'You're laughing?'

'Oh no, no just a little excited. Most guys run a mile when I tell them that'

We were on our second date and just had an awkward, amusing conversation about the little things that turn us on and make us tick! He didn't need to know the full story just yet. Custard pies in a saucy Laurel and Hardy style were all he knew so far. And he liked it! In fact his offer to stick a pie in my face was what prompted my rude laughter.

Cynical me! Handsome guy tells you how much he enjoyed watching Tiswas as a kid and how he'd just love to push a pie in your face in the bedroom. Get him in the buff and suddenly it's too cold, too messy and too inconvenient. What he wanted all along was a nice easy lay. They don't hang around for long after that!

And Martin seems so preppy! Clean shaven, smart haircut, tank-top sweater and sensible car. Could this sweet mouse EVER be a wamming lion?


Fast forward a fortnight and Martin is still on the scene. Sex is definitely on the cards but nothing more has been said about our kinks. We're at the cinema when, out of the blue, Martin invites me back to his place for dessert.

'For dessert...what have you got us?'

'You like pavlova? I've got us one each'

My hopes for an evening of passionate messy sex weren't going to happen were they. One pavlova each! His place is too pristine for a start. Wooden parquet flooring, white walls and nothing out of place. He even has a cleaner. A single guy with a cleaner!

The pavlova WAS lovely though. Individually served in a glass dish with loads of sharp, tangy fruit, fresh cream and meringue and washed down with a glass of fizz.

'Martin. That was delicious! Time for me to.'

'I haven't finished' he interrupted.

Martin moved across to the frosted glass door into the living room and beckoned me over.

'I'm really, really sorry about this. I wanted it to be a surprise. If I'd asked you to bring an overnight bag with spare clothes it would have given the game away.'

His voice tailed off.

'What do you mean?'

He took hold of my hand and pushed open the door to his living room.

'This!' he announced.

I drank in the wondrous scene like a kid in the sweet shop.

Martin, I want to have your babies now! Instead it came out as:

'Oh God Martin. When did you do this?'

The furniture was gone and in its place was a layer of soft rubber matting and polythene sheet across the floor and round the walls and a single white plastic chair in the middle of the room. The white splosher's plastic chair! Around the sides of the room were three 'sweet trolleys' laden with 'things'. Pies, meringues, pavlovas, cheesecakes, jugs of colourful stuff and yellow custard.

'Would you care for seconds of pudding?'

I turned to him and we began kissing. Passionate, saucy, tongue-twisting kissing. He took the hem of my tight black dress and slid it up to my bottom.

'Shall we lose this?' he quizzed.

'Oh yes, yes. Take me home commando-style in the morning please'.

I was in my bra and knickers within seconds and then sitting, begging in the white shiny chair.

'Wouldn't you like something more comfortable to sit in...I mean on?' he said.

'What do you have in mind?'

We both set eyes on a glorious blackcurrant cheesecake on the table. It was about a foot in diameter and a couple of inches thick with each de-frosted blackcurrant glistening like a jewel in the sticky sauce. I stood up and Martin carried it oh-so-carefully to the chair. I caught his eye as he stood back. It was a 'point of no return' and 'this could be the start of something big' moment.

Mesmerised, he watched me sit to within a whisker of the surface of the cake, then, looking him hard in the face, sink into its soft surface. Oh God! We both smiled then giggled at the absurdity of it.

What next? The ice was broken but this was no time for an intermission. Please, please, please take charge. Wreck me! Destroy me! Just do it!

Sensing my urgency Martin picked up the nearest pie, it looked like a banoffee, held the back of my head and pushed the pie with abandon into my face.

Fuck yes! How did he know that would shut me up?

Then it was two more pies into my left and right ears and one on top of my head for luck. That's it, bung up her mouth and then her ears. Oh how I love that sensory loss.

From two or three feet away he launched a succession of super-sloppy custard pies right at my face. His aim was deliciously wayward with my hair, shoulders and chest taking the fallout. Thank God I'm sat in a cheesecake I can feel myself positively frothing-up inside my lacey panties. How rude! I daren't touch myself down there!

With pie cases sliding off me I'm on the receiving end of a sluicing of something over my head. Hmm? Toffee sauce? Yes, that's definitely toffee sauce. Then it was something thicker. That's got to be custard! I now have a reservoir of sweetness in my lap. Ten marks out of ten for our date so far.

Standing me up, the full pavlova he shoved inside the back of my panties ramped up the rudeness a notch. It was identical to the ones we'd eaten earlier and it hung heavily inside the fabric before he pushed me back into the soft chair, crushing the meringue, cream and soft fruit into an indeterminate mass to mix with my oozing pussy juices. What a delightfully disgusting mess!

We both realised we've spent the last fifteen minutes in silence. Never before have actions spoken more loudly than words.

'How do you feel?' he asks.

'Sticky... and rude' I reply.

He reaches down and brushes his palm across my sticky left bra cup before sliding his fingers inside and scooping out my breast. Then he does the same with the other one. My nipples are like glacee cherries! At this point I literally slide off the chair into a puddle on the soft polythene. He joins me in the puddle and I wrap a leg over him. Could a date ever be more perfect?