8 Guys Share The Thoughts That Go Through Their Heads When They Approach Women At A Bar!!

A Woman's Guide To Approaching A Guy At The Bar | by Alore | The Productivity Revolution | Medium

8 Guys Share The Thoughts That Go Through Their Heads When They Approach Women At A Bar

Even though it can seem like online dating is the way to meet people these days, it’s not impossible to go the old-fashioned route and make a romantic connection at a bar. That, of course, requires one person actually working up the courage to walk up to a complete stranger knowing that the underlying message will be, “Hello, person I don’t know. I find you attractive and would like to know if that feeling is reciprocated.” Since heteronormative conventions dictate that men should always be the ones doing the approaching (which is wrong, but annoyingly pervasive), we got eight guys to share what goes through their minds when they’re heading over to strike up a conversation.

 

1. How can I bail if this goes south?
“Whenever I approach a girl at a bar—which is rare because I am so very afraid to do this and am terrible at it—a few things go through my mind. The first is usually hoping that I look OK, that my breath doesn’t smell, and that my hands aren’t too extremely sweaty for if a handshake occurs. (They are always extremely sweaty.) But the thing I find myself thinking the most about—and this is probably horrible, because it’s not helping me go into this approach with confidence—is how I’m going to gracefully exit if I’m shot down or flat-out ignored. Before I even make my approach, I’m already plotting out a route of egress.” —Scott M.

2. Is she sending any signals?
“I’m thinking about how to play towards her signals. If she’s been glancing around the room, not even necessarily at me but at other guys, I would acknowledge that maybe she’s trying to meet someone of the opposite sex. I don’t really feel nervous about going up to someone or potentially being rejected. I’m there to have fun, so why should they influence my life that much? It’s like when you do that thing with someone on the street where you both step to the left, then the right to get out of each other’s way—that’s an awkward moment, but it doesn’t ruin your day.When in doubt, I compliment an un-sexual part of her outfit, like her earrings. Sometimes I also just do a ‘this or that,’ question, like ‘pineapple or kiwi?’ It’s so innocent. ” —Willie W.

3. I hope she doesn’t shoot me down.
“I’m always pretty nervous when I do this. As much as I’d mentally like to write off a rejection at a bar, my ego’s too big, so I try to search for some sort of common ground we could pursue outside of normal social niceties. Gauging whether she’d be a good fit for me rather than keeping it general is a defensive strategy. That way if she’s not into me, I can tell myself we weren’t a match. If we only talk about general things, it’s easier to think she specifically didn’t like me.” —Theo B.

 

4. What facial expression does she have going on right now?
“Before going up to someone at a bar, I try to clear my head. I pause and do my best to think of nothing else so I’m not distracted. Then I analyze the situation to determine the best way to start a conversation, so I look around to see if there’s anything interesting going on. And other times I look at her to see what she’s wearing, or if she looks happy, frustrated, or sad about something so I can bring that up to get the ball rolling.” —Zach T.

5. I wish she’d come up to me instead.
“What goes through my mind before approaching a woman at a bar? Fear. Not just fear of rejection, but of judgment and embarrassing myself. That’s true even if I somehow knew she wanted me to approach her. Whether she’s sending me signals or not, it’s still brutal. If women help open the conversation, I’m good from there, but opening it myself is so stressful. Why can’t you make the opening?!” Ed note: at this point I said, “Well, women are terrified, too! And we’re in the position of being taught that men will approach us if they’re interested, so that makes it extra scary. His response: “But consider that most guys are just as scared of striking up a conversation, and not going up to us filters out shyer ones who could be great. If a woman says literally anything, the coast is clear for me to have a conversation. But short of that, I feel like a creep walking up to girls and bothering them.” —Nathaniel V.

6. Here goes nothing.
“I’m not a pickup artist or a robot, so it depends on the situation. I think it does for most guys. Sometimes your confidence steps up in the clutch like David Ortiz late in a Yankees game, and other times you can barely get your name out.” —Jake M.

7. Is her boyfriend about to pop out from nowhere?
“I used to go up to women a lot, but I don’t anymore. I want to meet someone in a more organic way. But when I used to do it, I was always so worried she had a boyfriend. That’s happened way too many times in my life. If I still decided to approach her, I’d have the end goal in mind of opening on her and then grabbing her number. The best openers are random questions, although sometimes I’d point out things about her clothing or ask if she’d take a picture of me and my friends. I tried to always come up with something on my way over that was substantive and that implied that I was down to get to know her, not just hook up.” —Jamal P.

8. Don’t be a jerk.
“The only thing on my mind is, ‘Don’t stare at her boobs, don’t stare at her boobs, eye contact.’” —Bryce A.

I Tried to Say ‘Yes’ to Every Creepy Guy Who Approached Me on the Street for Two Weeks!!

5 Times When You Shouldn't Approach Women - Paging Dr. NerdLove

I Tried to Say ‘Yes’ to Every Creepy Guy Who Approached Me on the Street for Two Weeks
There are a lot of creeps out there.

One Saturday night, while waiting for my train at Paris’s République Station, a stranger asked me if we “should get to know each other a bit better.”

“OK,” I replied.

The guy froze, like a horny deer in headlights. “Really? You’re actually up for it?” he said, laughing. “I’m not used to that!”

To be fair, I wasn’t either.

You see, I had decided to conduct an experiment wherein I would say “yes” to and engage in conversation every stranger who hit on me for two weeks. I wanted to get into their heads, find out who these men are, if their tricks worked and, perhaps most importantly, if they are aware that the majority of women find what they are doing incredibly fucking annoying and more than a little bit creepy.

I did, of course, reserve the right to say “no” or to simply ignore anyone who I felt legitimately threatened by. It’s important to always listen to that beep-beep echoing in your head and bolt from any situation that makes you feel uncomfortable (beyond the awkward discomfort of small-talk with strangers)—even if the person you are with is telling you that everything is normal. This guy at the metro station, however, didn’t set off any of my alarm bells.

So, we started chatting. Things were a little weird; me standing stiff as a lamppost, him sitting on a little chair with his hands joined.

“I love Paris because you ladies always wear classy pink dresses like that,” he told me. Through a bit of forced small talk I discovered he came from Picardie and enjoyed playing soccer. He seemed normal enough, but when I told him my age the conversation went into a tailspin.

