The Bunker Sex

Last weekend Andrew and I had our first weekend away together.

It was pretty amazing. I think it was the best weekend away with a boy that I’ve ever had.

Some things that happened:

  • He got conjunctivitis and we spent ages trying to buy conjunctivitis cream
  • We had sex in a bunker on a cliff top
  • He went to pieces because he thought it was too naughty to have sex in a bunker.

To go back to the start, right before we went away, things were pretty stressful.

As I said in a previous post, my brother has been pretty ill.

He’s recovering really well from pneumonia. He’s had some inconclusive tests about his other organs and we’re still waiting to hear more. However, his GP was reassuring and said it probably isn’t cancer.

Two days before Andrew and I were due to go away, my brother hadn’t had the reassuring doctors’ appointment yet, so we were all still very worried.

I was knackered and stressed, and as I’d booked Friday off work, for the weekend away, I was trying to cram five days of work into four.

On the Wednesday evening, after work, I was driving to have dinner with my friend Tess, when my car started behaving strangely.

Initially, it just juddered a bit when I tried to accelerate, like I was in too high a gear. Then, every time I needed to go from stationary to moving, it juddered and shook so much, I thought it was going conk out. Which was every 30 seconds, as I was stuck in a massive traffic jam.

The car did make it to the end of the journey, but I was shaking by the time I met Tess for dinner.

I burst into tears when she arrived and I told her my car had broken down.

Tess cheered me up at dinner, and the next day, I managed to get the car to a garage. I assumed they would tell me it was Game Over as the car is 17 years old.

Andrew and I were going away to Dorset and needed a car to get there. As my car was still being fixed, we decided to hire a car.

In between very busy moments at work, on the Thursday, I tried to look on car hire websites.

On Friday lunchtime, when we finally sat in the hire car, outside the car hire place, we kissed. I couldn’t believe we’d made it.

“We’re going away together!” I said excitedly. “Shall we have sex when we get to the hotel?”

“OK!” Andrew replied.

We had a nice drive down to Dorset. We chatted away and occasionally held hands when there was a straight bit of road.

I drove and he navigated. I turned off WordPress notifications on my phone, as he was using it for directions, and I didn’t want him to see things flash up on the screen about his tender balls or anything.

I was a little bit crabby when we got to the hotel, as I’d had to do some very stressful reversing up a narrow lane with lots of families wandering behind the car.

This is where we stayed.

We did have sex when we got to our hotel room. I had spent £80 on new underwear for the occasion, which I was keen to show off.

Then we had a bit of an explore, then went for dinner. Our dinner was amazing.

We went to a pub that was a bit further away for some more drinks. We couldn’t get over how dark it was on the country lanes. It never gets that dark in the city.

I loved the conversation with Andrew that night. I was telling him all about the brain and Psychology and EMDR. We talked about Making a Murderer and Serial and he told me all about his police perspective on these.

We got quite tipsy.

After the pub closed, we went back to the beach before returning to our hotel.

It was pitch black and there was no one around, except for two little fishing boats in the sea.

He scrambled up the rocks at the edge of the beach, but I thought pissed people shouldn’t be climbing up rocks in the dark, so I waited for him on the beach.

He came back down and we found a safer path that led up the hill next to the beach.

When we got to the top, we knew no one could see us because it was pitch black, and there was no one around.

As he’s seemed fascinated by the idea of having sex outdoors since day one, I suggested I give him some oral sex up the hill.

This went down well, so to speak. We could hear the waves lapping on the beach up the hill, as we did it.

After a while, we went back to our hotel room to finish what we’d started.

The next morning, when we woke up, one of Andrew’s eyes was really swollen and red. I had noticed it seemed red, the day before.

I ran the corner of a towel under the hot tap, and put it over his eye for a few minutes, to soothe it. This did help, but we knew we needed to get to a chemist so he could get proper treatment.

We had a lovely cooked breakfast, and asked the waitress where the nearest pharmacy was.

It was in the nearest town, several miles away. We’d had quite a leisurely start to the day, so by the time we got to the chemist, it was 1pm.

“Damn!” We both said, as we walked towards the shop.

It had a sign on the door, saying it was closed for lunch from 1-2pm.

Andrew checked on his phone, and there was another chemist in this town.

“Great!”

We headed there.

“Oh.” It closed at 1pm.

It also said on his phone that there was a chemist inside the Sainsbury’s in the town. We headed there, and found, in fact, there wasn’t a chemist in that Sainsbury’s.

It was a slightly depressing town, and we were eager to get back and go for a walk, so we had a decent amount of time before it got dark.

“Maybe we should just go, my eye isn’t that bad,” Andrew suggested.

“No, that would make this whole thing even more of a waste of time, if we came away with no eyedrops!”

We decided to buy a newspaper and find a nice cafe to sit in, while we waited for the chemist to reopen.

Even that was a bit of a struggle. Eventually we found a newsagent, but they’d sold out of the paper Andrew usually buys. (The Times. Don’t get me started.)

Then, Andrew vetoed one cafe as “too bleak”. We tried a second one, and Andrew said “I can’t. Everyone in there looks like they’ve gone there to die.”

The average age of the tea room clientele did look pretty high.

We found a small coffee shop and went in there, and he read the newspaper while I secretly worked on my blog, while drinking hot drinks that took a surprisingly long time to come.

It made me long for London. If we were at my flat, we could have come out of the front door and walked for 5 minutes, and passed 3 or 4 chemists and they would all be OPEN. We would have access to all the conjunctivitis cream we could dream of.

It’s a funny thing, being a Londoner. When I leave London and someone asks me where I’m from, when I say, “London,” they often launch into a detailed diatribe about everything they hate about London.

