El Nido

Last post before I depart!  I thought a travel sex story would be fitting.

I’m not someone who loves Valentine’s Day, nor am I one who scorns it.  For me, it just comes and goes like the tides.  There is one Valentine’s Day, however, that is forever etched into my memory, and thinking about that particular day will always make me smile.

Two years ago, I was travelling in the Philippines; I was sitting at a bar my first night on Cebu, and I started talking to the gentleman next to me.  Our conversation flowed so easily that it felt like we’d known each other for years; we skipped the small talk and jumped right into deep conversation about our travels, life philosophies, families.  We laughed and talked for hours, then agreed to meet the next night.  I arrived that night with a huge group and dragged him from the bar to our table… then proceeded to ignore all the people I came with to talk to him.  I felt so drawn to him – to his laugh, his easygoing nature, his penetrating questions and openness (maaayyyybe to his extraordinary body as well).

We met again the following night – same place, same time – and as we were chatting on a porch underneath a full moon, a photographer asked if he could take pictures of us “while we were flirting and the sparks were flying.” Yes, of course, we said, laughing.  As he walked away, I put my hand on Neil’s leg and said, “Just so you know, I am flirting with you.”  He smiled nervously and we continued to talk until I absolutely had to go.  He walked me out; we were both planning on heading to another island around the same time, so I asked him to come north to meet me when he got there.  Sadly, he said, he was heading south, but he’d keep in touch and maybe we could meet up for a day before I left.  I grabbed his hand, leaned into his ear and tipsy-whispered, “No – you need to come up north so I can fuck you.”  He kissed me lightly on the lips and said he’d try to make it.  We said our goodbyes; I didn’t sleep a wink that night thinking about how his strong hands would feel running down the length of my body.

Fast forward a week and a half.  I have just arrived in El Nido; I’m walking back to my hotel, and who should cross my path but the one person I’ve been wanting to see this whole time?  We hug, we laugh, we beam at each other.  He tells me that he was warned not to go south because there was political turbulence, so instead he came north, hoping to run into me.  Looks like the stars aligned!  That night, we had dinner on the beach, the surf literally touching our toes.  We ate freshly-caught fish and drank fifty cent beers by candlelight and talked like children do when they have a secret language.  The wait staff finally had to tell us that we had to leave – they were closing.  We looked behind us to see that they had taken all the other tables and chairs off the beach and we hadn’t even noticed.  I looked him in his clear, blue eyes and asked if he were going to take me home with him some night that week; he asked what I thought about tonight?  I kissed him in response, and we walked uphill to his hotel, me in bare feet.  We got a bit lost along the way – the good kind of lost.

winter-2014-15-196

We spent the next three days going on adventures (sightseeing, kayaking, snorkeling, making out in secret caves), eating amazing food, and fucking like bunnies.  My last day in El Nido happened to be Valentine’s Day.  That morning, I got a massage, bought a dress (a rarity for me), tweezed and shaved my travel body, and told him to come to mine before dinner.  As an avid fan of Dan Savage, I knew it was best to fuck first – so when he arrived, I was only wearing a sarong, which quickly got flung aside.  Even with the air conditioning on, we were soon covered in a slippery layer of sweat, which we’d earned.  We relished every inch of each other’s bodies and slid all over each other in the heat of the tropics until we were starving and exhausted.

winter-2014-15-197

Time does seem to sprint by when you’re enjoying yourself, so I remember the night in flashes: We’re sitting at an Italian restaurant overlooking the ocean, devouring pizza and sipping on cocktails.  We’re dancing at a club, our bodies jumping and bouncing to pop music along with a packed crowd, rum and cokes in hand.  We’re outside, dancing in the ocean to cool off, spinning and dipping.  We’re sitting on an old, overturned, wooden kayak, making out like teenagers.  He’s facing me toward the ocean and putting his arm around me and asking if I’d ever come back to El Nido – and if he were there, I’d be back in a heartbeat.  We’re walking back to his hotel at 3:00 am to fall into a deep sleep in each other’s arms – but not before taking silly pictures with each other on the balcony. We’re waking up at 6:00 am to the sound of church bells, and I have to go.

I’ve had interesting Valentine’s Days before and since, especially while traveling, but I can’t imagine any topping that night – a night that felt perfect.  A night that capped off a magical movie-like travel romance in an idyllic setting.  A night when the stars aligned.

