Buzzing Easter Bunnies Page 4

  I pick up the toy from Matt's bedside cabinet and slip it over him. When I flick the switch on he lets out a whimper. 'Blimey, that's a interesting sensation,' he says with eyes wide.

  It certainly looks interesting. It looks rather bizarre too. The bunny wobbles and vibrates at the base of his penis, looking for all the world like it's about to climb up it like a tree trunk. Nestled as the rabbit is in his pubic hair, it reminds me of the cover of Watership Down. This automatically makes my stupid brain start singing Bright Eyes, which, let me tell you, is not the kind of song you want in your head when you're contemplating the mounting of an erect penis. The phrase 'burning like fire' should not be one on the tip of your tongue whenever genitals are involved. It throws up a whole series of unpleasant images, along with the memory of a lengthy and embarrassing trip to the gynaecologist.

  To try and get the heart-breaking song and movie out of my head, I throw my leg over Matt's body and rest my crotch up against his vibrating manhood.

  'Wow,' I exclaim breathlessly.

  'Does it feel good?'

  'Um... yeah. It feels very good.'

  And I haven't even climbed on properly yet. The next few minutes of my life promise to be highly memorable.

  Taking things very slowly, I lower myself down onto Matt. I stop just as the bunny's ears are about to touch parts of my anatomy that have previously only been caressed by fingers and the occasional poorly trained tongue. This is something of a watershed moment. One that I should probably try to enjoy and not get too carried aw -

  JESUS CHRIST! JESUS CHRIST ON A BIKE, WITH A CROSS-EYED BUNNY UNDER EACH ARM!

  It's like someone has simultaneously poked me with an electrified cattle prod, and just told me I can have a two month holiday in the Caribbean for free.

  'Huuuuurrrnnnnnnn,' I say to no-one in particular.

  'Good?' Matt asks.

  Good? GOOD?

  The last time I ate a Marks and Spencer's Eton Mess it was good. This is a feeling that words haven't as yet been invented to describe. When they are, they will be long, have many syllables, and will have to be shouted through a loudhailer from the top of Mount Everest.

  Oh, small buzzing pink bunny, where the hell have you been all my life?

  I try to move up and down on Matt, which makes the sensation even stronger. I have to stop, as I just don't have the motor skills to accomplish even such a simple task right now. My thighs have turned to jelly. Matt seems to sense my pleasurable predicament, and starts to do some of the heavy lifting for me, moving his hips slowly up and down while I remain more or less immobile on top.

  It is the most exquisitely wonderful feeling I have ever had.

  It is also a stone cold guarantee that I will very shortly be achieving my first orgasm with a man inside me. To be honest, a department store dummy would probably reach a climax with a little pink buzzing friend like this placed against it. In the next few moments the floodgates will open... never to be closed again!

  I moan long and loud, as Matt continues to move beneath me.

  Ahhhhhhhh...

  Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

  Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

  Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh- hang on a bloody moment...

  Something doesn't feel right.

  The pleasure centres of my brain are starting to register a rather uncomfortable feeling that has started in my left leg, on the inside of my thigh. It's a weird fluttering sensation that I don't like in the slightest.

  It's a feeling I've not had for a very long time. As the memory of it blasts through the haze of sexual excitement, I feel my blood run cold.

  Let's go back fourteen years, shall we? To Christina Barclay's first ride on a motorcycle...

  Said motorcycle was owned by Charlie, a ne'er-do-well from the council estate down the road, who had taken a fancy to me in art class at school. Charlie liked to ride around on a small but energetic motorbike that he'd won in a bet. The bet had been to see who could eat the most cigarettes in one minute, so he'd really earned that little 90cc motor.

  He took me out for a ride deep into the nearby forest for some light teenage fumbling, which my adolescent body and mind had enjoyed immensely. Less enjoyable were the terrible vibrations that 90cc engine sent powering through my legs on the half an hour ride back to my house. By the time we turned into my street I could feel a horrible fluttering sensation making its way up my inner thigh. I managed to say a hurried goodbye to Charlie at my front gate, before hobbling up the garden path and slamming the door behind me.