For example, one time I was paying for petrol on the way out of the Lake District, when the cashier asked where I was heading.

When I said I was going home to London, he said, “I lived there once. I HATED IT! Absolutely HATED IT!”

He then told me gleefully about how the tube had been down one day and how inconvenient it was.

This kind of thing happens all the time. There’s nowhere else in the country you could live, where people would think it’s socially acceptable to tell you what an absolute shit-hole your home-town is.

I grew up in the country, which was not for me. I’ve lived in three cities in England, and London is by far the best place I’ve ever lived.

When people cheerily slag it off, I think, “yeah, shit isn’t it! With one of the best public transport systems in the world, all that amazing history and culture, every kind of food and shopping you could wish for…”

It’s really hard to keep quiet, when I’m thinking, well, if I had to live here, in Shitbury-on-the-Wold, I’d probably kill myself.

Anyway, the pharmacy drama was kind of fun, with Andrew. Eventually, we got to see the pharmacist at 2pm and she confirmed it did seem to be conjunctivitis and he bought some eye ointment.

We still had a few hours left, when we got back. We went for a walk to Durdle Door, which was brilliant.

It’s a big, natural limestone arch coming out of the sea. We lay on the pebbled beach with our arms around each other, and my heart was bursting with love for him. I wanted to tell him, but if he didn’t say it back, I didn’t want to ruin the lovely day.

The next day, we went for another walk, along a cliff edge.

We found a big concrete bunker, that he said must’ve been built (or ‘fortified’ – does that mean the same as ‘built’?) in the Second World War. And I believe him, as he did History at uni.

Round the back of the bunker, there were some steps that lead underneath it, but the door they lead to was closed and grown over.

“We could have sex in here!” I suggested.

It was the middle of the day, but we’d been walking for ages without seeing anyone. And even if someone did come along on the path, they wouldn’t see us as we were round the back and kind of underneath the bunker.

I was half-expecting he’d say No, but he said, “I don’t know, do you think we should?” a couple of times.

I said, “why not?” even though I wasn’t totally sure myself, and suddenly he’d got his penis out.

We were sort of in a doorway at the bottom of some steps, and standing up seemed like the best position, but we hadn’t done it standing up before, and there’s a bit of a height disparity between us.

We tried unsuccessfully to put it in.

“Maybe if I stand on this…” I said, stepping onto a precarious bit of stone.

He knelt down and gave me some oral, as I hadn’t had much time to self-lubricate yet. That was exciting.

Then, I turned around so we could try it like doggy style, but standing up, which did work.

“Oh my god, we’re doing it!” I said.

It was very exciting.

As he approached the end-point for him, he started worrying about where to come. He wanted to take it out as he was worried about making a mess for me in my clothes as we were on a cliff top.

However, I thought inside me seemed like the neatest place for him to come. I didn’t like the idea of him spraying his DNA on a WW2 bunker. It seemed a bit disrespectful, especially with Remembrance Sunday coming up.

So he did come inside me.

I had some tissues in my handbag, so I managed to mop up some of the debris.

I am a bit prone to vagina eczema and I had put some special moisturiser on my vagina that morning, and it’s quite waxy, and I realised some of that had got onto his coat.

“Sorry,” I said, dabbing it with the tissue.

It didn’t stain – that North Face jacket really came into its own in that situation.

Andrew had been apologising for the semen as I tidied us up, and I hadn’t really been paying attention, until he shamefully said, “I deserve it,” as I dabbed his coat.

I realised he was on the cusp of having a meltdown.

We sat on the steps and had a quick hug, and then I was making reassuring sounds as we emerged from underneath the bunker, just as two men walking dogs went past on the footpath.

They were quite far away, and definitely wouldn’t have seen anything, but their presence escalated Andrew’s stress levels several notches.

Then, not realising quite how bad his anxiety was going to get, I made it worse.

I looked at the dog-walkers, who were disappearing into the distance.

“Look, they’ve stopped to look at one of their phones. Imagine if they were looking at footage of us, which they just filmed!” I said.

I had thought a joke would lighten the mood.

It didn’t.

“Oh my god! What if they did film us! We can never do this again! I’m such a coward, I banged on about wanting to do this but it just doesn’t suit my personality! I’m sorry I put you in this position! I’m just like Mark Corrigan from Peep Show really!”

We sat down on top of the bunker and I managed to convince him there was no way they would have seen anything. There was nothing to see, except for the back of his coat slightly going backwards and forwards in the shadows, and those people didn’t go past until a few minutes after we’d finished clearing up, and even then, they were far away.

We would’ve heard if anyone had come around to our side of the bunker.

“You just did something that was a bit naughty and a bit risky. Do you know who else does things that are a bit risky and naughty sometimes?”

He laughed because he knew what I was going to say.

“… literally everyone.”

I continued, “You’re not a coward. You wanted to have sex outside because you’re exciting and fun. Then you felt guilty about it because you have a strong sense of right and wrong. Those are all good values to have. This is OK!”

We continued our walk and managed to move on to talking about other things, but every so often, he’d wince, and I’d say, “was it the bunker sex again?”

And he’d nod.

9 thoughts on “The Bunker Sex

  1. Yes Dater, classic form here and I laughed my head off. Many poignant moments too and observations that are spot on (and hilarious). About this bit: “We had a nice drive down to Dorset. We chatted away and occasionally held hands when there was a straight bit of road.” My beloved and I do that too! I’ve never been with a man who wants to hold me hand while driving!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Such a great story teller! And that bit with the bunker sex – isn’t that the thrill – the risk of being caught? Although I could see that for a police officer that might not look so good, but it still didn’t scare him out of being able to perform!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Pingback: Part 1: Pregnancy tests and proposals | Dater Analysis

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