A Royal Wedding

The crowd surges forward. I am in danger of being deafened. Deafened by the roar of the excited people as they scream their good wishes to the Prince, now a Duke, and his Duchess being conveyed in the landau pulled by gorgeous horses down the Mall. I would be deafened by the cries of others if I were not yelling at the top of my voice my message to the happy couple. What a wonderful occasion. How lucky I am to be in such a prominent position.

How lucky too that my boyfriend insisted on getting here two days before the day of the royal wedding. Initially I pooh-poohed the idea... no way was I going to sleep rough on London's hard pavements. Jonny promised that it wouldn’t be too bad; we needed to get a good position early, and besides we would have a tent and sleeping bags. And much to my amazement he had purchased a nineteen-sixties picnic set complete in every way so that we were able to dine out by our tent in relative luxury, much to the envy of many around us.

How Jonny puts up with me is something I really dare not ask as I never want to lose him by prompting him to wonder that self same thing himself. I am ashamed that I tried desperately to persuade him against coming here. After all we could see it all on tee-vee, in comfort. I scold myself now for throwing myself at him, naked, and begging him to fuck me on that evening before we were due to leave home to come here.

Its Jonny all over to sigh in resignation and to make love to me as he did that evening. I really threw myself into making it one of the best fucks we had ever had. When we had finished we were in the sort of state that I would have planned... if of course I was a girl that planned... we were absolutely shagged out; exhausted. I grinned to myself with self-satisfaction; no way would we have to spend days on a cold , wet pavement.

Trust my darling boy to be one step ahead of me though. He dragged us both under a hot shower, then as we languished, hugging each other tight under the hot needles of water, the bastard turned the temperature control to cold! If only I could have grabbed his nuts I would have made him very very sorry. As it was I just hyperventilated, then when I was able, screamed a few of the many expletives that I have in my vocabulary.

As ever I couldn’t stay mad at him for long, particularly as he stands there naked with a little boy lost look on his handsome face and his dick still red from the heat inside me. Besides, my pussy still had the wonderful warm glowing feeling that lasts for ages after a long hard fuck. Of course I gave in and we found this place on the Mall looking along the road towards the magnificent Buck-House.

The evening temperature is cool and I my worst fears about freezing to death in a tiny tent beside one of the most famous road in Britain seemed a good prospect. But oh how wrong was I. The atmosphere is amazing. Although we are among the first people to seriously camp out there, many are taking advantage of the occasion to participate in the interchange of friendly chit-chat and banter. Beside the gregarious Londoners there are people from all over Britain as well as those from all over the world; Americans, Canadians, Japanese, French, Germans, etc. etc. So many accents to try to understand.

I am always amazed at my boy friend's ingenuity. He had obtained a one man tent. He said it was logical that we didn’t need a two man tent as he was sharing it with a woman, not another man, and being dumb I couldn’t fault that logic. No tent pegs were needed, just a few flexible thin poles and it was erected (I love that word BTW.) and complete with built-in ground sheet (?).

As our legs get tired from standing we sit on the sleeping bags and it is quite comfortable. Jonny allays my fears that I will have to sleep alone in a single bag by telling me that the two singles zipped together to form a generously sized double. You see why I love him?

Jonny and I shared the bottles of wine that he had brought in the picnic set with a few people, who like us had chosen this spot as their viewpoint for the wedding. After a few glasses we got quite pally, exchanging names etc. As it is late there seemed a general consensus that it is time for some sleep.

So I slide into the sleeping bag and curl up to get warm. Jonny strips down to his tee-shirt and boxers. He whispers for me to undress. I shook my head. No way was I going to get down to my bra, tee and panties. And I really cant be blamed, when he put cold hands up my jumper and tee on to my bare flesh, for yelling out rather loudly.

“Oh shit! Get your cold hands off my arse” The general low murmur of the people around us stops. The silence is deafening for a moment until one, then others start to giggle.

“Oops”, I say, “sorry everyone”. There is a murmur of acceptance.

Jonny has a great big grin on his face when he sticks an index finger to his lips and shushes me.

It doesn’t take long before I start to warm up. Jonny's kisses and wandering hands soon have my temperature rising. Off come the sweater and thick jogging pants and as they did, and as Jonny's hands get more adventurous, and as my hands want to play too, so we both get naked in the cocoon of the sleeping bag. Ever playing the fool my boyfriend puts my panties on his head, pulling the crotch over his nose so that his eyes peer out of the leg holes.

“Oh for god sake, you look like a right pussy with my panties over your head”, I whisper. It seems my whispers... well, it seems that they aren’t really whispers as there is a “oh my god” in an American accent, followed by laughter from most of those around us. Thankfully there are no children near.

