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17 March 2010
Poking in an Oxford punt
Have you ever poked in a punt? I can't remember the exact date when I joined that particular club but it was during the Trinity Term when a fellow named Rob McKay decided to kick seven colours of shit out of Toby Young. Toby ran a magazine called Trib which had printed something nasty about Bro. McKay and on the day in question Rob was chasing Toby down Cornmarket screaming at him to "come back here you cowardly little cunt". Toby may very well have been small, cowardly and vagina-shaped but he was no fool as he ignored the pleas and kept on having it away on his toes, the wrathful McKay in hot pursuit.

Leaving Rob and Toby to their merry frolics I made my way down to Folly Bridge, with a blanket and bottle of wine in one hand and a pretty girl in the other. We reached the bridge and I took delivery of one of the college punts that were moored there. Once bird, booze and blanket were stored away to my satisfaction I punted us away to one of the tributaries off the main river and rammed the punt against a steep bank. That done I stood the punting pole in the mud just behind the craft to wedge the vessel firmly in place and turned my attention to other matters.

We drank the wine, and kissed and touched each other, it was all very languid and just as you would expect an Oxford summer's day to be. Madam was wearing a light cream dress with roses printed on it and I can remember that it had five large buttons running from top to bottom and a belt that went around her waist. The latter I pulled free and then spent a happy few minutes undoing all the buttons to reveal the prize that lay within.

I suppose that you are expecting to hear a report of her expensive lingerie, so I am sorry to disappoint any underwear fetishist when I state that she was wearing a rather simple but sweet ensemble of matching white bra and panties. The former undid at the front which made my task a lot easier, and the latter frothy confection of lace and cotton was then pealed down slowly - these things must never ever be rushed - to reveal a sweet pussy, neatly trimmed but not shaven, just as I like them to be.

The lady had looked nervous at first because of our location and a fear that someone might chance upon us, but I had reassured her that nobody will find us here, darling, which luckily turned out to be true. So we kissed and touched and she sucked my cock and I stroked her breasts and flanks and we prepared each other as my cock became hard and her pussy grew moist.

What can I say about the sex? By definition a well fed, well cared for 19 year old wench is going to be perfection itself and this one was a real spring morning of a girl. The sex was just so very good and I built up a good rhythm that led to an even better climax. I remember that she sank her teeth into my left shoulder as we reached the conclusion but I didn't notice the pain until much later.

Quite a girl as I am sure that you will agree. I heard years later that she had married a banker and I felt a slight twinge at the memory of loss. Then I consoled myself with the thought that I was the one who had riveted her on the river that long ago Oxford afternoon whilst Toby Young was fleeing for his life, and with a shrug I went back to being my old self.



These memories are getting better and better. Good shagging stuff, that's what this is all about!

17 March 2010 at 22:18  

I have just found you via Twitter. I must say that I love these student sex blogs, especially the ones written by girls. Yours may not exactly fall into that category but the memories are nice to read about. Nothing much changes I suppose.

18 March 2010 at 14:49  

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