24 March 2010
Oxford sex with a Zulu
I have only ever gone horizontal jogging with one Zulu and that was at Oxford. . .
We went for a drink in the Bear, one of Oxford's better known hostelries, and I can remember that she could pour beer down her neck as if it were going out of fashion. Pints to boot, as there was none of this ladies' glass nonsense for that African Violet.
I took her back to my room and commenced to undress her. I tend to like a slow build-up to the copulatory ritual but madam was having none of that. Before I know what was happening she had shrugged off her kit and was scrambling into bed with a lascivious grin on her face. I climbed in next to her and she grabbed hold of my chopper and started to rub it until it assumed the correct rigid dimensions. Then she literally pulled me on top of her, placed my porker in the entrance to her body and off we went. I have heard that Irish foreplay involves saying "Brace yourself, Bridget," but that's more then we did that night.
By my arse she was ready for a good riveting! Her nails lacerated my back and it seemed as if I was coupling with a roll of barbed wire. Every time I tried to slow down to a good poking rhythm she would dig her forefinger into my ribs and with her tongue in my ear she would encourage me to faster exertions. I kept on banging away until the tightening in my balls told me that my wad was about to be shot. Try as I might I just couldn't hold it back and I was convinced that some of my teeth were working themselves loose as I pumped my spunk into her.
What can I say? A lovely lady who went on to get a fucking blue and about whom the Magdalen Tower joke was told. You haven't heard the joke? It goes like this:
What's the difference between (Insert name of suitable female here) and Magdalen Tower?
Not everyone in Oxford has been up Magdalen Tower!
As for me, I wished her luck and was not all that sorry to see the back of her. Put simply she just wore me out.