[London Bridge - Fergie]

In case you haven’t noticed, I am a party girl. I love dancing and booze and wearing miniskirts and heels. I adore the bustling noise of a club, lights flashing, the bass in your bones. You can imagine how a Friday night in London touring Old Street and Leicester Square made my heart skip a beat with joy.

Tiny skirt? Check. Sexy backless clingy top? Check. Gorgeous new red pumps? Double check.

Armed with my hot outfit and a double vodka/red bull, I began to peruse the merchandise. There are hot men everywhere. There was a slick in my panties every time I turned around, and by the second club, I’d found him.

Tall and muscular with a strong nose, we met when he told me a trick to getting in the club for less money. We met again later on the dance floor, and he pulled me to the side and bought me a drink. We danced and danced, and drank and drank, and then my lightweight petite-ness kicked in and I blacked out.

Flash of a rickshaw ride in the drizzling rain, another flash of me yelling loudly about sexual satisfaction on a bus. I was just getting a more sober point where things were coming into focus and bam! Another club, two-thirds of a bottle of wine, and it’s back to flashes. Flash of a key in a cigarette case, being sick on my hostel bed, and then nothing.

Until I woke up.

In a hotel.

In Clapham.

Next to a guy whose name I did not know.

He WAS the guy I met in the queue, luckily, and I admired him once more in a mostly sober state. Definitely worth the night, though I knew so little of the details. I figured we hadn’t had sex since I woke up clothed, and as he came to himself, we chatted for a little while and then began to remedy the situation.

The man’s pants came off and I think my jaw dropped. His cock was huge. Not scary-huge, but not at all what I was expecting. It was as gorgeous as he was, which was lovely and fitting and oh God, felt so good… I must have still been tipsy because I remember so little else except cock, cock, big cock, amazing cock, want it in me right away cock. Unfortunate, that hazy bit, because I do have a solid remembrance of it being great sex.

But fortunately, when I got back to the hostel, my travel buddy knew his name. We texted for the rest of the weekend – he may come visit me at my Uni. Impressive, considering what a drunken fool I was. I would never have wanted to see me again. And honestly, if I don’t see him, I’m quite content with my wild London night. Planning to do it again sometime soon, even.

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