When the cab pulls up at his place, he is waiting outside. In the pitch dark, I can only make out his silhouette. The howling wind blows my dress and his shaggy, hipster hair as I walk towards him.
I close the space between us and grab his shirt, pulling his mouth to mine. His lips are soft–so impossibly soft. Our hands roam all over each others’ bodies, as we fumble our way through the door and down the stairwell.
I drop my bag. He pushes me against the wall. My hands under his lumberjack flannel shirt, his in the space between my short green dress and my thigh high boots.
“Do you want a smoke?” He asks. “Because otherwise the dress is coming off.”
I need a minute. “Yes,” I say. “Smoke.”
We go outside. We smoke. I have no idea what we talk about. Our lips find each other again and he pulls me back into the apartment, then begins kissing my neck from behind.
“I wish I could date you,” he murmurs into the space between my shoulders.
“Why can’t you?,” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Because I would want you all to myself. That’s why.” The tenderness and passion in his voice floods all my senses.
He flips me around and I fall back on the bed. We pull each others’ clothes off and he slowly kisses my body, and then he’s inside me.
I gasp. “Oh god.”
He moves in me until I come over and over.
“Get on your back,” I growl. He complies.
I climb on top and ride him. “You feel really good,” he moans. I moan back.
When we’re done, we lay together, kissing passionately, running our hands up and down each others’ bodies.
“Can you believe we did this?” I laugh.
“Yep,” he answers with a smile.
He softly asks me why I’m not single. I softly ask him why he’s not poly. Then our mouths are together again, getting as much of each other as we possibly can in this one night.
“I hate that I want you again already,” he admits. He kisses my neck, as I run my hands over his body, moaning. He enters me, this time alternating between pushing into me with his cock, and licking me to orgasm. I scream, grabbing his hair with my hands, digging my nails into his back, until I am spent.
And then we talk. Office gossip. The kinkiest thing we ever did. When we got our tattoos and why. The most fucked up thing we’ve ever done in heartbreak. Whether or not we believe in forever. What happens after we die. The moment we each realized we wanted each other, and the moment we each realized we wanted each other for more than sex.
“This is the most interesting post-sex conversation I’ve ever had,” he admits.
“What do you normally talk about?”
“It’s usually ‘I see this going somewhere…'”
“Ah,” I replied.
“Can we agree, no feelings?” he asks me.
“Define feelings…”I press.
I agree. Ownership, I do not need.
We smoke another cigarette, talking the whole time, and then take turns going down on each other. After another round of viciously delicious orgasms, I fall back against the pillows, panting.
“Let’s get breakfast,” I say. It is 2:30 in the morning.
We get in his car, and go for breakfast. We talk about what it would be like to keep seeing each other. What would happen if this one night turned into a full-blown affair. What would happen if we got caught.
Pancakes and bacon, and then back to his place to fuck and talk some more. Every time I pull on my panties to go to sleep, he asks why I am wearing underwear, and tosses them back across the room.
I start to giggle. “Well, if you can’t laugh during sex, you’re doing it wrong,” he says. And then his head is between my legs. We are insatiable.
So much of it is a blur of touch and hands and mouths and grabbing and bucking and kissing and petting. So much of it, except, this one moment:
Our heads in a cloud of blankets. Faces inches apart. His hands on my skin. Mine hands on his. Our eyes locked, hazy from exhaustion and wanting. His auburn hair mussed. Both of us floating. Not saying things we shouldn’t be saying, but definitely feeling things we shouldn’t be feeling.
If there is one moment from that night that I will take with me wherever I go, it will be that.
Around 4 AM, he tells me I must sleep. I’m in a meeting the whole next day. I tell him not to boss me. He tells me he is being a good friend. We spoon, and crash, pressed against each other.
My phone’s alarm blares at 6 AM. I rip it out of the wall. We both laugh, looking at each other in amazement.
“Good morning, ” he says. He uses my name.
“Good morning,” I say, using his.
We are kissing and then we are fucking. We are both wide awake.
We smoke, then make love again.
“What’s your weak spot?” he asks.
I smirk in response.
“I will kiss every inch of your body until I find it.”
I raise my eyebrows. Challenge accepted.
He starts at my hips. He kisses my belly. When he pulls a nipple into his mouth, I moan instantly. I moan again when he gets to my neck, and then our mouths are together and I flip over so he can enter me from behind.
He dresses and goes to the kitchen to get us something to drink. I follow , sliding up behind him, pulling open his shirt, pulling off his pants, until he is naked. I run my hands up and down his shaft until he turns and I kneel, taking him into my mouth.
He groans, and I stay there for a few moments, on the kitchen floor. “Back to bed,” he says, lifting me to my feet, carrying and tossing me onto the mattress. His head is between my legs again. I am so sore I can barely stand the contact but our time is almost over. I want as much as I can get.
He says he is going to shower, and then take me to my meeting. I wrap my arms tighter around him.
“You can’t pin me,” he laughs, so I wrap my leg around him too. He slowly kisses my neck. Runs his lips over my collarbone and towards my mouth. He turns me onto my back, gets on top of me, and fucks me into ecstasy one last time.