 

Happy Endings (NSFR)

I

We’re the first ones to arrive at the club; it’s wide open, with tons of couches and tables scattered across a huge, darkly lit room.  There’s a costume closet with a bunch of dresses and shirts and a few toys in it – one small flogger, a long leather paddle, a dildo.  We settle into a “room” adjoining the main area; I’m using quotation marks here because instead of walls, there are just metal bars separating these spaces.  Nowhere to hide.  I was putting off coming here for months because I felt a little shy, but now that I’m here, it feels comfortable.  A little dungeon-y.

Shortly after we open our bottle of Jack and pour ourselves small cocktails (swinger’s clubs in Korea require the purchase of bottle service for entry), we look around more.  I see a large swinging hook hanging from the ceiling; I grab the rope I brought with me and tie myself up to it, asking my playmates to grab that paddle and hit me with it; they gladly oblige.  Soon another couple comes up and asks if they can spank me, too; yes, I say, delighted!  Actually, one of them started fondling me without asking first – a common occurrence at this place.  I had to tell two people (in a language I’m not fluent in) that night to ask before touching.

We’re the first ones to have sex that night; I’m riding him and she’s sitting on his face and she and I are making out, and suddenly I look over to see that everyone in the room is intently staring at us.  It doesn’t bother me because I’m in the sex haze where nothing else matters but my orgasms.  Enjoy, I think, just don’t interrupt me while I’m coming.

II

A beautiful young woman comes over to play at some point while I’m being fucked from behind with a strap-on by the woman I came with (her first time using one!); the owner had whispered to us when we first saw her that she was a lesbian and wanted to play with women.  Whispered it because same-sex play is relatively uncommon in Korean clubs.

She looks like a real doll.  Like a straight man’s fantasy.  Perfect skin, fake breasts on a tiny frame, false eyelashes, long hair.  She’d come with a much older man but wasn’t really playing with him; he followed her everywhere she went, but I didn’t see him interacting with another person until the end of the night, when most people were drunk.

I was already on my hands and knees; she asked my friend if she could play, which got relayed to me; I answered with a resounding yes.  She kneeled behind me and started licking me.  At some point she started rimming me; afraid she would start licking my vulva again afterward, I stopped her (I’d already had to explain to the friend I came with that you can’t do that; she had no idea!) and asked her to lie on her back.  I started sliding my hand up and down her labia, smiling at her, before sliding a finger inside and asking her which spot she preferred I concentrate on.  I eventually worked up to three fingers, pushing into her G-spot with a steady rhythm; I suddenly felt a rush of liquid gushing into my hand.  I looked more closely and saw that the tissues around her urethra were so engorged that it looked like the head of a penis!  I stopped momentarily, a bit shocked, and everyone around me shouted, “No, keep going!”  Soon there was a flood pouring out of her and onto the floor around her, jets of ejaculate flying onto my dress. It. Was. Amazing.  It was my first time seeing a woman ejaculate, and it truly felt like a miracle!  I high fived her as my friends went to grab a sheet to mop everything up.  “Kiss me,” she said in a small voice, and not being one to deny someone so lovely, I leaned in and brushed my lips on hers.  They felt like petals.

III

I start fucking this guy, straddling him, and I keep trying to take his shirt off; he keeps pushing it down.  When I take my dress off to reveal a completely nude Jo, I hear an audible gasp from several people in the room.  I look around, and everyone – even mid-orgy – is wearing a shirt of some kind.  Mostly button-down men’s shirts.  Doesn’t quite seem the place to be modest, I think, but I come from a completely different culture.  What do I know?

IV

Because one of the friends I came with is a marine and there’s a military curfew, we have to stay out ‘til 5:00 AM.  Around 3:30, I feel totally exhausted and just want to go – until a Danish woman and French man come over and sit with us.  They’re coworkers.  Not sure how the lifestyle came up in work conversation!  I tie her up and we take turns spanking her; I take her down and she hops onto her coworker.  It’s so hot it makes my jaw drop – he’s holding her up, his back against a wall, bouncing her on his dick.  I teach the marine how to tie a dragonfly harness; he ties me up, grabs a spreader bar upon my request, and locks my ankles into it.  The Europeans are taking a break, so I look over at the French guy and ask politely if he’ll bend me over and fuck me while I suck the marine’s cock; he gladly does.  It’s hard to get into a rhythm, but I’m having the time of my life being pushed back and forth by two dicks, precariously balanced.  While this is happening, the woman I came with starts spanking me, and the Danish woman whispers in my ear, “You’re such a good English teacher!  You take his cock so well!”  I come in waves, pleasure undulating through my body, satiated with the rapture of having a long-standing desire fulfilled.

