Dirty Brighton Weekend

By Peter Morgan

I was in Brighton for a job and decided to call in to see my old friend Annie, who I've wanted to sleep with forever.

She had to go out on a job but her friend Karen was at home, who told me how she liked to masturbate and let slip that she loved her feet to be played with.

Annie came back the next day and we proceeded to make good on sleeping together, with some help from her porn-fuelled desires.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter Morgan
• Release date: Jun 4, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476112084

Peter Morgan

My name is Peter Morgan, I'm 45 and single again, after almost 15 years of marriage. I work full-time as an office manager, but I'm a keen amateur photographer and I like to write too. I'll be posting some photo's here and also sharing some of my memoirs. Dating is a vastly different prospect now, compared to what it was in the late 80s/early 90s and I'm using a lot of my experiences in my stories. Drop by, take a look, say hi!

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Dirty Brighton Weekend

by

Peter Morgan

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Peter Morgan on Smashwords

Copyright © 2012 by Peter Morgan

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Chapter 1 - Karen Entertains Me

A few weeks back, I had a job in Brighton. It was catalogue work, fairly boring stuff, most of it done in one of the old lock-ups that looks out over the shingle beach. But the weather was glorious, there were plenty of girls out in their skimpies and I loved it. So much so that the job ended on Thursday and I decided to stay for the weekend. On the Thursday evening, I was flicking through the Internet looking for places to go and realised that I had an old friend who used to live down there.

Anna was beautiful, a model who was as sharp as she was pretty - about five eight, great figure, dark hair that almost glowed and tits that I would have loved to devour. And that was a real shame because, as much as I’d wanted to, we’d never actually fucked. Snogged a fair few times, I even finger-fucked her in a cinema once, but never full on sex. I went into my email and, as luck would have it, found her in there, along with a number. I rang it, hoping for the best.

Hey.

Hey, is that Anna? Stupid question, but it’s Pete Morgan, do you remember me?

Morg? Fuck me, yes, of course I remember. How are you?

Great, how’re you? Look, I’m down in Brighton for the weekend, I thought we might get together.

Sure, I’ve got a quick job on this evening, but you’re more than welcome to pop over. Actually, it might work out nicely - I’ve got a friend staying with me and my new telly’s on the fritz, do you think you could take a look? Stick around afterwards and then when I get back, we can catch up and hit the town tomorrow if you want.

Lovely, that’s be great.

She gave me her address and I said I’d be there straight away. It was about fiftenn minutes later when the taxi dropped me outside her building. After I got buzzed in past the front door, I climbed up what seemed like a million flight of stairs.

Hey! Anna greeted me as I saw her standing in front of her door, waiting for me.

Hey, I replied, looking her over. It must have been five or six years since I last saw her and she hadn’t really changed at all. She’d filled out a little, but that made the curves so much the better and in her white sweat pants and vest-top, with her tanned skin, she looked fucking fabulous. She spread her arms for a hug and her vest top rode up, revealing a tanned and taut belly. Oh fuck me, I thought, this is going to be good.

Dressed all in white? I asked and reached for her.

You look good too! she said and laughed, as she hugged me. Her body felt soft but in shape and, hey, did she rub herself against my leg? Had she done that, or did I just imagine it?

How long’s it been? I asked.

Too long, she said and broke the hug. I was disappointed. She took my hand and led me into her flat

Through the hall, we passed a kitchen - a good-sized kitchen, with a four-seater table in the centre of it - and on to the lounge. It was a wide space, the width of the flat and you could see the pier from the picture windows. There were two three-seater sofas, an armchair, a stereo unit, a coffee table and one of the biggest TVs I’ve ever seen. A woman was kneeling down in front of it, holding the remote and looking frustrated. She looked familiar but I couldn’t quite place her.