“What? You’re 29? I don’t believe you,” he said, disappointed. It was obvious he was losing interest fast, so I just started firing random questions off in a desperate attempt to revive the conversation. “Is being an athlete hard? Where are you from in Picardie? Do you like, um, stuff?” By then, he was only answering in mumbled single-syllable words. Punishing.

“I won’t hold you back, Judith. Your man must be waiting for you,” he said, finally ending the conversation. We stood next to each other in silence for the next two minutes as we waited for the metro. It was one of the longest two minutes of my life. When the train finally arrived, I got into my carriage, put my headphones on and watched as he chose a seat as far away from me as was humanely possible.

This “I’m just going to say yes to everything” adventure was off to a miserable start, but I had to keep going. Surely being 29 isn’t a deal-breaker for every street urchin who might approach me.

That Sunday, while returning from a particularly sweaty jog, a guy came up to me as I was putting my keys in the front door.

“Into sport, darling?” he asked.

“I try.”

He was in his 40s and wearing a beige parka—the “dad look.”

“That’s great! I certainly hope you’re wearing enough support? Because it seems like there’s a lot to support there, if you know what I mean!” Here he began grabbing his man-tits and pouting his lips, for reasons that remain unclear. “If I were brave enough, I’d ask if I could touch them. Fuck it. I am brave enough! Can I? I have money if you want!”

This guy was the reason I inserted my “right to say no” clause into this experiment. He was a fucking asshole. Still, I tried to be polite but firm.

“No,” I said. “I’m just trying to go home and you’re making me feel very uncomfortable.”

“Oooh, you should have said that you weren’t feeling confident about your body,” he replied.

I got inside and slammed the door shut. Every woman has encountered a creep like him before. Thankfully, I’ve noticed that the older I get, the less perverts I attract. Between the ages of 14 and 18, I was a creep magnet. People would ask me to go to their hotel with them or mime cunnilingus with their fingers while staring at me. To mortify me further, they would even do it while I was with my mom. There must be something about the fragility of teenagers that gets these guys off.

This asshole aside, the experiment needed to continue.

The next guy I met was named Yacine. He was an Arab, like the majority of the men who approached me over the course of those two weeks. I contemplated mentioning that tidbit because I don’t want to feed into whatever ridiculous racial prejudices people might have, but it’s the truth, and I used it as an icebreaker with Yacine.

“Oh yeah, a lot of them hit on you? That might be because they have better taste in women!” he told me, laughing.

I can confidently say that Yacine was by far the most charming man I met during my experiment. As I sat with him on a rusty metal bench above Belleville Park, the whole of Paris spread out in front of us, I completely forgot that I was conducting a sociological experiment.

It didn’t hurt that Yacine was hot as hell. Caramel skin with long black eyelashes—it looked like he was wearing mascara. His approach was more original than the rest, too. He just walked right up and asked if I’d like to smoke a joint.

“I’m in detox, but I’d like to smoke a cigarette,” I lied.

There were plenty of people around us, children playing, tourists—so I felt safe. I felt good, even. So much so, I let myself have a toke of the joint. Yacine said he lived in a small suburb called Les Lilas, in Seine-Saint-Denis. He told me that he never really hits on girls in the street, only “on exceptional occasions, when a woman is as beautiful as you are.” Probably a line, but hey.

“I am trying to settle down and be serious. I want a little family and a nice house just like my parents have. I guess it’s natural, I am getting old. I’m 30 now.” He admitted that he doesn’t think he’s going to meet the woman of his dreams in the street, but he finds it amusing. Sometimes it works, sometimes he gets a straight “no.”

“I’m sure it can be annoying for girls to be approached like this. Some guys are really disrespectful. But I think I understand things better. You see, my ex would always complain about ‘annoying guys’ approaching her, but she would also complain when she didn’t get approached, because it made her feel ugly. Seriously!”

It wasn’t at all unpleasant to listen to Yacine talk about the complexity of the male-female relationship. He was constantly laughing and cheerful. I really appreciated his talkative side because it helped avoid awkward silences. He didn’t ask me many questions about my work, but he was interested in small details: asking me whether or not my feet were hurting because of my high heels and what kind of sports I liked playing. I think that’s why it was so nice to hang out with him: he actually had something to say. We talked for a good 40 minutes, kissed each other on the cheek as we left, and I even went as far as to give him my number.

With all the other guys I met, the conversational tone shifted as soon as I told them I was a journalist. Abdelkarim, a guy I met on a Tuesday night while sitting on a bench waiting for a friend, opened with “Please don’t tell me you are waiting for your boyfriend. Please!” It actually made me laugh. He was 23 and lived in Saint-Denis. Unfortunately, we may never know more than that because as soon as I told him what I did for a living, he closed up.

“Oh really? You’re a journalist? So you’re a Freemason? Stop lying. You’re a Freemason. Or your dad is?”

I tried to explain that most journalists are in fact not members of shadowy frateneral organizations, but he wasn’t having any of it and I ended up just aborting the conversation.

The following day, I was approached by two students next to La Sorbonne University. I was sitting at the terrace when they came up and asked if I wanted to have a beer with them. The kids—both history and political science students—were extremely surprised that I accepted. Once again, the conversation’s tone changed after I told them what I was doing. “You’re doing an article for VICE? I only read international papers. They’re much better. Le Monde is right wing, and let’s not even talk about Libé,” one of them said, the other nodding along.

When we finished the beer, one of them left to take a bus and I walked the other to the train station. We had nothing to say to each other so I just kind of laughed nervously. He kept on mumbling about the trivialities of 24-hour news channels, the “dictatorship of emotions,” the “same images broadcasted all day long,” etc, etc, to infinity. Despite the obvious lack of chemistry, as we were about to part he gave it a shot, god bless him.

“Do you want to come to my place? I live close by. We would be more…” he paused.

I stood there, silent, wondering how he’d muster up the courage to finish that sentence. If I were a nice person, I could easily have smiled to imply that I got it, or just declined without leaving him the time to finish his sentence. I could even have had the tact to act as if I didn’t get it and simply escape by blurting out, “Oh my God, I’m late!” But I am not a nice person, and even took some pleasure in watching him trying to get his words together.