I just think: Thank gods for the military curfew.  We eventually clean up and leave at 5:00 to get pho across the street, drained and content and maybe a little sore, looking forward to a long morning of deep sleep.

Always Be Condoming

I’ve had a couple of experiences this year wherein I was playing with someone for the first time, and things were hot and heavy.  After lots of making out and touching, stroking, licking, and nibbling each other’s various body parts, I was lubed up and desperately wanted to be penetrated.  I come much more easily from penetrative sex than oral sex, so I usually want to have penetrative sex if it’s on the table (especially if it’s on an actual table).  In both cases, the guy was hard as stone; however, once I rolled on a condom and we started fucking, he lost his erection.  This in and of itself is not a big deal – boners can be pretty random.  They often come and go for no reason at all, and I’m all about being sexual and sensual and completely enjoying being with my partner in myriad ways without a hard dick present.

What struck me as odd, though, is that after sex with both of these gentlemen, they apologized and said that they weren’t used to having sex with condoms.  I then asked: “The women you’re with don’t care whether or not you use them?” Nope, they said.  Usually they don’t.  I’ve heard this from numerous other (straight) male friends as well – that they don’t bother wearing condoms if the women they’re with are fine with them not wearing one – even strangers they take home from a bar.  The thought then occurred to me that maybe I’m the anomaly here.  I’ve always insisted on condom usage – even with most of my partners when I was in monogamous relationships and on the pill (I realize this is strange)!

When I was very young, I watched two loved ones die of AIDS-related diseases which catapulted me into ten years of volunteering for various HIV, AIDS, and STI-related organizations and non-profits.  I guess Always Be Condoming just got drilled into me during my adolescence and has never gone away.

Two thoughts on this: one, I grew up with actual sex education.  It wasn’t much; it certainly wasn’t comprehensive or sex-positive, but it was something – we learned about barriers and contraception.  We learned that this shit was important.  I was in high school during the passage of the 1996 welfare act that first funded abstinence-only education (thanks, Bill Clinton); it didn’t go into effect until I’d already gone through sex ed.  Abstinence-only curricula often preach medically inaccurate information regarding the use of condoms, so people who have been taught in states that receive abstinence-only funding are less likely to use them.  The funding of comprehensive sexuality and relationships education is imperative to safer sex practices.

Two, every poly person or swinger I’ve been with consistently uses condoms with their (non-primary, if they have a primary relationship) partners, which is one reason that STI transmission rates for ethically non-monogamous folks and monogamous [sic] folks are pretty similar.

Don’t get me wrong.  I relish the sensitive feeling of the satiny skin of a hard cock inside of me, and there’s nothing I love more than being pumped full of jizz and feeling it drip down the insides of my thighs (or then having it fed to me…), but seriously.  Seriously.  I suggested to the first guy this happened with that he might try masturbating with a condom on to get used to the sensation – at least the cleanup is easy.  I’m curious now as to what other people’s experiences have been like in terms of condom usage.  If you have a dick or fuck people who have dicks, do you insist on condoms for PIV sex, or let it slide – and why?

Campfire

Indra liked the way the crisp autumn air stung her cheeks as she squatted close to the ground, her urine stream splashing a bit onto her shoes from the crunchy fallen oak leaves between her feet.  This was a sensual time of year: everything smelled rich due to harvest or decay.  The light was more golden, connections between people more heightened as friends and family came together after vacations apart.  She stood up, buttoning her jeans, closed her eyes, and inhaled the earthy scent of burning branches for a moment before starting her walk back to the cluster of tents she and her friends had set up earlier that day.  She could see the glow of their bonfire in the distance; she, too, felt radiant.

Fire, Flame, Wood Fire, Brand

Coming closer to the tents, Indra stopped short when a movement caught her eye.  Still hidden in the forest, her hand grazing the scratchy bark on the tree next to her, she squinted to see more clearly the silhouette of someone inside their tent; the campfire in front of the tent made the shadow visible from behind.  Whose tent is that? she wondered as she intently stared, craning her neck to get a better look.  Suddenly understanding what she was seeing, she flushed and took a step toward camp – then stepped back to look again.  His hand was down his pants, methodically and slowly stroking.  She stepped toward camp again… but then immediately came back for more.  Now he had pulled his cock out; its shadow looked comically large in the firelight.  She laughed a small, barely audible, nervous laugh, unable to look away as he licked his hand and rubbed it over the head of his cock, then all the way to the bottom of his shaft.  Her cunt warmed, thickened, pulsed.

