It was one of those eras in ordinary everyday life when women's fashion turns ordinary everyday women into provocative sex objects. Very unfashionable from a social point of view, when we are supposed to not notice gender or beauty or shape or whatever the PC people have decreed. People are people and you're not allowed to comment on physical attributes.

In this case, in the streets of the UK the girls and young women were wearing black leggings: essentially opaque tights that clung to thighs and stomachs and buttocks and pubic mounds, turning the female inside them into a warm, fleshy, dark cotton sculpture. And if that made the women self-conscious, men were not supposed to look... or something. I don't understand.

But I did look. Everyone looked. You couldn't help it. You could see the stretchy fabric diving into crevices. You could tell if she was wearing proper knickers or a thong, or maybe nothing, and it was exciting. You saw exactly how the muscles and the fat in that beautiful central area were laid out. You could almost smell it. And is that crude? Is that unpleasant? Not if the woman sanctions it, even invites it.

And yet, there are many young women who dress like this and don't even expect to be desired. They see themselves as unfanciable, or at least unfancied. Boys never gave them the time of day and now men don't either. They are overweight, forbidding, the female equivalent of the incels who have given up hope of ever having sex - or at least their standards are so low they don't expect attention from any half-decent male.

Leila was like that. She was big, not in the sense of tall or well built, but very overweight. And the way she dressed did nothing to make her look better. Her black leggings were cheap and faded, with marks that looked like chalk on one thigh. Her plain white t-shirt was similarly cheap and similarly overstuffed. She was a human rolling countryside of hills and dales, damp valleys and steamy forests, including that secret swamp at the back between her buttocks.

It was late afternoon in a supermarket and she was buying wine. So was I. She noticed I was looking at her; she felt my gaze, and her facial expression and body language quickly ran from surprised to alarmed before she recovered her composure and moved on to a kind of arrogance as she rationalised the feeling. Now she could see that finally someone had had the insight to understand she was sexy as hell in an unusual configuration. She was gorgeous, as she had always known deep down but had been conditioned not to believe. This man—me—was lusting after her and if he pursued her a little, she would give him the time of his life, just as she would extract from him raunchy, dirty thrills for herself.

She was, as they said, going to fuck his brains out—as long as he asked her nicely.

I could see all this running through her mind—or hoped I could—in the split second when our eyes met.

"Party?" I said, nodding at the bottle of Prosecco in her basket.

"No, just a night in," she replied. "You?"

Oh my god, we both thought, we're going to get together.

"Yes, boring night in. I've got loads of food that needs eating. Would you like to..."

"Mmm. Okay," she said, breaking into an involuntary smile which she quickly suppressed with vigorous nods of her head as if for reassurance. Yes, she was telling herself. I can do this. I'm going to do it. Why not? He's nothing special. Nice enough, but he's not out of my league. No one is, really. Why shouldn't I have some fun for a change?

She arrived at my door an hour later carrying the wine and a large bag of Kettle Chips, some sort of chilli flavour. It was 6pm on a Thursday, hardly a traditional time for a meal and a seduction, but we both knew that was the real menu.

We sat at my little dining table and ate all the stuff that had been in my fridge: stuffed olives, Dutch cheese, a jar of Dorito dip, the hot, spicy tomato one, accompanied by a baguette we had bought together and the crisps. We were not so much having a meal as passing the time before we had been together long enough to make sex a natural progression rather than a hasty waste.

Eventually I looked into her eyes and she got the idea, gazing back into mine while our hands grasped each other before mine reached for her big, unruly breasts. When I did that, she instinctively put her hand on my balls and felt for the outline of an erection. And then she was on her knees at the table while I fumbled with my zip and presented her with my hard, excited cock.

She sucked me greedily and clumsily, but we weren't looking for points being awarded for style. She was grabbing what she deserved but had been denied so often in her life, and I felt her slow down once she had me in her mouth. Don't be so eager, she was telling herself. This is just a beautiful moment that happens to be happening to me and this guy. We could be an actress and a rapper in Hollywood. I'm as sexy as any celebrity and we are going to write a page of sex history right here, right now.