Then he chuckles, and walks towards the bathroom.
“It was totally worth it,” I laugh back. “I don’t even care.”
In the car, we are quiet. I pull a cigarette from his pack. “Do you want one?” I ask, and he says “Yeah.”
I put his to my lips and light it, handing it to him first, before I draw on my own.
“And they say romance is dead,” he says.
Rehearsal dinner. Haven’t eaten a bite of food all day. We arrive at the house, and the food is not ready, but there are drinks. I have one rum and coke.
The food is finally served. It is all hor d’oeuvres and there are zero carbs. I am hammered off one drink. Someone tells me I need another. I say I shouldn’t, I’m already too drunk. They say I should just sip a glass of wine, then. In my totally inebriated state, I decide that MORE ALCOHOL is a good idea.
Trashed. Totally trashed.
Groped and repeatedly propositioned two grooms men. Took off my panties, stuck them in my bra, and flashed everyone a shot of my nether regions. Repeatedly.
Had to be carried to the car, and put to bed, where I immediately passed out.
Rock. Fucking. Bottom.
I woke up at 4 AM and considered jumping off the bride’s balcony, but I thought my suicide might dampen the festivities. I opted to live.
If there is one silver lining to this horrifying turn of events, it is that I made absolutely certain to NOT get smashed at the wedding.I ate the morning of, and sipped one cooler in the limo and all throughout pictures. I made sure a drank a LOT of water, and refused all the drinks people kept pushing at me until I had a chance to get some carbs in me. I had way more to drink at the reception than I did at the rehearsal dinner, but somehow I managed to keep my level of intoxication at a level where I was “pleasantly buzzed” and not passing out and/or attempting to rape grooms men.
I was still pretty horny (obviously–I am still me, humiliated or not), but it seemed like every good looking man at the wedding had a date. And I did not. Although I am married, I never do. Go figure. I still had a lot of fun, dancing till my body hurt and drinking enough to feel good. I was on the dance floor with the hottest couple in attendance shimmying on either side of me, and then they took off and I was joined by the bride’s cute, younger cousin.
You know where this is going.
We had chatted a bit outside earlier (I knew he was 22 and from up North), but hadn’t made too much contact since. We danced a few songs and then deciding we needed another drink, we made our way over to the bar. The bride pulled me aside. “You behaving yourself?” she asked with an arched eyebrow and a smile.
“I’m not going to touch your cousin,” I laughed.
She laughed too and took off with her groom.
I’m a liar. Of course I was going to touch her cousin.
He brought me a drink and we decided to take a walk. We meandered through the dark golf course, getting to know each other and marveling at the stars. At one point I said my feet were killing me, and I sat down. He sat facing me. He ran his hand up my leg. I coyly asked him if he was a virgin.
He kissed me. He was a good kisser. We sucked on each other’s lips and slid our tongues in and out of each other’s mouths for awhile, and then he pushed my dress up and slid his fingers inside me. I moaned and fumbled with his belt, until he took it off and slid his pants down. I stroked his cock while he fingered me, and then I laid back on the damp grass and he slid inside me.
We moved through positions like drunken acrobats. I moaned and gasped as he talked dirty to me, telling me I was sexy as hell, that I was a fucking slut, that he loved pounding me.
He had an impressive lack of inhibitions for one so young. We didn’t have a condom (what was I thinking, forgetting that!?) , so I sucked him off while he rubbed my pussy with his fingers. My screaming was stifled by the dick in my mouth.
“Choke on it, you whore.”
Oh God, please just keep talking to me like that.
“You are such a sexy bitch.”
Fuck, that is erotic. “Mmmmmm.”
“You want my cum?”
“Mmm-hmm,” I answered, deep throating him and rubbing my tongue up and down his shaft.
He shot his cum down my throat.
“That was hot,” I said.
We decided to walk back to the reception hall separately, so as not to be totally obvious. He put his arm around me and gave me a kiss, then we studiously ignored each other for the rest of the night.
And that is the story of how I flashed the bridal party and then fucked my best friend’s younger cousin.
I have a problem.
I am a sex addict.
Adult Friend Finder. For me, it is like handing a shopaholic a credit card and setting her loose on Madison Avenue. The difference is that, when the currency is sex, there is no limit.
I didn’t pay for a premium membership. I took the free one which means I can only reply to people who’ve contacted me first. I signed up on a whim then promptly forgot about it, until two days later when I got an email telling me I had 29 new messages.
What the hell?
I signed in, and lo and behold, my profile saying I wanted to party and thumbnail image of nothing but my mid-drift had garnered a slew of replies. I was shocked.
Apparently there’s a lot of people out there just looking for good sex.
I will say this of my experiences so far. I sometimes read Penthouse Letters when I need some smut to help me get off, and just a few short months ago I was convinced that 99% of the letters were fake. There was no way there were people out there who behaved that way, who were so sexually liberated, who actually made their fantasies become a reality.
Clearly I was wrong on that front. I’m sure some people are just making shit up, but I now know, unequivocally, that there are people who are just that sexually liberated. And I’m one of them.
Adult Friend Finder. I love that website.
Detailed stories to follow.