An unexpected shout of “INDRA!” from a friend jolted her and sent her heart racing, but she couldn’t avert her eyes, couldn’t move her feet.  Maybe if she just stayed silent… she heard boots pounding leaves and panting breath coming into the woods; she stayed stock still but for a slight rubbing of her thighs.  Catching her breath, Ellen jogged up to Indra, asking for toilet paper.  A few seconds too late, Indra switched her glance over to Ellen, trying to find words that were sticky in her mouth, and snapping out of her reverie, patted her pockets for the desired item.  “What were you staring at?” asked Ellen, whose eyes were adjusting to the darkness.

“I just – uh – nothing,” she replied, her vulva now aflame.  Ellen looked into the camp and audibly gasped when she saw it.  She grabbed Indra’s warm hand in hers and they looked on silently, blood thudding together.  “It’s so hot,” Indra whispered.  Ellen, a bit tipsy, leaned into Indra’s ear and whispered, “Can I touch you like that?”  Indra, still looking at the tent, just swallowed hard and nodded, her nipples like cherry pits.  Ellen unbuttoned Indra’s pants and lowered her zipper just a bit before sliding her slender hand into the slick folds of Indra’s vulva, rubbing her juices up and over her clit before moving two fingers inside of her.  She looked behind her for a moment to get the rhythm of his stroke and tried to match it, curling and pressing her fingers inside of Indra.

Indra grabbed the branch above her with both hands, holding onto it like a log in a river with strong currents.  She moaned aloud; Ellen moved her lips back to Indra’s ear to whisper, “Don’t make a sound.”  She covered Indra’s mouth with one hand while continuing to fuck her with the other.  She didn’t know if it was the voyeurism or potential exhibitionism – could anyone else see them? – that made her insides growl and roar, but either way, she came hard onto Ellen’s hand, her muscles clamping around Ellen’s fingers.  Ellen gently pulled them out, licked them, and placed her hands on the sides of Indra’s face before lightly kissing her still-ajar, chapstick-covered lips.  “Thanks!” she said quietly, grabbing the tissue out of Indra’s pocket, and bounding away into the woods, leaving Indra there to watch a small stream of ejaculate bubble out of the staff in her friend’s hand, both of them finally satisfied.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Groove

We met on the street, sitting on a curb, drinking cans of beer that were sweating as much as we were.  It was Seoul Pride 2013, and we were both waiting for friends to group up post-parade (back when the parade went on as scheduled without a bunch of dickwad protestors either lying down in the streets in front of the floats or trying to block it on permit regulations); she was cracking jokes about the lesbian organization in my city, and I was giving her shit about where she lived.  Soon after we started talking, my friends hollered at me that they were headed to dinner; I said goodbye, smiling at her, never expecting to see her again.    
I was surprised and delighted later that night when, rum and coke in hand, she strode up to me on the dance floor in a Hongdae gay bar, her tall, lean figure bathed in strobe lights.  She had swagger.  She looked down at me, smiled a broad smile, and said, “It’s good to see you here.”  Likewise, I told her.  As we danced, the floor began teeming with undulating bodies, strangers holding each other by the waist, grinding against each other.  I put my drink aside so I could place my hand on the small of her back, eventually sliding it down onto her ass; she had the same idea, but her hand found its way into my back pockets, then into my pants.  She crouched a bit and I stood on my tiptoes to kiss her – a strong kiss, fueled by alcohol-induced confidence.  I snaked my fingers into her dreads and held onto her head, kissing her deeply, wanting more.  She moved her hands up the front of my shirt, cupping my breasts; we moved our bodies in sync to DJ-spun electronic music while exploring each other. 
Forgetting that we were in the middle of a crowd, she slid her right hand down the front of my jeans now, into my silky boy-cut panties, over the soft mound of hair that I’ve come to love and into the folds of my labia, gently moving her fingers forward and backward, dragging my fluids up and over my clit before finally pushing two fingers into me, pressing upward and inward.  I moved my whole body against her hand, begging her not to stop, continuing to move with the music.  She fucked me harder with her fingers, making me gasp and moan into her ear; no one else could hear me.  Perhaps no one else noticed what was going on; even if they had, I wouldn’t have cared.  After I’d come onto her fingers and my body was quivering, she slid out of me, dragging her fingers up my cunt, out of my panties, and around my waist, then kissed me again. 
We went outside for a smoke; I finally asked what her name was (“Excuse me – now that you’ve had your hand inside of me, perhaps you could tell me your name?”), and we had the Standard Korea Expat Introduction Conversation.  She came with me and my friends as we went onto the next bar, and we continued to dance for hours.  She walked home with us when we finally stumbled out of the Pink Hole (yes, that’s the actual name of the bar) at dawn and asked to come in, but as I was staying in a dorm, I said no; we left it there and said goodbye, kissing outside of my hostel.
I don’t remember her name, and I doubt she remembers mine… but I remember her hands.
Happy Pride Month, everyone!  Go out and have sex on a dance floor. 

