I have a story to tell. No, it's not a story. It's a slice of my life, a piece of my history. I wonder what I'll think about it in fifty years' time?

I met up with Simon as arranged at eight. He wasn't quite as I remembered him - even plainer and more unassuming - and was possibly a bit older than I'd estimated. I had pictured him as a bit nerdish, in his early thirties, nothing special though far from being Mr Bean, but as I sat in the bar opposite him, sipping a breezer, I realised he was probably past 36 or 38, and his speech patterns had that stilted, disjointed rhythm that very shy people often have when they are trying too hard. His features were ordinary, unambitious - neither ugly nor handsome. Tousled brown hair that probably hadn't changed its style since he was a school boy; a vaguely unkempt air to his dress and demeanour; eyes and smile that evoked warmth and disappointment in equal measure. Sweet. It's a word that could have been invented for Simon.

Not really someone you'd want to fuck.

So three hours later he was stretched naked on his bed, a look of fear on his face, his limbs tense and cock stiff. I stalked his record collection, in search of something I'd heard of. Heavy metal, and lots of it. I remembered my first fuck, with a guy twenty years older than me, in a rancid bedsit in Nottingham to the strains of Smoke on the Water, surrounded by overflowing ashtrays and empty vodka bottles. I've hated heavy metal ever since, and with justification, but that's another story. I settled on the Scissor Sisters, a CD which seemed so incongruous amidst this collection of metal noise I would have assumed it had been left by a lover, except I doubted whether Simon had had one in recent memory.

As the evening had progressed he had seemed like a chameleon. Sometimes he appeared handsome and interesting, other times weedy and dull; often, I could admire his features, yet moments later detect nothing of note. I couldn't work it out. His company, too, was either dull or entertaining. Throughout the evening I had no idea how it was going to end. Would I fuck him or not? I couldn't say.

And last orders rang and we debated whether to go clubbing. "No," we said in unison, and without further discussion he led me to his home. He opened some wine and we settled on the settee and began to kiss. I felt like someone else. I watched myself seduce a terrified man. I thought I was gentle, I thought he was brave. I thought it was nice.

He was stretched naked on the bed. I was still clothed. "Shall I strip?" I asked. He nodded, and I began to dance, slipping off my blouse and my skirt, and my bra and my panties and finally, as 'Laura' bounced to its conclusion, I stood naked before him.

"Is it better on cam or in the flesh?"

"In the flesh. Much."

Good boy. Good answer. I smiled and sidled towards the bed, planting my knee beside him and standing above him, my fingers trailing across his cheek. He slid my thumb into his mouth and sucked, his tongue tracking across it tenderly. I raised my knee over his stomach and settled myself above him, resting on his lower chest and bending to kiss him. My breasts grazed against him and he smiled, wide and innocent. Flattening myself, I pressed them to him and planted my mouth full on his, fluttering my tongue inside. I could feel the tip of his cock flapping against my thigh and backside, and slid downwards to trap it. He grunted as I pressed down, grinding my pussy against it, its purple head poking out past my mons. Rolling my hips back and forwards, I wanked him gently for a couple of minutes while I teased his nipples, gripping them and twisting. He reached out for my breasts and tried to reciprocate, but I was just too far away for him to reach properly. Grinning, I thrust forward and he grabbed my nipples appreciatively.

"I want you to lick me now," I said. "Okay?" He nodded. "After that, do you want me to suck you first, or fuck you?" He seemed undecided. "Don't worry, you'll get both. What order d'you want them?"

"Suck first, fuck second."

Without a word I stretched forward, sliding myself over his chest and shoulders and positioning my knees either side of his face. I remained above him for a moment, giving him a view of the pussy he had so avidly watched on the internet four nights before, then slid towards his open mouth. Instantly, I felt his tongue probing towards me, sliding against my lips and pressing between them. I nudged down further, impaling his tongue inside me, while he began to flick it up and down, grazing deliciously against my sensitised skin. I rocked forward, leaning on my palms, and began to move my hips back and forward, sliding the length of my pussy against his waiting mouth.

No matter how much I did, though, his tongue was assiduous in search of my clitoris. I may have misjudged Simon, because he seemed to know what he was doing. Gradually, I slowed my actions and left the rhythm to him, resting delicately above him, allowing his tongue to dictate the action. It speared against my clitoris, round and round, first one way then the other, tracking slowly across it and then round and round again, interspersed with the softest sucks, upper lip grazing against me before the tongue, once more, took the lead. He had brought his hand into play, his thumb stroking deftly across my lips and sliding between them, pushing upwards and probing the depths of my pussy.

My muscles began to contract and that familiar fullness in my abdomen began to develop. We had a long way to go, so I swung away and kissed him in thanks, tasting my own juices on his lips, then began to track down his jaw and neck, shoulders and chest to his stomach, planting butterfly kisses all the way. I gripped his cock, still hard, and licked up and down his thigh, drawing closer, ever closer, until my mouth was rested on his pubes, his pulsing cock just millimetres away. I could feel its heat against my cheek and I turned to look, admiring the deep blue vein that ran its length. I kissed it at its base and traced my tongue along it until it rested against the base of his glans. Rising, I slid it into my mouth and sucked.

It was a lovely cock, perfectly proportioned, neither too long nor too squat. He had a generous foreskin which I delighted in playing with, wanking him slowly and watching it wrinkle over his glans before being tugged taut, revealing him in his glory. He filled my mouth with just a fraction to spare, a marginal safety barrier which gave me confidence to swallow and suck, and suck and swallow. His shaft remained erect throughout, but I was intrigued by the way his glans alternated between complete erection and relative flaccidness. Whenever it went soft I slid the rest of him out of my mouth and concentrated on the glans, sucking it and drawing my tongue across his slit, up and down, up and down, until it was hard again.

Simon was a very quiet lover, almost studious. Even so, I could tell when he was getting close to climax by the tension in his thighs and the clenching of his abdomenals. I switched position so that I was crouching between his legs, looking up, giving me a view of his face. He stared down at me, his expression part incredulity, part fear, part excitement. I grinned and winked, then played my hand around his shaft harder and faster, sliding more of him into my mouth and gripping my lips firmly around him. Nodding slightly, I gave him permission to come, and within ten seconds I felt his body tense and a tremendous spurt of semen jolted against the back of my mouth, followed by another, and another. There must have been eight or nine spurts in the end, and sizable too. I swallowed and swallowed, trying not to taste the bitterness, trying to appreciate the moment.

I remained where I was for a minute or so, my mouth still wrapped around his flopping penis, his taste still flooding my senses. Finally, he was soft. I love the feel of a soft cock in my mouth, it's something deeply sensuous and entirely personal. I think it's because of the asexuality of the moment: it becomes more intense, somehow. Sliding it in and out of my mouth, I revelled in its limp shape and bit at the expansive foreskin, until Simon began to groan.

"Ah," he said, "that hurts. It's too soon." I laughed and dragged myself away from him, wedging my body next to his and wrapping my arm around his chest.

"Like that?"

"God," he said, "I can't describe."

"Good." I cupped my hand around his cock and balls. "That was just the starter. The main course will follow, as soon as it warms up."