  In my room I then suffered the most painful cramp imaginable. My father nearly broke the door in half trying to get to me to see what all the screaming was about, and then almost went looking for Charlie to break him in half, until I explained about the motorcycle's vibrations giving me the cramp, rather than any part of poor Charlie's anatomy.

  I was banned from ever seeing Charlie again, which was upsetting. I was also banned from riding a motorcycle, which was not.

  And here I am, almost a decade and a half later, with the same warning flutter running up my leg.

  I know what's coming.

  It isn't going to be me.

  'Matt,' I bark in a strangled voice.

  'What?'

  'I have to... I have to get off!'

  Matt isn't far away from his intended destination either, so is understandably distraught at my reluctance to continue. 'Just a few more moments! I'm nearly there!'

  'No Matt! I have to stop now before it's too late and I start cra - '

  But, of course, it is too late.

  The cramp seizes my entire left leg. It feels like somebody with a real grudge against me has decided to pour petrol over my leg and set it on fire.

  'Aaaargggh!' I wail and clutch at my burning thigh. With Herculean effort considering the agony I'm in, I pull myself off Matt and fall to one side. In doing so I neatly smack one of Matt's testicles with my heel.

  'Aaaargggh!' he echoes, the cords standing out on his neck as he thrashes in pain against the constraints.

  I would like to administer some kind of first aid to him, but I am now face down on the bed, both hands wrapped around my leg, willing the cramp to subside.

  It does not co-operate, so I am forced to roll over and sit up. My only recourse of action is to get off the bed, and try to walk around to get the blood flowing again.

  Matt is still thrashing around in pain, trying in vain to release himself from the straps so he can clasp his hands around his poor abused testicle. This distressing vision is made more comical than it should be, by the little pink buzzing rabbit still vibrating back and forth at the base of his penis. 'Ow! Ow!' he screeches. 'Why did you do that? I know we were... we were trying a bit of bondage, but I'm not into pain!'

  'I didn't do it deliberately, you pillock!' I spit as I rise unsteadily to my feet. 'I've got a bloody cramp!'

  'What? In your vagina?'

  Even in my agony, I can't let that stupendously idiotic pronouncement go unpunished. 'Yes, Matt. I have a cramping fanny,' I say with pained sarcasm dripping from every syllable. 'It's quite common, but I'll just go pour some water on it and give it a squeeze. I'm sure it will be fine.'

  'Really?'

  'No! Not fucking really, you giant bell end! It's in my bloody thigh. The bunny set it off.' I start to hobble towards the end of the bed, still kneading at my thigh as I go.

  'What did it do?' Matt asks, as if it had come alive and started molesting me.

  'The vibration, I mean!'

  'Is there anything I can do?'

  I don't want to glare at him. His offer of help is perfectly reasonable, but wracking pain never puts me in a particularly grateful mood, so poor old Matt gets the full force of my ocular displeasure. 'There's nothing you can do. I just... just need to walk around a bit to get the blood flowing again.'

  After freeing Matt's hands from the bondage straps, I spend the next ten minutes hobbling like a geriatric pirate around a bedroom containing mo
re Star Wars memorabilia than is strictly necessary for any one human being.

  Thankfully, after much puffing, panting, swearing and moaning, the cramp loosens off enough for me to sit back down with a half sigh of relief.

  'Um. I don't think my ball is quite right,' Matt says, uncupping himself so I can get a look.

  Even if I wasn't a trained nurse, I could quite easily tell that Matt is right, as his testicle now resembles a blood orange. In size and texture anyway. 'God! Why didn't you say something?!'

  The look of puppy dog like sorrow is as heartbreaking as it is guilt inducing. 'I didn't want to interrupt you while you were cramping.'

  Right then, so instead of achieving a nerve-jangling orgasm this evening thanks to a pink buzzing bunny, I instead get to achieve soul-blackening guilt thanks to a swollen testicle. 'We'd better get you to A&E,' I say with a sinking feeling. '...again,' I add, completely unnecessarily.