"Stand up," I said firmly, and she struggled to her feet. I wrestled her tights down over the mountains, to be confronted by a tattoo on her right thigh. A large slice of watermelon, with drips of sweet juice running down. I licked up the trail, past the rind and up to her thong. Given all the crowding flesh in that complex physical area, I knew it was going to be difficult to extricate the strings from her anatomy. She took over. She hauled the strand out of her crack and gave it to me as I sat there at the table.

"Smell it," she ordered, so I dutifully put it to my nose and inhaled her naughty aroma. Leila grabbed my hand and dragged me into the bedroom, where she performed an elaborate striptease in which I was treated first to the sight of her magnificently sinful stomach (tattoos of birds and snakes) and her mighty arms (a lion pursuing an antelope and an elephant with its trunk between a zebra's legs). Around her nipples, obscuring the areolas, were crinkly smiling suns. Hers was a happy body, albeit a lonely one, but we were doing something about that. What she thought about me, I didn't know. Just a hungry, uncaring guy, perhaps, whom she was going to loot of his masculinity before escaping into the night with tales to tell and memories to keep her warm until it happened again.

I had undressed and was on my back on the bed when she appeared above me and sat on my face. Her big, bold, roughly shaven crotch was grinding against me, forcing my nose into the busy area of lips and bumps and holes. She dragged her slippery vagina up and down my face, marking her territory. My nose and cheeks became stiff with her natural lubricant.

"You're my toy now," she said calmly, just for my information. "You're going to suck my toes and lick me all over."

"All over?" I asked flippantly.

"Everything," she said. "Everywhere. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Fine with me," I said confidently.

"So suck my toes," she commanded. She was now on her back with one leg in the air. I knelt and took her big toe in my mouth, not sure what she would get out of this. But she certainly got something. She began to writhe and her face went dreamy with extreme pleasure. I stroked down her shin and calf to her knee and then on up the silky highway that led to her crotch. Her quivering thighs spoke volumes and her sullen, conceited crotch stared at me with not so much a promise as the threat of a sexual wrestling that would be coming my way in due course. As I slid my thumb into her hole, it seemed to suck at me, pulling me in.

"I'm going to suck your spunk out of your balls and up my tubes," Leila said in the same slightly sinister tone. "But first, you're going to lick me. Get your face in my crotch."

I dived in. That's why it's called muff diving, because an eager participant can't hold himself back. Or herself. We launch ourselves head first, and that is diving. Leila's hole was salivating, except it wasn't saliva but vaginal fluid, fanny batter, that fabulous happy secretion that enables traditional fucking.

I lapped at Leila's cunt, which had now shed all pretences and scientific, anatomical names. It was back to basics: a cunt, such as cavewomen welcomed their monosyllabic men into when they fucked them in dank, echoing corners with a fire crackling in the background; like forest dwellers getting knee-tremblers against rough exotic hardwoods. Like milkmaids humped in the fields by shepherds who had been out there for weeks with nothing but a fevered imagination and a permanent erection, and for whom female flesh was little less than food and drink. Like parlour maids and lowly cooks' assistants summoned by Henry VIII to receive a mindless royal banging, a stiff rod soaring out of an explosion of male pubic hair, looking for woman parts when the queen was indisposed, and the girl more than happy to receive this royal attention.

Leila's cunt was her friend, her ally, her beginning and her end. Her gift and her demand. I frolicked in her like a child in the shallows at the seaside. She heaved herself up so her bottom was looking at me and said calmly, "LIck my arsehole."

It stared at me defiantly, puckered and knobbly, brown and imperfect, forbidding.

And utterly irresistible. I had licked enough women's arses to know you shouldn't be put off by a bit of a smudge, a bump and a twist, even a fuzz of dark hair. This was a beautiful place to be, and the ultimate privilege. Leila was clean and smelled great; she was just a bit rough and ready down there. And she was oh, so sensitive, so delighted to have my tongue in her wicked cave. She slid around the bed, trying to stay still, not running away from me but propelled by the electric impulses and muscular spasms my tongue was causing in her.

When she came, she pressed her crack against my face and rubbed it. I was covered in her special sauces.

"Come up here," she said softly, and wrapped her arms around me as if I were a child who had done well at a new task. We kissed long and slow and deep, consuming as much of each other as physically possible.

"Are you okay? We have only just begun," Leila whispered. My heart was thudding, a juggernaut idling before taking on a steep hill. Then Leila slammed it into gear.