Don’t Call Me Baby (NSFR)

I put on the only clean shirt and real bra I had, along with a blue, elephant-clad skirt (everything is elephant-clad in Southeast Asia) I’d bought as a souvenir in Myanmar.  I’d brought foundation and one pair of earrings with me on the trip for just this occasion: pick-up night.  I had a super nice hotel room; no neighbor to either side of me, a king-sized bed, and a real shower. 
Buzzing with excitement and anticipation, I set out for the one bar in town all the tourists seemed to gravitate to, bellied up to the bar, and ordered a whiskey and Red Bull.  I expected it to be a long night of looking around and talking to a few people, so when the very handsome gentleman (whom I’d not noticed) next to me said, “That seems like a dangerous drink,” I was thrown into momentary confusion.  He had a salt and pepper beard, a beautiful accent, and strong-looking hands. I thanked the universe (I’m sure Bill Nye would find this hilarious and / or annoyingand tried my best not to be an awkward, blubbering American.  
We talked for a bit and took our drinks over to squishy mats overlooking a river, where we continued with travel stories, laughter, and one more drink each.  When he suggested another, I suggested we go back to mine instead.  “You’re a strange fish,” he said, smiling.  “Yes,” I said.  “I know.”  On our way out, he suddenly wrapped his arms around my body from behind me and kissed my neck hungrily; I was a bit taken aback, but far more turned on.  He stopped me just outside the bar to kiss me again while onlookers hooted and hollered at us in the street.
I don’t remember the walk home; I remember him pushing me down on the bed as soon as the door was shut behind us, pulling my skirt and panties down, and immediately burying his face in my cunt.  I smiled a great big smile and gave him gentle direction, which he happily took.  He said I tasted great, and his tongue and fingers felt great.  He did have strong hands – he used them to build things, and I could feel their dexterity.
I pulled him on top of me to kiss him, his mouth tasting salty and sweet, his weight perfectly pressing me into my giant mattress.  I rolled him over and we sat up; I took his shirt off and softly bit his shoulder.  His lovely, olive, smooth, toned shoulder.  This is when he looked at me and said, “I’m not going to fuck you tonight.”  “Okay,” I replied.  “Why?”  “I’ve had a few drinks, and…” I unbuttoned his pants and pulled his (indeed flaccid) dick out from his boxer briefs and said, “… and you like having your cock in someone’s mouth even when it’s soft, right?”  Of course, he replied, and I playfully licked it for a while before taking it into my mouth.  Over the course of a few minutes – wonder of wonders – he became hard, and I continued to go down on him, delighting in feeling his cock grow inside my mouth, his veins now standing out, him now standing up next to the bed. 
I have chronic jaw pain, so blow jobs aren’t my favorite thing; that being said, I’d happily be a pillow princess for hours, so I try to be fair.  I tried to work him with my hands, but he told me to take them away.  Fair – some guys just aren’t into the use of hands as part of blow jobs.  If it weren’t a one-night stand, I would tell him about my jaw pain… but I didn’t.  I was having fun, and the pain wasn’t too bad, so instead, I said, “You might like this,” and laid on the bed on my back.  I hung my head off the side of the bed and leaned it backward so he could slide his cock all the way to the back of my throat; he loved it, and I loved how excited he was.  Until:
“Yeah, baby – you like my cock in your mouth, don’t you?  Oh baby, that feels so good.  I love fucking your mouth, baby.”
That stopped me cold.  I’m not sure if y’all are aware of this, but I am a grown-ass woman.  I am not a child and I’m certainly not an infant.  I get that there are people who use this word as a term of endearment – I do too, with people I’ve been dating for months – but when someone I don’t know calls me baby, it instantly feels skeezy and cat call-y.    
I kneeled on the bed, my cunt still slippery but my mental boner gone, and whispered into his ear that I wanted to feel him inside of me, thinking I could salvage the moment.  He grabbed a condom from the bedside table and rolled it on, but shortly after we started boning, he lost his, too.  He said it was the condom; I said that was a bummer, but no condom means no penetrative sex for me.  I realize that at this point we could have done a million things; we could have continued playing, kissing, touching each other (touching ourselves).  Instead, we opted to sleep and give it another go in the morning.
We did, and it was great.  We woke up at 6:00 am and fucked like champs, not saying anything but making the bed (and each other) squeak and groan.  We lay in bed for a short time after, chatting quietly, before he kissed me goodbye and stole away into the morning.
A few times the night before, he’d teased me for using “sex educator” language (barrier, STI, etc.), which I think may have been as much a turn-off for him as baby was for me.  We were hardly a perfect match, but we still had lots of fun; our communication also wasn’t perfect, and that’s okay.