  Luckily, Matt hasn't suffered any permanent damage. The testicle is a fragile little thing though, and doesn't react well to being walloped with a heel. According to Travis the junior doctor - who I know for a fact is banging the 43 year old head of the x-ray department - it'll be a few days before the swelling goes down, but other than that Matt will make a complete recovery.

  'That could have gone better really,' my wounded boyfriend says from the passenger seat of the car as we pull back up at his flat three hours later.

  'Indeed,' I say, still wincing as I climb out of the car. The cramp may have gone, but the residual ache won't be going anywhere for a couple of days yet.

  'Still, you've got to look on the bright side,' he continues, gingerly getting out of the car himself.

  'How's that exactly?'

  'At least I haven't had anything rammed up my arse this time. I should be able to sit down okay, which makes a nice change.'

  I take Matt's arm and we shamble together up the garden path to the front door. We look for all the world like two soldiers returning home from years of combat, rather than two people who just tried something kinky in bed.

  'I need some sleep,' Matt yawns contagiously.

  We make our slow and pained way back to his bedroom, to discover that while we have been gone, the buzzing bunny has leaked battery fluid all over the duvet.

  This rather says it all, when you get right down to it.

  I thank my lucky stars that we didn't try anything really adventurous this evening. If we'd have broken out a sex swing or a set of anal beads, there's every possibility we'd now both be crippled for life... or stone cold dead.

  PUBLIC INDECENCY FOR BEGINNERS

  What a glorious thing annual leave truly is. Especially when it coincides with the first period of good weather we've had since last September.

  I have a whole five days off, and Spring has most definitely sprung, with a healthy dose of late March sun bathing the country in a rosy glow that makes you glad to be alive.

  I had planned on doing precisely bugger all the entire time.

  This was the first decent period of leave I'd had in six months, and I intended to take advantage of it to the fullest - by being so astronomically lazy that God himself would look down on me in shame, and wish he'd never bothered with any life form more complicated than a radish.

  Matthew Bunion has other plans in store for me though.

  You'd think that a cramping thigh and a swollen bollock might put paid to a relationship only in its early stages - and with any other couple, you'd be absolutely right. As it is, once our respective injuries had healed up, we got right back on the horse... so to speak. I have increased my life insurance premium though, just to be extra safe.

  'What are you doing over the weekend?' Matt asks excitedly, the second he's in the house. It's Thursday night, the end of my first day off, and I'm already more relaxed than I have been in weeks. The glass of red wine I have clutched in my hand has everything to do with this.

  'Absolutely nothing,' I reply with a smile. 'A big massive pile of fuck all.'

  'Ah, right. Great!' Matt claps his hands together and favours me with an expectant grin. 'Have you ever been to Scotland?'

  'What?'

  'Scotland? Have you ever been there?'

  'No. Why?' I ask warily, having a feeling I know what's coming.

  Yep, out come the tickets from his pocket.

  Crap.

  It's an absolutely lovely gesture, but I'd much rather just swan around the house for four days in my dressing gown.

  'I've booked us a weekend away!' Matt says excitedly.

  'Really!?' I exclaim, trying to sound happier than I actually am.

  'Yeah! Surprise!'

  I put down the wine, wrap my arms around Matt and give him a big kiss. 'Thank you. It's a lovely present,' I tell him, maintaining my show of enthusiasm.

  My faked excitement is replaced by the genuine sort when he shows me the place we'll be staying at on his phone. It's a five star spa called The McInnish Resort, which nestles in the Highlands next to Loch Lomond. If the pictures on the website are anything to go by, my relaxing weekend will now be accentuated by an infinity pool, a cocktail bar the size of my entire house, and the kind of beautiful scenery that will literally take your breath away if you climb high enough up it.

  'How much did this cost?' I ask in disbelief, as I take in the majesty of the Nordic sauna, and a la carte restaurant.

  'A fair bit!' Matt says, with a slightly wild look in his eyes.

  My new boyfriend works in a relatively small I.T company, so my next question is to be expected. 'How can you afford it?'

  Matt rocks his head from side to side. 'Well, I kinda sold a couple of my posters on Ebay. The Japanese Star Wars one, and the original Toho Godzilla one from the fifties.'