"Stick your finger up my arse."

Using her cunt juice to ease the way, I pushed my middle finger into her rear entrance. It was tight and resistant but once I was in half an inch it ushered me all the way up to the knuckle.

"Work it," Leila said, drooling. I twisted and turned my finger in its hot, demanding new home. I shoved it in as far as I could and curled it back in a beckoning motion. Leila groaned and said, "Yeah. Ohhhh. Another one."

I withdrew and went back in with my index finger as well. Again, her ring resisted, but it was only that circular gatekeeper that didn't want it. Once my fingertips were in empty darkness, I was pulled in by Leila's primeval desire. She wanted to be felt up as much inside as outside, and she convulsed as another orgasm swallowed her.

"Okay, now I'm going to fuck you," she said, staring into my eyes with the promise of unexplainable, unfathomable pleasure for both of us. This was a woman at the peak of her powers, rapidly promoted within the last half hour to the rank of sex goddess, the keeper of the key to the house of bliss. I could see in her eyes the confidence of the powerful. A supreme self-belief had taken her over, turning everything she did into a kind of magic. "Do not come," she warned me. "You're going to want to, but you have to save it for me. Okay?"

"Okay," I grunted, not really understanding my role since I wasn't calling the shots, but obeying orders like a good soldier. Leila lay on her back and pulled me aboard. As I slid into her wonderful, bounteous cunt, I couldn't resist a remark.

"I thought you were going to fuck me," I said with a stupid smile.

"I am fucking you, buster," she replied, squeezing my cock with her vaginal muscles. To emphasise the point, she took my balls in her hand and grasped them gently but firmly. "You are fucking me too, but you will do as I say. And don't come."

It really was a heavenly experience being inside Leila's body, lying on top of her, between her legs. She raised them and bent her knees to open herself up to me completely and for a second, I thought she was going to suck my balls in as well. Then she began to talk in a gentle, mesmerising tone.

"You are a lovely guy," she said. "I've been watching you for a while and wanting to get in a situation like this. You have a beautiful body and I just love your balls. And I knew you would have a nice, big, strong cock. Now we are shagging like the two luckiest people in the world. I'm going to come again very soon, but you can't. I'm sorry, but just hang on and you will be grateful in the end. And don't tell me you love me. For this blessed hour, we are absolutely in love and that's how it's meant to be. Afterwards, who knows? No promises."

And with that, Leila seemed to melt all over my cock. A hot tide of her juice ran over me and soaked my balls, clinging to my pubic hair. Somehow it seeped up and that often-ignored bag of skin was anointed with Cleopatra's elixir.

And then she stopped moving and stared into my eyes with still greater intensity.

"Come up here and put your cock in my face," she said. The sexual Queen of the World had a breathy urgency in her voice now. I clambered up and she steered me into position above her, the tip of my cock by her lips. She took it in her mouth and said, "You need some of my juice. Go down and get some and come straight back."

I slid down her like an anaconda and bathed my tongue and chin in her deliriously drooling minge.

"Up!" she commanded, and I returned to my position above her, but that wasn't what she wanted. "Kiss me," she demanded, and as our faces locked together, she maneouvred with a dolphin-like agility so she was on top and she ran her magnificent breasts over my chest, her nipples touching mine, and then she slipped one into my armpit.

"Dirty boy," she said contentedly. "Shagging me. Taking advantage of an innocent girl like this." Then she manhandled me back up so I was straddling her again.

She began to suck me with an all-encompassing presence and zeal that was like an extra dimension compared with all the other blowjobs I had ever enjoyed. I was getting dangerously close to coming.

"It's all right," she said kindly. "A few more seconds."

She took my knob head in her right hand, then quickly removed the hand again and wiped it in her cunt before returning it to the junction of me and her mouth. The smell of her was incredible, an even greater turn-on, and in a second she had brought me over the edge and I was uncontrollably pumping my cum into her mouth. I had never produced so much. I felt as if my balls would be like prunes by the time she had finished with me. And she did feel them and caress them and gently knead them.

When my orgasm had subsided, Leila once again held me in her arms. Somehow she wrapped her legs around me for a minute before lying back, cradling my head in her chest while a warm, pleasant womanly fragrance wafted from her armpits and curled up my nostrils like chloroform.

We drifted off into a divine sleep.