“More… more… well… it will be more quiet,” he concluded.

As you can probably guess, I politely declined.

“So, why did you have a drink with us?” he mumbled while leaving. “Anyway, Judith is a slutty name.”

He certainly had no problem getting that sentence out.

 

I’ve Learned a Lot From F*cking Married Men. Sometimes I Wish I Could Forget It

cosmopolitan sex and relationships editor kayla kibbe

I’ve Learned a Lot From F*cking Married Men. Sometimes I Wish I Could Forget It.

I’ve always been pretty unapologetic about the fact that I sleep with other people’s husbands, boyfriends, and fiancés and will quite possibly do so again. The way I see it, what other people choose to do within (or outside) the confines of their own monogamous unions is no business—and certainly no responsibility—of mine.

The first time I ever had sex with a married man, I was a 21-year-old senior in college and he was my first-ever sugar daddy. You just slept with someone’s husband, I thought to myself the next morning, taking an Uber back to campus from one of eastern Connecticut’s sprawling casinos that rise out of the farmland like shining mini-metropoles. I think you are supposed to feel something. But all I could feel, hungover in the backseat of a car that would get me back to school just in time for my first class, was the sharp thrill of the illicit, and a faint, sickly gleam of satisfaction in the knifelike knowledge I’d just acquired: that I would never again have to worry about being enough for a man because there would never be any such thing.

I felt I had discovered an important if uncomfortable truth, one that made me feel smug and superior if also secretly scared and disillusioned—like a kid who just found out Santa Claus isn’t real. I’d only slept with one married guy, sure, but somewhere in the darker corners of my slick, shrewd cynic brain, I’d already begun to suspect that everyone cheats—and by “everyone,” I, of course, mean men. This night confirmed it: If he isn’t cheating or he hasn’t yet, then he wishes he were or he will be someday.

I wrapped myself up in this realization like a flag, flattered that I knew something my girlfriends would eventually learn the much harder way. I was more acutely aware than ever, of course, that it could still happen to me—that I may one day find myself on the other side of this dicey dynamic I’d entered into. Still, I was comforted by the knowledge that at least when my time came, I’d see it coming. I wouldn’t be blindsided the way women always seem to be getting blindsided by these inevitabilities.

It’s strange that I’m like this, by the way. I don’t have a convenient excuse—nothing that would hold up in a court of “Well, she’s sort of fucked up, but it makes sense why.” My parents are still married and, to the best of my knowledge, more or less happily so. As far as I know, I’ve never been cheated on myself. I’ve never even cheated on my own partner, when I’ve had one. Unless you count sexting or phone sex or meeting up in a dark, downtown bar where nothing happened but I wished it had, which you probably do.

I treat these men and my trysts with them like a vaccine. Take a shot of poison now, I tell myself, and it will save you later on.
Over the next few years, I added several more married-man notches to my belt. Many of them came to me the same way the first had—in sugar dating arrangements where it’s all but expected that one party is either “Married But Looking” or lying. Others stumbled across my path through different though no less cliché means—a workplace affair here, a DM slide there (on LinkedIn, of all places). I wasn’t necessarily seeking them out, per se, but once you’ve been baptized in the faith of Other Womanhood, I swear the cheaters can smell it on you.

But enough about me, what about the other woman? Or, rather, The Woman—the one at home checking her phone while I’m out fucking her husband or boyfriend or fiancé in bed at the St. Regis or bent over a bathroom sink at the Standard. Don’t I feel sorry for her? Or jealous of her? These are the questions I get from friends who listen to my sordid tales and quietly reassure themselves this kind of thing would never happen to their own relationships. And the answer is yes. And no. And sometimes—it depends. It depends whether you can reasonably assume she’s simply accepted her end of the bargain and agreed to look the other way—she gets the summer house on some old-moneyed stretch of coast and the 2.5 kids and is probably relieved enough that someone else is fucking her husband so she doesn’t have to—or whether she’s throwing tan, toned arms around him and sporting a shiny new diamond ring in an Instagram post you’ve looked at too many times. It depends whether you’ve just met up with him in a discreet hotel on a Wednesday night where he breaks the big news that he’s about to become a blushing groom to the woman he’s been cheating on with you for some four years and you leave feeling gutted in a way you didn’t know you still could.

Lately, some half-decade of married-and-otherwise-taken-men later, I’ve begun to wonder if I’m just poisoning my own well.
But even then, waiting for the N train too close to midnight and feeling stupidly, pathetically sorry for myself, I still felt safer on my side of this thing. I knew I’d rather be the one weeping on a subway platform than the one he’s slinking home to smelling like my Chanel Chance. Because every time you are the other woman, it comes with the reminder that you could just as easily be The Woman—even the ones with immaculate abs and sparkling résumés who have it all. And more than I crave the comfort and stability of long-term partnership—the status boost of split rent and shared last names and smiling vacation photos—I’m afraid of looking stupid, of some woman whose nudes are hidden in a password-protected app on my fiancé’s phone staring at my massive diamond and matching grin in an Instagram engagement announcement and seeing straight through it.

So I treat these men and my trysts with them like a vaccine. Take a shot of poison now, I tell myself, and it will save you later on. Then at least I’ll see it coming. At least I’ll be prepared.

I once tried to explain this to a man who, to the best of my knowledge, had never cheated on his wife of 20ish years. I told him that what I do is “preventative cheating.” Someday, I know (read: fear), I will be The Woman, so I’m getting my revenge on the future men I’ve decided will betray me now while I’m still young and can do it more easily.

“Sure, but it’s not ‘preventative,’” he pointed out. “He can still cheat on you.”

“Fine. Preemptive then,” I conceded.

Sometimes I wish I could throw it all back up, all these things I’ve learned about men and marriage and monogamy from this side of them.