I’m sorry but when Jonny's hard dick finds my hand and his long slim fingers stray to my clit I am not to be blamed for what follows. How is it my fault that I express my appreciation of sexual pleasures in sounds that some people may find irritating? Or even funny! When Jonny is working his magic on my body, and on particular parts of my body, I lose all sense of my surroundings. So when, as his fingers alternate between swirling over my clit and plunging deep between my very sensitive labia and deeper along my tight canal, he stops, is it any wonder that I whisper “Don’t you dare stop those magic fingers unless you are ready to put this monster in me”?

The unfortunate thing is that I just cant seem to whisper quietly enough for these particular circumstances. There is a unison of “Oh my god” in various accents, from not only close to us but from further away too.

“Where are you going?” demands Jonny in a hoarse whisper as I unzip the sleeping bag and reach for the zip to the tent.

“Why, to do what a good girl should... apologise to our new friends”, I explain in the most sarcastic tone I could muster. Light laughter ripples around those near us.

“Good grief woman you cant do that!” chokes my boy friend.

“Oh cant I, and why on earth not? I ask incredulously. “I am a good girl and know my manners”, I add.

“You’re at the side of one of the most famous roads in London, there are thousands of people around, the area is brightly lit and...”, he pauses.

“And what, where are your manners...”, his pointing finger stops me.

“And you’re naked?”, Jonny reminds me.

My “Oops” is greeted with laughter from what it seems is a large audience around the tent.

“Oh go on, let the lady make her apologies”, calls out a male voice. More voices join the laughter.

Although alone in the small tent with Jonny I blush at the thought of a stranger wanting to see my naked body. I have to admit that it is a blush of sexual excitement and not embarrassment; I am not easily embarrassed. And I am tempted to give what seems is an eager audience, just a little taste of what they are missing. To that end I slip one leg through the tent zip and receive cries of appreciation together with a few whistles, and the odd tsk. Jonny drags me back.

The previous thought of succumbing to sleep now seems far from the minds of the crowd around us. What starts as quiet chatter develops in volume as more and more people seem to have found a common subject to share.

Although my boyfriend refuses and zips himself into the sleeping bag, I dress and leave the tent to join the crowd and their conversation. As I pull myself out of the tiny tent those around cheer and wave to me. I have no idea why it is that I enjoy so much being the centre of attention.

One man wipes imaginary tears from his eyes as he states the obvious, “Damn it, young lady, you dressed, we were so looking forward to...”, he didn’t bother to finish. I give him a big smile.

Amongst those in close proximity we renew names, add others that we didn’t meet earlier and listen as many anecdotes are revealed and discussed, so it is early morning before we all say our good-nights. I return to the tent, strip naked and slip my cold naked body next to Jonny's in the sleeping bag.

Am I wrong to think his sleepy “oh fuck, you’re cold” a little ungracious?

“Get some sleep... and let us get some too”, someone close-by pleads.

But I am now ready to receive his hard dick inside me and I hop he isn’t too tired. I promise myself not moan or cry out if I am lucky enough to wake Jonny's sleeping manhood.

-oOo-

I am not in the best of moods the next morning when eventually Jonny forces me to climb out of the sleeping bag, dress and join the throng on the street. Although I am far from being a nymphomaniac, a girl should get to have her sexual fulfilment when she most needs it! And suffice to say, this girl didn’t get any last night.

Now the happy people are moving about less, they are choosing the place where they will try to catch a glimpse of the happy couple and all of the wonderful pageantry for which Great Britain is so justifiably proud. They are happy, bubbling, chatty, giggly, the normal slight English reserve has been replaced by a gregariousness that is contagious.

My arm curls around Jonny's waist, his around my shoulder and he pulls me tight to his hard body; his warmth flooding through our clothes as if there was no barrier. God, am I in love... or I am I in lust? It has to be both and not just the sense of occasion, crushed here waiting to see the start of a young couple's married life. When Jonny and I are an age similar to the Prince and his bride I know that we shall marry. In the meantime I comfort myself with my hand in his pants pocket grasping what I can of a cock that succumbs to the fingers that it has got to know and enjoy.

Jonny kisses me and the older folk around us sound a warm and long “aaah”.

“He's my Prince Charming” I tell them.

Jonny's lips on mine again are far too hot and inviting and I have to break the kiss, as my panties are in danger of becoming a wick for my vaginal fluids.

At one and the same time we whisper to each other, “Later, later”.