For me, one-night stands open the doors to sexual partners I’d never date, and that’s why I love them.  They are exciting and fun and always interesting, and this grown-ass woman hasn’t regretted a single one.  Even when they call me baby.  

A Winter Tale (NSFR)

It was one in the morning when Heather – beautiful Heather with the high cheekbones, toned arms, and loosely-flowing honey-colored hair – grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the pub and into the building’s lobby, an entrance to said pub and a music venue next door.  A place that hundreds of people walk through every weekend.  She casually leaned against the wooden paneling on the wall and pulled me in toward her; I was shocked and thrilled and confused (did I mention she was also straight Heather?) and my heart stopped beating momentarily.  She brushed her lips against mine, still holding my hand, which she then slid into her panties.  I moved my fingers down through the slippery folds of her labia, holding my breath, wondering if this was really happening.  I gently pushed my hand further into her panties, sliding my two middle fingers into her while rubbing her clit with the heel of my hand; she moaned softly and closed her eyes, letting her body relax.  For a minute.  Then she swiftly undid the buttons on her pants and gave me a sultry look; it took me zero seconds to get on my knees and slide her turquoise panties to the side so I could run my tongue from her fourchette up to and over her clitoris and then back down again, eagerly tasting her.  I spread her labia with my fingers and pressed my lips to hers, gently sucking her clit before licking her again.  I felt her hips tense up and move ever so slightly as she placed one hand on my head, caressing my hair.  She tasted sweet and sour and wonderful, and I let her juices stick to my lips, completely oblivious to the fact that we were in a seriously public, well-lit place.  She wasn’t quite as oblivious; as quickly as it started, it was over; she was tapping my shoulder, telling me we should get back inside before someone caught us.  I looked up at her and smiled from the cold floor, tracing my fingers up her vulva as I stood.  Okay, I said, wolfishly licking my lips.  We walked back into the bar as normally as we would have had we just gone for a smoke, sat down with our friends, ordered a shot, and continued talking.  She never brought it up again – in fact, I only ever saw her once again – but it was a lovely shared moment on a winter evening long ago.            


And I leave you with that, internet friends.  I’m heading to warmer climes on Friday morning and will return in March!  Wish me luck on getting some travel booty; I haven’t had sex in SO LONG (okay, it’s only been a month, but it feels like forever).  

Stay warm, everyone!

The Old College Try (NSFR)

When I was a sophomore in university, a bunch of my girlfriends and I decided to rent a Motel 6 room just outside of town one Friday night and get completely wasted.  Why?  Because college, dammit, that’s why!  We piled a couple of cars full of vodka, mixers, cigarettes, and a big-ass boom box (remember those?), then headed into the suburbs to the seediest motel chain in all of the US. 
Shortly after dropping our stuff in the room, we turned on some pop music, ordered pizza, poured drinks, and started dancing on the beds.  I’m sure we were pretty loud, but there didn’t seem to be many people in the hotel; no one was complaining.  On the contrary – we caught the attention of a middle-aged man down the hall who was moving into our college town.  He decided to bring his beer over and drink with us; despite it being a girls’ night out, we welcomed him. 
This was years ago, so I can’t remember any of our conversation (if I’m being honest, I probably didn’t remember it the next day), but I know we had a great time. After binge-drinking vodka cranberries and chain smoking Camels, having hilarious conversations, and engaging in a straight-outta-slumber-party-porn pillow fight, the nice man – let’s call him Tom – went back to his room, and we turned out the lights and crawled into bed.  Two minutes later, out of the darkness came, “So – who wants to go fuck Tom with me?”  “I do!”  I piped up.  My friend Jo and I (that’s right, folks – my first threesome was with someone who has the same name as me, though she went by the nickname Creamy at the time) ran to the vending machine in our PJs and bought condoms, then sauntered over to Tom’s room and knocked on his door. 
Image result for threesome“Mind if we come in?” we asked when he opened.  Astonished, he opened the door and motioned us in with a sweep of his arm.  We didn’t bother saying anything; we just started taking off his clothes and pushed him down on the bed.  I wish I could tell you all the sordid details of what happened that night, but it’s all a blur (thanks a lot, vodka).  I remember making out with her; making out with Tom; both of us going down on him at the same time; us going down on each other; all of us taking a shower together; and most memorably, Tom getting whiskey dick when the time came for penetrative sex.  He was alright getting started, but then it would inevitably and quickly deflate.  We tried everything we could think of; we did everything he could think of – but to no avail.  I felt so bad for that guy.  Not because not having an erection is a bad thing – it’s absolutely not (triple negative ninja in the house!). I’ve had a million super-hot experiences with guys that didn’t involve their dicks.  But how often do two college girls come to your hotel room asking you to fuck them? 
This happened when I was twenty; I was relatively inexperienced and uneducated in the realm of sexuality, so I was definitely not having the “sex isn’t about penetration or orgasm” conversation.  It was more like, “Well, we tried to bang and it didn’t work, so guess that’s over.”  Looking back, I want a do-over.  I want to tell that guy: Let’s play. Let’s all touch each other til we’re quivering.  Let’s lick and stroke and explore each other’s bodies, one part at a time, and enjoy every moment for what it is.  Let’s make this about being sensual rather than trying to make it a porn.   
In any case, it was fun to head back into the city and have this conversation with classmates on Monday: “What did you do this weekend?”  “I had a threesome with a stranger in a Motel 6.  You?” I never had much of a filter. 