I used to take a certain kind of pride in proving my own worst fears right in this way, in making good on my most cynical beliefs. I used to like kicking the rotten foundations out from under things. But lately, some half-decade of married-and-otherwise-taken-men later, I’ve begun to wonder if I’m just poisoning my own well for no reason. Maybe the sheen is finally wearing off of that gleaming, knife-blade thrill, or maybe I’m just getting old(er). After all, I always sort of assumed that at some point I’d have to switch sides—how well can the serial sidepiece life really age? Then again, maybe the inner romantic in my heart of Piscean hearts has simply started to question whether staring down the ugly realities I’ve convinced myself are The Truth is really worth its weight in cynicism and apathy. In any event, sometimes I wish I could throw it all back up, all these things I’ve learned about men and marriage and monogamy from this side of them. Maybe it is the truth, but maybe I don’t need to know it anymore. Maybe I’d rather put my sunglasses down, have a glass of something sweet, and see it all half full and rosy.

It’s an aggressively sunny Sunday and I’m having hungover brunch with the handsome (and single) surgeon I’ve recently started seeing when he asks me what this essay is going to be about. I surprise myself by not wanting to tell him. Suddenly, somehow, this ugly truth I used to delight in shoving in people’s faces and down my own throat seems misshapen and out of place. It doesn’t match my flowery sundress or the crush on the boy across the hightop table I can feel blooming quietly in my chest. I try to defer—he’ll just have to subscribe and read it himself, I say.

He tells me he tries to avoid reading too much of my stuff. “I like where we are right now,” he says. He means: “I don’t want to see the darkest corners of your soul. I don’t need to taste the poison in your brain.” And I can’t blame him.

“It’s about cheating,” I tell him. I glance down. I stir my Bloody Mary. “Have you ever done it?”

His answer is the same mix of omissions and qualifications that is everyone’s answer if they’ve been on earth long enough: No—well, sort of. Depends if you count x, y, or z. But for the most part, his record seems pretty clean. He is very gorgeous and kind and normal. He is not married or old enough to be my dad. And sometimes when he rests a tan, warm hand on my thigh in the car, I find myself wondering what it would be like to love and be loved by a normal, kind, gorgeous person and not worry about someday becoming The Woman—the one exchanging vows with a man who’s sexting someone saved under a fake name in his phone or waking up next to an undergrad in an expensive hotel room.

It’s not that I feel any of the regret or remorse many people would probably like me to feel. If I had it all to do over again, I’d do it all the same—not only because affairs, poison though they may be, are sometimes home to breathless, shimmering moments that can look a lot like love in the dim light of a hotel lobby bar but also because this knowledge, these brushes with uncomfortable realities, have been valuable in their own way. They’ve added texture and nuance to the way I experience the world and my place in it.

But sometimes, when I catch myself thinking Girlfriend Thoughts like, Do you want to come over and watch TV on the couch with my feet in your lap, I wish I could mute the lessons I’ve learned from these adventures in infidelity. I wouldn’t take it all back if I could, but I would maybe donate it to Goodwill or try to sell it on Poshmark, like a skintight dress that made me feel sexy and powerful getting drunk off someone else’s bottle service at 21. It served its purpose for a time, but I’m not sure it has much left to offer me. I’m not even sure it fits me anymore.

 

Dozens of Funny Sex Stories That’ll Make You LOL!!!

100 Sex Horror Stories That Are So Funny And Bad

“We can roll with it, or you can let me borrow your razor.”
“I was hooking up with this dude for months, but it wasn’t consistent, so when I went over to his place I realized when I got there that I was not, let’s just say, 100-percent prepared down there. I explained the situation to the dude and gave him two options. ‘We can roll with it, or you can let me borrow your razor, with a totally new razor head’ (because duh, bacteria!). He opted for the second choice. And I hopped in the shower, still drunk, and shaved everything. How I didn’t slip in the shower or cut myself while drunk is beyond me, but mission accomplished…and the sex after was actually the best ever with that guy, so yeah!” —Heather R., 26

“I actually started to pass out.”
“I was hooking up with a guy and I didn’t eat much that day. When we got in the shower to have sex, I actually started to pass out. The guy had to help me out of the shower, dry me off, and basically became my doctor. I was so embarrassed.” —Emily B., 24

“Turns out, he had a whole child.”
“I was hooking up with this guy for about three months, but he would always come to my place since I lived near the town center with all the bars. But one night, I finally went to his house to hookup, and when I went to bathroom to clean up afterward, I noticed a bunch of kids clothes on the floor and a small toothbrush. Turns out, he had an whole child. Three months and I never knew!” —Melanie C., 24

“This man had popped a couple of Tic Tacs while he was down there.”
“I was hooking up with this guy who didn’t like giving oral. But I pushed him on it, because equality, and he finally agreed to give it a try. As soon as he got started, I remember feeling something weird down there tingling and burning. I soon realized that this man had popped a couple of Tic Tacs in while he was down there without letting me know. WTH, dude?!” —Isabelle M., 26

“Apparently his dick was burning. Sorry to this man.”
“I was making this spicy stew recipe online that called for a bunch of habañeros. I washed my hands pretty well, but I guess they still had pepper on them, because later that night when I was giving a guy a hand job, he started making funny noises and started yelling, ‘Oww, owww.’ Apparently, his dick was burning. Sorry to this man.” —Ilena B., 26

“I couldn’t help but try to solve the math problem.”
“The first time I had sex with my high school boyfriend, we were at his parents’ house alone. We went up to his room, and he laid me down on the bed. But just as he put it in, I looked up at the ceiling and noticed he had derivative math equations taped there. The entire time, I couldn’t help but try to solve the math problem. I told him this wasn’t going to work for me and we went out for pizza instead.” –Ashley L., 24

“I’ve never questioned my life choices more.”
“It was the night of my boyfriend’s fraternity formal. We were having a good time when he asked me if I wanted to sneak away from the dance floor. We ran to the men’s bathroom, picked a stall, and started having sex. That was, until three of his brothers came in to use the bathroom. They started chatting it up at the urinals. And we were just in the stall, naked, trying to remain as quiet as possible. That’s when I snapped back into reality and realized how disgusting this bathroom was. I’ve never questioned my life choices more.” —Amber G., 24

 

“That didn’t stop us from catching up in the laundry room.”
“One time at a house party, I spotted my crush walking in from across the room. We hadn’t talked in a while, but that didn’t stop us from catching up in the laundry room of our friend’s house. We were literally having rough sex in the laundry room while people knocked loudly on the door because they thought it was the bathroom.” —Denise B., 25

“He sat me on a random car parked in the alley.”

