I Fulfilled My Fantasy of Getting F*cked in One of Those Iconic London Telephone Booths—and Yes, It Was Hot

I swiped right on Jake* a few weeks after moving to London for a study abroad trip. He was totally my type: a smidge taller than me, not looking for anything serious, and goofy enough to have a banana peel as his whatsApp profile picture.

After stalking him on Facebook and seeing he had a Queen Elizabeth meme as his header and several group photos with normal-looking people, we decided to go to a wine bar later that evening.

Jake and I met at a train stop so we could walk to the bar together. In person, he reminded me of a British Adam Sandler. I was surprisingly into it?

We talked about his career (a starving comedian), his type (any girl who likes him first), and why he was on Tinder (to meet people, of course). Talking to him made me feel like I was on an episode of Love Island—and I loved every second of it.

After two hours of banter, and lots and lots of wine, we left the bar and decided to walk around the streets of London.

Right as we were about to call it a night, Jake leaned over to kiss me. But because neither of us wanted it to end there, we kissed again, then again, and suddenly we were up against a random brick building in an alleyway making out against it. (So hot. So, so hot.)

Then, with one hand holding my body against the wall, he took his other hand and tugged on my pants, moving his fingers down to my clitoris. I let out a few moans between kisses.

Though I was completely lost in the moment, I quickly realized that we were literally in public where anyone could see us. And even though it was 2 a.m. and dark, I wasn’t about to get arrested for indecent exposure in a foreign country.

“Should we go somewhere more private?” I asked Jake.

With a smirk on his face, and his hand still in my underwear, he suggested we go into a phone booth. Like, one of those iconic London phone booths.

Now I know what you’re thinking, and yes, they’re pretty dirty, they’re pretty smelly, and they definitely weren’t made for two people to fuck in. But because I had never had public sex before, and knowing how horny it made me, suddenly I was running with him to the nearest phone booth. (When in London, am I right?)

I walked into the phone booth first and Jake followed closely behind. We continued our aggressive make out, and he instantly pulled down both of our pants. I went to jack him off as he began fingering me, while our kissing only got sloppier.

After what felt like seconds, he pushed my hand aside, slid on a condom, and attempted to enter me from the front, with both of us facing each other. I tried lifting my leg to make things easier, but as I said before, these booths were not made for fucking. Positions were limited.

“After we got a rhythm going, Jake leaned down and kissed my neck, sending shivers down my spine.”

Jake managed to get a few good thrusts in while I held my leg up against the wall, but it was impossible to maintain the position, so I ended up turning around.

I put both my hands on the windows and arched my back as much as I could so he could enter me from behind. And after we got a rhythm going, Jake leaned down and kissed my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

His hands roamed my body, all while telling me how sexy I looked. He kept saying things like, “you like that?” and “tell me what you want,” and TBH, I don’t even think I said anything in return since his accent alone was enough to keep me turned on.

After a slow, last few pumps, Jake pulled out and finished into the condom. He turned me around and grabbed me by the waist to pull me closer to him and seductively kissed me.

Once we put our clothes back on, we walked back to the train station together and said our goodbyes. When we parted ways, I knew I would never see him again—and though that was perfectly fine by me, the sex still lives in my mind rent-free, baby.

*Names have been changed

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