Birthday Sex: A One-Night Stand (NSFR / Not Safe for Relatives)

I was enchanted with Lena (we’ll call her Lena) from the day we met.  Lena was a bartender with a bachelor’s degree in chemistry who only wore black.  She was born in Siberia and had run away to the US in a giant fur coat and high heels and never looked back, yet longed for home.  She told me that she had “escaped” her third husband who was involved in organized crime.  And everyone who ever met her wanted to protect her. 

Lena was one of those women who was born knowing how to flirt; her gaze and her laughter were intoxicating.  There was a piano in the back room of the bar, and she played it beautifully.  She moved with grace and purpose.  I flirted with her all the time, just like the other bar flies; she knew I was into her, but I figured I didn’t have a chance, especially given that she identified as being straight.  Over time, we became friends and spent time together outside of the bar. 
 
Lena worked every night without fail (at two different bars) to send money home to her teenage son; she never got a break, and I wanted to give her one.  I told her to take off work one night in February when the Joffrey Ballet was doing a production of Romeo and Juliet; I didn’t tell her what my plans were – just that I wanted to take her out.  She said that there was no way her boss would let her have the evening off, so I went to her boss and talked to him myself (luckily, she viewed this as a Dobler act rather than a Dahmer act).  He said that she worked too hard and that he would be very happy to give her a free night; he even offered to drive us downtown!  

It turned out to be a brilliant evening — we had a four-course dinner and a bottle of wine, walked to the ballet (where she cried because she said it was the first time she had really felt anything since emigrating to the States nine years earlier), then went out to a bar and danced all night.  We took a taxi back to my place and I drove her home, dropping her at her doorstep.  I didn’t make a move, because like I said — I didn’t think I had a chance.  

Lena’s birthday came six weeks later.  She was working, of course, so I brought her flowers at the bar and spent the night there with her other friends until she got off work, after which we went somewhere else and kept drinking.  By the end of the night, Lena’s two friends were three sheets to the wind, and I was pretty sober, so I offered to drive them all home.  After I dropped her second friend off and started up the road to drop off Lena, she suddenly leaned over and planted her lips on mine!  “Come home with me,” she said in a husky voice.  My heart started pounding.  “Ar- are you su-sure?” I stammered, blushing hard.  Yes, she said, and started kissing me.  I pulled the car over to slide my fingers into her hair and kiss her back.  She touched me all the way to her house, and it was the LONGEST DRIVE. 

After what seemed like forever, we finally arrived to her basement apartment — no heat, no furniture, and a curtain in the doorway.  It was literally a basement in someone’s house where she was renting out a room with a bed in it where she could sleep between shifts.  She turned on a bare bulb so we could find our way into her room, then turned it back out, so we were left with just a little light from the streetlamps making their way through the basement windows.  She took off both of our coats and dropped them carelessly to the ground before aggressively removing the rest of my clothes and biting my shoulders, my stomach, my thighs.  Hard.  She took off her shirt and her bra; I could barely see the outline of her breasts as they swung above mine, but I could definitely feel her nipples on my suddenly warming skin.  I reached out to touch her, and she pinned my wrists behind my head.  I had wanted this woman for so long; this wasn’t at all what my fantasies about her were like… but it was achingly hot.  She spread my legs and buried her face into me, telling me I couldn’t touch her.  I obeyed.  I moaned.  She said she wanted to drink me.  I moaned harder.  She slid her fingers into me; I arched my back, clenched my fists behind my head, and asked her to kiss me.  I could taste myself on her tongue, and I craned my neck up to keep kissing her while taking breaks to beg her not to stop fucking me.

