After lockdown eased, I needed to be fucked so urgently I could barely think.

At first I was nervous, but then I reminded myself that not only had I been double-jabbed, I also hadn’t been anywhere. After several cups of tea to get my courage up and a rearrangement of bookshelves that I didn’t even try and pretend was anything other than procrastination, I ignored my pounding heart and signed onto Grindr.

I hadn’t been on there for so long I wasn’t sure my account would still work. Other people must have had the same idea though, and after the usual to and fro I found a guy who lived about twenty minutes away. He swore he’d been jabbed too, plus he’d already had Covid the year before.

As we exchanged details, a thought occurred to me about how I could reduce the transmission risk still further, while also fulfilling another ambition I’d had for ages. Excitement grew in me – my hands trembled, and I kept having to retype things. Soon, however, we had a scheme worked out, and although the encounter itself would be strange, this planning was a big part of the excitement.

I made myself up, with particular emphasis around the eyes – smoky but with a lot of red and yellow. I also added some glitter, shaded in excessive contouring on my cheeks, and paid even more attention than usual to my hair. Lockdown had done for my little black bob, and I now rocked a 90s-era Posh Spice look that delighted me. Posh was the best Spice Girl despite – or perhaps because of – the fact that she didn’t do much. I even put on a little black dress like the ones she wore.

I carefully sanitised my hands, not just for protection but because I love the sharp chemical alcohol smell of the gel. I then faced a conundrum – did I select a face mask that matched the dress (black – a bit manly) or one of my colourful ones that didn’t? After careful consideration, I selected a pale, skin-tone mask with a big red lip design. I hadn’t had the courage to wear it yet, but today was definitely the day. Slipping it on, I saw in the hallway mirror how well the mask went with my over-made-up eyes.

I pulled off the mask, picked up my handbag and walked to the car. Everything was very quiet. There were few planes, and although there was more traffic than there had been a month ago it was still noticeably quieter than before. The early summer was bright, tinged with gold, and fresher without the usual burden of pollution.

I felt outrageous, but also scared. After all, we’d spent so long being terrified of the air.

Feeling like I was doing something unwise, and perhaps even dangerous, I got in the Triumph and set off. I felt slightly breathless with a tension, made stronger by my lack of underwear beneath a tight dress with a bracingly short skirt.

The journey took less time than I expected, and I soon reversed up in the gravel drive of a mock-Tudor semi with a high Kentish slant to the roof. Although I could see the door was ajar, I didn’t get out of the car.

Instead, I prepared myself with lube, careful not to get any on the seats. I was tense, so I took a hit of poppers from my handbag. After a dizzy sense of displacement, everything settled. I pulled out a dildo, lubed that, and sat on it for a bit. Gradually, my tension eased, and the desire I’d been repressing for so long erupted out of me in a grunting cry, like an animal.

Taking another hit of poppers, I sank into the moment. I could hear birdsong, and voices from a garden nearby. The car was getting warmer, and I could feel my body heat increase.

I slipped on the mask and checked in the rear-view mirror that the covering was straight. It looked nice, but also slightly disturbing, which felt appropriate. I slid the poppers up my left sleeve, pulled out the dildo, and dropped it in the passenger footwell.

Opening the car door, I swung both legs carefully out. I don’t think the neighbours were watching but just in case they were I didn’t want to get into trouble for indecent exposure. Panting now, I was about to walk to the front door when I realised I’d forgotten the condom. I reached back into the car, got the pack out of the glove compartment where I’d put them before the pandemic and pulled a two-set out. Tearing it in half, I put one down the side of my left boot as a spare and tore the wrapper on the other, pulling the pale slippery edge of it out for ease of removal.

I closed and locked the car door, sliding the key up my right sleeve. I didn’t want to be encumbered with a handbag, and I doubt my partner was going to be paying any attention to my arms.

My boots crunched on the gravel as I made my way to the front door. I didn’t push it right open – I just slipped inside and closed the door behind me.

I found myself in a hallway with a chocolate-brown carpet and a polished wood staircase. The paintwork was a tasteful cream, shading up to a dark ceiling that rendered the space intimate rather than gloomy. Sunshine glowed through a window that faced a brick wall, illuminating the man who awaited me.

He was in his late thirties, and taller than me although not as fit. Nonetheless, he had that natural solid strength some men have, which suggests it will take more than a punch to dent him. As well as a mask with a paisley pattern, he wore a red Superdry T-shirt that was faded with use, trainers – and nothing else.

We stood a couple of metres apart. His expression did not change, and neither did mine. We had agreed there was no need for any kind of talk, or expression, to the extent that I must have looked as blank as he did. It didn’t matter.

The moment he saw me his breath deepened, and I watched his cock engorge fast without him even touching it, as if it were a machine. It was a decent size, and my mouth watered behind the pouty mask.

I had a sudden need to talk about the weather, lockdown, and how great it was to be doing this with someone new. But not seeing people had rendered me unusually quiet, and I realised it was that as much as kink that inspired me to insist we remain silent when we met.

