I treated myself to a new weekend bag for some upcoming trips I’ve scheduled to break up my sadnesses a little. And so I got to thinking about what I should bring on my excursion to London. I may have overpacked.
Just like perfection
Needs no correction
Like no other
You taught it to me too
Exactly what you do
And now I love me too
Title chosen under duress because it was number one the day I was born. Yuck.
Another entry in the accidental series of photos referencing our habit of matching, this one sees M tenderly redoing my toenails to match his own (red for LFC)
I can’t stop looking at this image and smiling. My M looking after me.
See who else is being sinful this Sunday by clicking below
This is my second usage of Exhibit A’s story prompts. In fact, I started writing this story first, but for some reason I couldn’t get it to go in the direction I wanted it to, and then the bukkake poem fell out of me instead. (Sentences you don’t expect to say in your life, ever).
Ironically, I am at a point in my life where, after over a decade of exposure, I hate seasonal Christmas markets. The infest towns, they make getting anywhere in central Manchester a fucking nightmare and they’re full of overpriced tat that gets more overpriced each year. But I do have a soft place in my heart, and my mouth, for those cones of fresh, caramelised nuts they sell.
Hot nuts = The way to my heart.
Also, sorry about the punny title.
Nuts About You
True story: German accents get me wet. They have done for half my life. As soon as I stepped into that classroom in Year 9 and was handed a folder with a tiny pencil-drawn Reichstag on it, and felt the word roll pleasurably off my tongue. “Deutsch.”. Hooked. So there you have my explanation for what follows.
He worked in the seasonal markets. He sold hot nuts. (I’m not making this up, I swear.)
From that first time I saw him three years ago, and each following year I’d felt my face flush pink whenever I spotted that he was back again.
Every Friday during December I toddled down into the city centre, to the furthest reaches of the stalls, where he sat over his brazier, waiting for me. It felt like he was waiting, anyway.
“You again! More sugared almonds? You’ll turn into an Almond!” He said when he saw me the third week, recognising my red duffel/red beret combination.
“I have a sweet tooth.” I said. Handing over the cash in exchange for another box, I stuck out my tongue.
“I see.” He said knowingly, turning to make change.
He began to recognise me after that, and when we were on first name terms, even made passable attempts at my name, calling out,
“Aoife!” if he saw me approach and wasn’t with a customer. That made my heart jump more.
His name was Andreas. Or that was what was on the name tag he wore, at any rate. His accent was lush. To replicate it in print would probably ruin it. Cute face. Rugged facial hair. That midpoint between blonde and brunette. Brown eyes. Chunky. Like a bear.
“Like Bruno.” I said, one Friday in the second year. The winter was getting milder every day. My coat was undone and my hat and scarf shoved deep into my work bag.
“The bear? In Berlin? Bruno…. I’m imagining he has a name, aren’t I?” I was simultaneously trying to fish my purse out of the black hole of my bag, shoving my arm in and out wildly. It made my chest shudder. I caught him looking.
“You are. He’s just a bear. Four pounds please.”
Daylight robbery but who cares? I’d have handed over my wallet for them. For him
Nothing ever happened, though. The odd wink or flirty remark. How did I get him out from behind that counter?
My New Year’s resolution this year was to try a little harder.
He smiled broadly and reached over the rows of bags to take my hand.
“Aoife! I was hoping you’d be back.”
“Always. Where else would I get my nuts?”
By now he was used to British innuendo and laughed.
“I am sure you wouldn’t go wanting.”
“I wish.” I said quietly, adding “How’s business?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Slow. No one wishes to brave the rain. English rain. More rain than anywhere else in Europe.”
“Embrace it. This is nothing to us. Besides, it’s barely spitting now. Practically bone dry.” I said, fingering the boxes. He tapped my hand like a naughty child and gently moved them out of the way “Haven’t you heard of singing in the rain?”
“But it’s Christmas. How can you sing Christmas carols in a rain storm? Stille Nacht suits the quiet peacefulness of a crisp, virgin snowscape. Not so the damp English streets.”