“When I first moved to Brooklyn, I came across a NSFW profile on Tumblr with this guy who was popular for the sloppy head he gives. So I was scrolling through his profile and came across a post that said something like, ‘Repost this if you’re based in New York.’ So being new and unknown to the city, I said, hey, why the hell not…and messaged him. A day or so later, we ended meeting up at a Mexican-themed bar. After a few margaritas, we went to a restaurant. When we got to the booth, we instantly began making out and um… exploring each other’s bodies. So we slipped out before the waiter came back and went into the alley right next to the bar. He sat me on a random car parked in the alley and showed me exactly how he became so Tumblr famous.” —Sharice F., 25

“Who knew Kyle sounds like Carl in German?”
“I was studying abroad in Spain and met a really cute German guy while out one night. We had a great night together, but the next morning, he told me I’d been calling him the wrong name the entire night. Who knew Kyle sounds like Carl in German?” —Elise C., 23

“I asked if he wanted to join and soon I started making out with my coworkers date.”
“One Friday afternoon in the office, my coworker was venting about not having been on a date in awhile. I motivated her to try her luck on Tinder. She eventually met a guy she liked, they chatted for a bit, and he asked her out. But he wanted to know if she had a friend for his friend in town. Of course, I agreed to be her wingwoman. We met up at a lounge and laughed the whole night. But my friend wanted to head home because she had work the next morning.

“After they dropped her off, I chose to stay and hang out with the two guys. Initially, I was only dancing with the date I was set up with, but after a few rum punches, we were all taking turns dancing together. We took a break and went outside to cool off. Outside, me and my original date began making out. After we stopped, I noticed his friend was just standing there. I asked if he wanted to join and soon I started making out with my coworkers’ date. Shortly after, we all went to a hotel and that’s the story of my first threesome.” —Serena B., 25

“It was the perfect one-flight stand.”
“I was on a 12-hour flight, and the guy next to me was pretty cute. I swear he was Ryan Gosling’s twin, and he was wearing an army uniform (hard to resist, right?). We started talking, and a couple of hours in, I was trying to fall asleep when he said I could rest my head on his lap to be more comfortable. So I did, but a couple minutes in, I could feel he was getting hard. So I started rubbing his dick. He put a blanket over my head so nobody around us could see, but I’m nearly positive the woman on the other side of the aisle could tell what was happening, especially when I pulled down his zipper and started bobbing my head up and down. Luckily, he came pretty quickly. We talked after the flight up until baggage claim and then never saw each other again. It was the perfect one-flight stand.” —Amber M., 28

“I lost my nose ring in the Uber, and I kind of want it back.”
“I gave a blow job to this guy in an Uber. It was incredibly hot and we’ve ended up hooking up several more times. But I lost my nose ring in the Uber, and I kind of want it back…but I’m too afraid to ask the Uber driver ’cause who knows what he saw back there?” —Rebekah M., 25

“It was super weird looking at the tons of family pictures on the wall.”
“It was my first hookup. We were making out on the couch, and after a while, he asked me if I wanted to go into the bedroom. I said yes, but then he lead me into his parents’ bedroom! I remember him saying he’d just always wanted to hook up on his parents’ bed and they were out of town so we wouldn’t get caught. I just went with it, even though it was super weird looking at the tons of family pictures on the wall while we were getting it on. I gave my first blow job and hand job on the bed of some couple who would come back from vacation, fall into bed, and have no idea what happened in it a few days earlier. I really hope he changed the sheets.” —Sydney S., 25

“As I was doing it, I noticed I wasn’t really getting any vocal feedback.”

“When I was in college, I was hooking up this guy who smoked a lot of weed. I mean, he was pretty much high 24/7. I liked that he was really chill, but turns out, he might’ve been too chill. One night we were having sex, and he just stopped in the middle of it. I asked him what was wrong and he said he was just too high and tired. Being a generous spirit, I offered to give him a blow job instead and he gladly accepted. As I was doing it, I noticed I wasn’t really getting any vocal feedback or anything. I looked up and saw that he’d fallen asleep! We stopped seeing each other after that.” —Alice P., 26

“We got naked in the fitting room and got to it.”
“When I was dating my first boyfriend, we always talked about unconventional places to have sex. He said he really wanted to have sex in a fitting room, so we decided to make that happen. I was so nervous. I’d never had sex in a public place! We spent some time just walking around a J.Crew at the mall and made up this whole story to the staff about how we were trying to find him an outfit for some special occasion. Eventually, both of us went into the fitting room, making sure it was empty, and the staff didn’t bat an eye. We got naked in the fitting room and got to it, all the while trying to make casual conversation with each other, so it didn’t seem suspicious. I never thought I’d say, ‘I think that shirt would look better with those pants,’ while someone was literally inside me!” —Olivia M., 26

“My friends and I couldn’t get away fast enough.”
“When I was in grad school, my friends and I were out on the town after a really rough week. I just wanted to unwind and see what I could get into that night. Eventually, this really cute guy and his friends came up to us while we were playing pool and the guy started chatting me up. I was interested, but he refused to tell me his name, which was a little suspicious. But I was just looking to have fun, so I didn’t really care. We were making out, and I was ready to go to his place that night to hook up. But for some reason, he started acting really sketchy. That’s when he pulled out a bag of what I think was cocaine, told us he was a dealer, and asked if we wanted to do some. My friends and I couldn’t get away fast enough. I seriously dodged a bullet that night.” —Trisha D., 27

“I kept my head down, dick still in mouth, until the coast was clear.”

“One night, I decided to be adventurous. And while my boyfriend was driving on the highway, I unzipped his pants and started to give him a blow job. All was well and good until he started swerving a bit. I guess he couldn’t concentrate. That’s when he noticed a cop car trailing behind us. He told me the car was coming next to ours, so I kept my head down, dick still in mouth, until the coast was clear. When I came up for air, we were both cracking up laughing.” —Helen H., 25

“Then they told me that I was their top choice to have a threesome with.”
“It was the night before my friend’s bachelorette party, and I was staying at her and her fiancé’s house. There had been plenty of times in the past when she got drunk and started making out with me (or whoever was around), and her hubby-to-be never cared. So we were in their basement/entertainment room, playing games, and she and I were very tipsy. Next thing I know, we were making out, and her fiancé literally started cheering. ‘Honey your dreams are coming true,’ he said. I stopped because I was entirely confused, and then they told me that I was their top choice to have a threesome with. I was like f*ck it, and we decided to do it.” —Reagan T., 26

“This man was basically a model.”

