I’m not sure I know you well enough to tell you about Keith.  Perhaps a little.  After all, it was years ago.  We’d met via a bulletin board.  Do you know what they were?  A sort of precursor to the internet.  Anyway, we got to chatting.  I like engineers, I like their attitude.  They think physically and they are good with their hands.  Wouldn’t marry one though!  Well, Keith was an engineer.

The chats quickly became phone sex.  I was a consultant at the time and the great thing about being a consultant is there are lots of opportunities for phone sex – it’s all the driving and waiting about.  Little can compare to enjoying a twenty-minute session on the phone and then going into a meeting with the client.  Some of my best work found me with damp knickers.  Ideas and insights seem to flourish in the moisture.

Well, as was inevitable, Keith wanted to meet, and the stars aligned so that by chance we were to be in the same building at the same time.  I arrived early and I’ll admit I was a little nervous, I mean, I’d never met the guy.  As I walked into the massive foyer I was thinking, “How will I even recognise...”, and there he was, waving.  We were meeting clients, so we were dressed smartly.  I had, for obvious reasons, decided against trousers, so had on a white blouse and a dark business skirt.  We met.  We shook hands and made our way to a sofa that had a desk with magazines on it.

“When was his meeting?”  “Where was mine?”  “With whom?”  Just ordinary talk.  Then off to our respective meetings with an agreement to meet back there.  For coffee?!

He was back on the sofa with two cups of terrible coffee when I returned from my meeting.  As we sat together sipping the grey goo, he put his hand on my knee and slipped it up my skirt, finding that I didn’t lie.  I was wet.  He leaned into me and whispered that he sussed out the place and had found a toilet for the disabled that was hardly ever used.  “No! No way!”, I shook my head in disbelief and the next moment found myself following him.  “I’ll go in first to check it out”, he said, “You count to ten and then come in.”  I nodded weakly.  What was I doing?

I counted to ten slowly and quickly opened and shut the cubicle door after me.  Keith was standing there, his trousers and underpants in a pool at his feet.  Jutting out was a proud purple head.  I moved to him, cupping his sac in my right hand and the back of his head with my left and we kissed for the first time.  I sank to my knees and parted the curtains of his shirt.  His thick column was growing out from a dense mat of dark hair.  He smelt divine and tasted better as he slid the glistening swollen head over my tongue.  I curled my hands around his thighs then slid them up into the valley of his bottom and pulled him in.  His wife wouldn’t put her mouth anywhere near his genitals, so I needed to be cautious.  We didn’t want an early bath! 

While I was kneeling, he handed me a little square foil pack.  What the...? Oh, yes.  He’d told me he was paranoid about patrimony.  But I ask you, how do you tear one of these things open when your fingers are slippery?  Resorting to what women do around the world, I got hold of a corner with my teeth and tore.  It lay there; lubed and empty.  With ill-practiced fingers I smoothed it on and down his manhood, making sure I reached in and touched what was hidden in the bush below.

He pulled me up and sat me on a convenient bench.  It was a low cupboard to hold spare toilet rolls or something.  Whatever!  There was going to be little time spent on preliminaries – that much was obvious.  So, I moved the gusset of my very wet knickers to one side, and his latexed length slid effortlessly into me. And stopped.  I knew why.  As he kept still, his mouth sought mine; it was our first kiss in flagrante.  Then, he slowly withdrew halfway and moved again.  The pace rapidly increased.  Every thrust pushed me up against the wall, every thrust pushed my legs wider, and every thrust slid the rubber shaft against the straining gusset.

It couldn’t last – and he didn’t.  He made a quiet little huff of breath, a sound I became very familiar with, pushed me up one last time, and held still while his hours of phone sex lust poured into the condom.  And he rested.  I reached down between us, gingerly felt for the rolled end, and pinched it between my fingers as Keith pulled out.  He came out with a little plop.  The Durex hung like a long frozen drop, the weight of his cum stretching it while cooling and congealing.  It’s millions of swimmers impregnating the tissue I’d wrapped it in as it lay discarded in the bin.

I slid off my perch and bending low took his penis gently in my mouth to thank him.  Nestled in its dark bed, it was like sipping an oyster.  That taste, that texture, slippery and soft yet firm, with a trickle of the sea running down your throat.

I tentatively pulled at my panties, I’d got a real wedgy, and smoothed down my skirt.  I was ready.  Score one for the rubber!  Keith, meanwhile, struggled into his pants and trousers, running fingers through his hair, which really didn’t help very much, and it was time to go.  I went first. 

And I thought to myself, I’ll tell C about this later.  Years later.