Lupercalia

Colleen hinted that she’d like to have dinner on Valentine’s Day. Not wanting to invest the day with excess meaning (and wanting to avoid the crowds), I agreed to a more modest coffee date on Sunday. Besides, I detest this commercialized confection of chocolate, flowers, and saccharine romance.

Yet lust abides.

The ancient Romans celebrated the festival of Lupercalia on February 15. “The festival was to enable or facilitate fertility,” according to Kresimir Vukovic, a postdoctoral fellow at the Catholic University of Croatia. The festival very much had a “sexual aspect.” Mosaics from the era depict naked women being struck by strips of skin from sacrificed goats by priests of the god Lupercus.

This afternoon I felt especially Lupercalian. I made a phone call to Joyce. Sara was unavailable, so Joyce recommended “Jessica.” We set up an appointment for early evening. I prepared myself and made my way to the incall apartment near the museum.

When I arrived at the apartment, I was greeted with a soft kiss by a mature, tall, slender redhead in stockings. She wished me a happy Valentine’s Day. She offered me a drink (I declined) and led me to the bedroom. She didn’t waste any time.

“Ready to have some fun?”

She hugged me and gave me a deep kiss, slowly slipping her hand down my pants to tease my throbbing cock. My hands reached behind her and grabbed her ass. Soon she unzipped my pants. She shed her lingerie, moved to the bed, and spread her legs open.

I accepted the invitation.

Seconds later my clothes were off, and I joined her on the bed. She guided my head toward her crotch. I kissed her inner thighs, then ran my tongue around her outer lips before I started licking her pussy. She softly moaned when my tongue flicked across her clit. My mouth moved up her body and until it fastened onto her right nipple. After enjoying her breasts, I complimented her on her derrière. She returned the compliment by grabbing a condom. Then she positioned herself on all fours.

I had to fuck her.

I got up on my knees behind her, smacked her ass, and slowly pushed myself inside of her. I placed my hands around her waist. The bed creaked as my thighs slapped against her ass. No chocolate. No flowers. No empty professions of affection. Just flesh on flesh. After some frenzied thrusts, a guttural grunt exited my throat.

We lounged on the bed afterwards. She said Valentine’s Day is usually quiet for her. Most of her clientele are married. “If he’s not getting sex from his wife, he’ll seek it elsewhere,” she said.

She offered me a shower, which I availed myself to. Then I got dressed. She gave me a light kiss and wished me good night. I exited the apartment and headed out into the winter chill.