“A friend of mine told me that a friend of his from Germany would be visiting the U.S. And since he wouldn’t be around, he wanted me to give him the grand NYC tour. I actually ended up have a great time with the guy, and one night after a few drinks, he came over and we hooked up. This man was basically a model and looked so pretty sleeping naked that I couldn’t resist taking a photo of him. I never talked to him again, but that photo will one day be framed in black and white on my wall.” —Kimberly L., 24

“I’m sure his bedside manner still sucks today.”
“I had been hooking up with this guy who was studying to be a doctor. I went over one night while I was kind of sick and had a cough, but I was horny so I didn’t care. He was a doctor, anyway, right? I was certain he’d have some cold meds at has place. After we had sex, I was ready to go to sleep and asked if he had some Robitussin or something. This man’s medicine cabinet was empty, and I was up all night coughing while he was passed TF out. I’m sure his bedside manner still sucks today.” —Deidra N., 25

“My body flew to the back of the seat—hitting my head hard, tits flailing.”
“It was our second date, and we went to go see Thor: Ragnarok. As the trailers started rolling, he started making out with me. But I actually wanted to watch this movie, so I told him to chill until after. Movie ends and we head back to his car. He drives to a more secluded area in the parking lot. And obviously things start happening. He fingers me and then I went down on him. We’re both about to move on to full-on sex when he screams. I pop my head up to see a creepy man outside our car in a trench coat. While I’m laughing my head off, my date jumped over me to the driver’s seat and shifted the engine from park to drive. My body flew to the back of the seat—hitting my head hard, tits flailing. It was not good. Needless to say, we did not finish having sex. He was too scared the bad man in the trench coat would return.” —Pamela L., 24

“It was his girlfriend banging on the bedroom door.”
“I was ‘dating’ a football player at the time. He was popular and whatever, but he had a girlfriend. He told me she was awful and treated him badly. I was young, naive, and believed him. So one night, I was at his apartment in bed together and things had just started heating up when we heard a knock on the door. It was his girlfriend banging on the bedroom door. She must have had a key, which made me feel even worse. But I had to keep silent for about 10 minutes while he yelled from behind the door that he was not letting her in. I was mortified.” —Kris W., 26

 

“I got in line and bought one for my walk of shame.”
“I had a one-night stand, and I left her place at like 5 a.m. While I was walking home, I realized her place was right next to Dominique Ansel’s bakery, and people were already lining up for cronuts. So I got in line and bought one for my walk of shame.” —Martha K., 25

“He noticed a few white stains on my boyfriend’s pants.”
“It was prom night, and my boyfriend and I were heading back to my house so he could drop me off. We hooked up in the car in front of an abandoned house in my neighborhood and put our fancy clothes back on. When we walked in the door, my dad was sitting on the couch waiting for us to come home. After recapping the night, he noticed a few white stains on my boyfriend’s pants. He asked what it was, and I quickly said ice cream. I was sweating through my dress as my dad stared my date down before finally saying, ‘Well, must have been good.’ Whew!” —Alexandra P., 26

“He started saying stuff about how he wanted to marry me and bring me back to Texas.”
“I met this guy at a bar who was in the Army and briefly stationed at a base near my school. We went back to my place to hook up, but as soon as we started getting into it, he WOULD NOT stop talking. He started saying stuff about how he wanted to marry me and bring me back to Texas, where he was from, and kept calling me his African queen. It was weird and annoying. I immediately stopped and told him this wasn’t working for me.” —Patty M., 25

“He said his cum was gold.”
“It all started when a certain TV celebrity sent me a DM. ‘Hey <3,’ he wrote. We began talking, and it turned out he was in my area. He asked me to kick it later and get tacos. I wasn’t sure if he was for real, so I asked if he was serious and told him I was free at 7. We met up and got tacos, but then he started drinking and became visibly drunk. He asked me if I wanted to have sex with him and be his baby mama. When I said no, he said his cum was gold. I’ve never laughed harder in my life. I left the restaurant after that and he blocked me on IG.” —Carrie S., 28

“I saw my bus driver’s face looking through the rearview mirror.”

“My high school boyfriend and I were super into sexual acts on the bus. They kind of became our thing. We decided to kick things up a notch one day with a blow job. We knew this would be harder and less easy to achieve, but we managed. Until I lifted my head up from below and the first thing I saw was my bus driver’s face looking through the rearview mirror. I knew that she knew what we’d done. The walk from the back of that bus never felt so long.” —Kelly G., 23

“He shrugged and proceeded to take a pee on the side of the garage while we perched, naked, above him.”
“Back in college, when I lived in the dorms and my boyfriend lived in a house with several roommates, we struggled to find a place to have sex…alone. Naturally, that led to us laying out a bunch of blankets on the roof of his garage and having sex up there under the stars. It was the middle of the night and we figured no one would be walking by in our small town, so it weirdly satisfied our public-sex kink while also being more private than our bedrooms.

“But of course, one of his roommates stumbled home very intoxicated while we were up there, startling us as he walked by the garage. We froze, and he looked around, clearly having heard something, but confused as to where it was coming from. He shrugged and proceeded to take a pee on the side of the garage while we perched, naked, above him. He then went inside, and we got on with our night. The next day, he informed us that he thought raccoons or some other animals were living in the roof of the garage…and we victoriously informed him that we were the animals.” —Jennifer S., 27

“Suddenly, we’re being blinded by headlights as the police pulled up.”
“In high school, my boyfriend and I would often drive deep into the country to park on a random gravel road and have sex. On one occasion, he was on top of me and my feet were against the dash. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had apparently accidentally flipped the lights on and off a few times, which caught the attention of a family that lived out there, who then called the cops, thinking someone might be in trouble.

