up and down and sometimes from side to 
side. At the same time I tilted my head and thrust my tongue as deeply as 
I could into her cunt, withdrew it, repeated, and kept going. Becky made 
things easier by arching her back with every downthrust.

Just as I was thinking that I needed to pull away to get a proper breath 
into my lungs, Becky squirmed out from under me.

“Hot!” she explained. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she peeled off her 
pullover and t-shirt together, then unclipped her bra. She flung it 
towards me, and threw herself back on the bed, legs apart. Nipples erect,
her gorgeous breasts called for my attention. I gazed at her with admiration.

“So, you going to get your clothes off?” she asked. “And, by the way, I 
was fibbing about the pill.”