I miss the house parties I used to go to when I was younger. The casual group of people gathering to drink, which turns into a few more people, a bit more music, maybe some drinking games and… sex. Not group sex, necessarily, just ‘I’m really horny is there a room we can go into to fuck?’ sex. Sex that started with a giggling suggestion and wolf-whistles and ‘get a room!’s. Sex that ended by checking someone else’s parents’ bedsheets for spunk.
Not everyone’s going to be as familiar with those parties as I am, but don’t worry. You don’t need to relate to the shagging to enjoy the story. I’m going to tell you about a weird, competitive, exhibitionist fuck, but first I want to ask you a question: why are you the way that you are?
If you’re an extrovert, can you pinpoint times in your life where being extroverted was encouraged and celebrated? Studious people: do you know where your love of studying came from? If you’re really into gaming, or sport, are you able to pinpoint some of the moments which made you fall in love with it?
I ask this because I often grapple with that question when it comes to myself. I like sex, and I especially like talking about sex. Being a kind of erotica exhibitionist: the thrill and joy comes not just from the things I do but from telling stories about it afterwards. Part of the thrill of fucking is in talking about it. Sharing it. And not only sharing with the people I just fucked.
Exhibitionist, competitive fucking
This didn’t begin as a good story. I didn’t consider this fuck interesting enough to be worth retelling in the pub until many years after I’d done it. It was a passing, casual thing to joke about in my old group of friends, because most of them had done similar things themselves.
It was only years later, when I mentioned it casually to a friend and he replied with ‘what the fuck?’ that I realised not everyone had grown up in the same place I did.
It starts the way most of these stories do: someone’s parents were away and someone had decided to have a house party. Or more accurately, some of his friends were round drinking beer and playing video games, word spread, and a house party just sort of appeared around them. I brought a half-bottle of vodka, two litres of Dr Pepper, ten Sovereign and my nervous boyfriend. He rolled joints in the corner while I gossiped with my friends.
Then later in the evening, we fucked.
We fucked a lot at house parties. We were one of the couples jostling with others to ‘get a room’, in spaces where there weren’t many rooms to spare. In this house, though, there was one room which had twin beds instead of a double. The number of couples wanting to fuck hadn’t changed, and nor had our determination to get our rocks off while half-cut on vodka and Dr P. Basically, if you only have one room in which to fuck, you have to accept that you’re going to be fucking in company.
I’d done the fucking-in-company thing before – other houses where we hung out often lacked any extra beds to shag in, so the lights would be turned off in the living room to mark it as the designated fuckspace. But on this occasion, instead of studiously ignoring the others in the room, for some reason things got competitive.
Let’s call the other couple Dick and Jane – with apologies to Jane if that turns out to be her actual name, it’s been such a long time I’ve forgotten her real name so am entirely incapable of anonymising it. My colleague Jane lay on one bed, naked from the waist down. I was in a similar position, though probably with my knickers still hooked around one ankle for ease of getting dressed afterwards. Dick and my boyfriend were both steadfastly humping away in that way boys used to do when I was young and they didn’t realise if they tried a bit harder I might be able to orgasm. We lay still in that way girls used to do when I was young, and we didn’t realise we were allowed to give directions.
I realised, shortly after my boyfriend picked up his humping pace, that Dick had done the same on the bed next to us. I couldn’t work out which one had sped up first, but I felt some sort of response was required, so I let out a muffled moan to indicate ‘this is nice.’
Jane did the same, but louder.
Dick started banging harder, Jane moaned again, so my boyfriend and I responded in kind.
Things escalated.
Moan. Harder. Harder. Moan. Until eventually, one of us giggled.
“Are you showing off?” Dick asked, pausing his fuck to glance over at us. My shy, nervous boyfriend laughed and yanked up my top. I’ll admit to a tiny thrill of pride that he thought the most impressive thing to do at that moment – the thing most likely to help us win this weird sex competition – was to get my tits out. I grabbed his arse and encouraged more of the vigorous banging, Dick and Jane responded in kind.
By this point, it had stopped being sexy. And usually I’d say that with a melancholy tone: the point at which things stop being sexy is usually the point when I turn to sadness and try to flip the blog post round into Serious Mode so I can make an important point about feminism or something. But in this case it wasn’t a sad thing, just a funny thing. One of those life experiences that you’d never have found yourself wishing for, but are nevertheless delighted you got to enjoy.
Because the guys got so worked up trying to compete with each other that Dick decided he needed a rest. Jane reached out to the side table and picked up the half-empty can of warm lager that they’d entered with. Dick – still inside her – took a grateful swig, then – again, still inside her – grabbed a packet of fags and a lighter from the side-table, and sparked up what I can only describe as a mid-coital cigarette.
As I said at the start, this didn’t seem that weird to me – just a funny tale of two couples so horny they couldn’t wait for the other to finish before they got stuck in. And a weird but somehow touching mental image of two young people pausing their fuck for a swig of Fosters and a Fag. There’s no moral to the story, or epic punchline, or money shot you can crack one off to, but if I had to tell one story to sum up what my youth was like, it would be this one. Because although it’s a little bit weird, nothing makes me nostalgic for my youth quite like the memory of this casual fuck. Nothing is more me than this casual fuck.
If you want to know what it was like discovering sex in my hometown at the turn of the 21st century, know this: I’ve told the story even though I’m quite protective of my anonymity. Which means that not only am I confident we weren’t the only young people to do this, I’m confident that enough people did this as to make it impossible to know who Dick and Jane were. If you’re nodding and smiling, maybe you were this actual Dick and Jane. Or maybe you were other Dicks or Janes, in some other grubby corner of the UK, swigging lager and smoking fags and laying the groundwork for your own pub stories.
Cheers.
2 Comments
There’s something delightfully charming about this story 😍 lovely innocent shagging
My favourite thing at teen house parties was when someone suggested Spin the Bottle. Ohhhh the thrill, and trying desperately hard not to seem too keen 😂
We never did competitive fucking, but we did find rooms for a quicky at a few parties and on one occasion were interrupted by best friends looking for a room, but more importantly, a condom, as neither had remembered to bring any with them.
The other event that sticks in my mind was when we were at a party and I needed a piss. I told my girlfriend where I was going and she grabbed me and asked discretely if she could come along to hold my dick, to which I happily agreed. I believe it’s not uncommon for girls to want to try this, out of curiosity if nothing else. It didn’t turn into a regular thing, although on another occasion at a party in the winter, there was a queue for the bathroom so I went out to piss outside. She tagged along then as well, and took the opportunity to practice her handwriting skills in the snow.