As the demon's blade causes my character to drop dead for the tenth time this evening, I bang the corner of my desk with my fist. "God-fucking-damn it. I'm done."
"It's just a game, dear," says Hannah from the sofa in our bedroom. She's got my mum's accent and intonation down to a tee.
I put down my controller with exaggerated calmness and swivel the office chair around. "What you reading?" I ask.
"Why Your Boyfriend Sucks at Video Games by Ornstein and Smough," she says, showing me the cover. It's actually a book on anime fantasy art.
"Let's do something. It's Friday night," I say. Gaming has suddenly lost its attraction.
She looks at the clock doubtfully. It's already past eleven.
"Sex?" she asks.
"Obviously," I reply. "I mean something before sex."
She flicks her phone on. "I'll check the local cinema. Their midnight movie is...
The Sound of Music
sing-a-long. Not exactly foreplay, is it?"
"Clubbing?" I ask.
"God, no!" she says. "Now that I've got you, I'm never putting myself back on that meat market."
"I thought you liked dancing," I say.
"Yeah, but these days I can dance naked in our living room to my own choice of music with only one pervert letching over me."
"Are we getting old?" I ask.
Her eyes glance towards our mutually owned statuette of Princess Peach in a go-kart which stands proudly on our bedroom window. "I don't think so," she says cautiously.
She plays with her phone a little bit more, scanning for local events. Eventually, she throws it down in frustration. "I tell you what, why don't we go for a drive?"
"A-ha," I cry. "We
are
getting old."
"No, no," she replies. "Quite the opposite. Let's do a teenage evening. We'll grab some beers from the co-op. We drive out into the countryside and find some isolated spot and, you know...relive our youth. We've still got some of that weed from last week."
"Alright then," I reply. "We can even share some kebab meat and chips from Angelo's."
"Angelo's is crap," she replies, but she's already off the sofa.
"Of course it is. That's why it's still open when all the decent places have shut." I reach for my jacket and in under three minutes we're driving off.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Half an hour later and we pull into a secluded area surrounded by trees. It's an area we know because Hannah's taken us out here for her fantasy artwork. It has appeared as a 'glade' in some of her pictures, but that took a fair bit of imagination on her part. There was some kind of wholesalers here years ago, but now the car park is almost completely overgrown with weeds. The three sides which are not the derelict warehouse are quite picturesque though.
Taking the Citroen is a good idea. Not so much because the old banger is evocative of an earlier period in our relationship and more because it needs a run out and using it now will keep the smell of greasy fast food out of the Toyota for the rest of the week. We're officially a two-car couple, but we both work at the same place, so we rarely have the need for the backup. Usually, when I work late, Hannah goes to the company gym and when she's working late, I pretend to go to the gym and play my Switch instead. We mostly muddle by with one car.
I turn the inside light on and unwrap the chips. Hannah scoops up a fork, grabs a lump of meat, and dips it in the sauce.
"This is regular mayonnaise, not garlic mayo," she complains after the first mouthful.
I shrug. "Angelo's going to Angelo. What beer did you get?"
She'd done the supermarket while I'd run into the chippy. She reaches down beneath the seat and hands over a can from a six-pack of value cider.
"In honour of our rebellious teenage years," she says, cracking hers open. I make a face, but clink my can together with hers.
We sit in silence eating and drinking. We make short work of the food, but about three sips in, I wind down the window and dump the rest of the cider out onto the broken tarmac.
Now I've finished eating, I can put my arm around her.
Once she's done as well, she reaches into the glovebox and pulls out the weed. She rolls us each a spliff and we sit there smoking.
"What you thinking about?" I ask.
"The Final Battle of the White Dragons," she says. The nice thing about being in a relationship with a comic book artist, even a hobbyist one, is they can occupy themselves for hours in their own imagination without needing much effort from their romantic partner.
There's another pause. "This is nice," she finally says.
It
is
nice. Just her and me and no worries. It's nice that we have the whole weekend ahead of us.
She takes my hand from round my neck and places it inside her blouse. I slip it inside her bra and give her tit a little squeeze.
I've done my share of fondling and squeezing, licking and worshipping of her breasts over the years, for sure, but it's been a while since I gave her a good old-fashioned grope. It feels more transgressive than erotic.
She reaches a hand round her back and releases the clasp. The bra stays on under her tight clothing, but I now get a little more give to play with. I tweak a nipple.
Hannah leans over and kisses me. The taste of chips and cheap cider on her lips, mixed with dope smoke is indeed very nostalgic. It's a proper young person snog, all tongue and lips -- an unrefined attack attempting to devour me.
Now it's her turn to grope. Her hand is on my jeans. She tries to slip it in, fails, and then unzips me. If she calls me out on it, I'm going to blame the fact I already have an erection and not the fact that I'm starting a late-twenties gut. Bless her though, she ignores this and starts to wank my cock without us breaking lips. Her hands are gentle as if it's just a sideshow, the focus for both of us is still very much on the battle of our tongues.
She withdraws for a moment, reaches further down, and, just as I'm wondering what she's searching for, she finds the metal bar and slides my seat all the way back. I reach for the other mechanism and move the back into the reclining position. Hannah doesn't come back up. Instead, she starts to blow me.
I've known Hannah long enough to know when a blowjob is a starter and when it's a main course. I half-heartedly say things like "We could...", and "If you want to...", but we both know she's there for the duration. That said, I'm not sure if she's doing the naive, young girl version of head, if the alcohol and weed have really gotten to her, or if the seating position really is that uncomfortable. She's lacking her usual finesse and concentrating on getting as much of my cock into and then out of her mouth in one go as possible.
I mean, I'm not saying it's bad. It's pretty fucking amazing. It's just very ten out of ten for enthusiasm, but only about a three for technical prowess. Not like Hannah at all.
I find myself struggling for something to do with my hands. I try stroking her hair, moving a hand down her back and finally slipping it into her trousers. From our positions, I can't really get any further in than the top of her buttocks. Wherever my hands wander, Hannah just keeps going like a dynamo regardless.
So instead I focus on making little noises to let her know I'm enjoying: a moan, a 'yeah', and an occasional 'Oh God, yes'.
I lie back, take a few hits of the joint, and let her do her stuff.
When I cum, we both know it's going down her throat. She's always been a swallower, and there's not a lot of other places for it to go in this confined space anyway. She feels my orgasm mount and at the critical moment pushes her mouth all the way down on my cock. I blow my load way past her tonsils. I spasm three times and then am done. Hannah waits until she needs to breathe and then comes up.