  I know as much about sci-fi memorabilia as I do yak farming, but even I'm aware of how much rare posters like that can sell for. I feel tears pricking my eyes. I'm well aware what those posters meant to him, so the fact he'd sold them to take me away for the weekend is amazing.

  'Thank you, Matt. Thank you so much.' No need to feign any emotions this time around.

  'You're welcome! I'm looking forward to it myself. There are lots of walks you can do around the area. Plenty to see and do.'

  While the prospect of tramping around the Scottish countryside doesn't fill me with as much joy as the Nordic sauna and a la carte restaurant, I'm still very excited about my first visit to the Highlands. If Matt wants to take me on a walk through scented pine forests and across babbling brooks then I'm not going to complain, as long as there is someone back at the hotel ready and willing to massage my feet upon my return.

  'We fly tomorrow morning, so you'd best get packing,' Matt tells me.

  'Okay. I'll get started in about twenty minutes.'

  'What are you going to do before then?'

  By way of explanation, I remove my t-shirt and start to nibble on one of his earlobes.

  Sadly, the sex still doesn't end with me having an orgasm, but I am about to stay in a five star spa resort, where all my smallest whims will be catered for, so all in all I'm more than happy to put this evening down in the win column.

  The flight from Gatwick to Glasgow goes very smoothly the next morning, and before you know it we're driving the hire car towards Loch Lomond through tree-lined mountains, warmed by spectacular Spring sunshine.

  When the Loch itself comes into view I let out a gasp of sheer delight. The sun makes the millpond smooth water of the vast Loch twinkle like it's alive with fireflies. I have never seen anything quite so beautiful in my life, and I therefore spend the next five minutes taking two hundred photos of exactly the same thing, until my thumb starts to ache and my phone's battery dies.

  Which is a real shame, as it means I can't take another two hundred photos of the glorious McInnish spa resort as we drive up the wide sweeping gravel road that leads to it. It is every inch the dramatic Scottish manor house, built from grey stone and replete with more buttresses and crenulations than you can shake a st
ick at. This bugger has turrets, people. Proper pointy turrets.

  It also has someone to take your bags when you arrive, which I am very grateful for, as I have packed enough clothes to last me six months. It may well be unseasonably warm right now in the Scottish Highlands, but I've seen Take The High Road, and I know the weather can change in a heartbeat. I don't fancy freezing to death over my last piece of shortbread.

  'Wow,' Matt exclaims as we enter the foyer of the hotel. It's an expensive combination of old school Scottishness, and ultra modern styling. Who'd have thought dark stained oak panels would go so well with uplighters and polished marble?

  I'm the one wowing when we're shown to our room.

  There is one brief shining moment in life when you have just finished an extensive Spring clean of your house, and you stand back to admire just how clean, neat and tidy the front room is for the first time in months. Your freshly cleaned lounge would still look like a shithole compared to how wonderful this hotel room is.

  It feels like they've just taken the wrappers off everything. I want to build myself a nest of fluffy towels on the enormous king sized bed and order room service until Judgement Day arrives.

  'The shower has one of those rain heads,' Matt points out happily. 'You know a place is swanky when it has a rain shower.'

  If anything, the rest of the hotel and spa makes our room look like a doss house. They might as well have wallpapered the place in twenty pound notes, judging by the cost of all the interior design. A small but perky Scottish girl called Linda gives us the guided tour of the place, taking in the restaurant, swimming pool, spa treatment rooms and cocktail bar. The Nordic sauna looks even better in real life, as does the view from the enormous veranda that overlooks Loch Lomond.

  'I have to move here,' I tell Matt on the way back to our room. 'Did you bring that bondage kit along? I want to shackle myself to the radiator so they can never throw me out.'

  The next two days pass in a blissful haze of utter gloriousness that I find hard to believe. Highlights include the aforementioned sauna - which does wonders for my pores; the Thai back massage - which does equal wonders for the bad back I've had since I had to catch a drunk eighteen stone man at work two months ago; and a salted caramel & chocolate pudding that I would cheerfully eat until I dropped into a coma - when I would continue to have the pudding intravenously injected into my body.