His expression hadn’t changed. I realised he was waiting, and remembered he needed something from me. I threw him the condom. He caught the packet, pulled out the sheath and slipped it on with admirable speed. His cock was twitching now, and the ever-intoxicating power of being desired overwhelmed all my other considerations.

I turned around, lifted my dress, and bent over.

He stepped forward, gripped my hips, and slid his cock straight into me. I stifled a gasp – it had been so long since I’d been fucked, and before lockdown, I’d always been so wanton. Now it was a bit like trying to run a marathon having sat on the sofa for six months. I took another hit of poppers, and things evened out. I didn’t offer him any – he had explained over Grindr that he didn’t like them.

Despite my strange feelings, I relaxed, and he got his cock right the way in. I felt the gratification as he stifled a grunt of pleasure.

We had agreed on total silence.

He began to fuck me hard, with no build-up. I wondered if he would come quickly, but he didn’t. He thrust in and out as we stood in that tastefully decorated hallway on a summer afternoon during a global crisis made stranger by the fact that everything looked the same. Only our masks and our kinky decision to minimise social contact – ostensibly due to the pandemic but really because it turned us both on – gave a clue to the eerily altered world outside.

My shoulders were tense – not from fear of him but the repressed dread the pandemic had caused. But as he fucked me, that dread began to inform something else, a defiant will to survive perhaps. I thought about another hit of poppers, but left it because this new thrill was enough.

He fucked me, and fucked me, and I stood there bending over and taking it as I love to do more than anything else in the world. The stretching, the penetration, and the presence of someone else inside me felt astonishing. The sensations and the outrage and the beautiful fact of it built along with his brutally steady rhythm.

His hands dug into my hips and it felt insanely good, almost like a deep tissue massage. I wanted him to bruise me, leaving marks on my body that I could look at later to prove I had done this, that it was real.

His steady rhythm was unusual – often when I’m fucked, the rhythm increases, or rises and falls. I don’t know how he kept going that long, when he must have been as frustrated as I was. Sometimes the magic is with you, and this was one of those days. On he went, and I lost myself in it, my confused tension fucked away.

I kept my lower back straight so it wouldn’t ache, and I rode his thrusts by letting my upper body rise and fall. I changed my stance slightly, favouring one leg and then the other, partly so they wouldn’t cramp but mainly to push myself onto that hungry cock from different angles despite his tight grip on my hips.

I was hot now, sweat soaking my little black dress. My breasts felt slippery and my face was wet behind the mask. A droplet of sweat gathered over one eye, then trickled down my nose as the man finally sped up. I didn’t want him to stop, but he did. Had he come? I wanted to carry on. I wanted him to fuck me like this for the rest of the day and all night too…

I realised an all-nighter would need more lube, and the lube was in the car, and –

His hand closed on me between the legs.

I jerked with astonishment. I’d been fretting about the lube and hadn’t noticed his hold on my hips loosen. Now he held me just as tight in my most intimate place, and for a second I had no idea what to do. It had been so long! His grip tightened. I could feel him closer behind me, and the lower hem of his T-shirt tickled my bottom.

‘Two metres!’ I thought to myself, but we were past that. We had agreed that it would be okay, given that our heads would be at least one metre apart, and I would be facing away, and we’d both have face masks on. I remembered a requirement to have the windows open to ensure thorough ventilation, but he’d either forgotten or decided that – despite our vow of silence – the risk of orgasmic screaming was too high.

And then I stopped worrying because he was fucking me again, fucking me into his hand, which gripped me tight, so tight, and moved in the best way –

I didn’t have his restraint, and an inner storm seized me. I felt as if I were full of sweet, melted butter that was pouring down inside, and distantly noticed a jet of thick fluid fly from between my legs to streak the cream wall. ‘God, that’s a lot,’ I thought, and then I didn’t think anything.

I shook hard, my long, thick dark hair swinging around my face. I came, my legs shaking and my upper body shuddering to some new rhythm I could not control. My eyes screwed themselves shut as if to cut off distracting sights, letting me focus on the ecstasy bolting through me like a joyful madness. More of my sweat pattered on the carpet as my body tried to cool itself while riding this insane, extreme pleasure.

After one last delirious grip on me, he returned his hands to my hips, then moved me up and down his cock until I was pleasuring him the way he wanted. He sped up – and then stopped, this time for good.

For a moment, we both panted in the warm hallway that now smelled of lube, damp clothing and sweat – his spicy scent and my honey one. The world outside carried on as it had done before, as if to pretend we had not achieved the magic we had. My probing fingers found the ring of the condom still in place as he pulled out of me.

Still not facing him, I straightened, then pulled down my dress. Opening the door, I walked out and closed it behind me. Fumbling the key from my sleeve, I opened the car and slumped into the driver’s seat, no longer caring who saw what. After a moment, I yanked my seatbelt on, started the car, and drove away.