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 “Jamie.” 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?”

Seconds later my clothes were off. Her warm mouth enclosed around my bulging cock. She began to bob her head up and down. I ran my fingers through her red tresses. She then straddled me and slid the condom on. I sighed as my cock pressed inside her. She pressed her hands down on my chest as she rode me, her pert breasts bouncing. I grabbed her hips as my hips thrust off the bed. Then she turned around and bent her behind toward me. 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.