“Suddenly, we’re being blinded by headlights as the police pulled up. I tried to hide in the space between the passenger seat and the dashboard on the floor and attempt to get dressed. The police made my boyfriend get out and then peeked in to ask if I was in there consensually. They also wanted to take a look at my ID to check my age. They didn’t make me get out of the car, thank g-d. But it was a small town and I knew the officer. I’ve never been more mortified in my life.” —Melissa C., 30

 

“He wiped it off and rubbed it on my bare nipples.”
“My long-time boyfriend and I got very into edging, where I would give him hand job/blow jobs, stopping just before he was about to orgasm, over and over until he would beg to come and I would finally let him. The process led to a lot of pre-cum, and once while we were doing this, he wiped it off and rubbed it on my…bare nipples. I don’t know why, but it’s still one of the hottest sexual acts I’ve ever experienced.” —Victoria P., 26

“The whole experience was surreal.”
“Once on a first date, the girl I was with asked about my favorite comedians (my dating profile says I love stand-up). I named a few, and she asked if I was a fan of one well-known comedian. I said I liked what I had seen of his material, and she told me she knew him personally. She then proceeded to show me a year’s worth of Instagram DM exchanges between the two of them from his official account, complete with photos and voice messages.

“She explained that they were in a kind of digital relationship, that he knew of her bisexuality and liked to hear about her dates. She had sent him screenshots of my profile and told him we were meeting up; he had bought her lingerie for the occasion. She wanted to head back to my place nearby to have sex and send him photos of the two of us. In disbelief that this was happening, I declined and the date ended shortly after. The whole experience was surreal, and I was very close to being spank-bank material for a very famous (and married) celebrity.” —Kristen D., 29

“It was all well and good until the RA found us.”
“I was an intern in New York for the first time, staying in the NYU dorms for the summer. One night while I was out my friends, I met this cute guy who said he was staying just a few blocks down. He came over later that night. But we couldn’t hook up in our dorm because I had five other roommates. Instead, we went to the dorm lounge and had sex. And it was all well and good until the RA found us. We were both fined and had to have several sessions with the RA afterward. My roommates all thought it was hilarious.” —Rasheeda J., 26

“We were on a dark residential street when a house’s porch lights turned on.”

“One night during the early years of my relationship with my girlfriend, we had just went out to eat and didn’t want to go home quite yet. So we went looking for places to park and enjoy each other’s company (a.k.a. have sex). We went driving all around my town, looking for a dark place to get down and dirty. We were on a dark residential street when one of a house’s porch lights turned on and someone looked out the window. We froze scared, trying to make the car stop shaking until the porch lights went back off.” —Alyssa T., 25

“He went from 30 to 80 in a matter of seconds.”
“I was finally hooking up with a guy I liked. But when things started heated up, he pulled out his dentures. He went from 30 to 80 in a matter of seconds and the sex appeal just completely wore off.” —Tara Y., 32

“He had to give me a tutorial on how to handle his dick.”
“I was in the middle of hooking with this guy. When it came time to get busy, he unzipped his pants but gave an entire pre-sex speech before revealing his penis to me. And when he moved his hand, I looked down and saw a dick shaped like a candy cane. I was so overwhelmed, I think I just froze. He had to give me a tutorial on how to handle his dick. I was laughing for hours after I left.” —Rachel R., 25

“Not only was he gone, so was everything in my wallet.”
“I was having sex with this guy I met on a night out. We had an amazing time, until I woke up the next morning and not only was he gone, so was everything in my wallet. This man took all of my cash. And a few items were missing off my dresser too. We didn’t exchange numbers and I never saw him again.” —Henley B., 25

“It was the longest two minutes of my life.”

“My boyfriend and I were having sex by the pond near our school. And just when things were getting good, we noticed someone was coming out of the water from fishing and headed our way. We both ducked down in the backseat and waited for this man to walk by with his fishing rod, hoping that he didn’t look in my completely clear windows to see two naked teens. It was the longest two minutes of my life.” —Desi E., 30

 

“I started making a few moaning noises of my own.”
“I was in college, and my roommate’s boyfriend was sleeping over. I walked into the room and they were already in bed. I hopped in my bed and turned out the light. And just when they thought I fell asleep, they started having sex. I could hear the moaning. So I started making a few moaning noises of my own and pretended to be in the middle of a horrible nightmare until I was certain I had killed the mood.” —Delilah J., 25

“It’s still some of the hottest sex I’ve ever had.”
“My boyfriend and I were all about high-risk sex. So one night we decided to have sex in the living room while my mom and aunt were in the kitchen prepping dinner. While my mom shouted out questions like,’What sides do you want?’ and I answered loudly, ‘Corn is good,’ he was inside me. It’s still some of the hottest sex I’ve ever had.” —Veronica A., 24

“I realized he was squatting and I was committing a felony.”
“I liked the popular guy in high school. I mean, everyone liked him. But one day, he invited me back to his place to hook up. When I got there, he told me that I had to climb through this boarded-up house to get to his room. Years later, I realized he was squatting and I was committing a felony. Young love, amirite?” —Lena G., 35

“We were both stressed trying to get it in before his mom came home.”
“I was having sex with my longtime high school boyfriend for the first time. We were so unprepared. ‘Try this hole,’ I remember saying. We were both stressed trying to get it in before his mom came home. Eventually, we figured it out. But we spent the next few hours afterward laughing about the game of search-and-find we’d just finished playing.” —Laila S., 32

“I locked the door behind me and finally caught my breath.”
“I had just moved into my first solo apartment. I was in the bathroom when I heard loud noises coming from my bedroom. I came outside to find a man had climbed in through my window and was stealing my jewelry. He told me not to scream. So I didn’t and instead ran straight for the front door and into my next-door neighbors’ house, who always left their door open. I locked the door behind me and finally caught my breath. When I turned around, I saw my two neighbors in the middle of having sex, just stark naked in their living room. We immediately all burst into laughter.” —Madeline W., 37

 

“He was either a serial killer or the kind of clean that I would never live up to.”
“One time, I hooked up with this guy and when I woke up in the morning my clothes were eerily folded on his desk. It almost looked like he ironed them. And my shoes were in a straight line next to his. I was pretty sure in that moment that he was either a serial killer or the kind of clean that I would never live up to. Either way, I knew I needed to end it.” —Tracey A., 24

“That was the most silent car ride I’ve ever experienced.”
“My high school boyfriend and I thought it would be smart to have sex in my living room while my mom was upstairs. He was in the middle of eating me out when my mom flicked on the lights, screamed for us to put on our clothes, and then rushed to drive my boyfriend home. That was the most silent car ride I’ve ever experienced.” —Patricia K., 26

