Whether it’s about joining the mile high club, attending a “kissing party”, or the joy that comes with not caring about pubic hair, I often address sex life while holding nothing back. Sometimes, I even dispense unsolicited advice based on personal experiences on matters such as staying faithful, and which awkward scenarios couples should expect to face in the sack.
Everyone seems to have their take on a saucy tale worth sharing. Below are the top 5 anecdotes of the lot, which are sure to leave you flesh thirsty.
Arite so maybe not all the way, but let’s count this mile-high experience. My girlfriend had an insatiable appetite for sex. So an hour before heading to the airport to catch a flight to Europe, we had sex. By the time we were boarding, she was already ready for more. As we got into the airline, we checked out the plane’s bathroom, but agreed that it looked too cramped for a mid-air romp.
Undeterred, my girlfriend asked a flight attendant for two blankets right after takeoff. Then she draped the navy blue polyester throws over my lap, slipped her hand underneath the makeshift barrier, grasped my dick, and rubbed it sensually. This is in a three-seat row. She was by the window, I was in the center, and a 40-something European dude neither of us knew was sitting near the aisle.
While jerking me off as slowly as possible so as not to come off as suspicious, she whispered in my ear that she wanted to make me come. It was weird being shoulder-to-shoulder with a complete stranger, and it wasn’t easy to muffle my increasingly more heavy breathing, but it felt good to do something so daring out in the open. After about 1/2 an hour, I came, smiling wide, conscious that I would, by no means, forget about that less-than-innocent hand job.
At 21, I caught an older, beautiful, fit, blonde woman staring at me from across a club in downtown Miami. Soon enough, she asked me to dance. We didn’t hook up that night, but she gave me her number and I pledged not to let the opportunity slip before leaving for school in two weeks.
That Friday night, she scooped me from my parents’ place in an Escalade and drove me to her suburban McMansion, where two other badass cars were parked in the driveway, and, apparently, two young kids were tucked in bed.
“My ex husband’s a baller,” she explained.
I didn’t ask questions.
After the babysitter showed up, my MILF and I headed to the nearest strip club—her choice, not mine. A dozen lap dances later, around 5am, we checked into a hotel. As soon as the door slammed behind us, I started kissing her and fondling her breasts like I would with a woman my age.
“Don’t rush,” she said.
I took the cue. By the time I climbed on top of her, the sun was rising. Finally! I thought. I entered her eagerly, and she moaned loudly. Overwhelmed by the excitement of pleasing an older woman, however, I blew my load in seconds. The upside to being young is that I was erect again in minutes, and I managed to prove myself during round two. On top of checking off an important bucket list item, I learned something about pacing, and redemption.
The Spring concert is a major college event at our school. So when the well-known rapper we’d all been looking forward to seeing singled me out and pulled me up on stage mid-performance, it was a big deal. Dancing alongside a famous celebrity in front of the whole school, I inevitably got a little wasted on my five minutes of spotlight. I decided right then and there that I was DTF.
To start, the rapper nibbled on my toes. He accompanied that gesture by feeling up my physique tenderly all over. Then he informed me he wanted to love me, and even offered to pay for my university education! The next morning, he invited all my mates out to brunch.
As quickly as he left town, the fact that he used to be twice my age, lived in Atlanta, and traveled constantly set in. When he texted a few days later, I was started up he hadn’t forgotten me already. I wanted to respond so badly. But rather than draw the entire aspect out and make myself vulnerable to disappointment, I chose now not to ruin a precious one-night stand I would keep in mind forever. Hopefully the disappointment didn’t kill him!
So I was dating this cool chick in college. She didn’t go to my college; instead, she was home-schooled as her parents were religious. But she was smokin’ hot, so I figured why not date her? It’s college; everyone will believe we had sex even if we didn’t.
It turns out she’s a freak. So we were getting down one night in my dorm room and I’m behind here; she’s bent over head in the pillow muffling her screams. I’m about to cum and Bam! My flatmate walks in. I slip out but mid-hump I came. So my penis slides up her butt and I cum in my own eye. It burned like a bitch. So I start screaming, and she’s mortified. She didn’t know why I’m screaming and my flatmate is standing there at the door laughing his ass off.
I couldn’t believe it and a couple weeks later she broke up with me because she couldn’t stand seeing my flatmate because she still wanted to seem religious.
As soon as my divorce became official a few years back, I took a job working as a television producer that required traveling across the country with the show’s cast and crew. As I interacted with more and more new people for a few days at a time, I formulated a theory: The only way to cleanse my sexual palate of ex-husband residue was to sleep with a total stranger.
I was unwinding at the bar of a cheap, cozy hotel in the middle of America one night when a handsome traveling salesman started flirting with me: The perfectly clichéd opportunity to regain control of my sex life, right? Then I noticed his wedding ring. At the risk of wasting erotic energy, I addressed the issue directly.
“My wife and I have an understanding,” he said.
Upstairs in his hotel room, we stripped off our clothes and attacked each other. We went at it three times in a row, and with each orgasmic round I shed a layer of the post-divorce blues, just as I’d hoped.
The next morning, my healer of a salesman and I woke up to a call from his wife and his guilty tone revealed that his marital “agreement” was probably one-sided. Honestly, though, I didn’t feel bad. I needed to get laid, and I was grateful to be cured.
Once during my early 20s, I traveled all over Europe with a close friend. It was our last day in Prague when an impressively well-built guy with really thick dark eyebrows walked into our hostel. Upon seeing him, I don’t think was more attracted to anyone else before. And after months of backpacking without hooking up, I was downright desperate for a little action. Looking around the tent, I could tell I wasn’t the only interested party. I’m not aggressive by nature, but I knew I had to trample the competition fast—or miss my chance.
Once my target set his bags down, I grabbed him by the arm and ushered him outside. We chatted for two minutes in the dark, during which time I learned two things about him: He was a British-Indian amateur boxer, which explained the toned body, and he was seven years older than I was. That was enough for me to yank his belt off and pull his pants down. Right outside the packed hostel, I gave him a blowjob with more gusto than I’d ever devoted to oral sex. The moment demanded impromptu action, and it was worth it. Who knew it could be so damn satisfying to be so generous?