The day passes so quickly as each of us has to answer the call of nature, go buy food and stock up with wine for the coming night. In Jonny's absence I find myself fascinated by the conversation of an elderly lady. Unfortunately I am unable to gauge the age of people with greying hair, lines and wrinkles. This lady could be as young as forty or as old as sixty. But she has a wonderfully young outlook and we discuss fashion, houses, men, money, and believe it or not music. She is so damn current, knowing all the current artists and their music. I deliberately avoid the subject of sex as I don’t suppose at her age Marsha actually has sex.

“You know”, my new friend Marsha tells me, “ you young people don’t make love any more”. I stare at her... lost for words. If only Jonny had been willing, this lady would have heard us make love just last night.

I open my mouth to correct her but she continues, “It's all very well...” at this point she looks around furtively and continues in a low whisper, “just fucking like rabbits...”, she pauses when she sees the shocked look on my face. A warm motherly smile crosses her pretty features. “Sexual intercourse is not love-making”, she explains with a little chuckle. “Oh, you young people didn’t invent the four letter words that you use so freely, you know”. Again that charming smile, she looks as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

Marsha and I chat for absolutely ages, and oh my she is definitely not a virginal old maid. Chuck, her husband is back at the hotel as he is a staunch republican and will have no truck with 'the royals and their weddings' quotes Marsha, she we rejoin him at the hotel this evening and return tomorrow the day of the wedding to try to see what she can. I promise her that Jonny and I will keep a place for her if she doesn’t mind me referring to her as my aunty.

Jonny returns and I introduce him to Marsha, but in devilment I lie and tell him she is my aunty. Marsha grins at me and slaps my butt for being naughty. My new aunty at once invites us both to eat with Chuck and her at the hotel but as we point out we would lose our hard won vantage point. We thank her for her generosity.

“Come and see what I have got for you Tiz”, he calls me Tiz or Tizzy 'cause I’m invariably in a dither; a tizzy; discombobulated. Jonny makes those eyes that say to me, 'and what I’ve got for you is in my pants'. We crawl into the confined space that is the tent, as we zip up the doorway, there are all-knowing murmurs from those around us of ' ooh', as if to say, 'we know what your going to be up to'.

I know what you’re thinking, 'cant those two wait just until its all over and they are in the privacy of their own room?', Or, 'It is so disgusting, out on the street!'. Or, 'Young people of today have no morals'.

Little Tizzy just don’t have the answer! I adore my boyfriend. He is sex on legs. I adore his love-making fucking. And... well as I admit, I don’t have the answer.

Oh god this boy is horny! Where has he been to get this way in the middle of the afternoon? I don’t ask 'cause I don’t care. I want his hands all over my body, his lips on mine, his cock buried inside me, bringing all the pleasures that he knows I adore.

Did I say that in the throes of sex I lose track of where I am? I am sure to have.

So now as we emerge into the crowd surrounding us, with our faces glowing from the delights that we have just enjoyed, a few men start to applaud. Then others cheer, A few give us a disgusted look.

“Sex in such a small tent in the middle of a crowd isn’t at all private”, calls the American guy that was disappointed not to see me naked, yesterday.

Jonny just mumbles something that even I didn’t hear.

I smile at the guy and lick my lips very suggestively, “so sorry”, I tell him. The crowd laughs good-naturedly.

Marsha beckons me over to where she sits on a garden chair, takes my hand between her two and pulls me so that she can whisper in my ear.

“Would you... could we...”, she hesitates.

“Is everything OK?”, I fear that something is wrong.

With a smile she whispers, “Oh yes, but I want to hear a few of your secrets”, seeing my frown, she hurriedly adds, “your positions and techniques...you know, sex!”.

This astonishes me as this lady is an experienced older lady. It should be me who asks this question of her. But she explains that Chuck, her husband, is 'an old fuddy-duddy and fucks only in the supine position'. I swear that as I describe some of the positions we use and the places that we have fucked at, Marsha's tongue wets her lips a dozen times. And her eyes were in danger of popping out of her head as I describe a dogging session that Jonny and I had been to; as voyeurs, I hurriedly explained.

“Babe? Ah, where can I go see this?” her American accent becomes thick; it must be that this lovely older lady is getting horny.

Before I can answer Marsha continues, “I don’t suppose that you would loan me your handsome...” the look on my face tells her before the sentence is finished that I understand her unfinished request and that there is no way I would share my man. “Nah huh...? Didn’t think you would, you two are so much in love, I can see”, she sighs.

I shrug my shoulders, there is no need to spoil her dream any further by putting her down with any harsh words. Marsha reaches into her bag, rummages around then offers what I find is a personal card with her name, address in England and a mobile phone number. Its easy to understand what she wants and I smile, bend and kiss her on the cheek.

“OK aunty”, I grin,”I will call you, OK?”