It started with a car conversation.
I was nervous, almost giddy.
This was the moment. I reached into my bag, and put a c-shaped sex toy I’d recently bought for us on the dashboard.
My boyfriend looked at me, partly intrigued, mostly unsurprised.
“Please tell me THIS one doesn’t go in my butt.”
We’d played with sex toys in the past, and if he didn’t ask this question every time I showed him a new one, I knew we weren’t going to have fun.
Staring at the soft silicone sheath, wrapped around the curve-hugging toy, I sighed, with the patented eye roll and lip bite he’d come to adore. His doe eyes squinted at me, smirking, and I drew my knees together.
Parting his concave lips, he slid one hand between my thighs, while the other rested in a fist, against the stubble that he had manicured to imperfection. It was such a tantalising setting, the two of us compacted together in the front seat of my car, breath exchanging between our partly opened mouths and the illuminating light of a street lamp shining through a fogged windscreen.
“How does this thing work?”
Watching him dangle the toy in the air, squeal at all the different vibrations and test which one could move it from one side of the dashboard to the other the quickest, was building no aspect of my orgasm.