London Bridge

When we emerged, blinking, from the basement bar where we’d spent most of the night we found that it was almost morning. The sky wasn’t black any longer but blue. Light blue. The streets were empty. No joggers or dog walkers or drunken revellers. Just us. In the centre of London. We walked down the middle of the road just for the novelty of being able to do so.

It was a surprise when we came to the bridge. We were drunk and bouncing randomly, like merry little particles. Neither of us had thought we were near the river, but then there it was – a pale brownish ribbon that cut through the city like a road through a jungle. We ambled out into the middle of it and found that we were the only ones there. The murky Thames eeled thickly below.

For warmth, I put my arms around her. She nuzzled into them. Twelve hours ago we had been strangers exchanging messages on an app. Now she reached down and put a hand over the crotch of my jeans. Pushed her arse back into my hip. Turned her head to kiss me on the mouth.

For a while she ground against me and we kissed. I was hard. Achingly hard. And we were alone. In the middle of a city of eight million people, on a thoroughfare that was at all other times overflowingly crowded. Something about that felt magical. As if time had stopped. As if we had stepped out of the world altogether.

She fumbled with my belt. I undid it as she pulled down her shorts. Urgent now. She bent forwards and I found that part of her with the tip of my cock. Wet and warm and so slippery when everything else around us was cold and hard, outlined by harsh pre-dawn light. I slipped into her and she grabbed my arm, fingers digging in.

“Yes.” Eyes shut, looking out over the river, towards where the sun would rise. “Yes, yes, yes, yes.”

She was a warm thin thing pinned between me and the balustrade. The bridge was heavy cold stone. Where she pressed her hands against it she left prints in condensation that evaporated slowly. The two of us fucking in the perfect quiet. We whispered, despite being alone. London was sleeping. We didn’t want to wake it.

“Come in me.” She reached back, one arm doglegged, pulling me into her. Holding me inside her as my cock twitched and emptied. “Stay in… stay… please… in me…” Words giving way, shuddering. Just that whisper.

For a minute after I finished I stayed inside her. She edged her hand to mine and wrapped her pinky around my thumb. We held hands. I pulled out and she kissed me deeply, then pressed her body into mine. The front of her was cold from the stone of the bridge. After a moment we parted and fixed our clothes.

By then it was almost dawn. The sun glowed over the horizon, liquid orange. Soon the tube would start running. We would part ways. Go sleepily to our respective jobs. Drop out of the strange, silent other world in which we had found ourselves, and back into noisy reality.

Before that could happen, however, we walked sleepily along the bank of the Thames, hand in hand towards Embankment station. I could feel our bodies glowing with tiredness, while around us the city slowly woke.