“Jesus was born in the desert, you know.” Piped up the person behind me in the queue.
I winked at Andreas, who rolled his eyes as I stepped aside to let the punter buy his single, sad loop of lebkuchen hearts. This done, Andreas took a paper cone from his shelf and tipped a few of the nuts into it. He handed it to me.
“Each year you buy the plain sugared almonds we buy from the manufacturer. They are so much nicer, so much more pleasurable when they’re warm in the mouth. Try them.”
I couldn’t help it, I blushed, reddening but still self aware enough to make a show of closing my eyes before sticking my tongue out and placing the fattest, sugariest almond in the centre, savouring the sweetness washing over my tongue.
I made the noise I usually make when I have someone’s face between my thighs; the guttural moan that rises from my chest and escapes between my gritted teeth.
When I opened my eyes he was still looking. I wished I could see the half of him that was hidden behind the brazier.
“Very good.” I said in a small voice.
“Do you have to rush away again tonight?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Good, wait there.”
A small line had developed, and as he began to serve them, I realised that somewhere nearby a choir was singing. Silent Night.
I started to sing along, in English, and he looked over. Once he’d served the last customer in the line, he shook his head.
“Sounds much better in German.”
“Alles besser auf Deutsch.” I said without thinking. His glance was approving.
“Not bad. Not great, but not bad.”
“I apologise for my clumsy English tongue. I try my best to work it around your complex vowel sounds. Please serenade me in German.”
“Not out here.”
He took the closed sign out from behind the till and hung it on the side of the kiosk. Then he turned the single glaring light bulb off, leaving only the soft glow of the fairy lights clustered in the eaves.
He lifted the hinged counter top.
Though my knees immediately turned to mush I managed to make it inside. As the last hut at the end of the row, the sign was likely to stop anyone venturing past us.
“Sit.” He gestured to the corner of the tiny room.
“Are you going to sing for me now?” I said nervously. He was standing over me, I felt slightly afraid.
A slow smile spread across his handsome face. He reached behind and unfastened his apron as he began to sing, very sweetly but very quietly.
“Stille nacht…. Heilige nacht…. Alles schläft; einsam wacht.”
He folded the apron and laid it on the counter. Then he began to unbutton his shirt.
“Nur das traute heilige paar.”
He left the shirt on, and went to unzipped his flies. I could see his cock straining against the taut fabric of his jeans, but he seemed to reconsider and instead, got down on his knees.
“Holder knab im lockigten haar,”
He gently let his hands slide up my thighs and under my skirt. He pulled down my tights and knickers, to my ankles. He lifted his head to kiss me, very very gently on the lips.
“Now, translate.” He murmured, before ducking his head beneath my skirt.
“Silent night… Holy night…”
I felt those same kisses on my inner thigh, his hands kneading the flesh.
“All is calm…. All is bright…”
He spread the outer lips of my cunt apart, the other hand still stroking me.
“Round yon virgin mother and child…”
I gasped when he entered me with two of his fingers and let his tongue travel over my clit. His stubble burned my thighs. It was very difficult to consider singing, let alone singing in tune. I kept forgetting the words.
“Holy infant so tender and mild….. Oh, Oh God. Oh…..”
My thighs tensed, I’d been startled that he was making me come so easily, that I wasn’t bothered that we could be found out at any moment. I gasped and tried to keep my moans clenched and quiet as he kept his lips pursed around me, his fingers shuddering in and out. He was going for a second attempt. Fuck. I’d completely forgotten the words now. I stroked his head.
“I can’t remember the rest!” I whimpered.
He kept his head bowed for a little while longer – interspersing his elegant Teutonic tongue with pinches and soft little bites to the fat. The second orgasm was a smaller wave, a flood of warmth. Satisfied, he sat up and pulled my skirt back down so I was relatively modest. I was still blinking in quiet, sated disbelief that this had happened.
All I could do was rest my head against his chest as though it was meant to be there.
He held me closely and took up the final refrain.
“Schlafe in himmlischer ruh….. Schlafe in himmlischer ruh….”
As if on cue, it started to rain again.