When her wrist just couldn’t move anymore, she fell over in bed next to me and spread out her arms and legs.  I propped myself up above her and started kissing her breasts, but she stopped me.  I asked her why; she said it was because she was ashamed of her body after giving birth and didn’t want me to see or touch her.  “Then… why did you want me to come home with you?” I asked.  “I’ve never been with a woman before,” she said, lighting a cigarette.  “I was curious.”

We talked for a bit and fell asleep, limbs entangled under a massive amount of blankets.  I woke up just after the sun rose in the morning, put my clothes back on, kissed her on the cheek, and let myself out into the cold light.  The next time I saw her, we smiled a secret smile and left it at that.  We remained good friends and continued to spend a lot of time together, but we never mentioned that night again.   

Travel Sex (NSFR – Not Safe for Relatives)

As in: Hey there, sister!  You might not want to read this one.

So I’m at this IRA pub in Derry, talking to the only other Americans I’d met traveling through Northern Ireland (they happened to be from my state, so we were getting on quite well) and a group of gents that had heard our funny accents and came over to talk to us.  I distinctly remember this one fellow who was telling me that he could no longer see out of his right eye because he’d gotten hit in the face with a rubber bullet.  “You’re pulling my leg,” I said, not believing him at first.  And then a split second later, I realized: he’s totally not kidding.  I’m in Northern Ireland.  

The whole time we’re having this conversation, I notice a big bald guy looking over at me (looking me over?) from a table a few feet away.  I give him a smile and keep talking to the group of guys I’m with.  After a couple of pints, they decide to call it a night and head out the door, leaving me still a bit chatty and not quite ready to leave, but with no one to talk to.  I go and sit in an empty chair next to the wall, and the bald bloke pulls up the chair across from me.  We exchange our names, say a few introductory words, and then: “So – how about we get out of here, then?”  “No,” I said, grinning — “I don’t think I’m looking for that tonight.”  We continue talking, and I realize that maybe I am up for it.  I’m really not into bald guys (Captain Jean-Luc Picard being the exception), but he was handsome and I was traveling.  “Okay,” I said.  “Okay, what?” he asked.  “Let’s get out of here.  I have a room in a bed and breakfast down the road.”  No more needed to be said; we grabbed our coats and walked briskly out the door into the January night. 

We did have a lovely conversation on the way; he told me about the history of the area, and I asked a lot of questions.  The cold air felt good in my lungs and I had drunk just enough to feel warm and giddy.  Once we got into my room, the conversation was done.  Usually, one night stand sex isn’t great; sometimes, it’s downright awful.  But this was hot.  This guy was built like a fucking bodybuilding giant, which again is usually not the type of guy I’m attracted to, but he was perfect that night.  He picked me up like I weighed nothing and fucked me against the wall, banging me into it so hard that we knocked paintings of ships off of it and so loud that there is no way we didn’t wake up every single guest.  He tugged my hair like reins and compressed my entire body against him.  He flung me all over the room like a rag doll, and I wanted more.  We rested for a little bit, soaking the sheets in our sweat, before going at it again. 

And then: “Okay, you can go now.”
“What?” he asked with furrowed brows.
“I said you can go.  Go home and get some sleep.”
“You’re not going to let me stay here?”
“No,” I laughed.  “I’d also like to get some sleep.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I’m serious.  I had a really good time, but you need to go.”

He put his clothes on, looking confused, and joked about me being cold.  He gave me his card (there once was a time before Facebook), like I was going to contact him. 

And honestly, it felt good to have that kind of power.  I walked into the B&B’s dining room the next morning, tranquil as a monk, smelling of sex and faintly smiling, and sat down in a beautiful hand-carved wooden rocking chair at a table with a doily on it next to a wall covered with sky blue and cream colored wallpaper, and I tore into the Ulster fry in front of me like a champ.    

In any case, the point of the story is that travel sex is great, you guys.  Go do it (be safe!).  And it’s okay not to be Facebook friends after you do.