“I don’t know what came over her.”
“I was young and broke, so my roommate and I lived in a one-bedroom apartment and shared a king-size bed. One night, she came home with a guy she’d met at a bar. I was sleeping in bed when I heard them whispering. Next thing I know, both of them had crawled into bed naked and started to have sex. I sat up immediately, turned on the lights, and made them both get out. I don’t know what came over her.” —Georgia C., 36

“I had become a d*mn Enterprise with benefits.”
“I was fooling around with this guy. He didn’t have a car. But every time he came over, after we’d have sex, he’d ask to borrow my car and bring it back the next time. I figured he just needed a ride home since it was late. But then he started keeping the car for longer periods of time. Eventually, I found out he was renting my car out to his friends and was just sleeping with me for the car. I had become a d*mn Enterprise with benefits.” —Wendy E., 38

“I panicked and pushed my guy friend out of bed.”
“I was going out with this one guy who I really liked. But I was still hooking up with one of my best guy friends at the time. One night, my guy friend was over and we had just finished having sex when the man I was dating knocked on my front door. I panicked and pushed my guy friend out of bed. I asked him to crawl on the floor and out the back door. Me and the boyfriend didn’t work out. But my guy friend is still one of my best friends today—just now without the benefits.” —Betty T., 36

“We sent the guys running outside down the back porch steps.”
“My dad was working late, so my sister and I invited these two guys over to hook up. But my dad came home early, so we sent the guys running outside down the back porch steps. They knocked over a white paint can, spilling it on the ground and leaving footprints. The next day, my father came to school to find these guys, which of course he did. They actually had the nerve to wear the same paint-stained shoes to school.” —Gabrielle O., 38

“I still can’t look her in the eyes.”
“I was spending the night at my boyfriend’s house. He lived with his brother and sister-in-law at the time. So we were in the kitchen when the mood struck—we started having sex and in walks my boyfriend’s sister-in-law, jaw open, as the two of us stood there, butt naked against the counter. I still can’t look her in the eyes.” —Lisa K., 35

 

A Good Girl’s First Threesome!!!

A Good Girl’s First Threesome!

“All I wanted was to be fucked. I’d never felt that way before.”

A little background: In my college English Composition class our teacher gave us the task of writing an essay on a true event that changed our lives. The following is the essay I wanted to write, but could never hand into my teacher.

Until the night in question, I was by most definitions a good girl. I’d slept with only two guys and compared to some of my friends that was on the low side. One of them was a guy that I should’ve known better about. It lasted just two weeks after he took my virginity. The other a long-term, serious boyfriend and while I’ve only slept with two guys, with that second guy we had sex hundreds of times.

I didn’t have much to compare it with, but I thought it was pretty good sex. Sure, sometimes he came after a few thrusts, but other times left me feeling much more satisfied. Unfortunately Fall of my senior year, we broke up. Okay, actually he dumped me. He had found someone new during the first few months of college and I was old news.

I saw it coming. He made fewer and fewer trips home from college to see me. The first month, he came home every month. The next month he came home twice. He said he was busy with studying and homework so I offered to make the drive to see him. He came up with reason after reason why I shouldn’t go there and the next week he called me up to say it was over.

I hate to say it, but what I missed most was the sex. I missed feeling him inside of me, thrusting as hard as he could until he exploded. I tried masturbating, but it wasn’t enough. It felt okay, but my fingers didn’t feel anything like a hard cock and that’s what I craved.

Three weeks after Brian dumped me, I went out with my friends to a dance club. I pictured it ending with a one night stand. I had fun. Guys hit on me, some bought me drinks and I danced with a few, but at the end of the night, I was alone in my bed again. I could’ve gone home with any of them, but I chickened out. I knew too many people at the club and I worried that if I did disappear with anyone, everyone at school would’ve known on Monday.

I wouldn’t say I gave up at that point, but I didn’t have any other ideas of how to get laid. Then the following Tuesday, I got a message out of the blue.

Hi, I’m Connor you don’t know me, but I’m a friend of Alexis. I saw you in one of her pictures and wanted to see if you wanted to talk.

Normally, I would’ve ignored his message, but for two reasons I responded this time. His looked hot in his profile picture. A picture of him at the beach without a shirt. A toned body with just the right amount of muscles. His face wasn’t anything to complain about either. The second reason was that I was horny.

We exchanged messages to get to know each other better. Technically he was a friend of Alexis, but really he was a co-worker at the restaurant where she worked. He was also older, 23. Brian was older, but only by a year. Maybe, it should’ve been a red flag, but it just interested me more.

The next night we did more than just make small talk. It started with a message from him.

I’m not looking for just sex. I have no problem getting laid. I’m looking for a relationship. You seem like relationship quality.

My response:

What if I’m just looking for sex? Just joking. I’m looking for a guy who doesn’t want to play games.

His next message:

I dare you to send me a picture.

He didn’t have to tell me what kind of picture. With my heart pounding and an excitement between my legs, I pulled off my shirt, then unhooked my bra before I had second thoughts. I left both on my bed, then stood in front of the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door.

I carefully framed the picture so only from my neck down was visible and snapped several pictures on my camera phone.

I knew my friends had sent revealing images before. Becky even had a fully nude picture of her end up circulating around school. She said it didn’t embarrass her, it actually excited her to have all of the guys jerking off to her. I didn’t understand, until now. I had never felt sexier.

My ex had asked before pictures after he went away. He even asked for me to make a video with him. He promised it wouldn’t show my face, but I denied him. Maybe things would’ve been different if I had given in, but then again maybe not and he would’ve been showing the video to all of his college friends.

I sent a picture and kept checking my messages until he responded three and a half minutes later. He sent me a picture from above of his hard, very thick and long cock with the following message.

What would you do with me?

I leaned back on my bed and spread my legs. I slid a hand into my jeans and felt the wetness between my legs.

Anything you want. Maybe start by sucking your cock. Finish with you fucking me from behind.

The words just flowed out of my brain and to my fingers. Even with Brian, I never talked like that.

Seconds later I got a response.

Can I see you tonight?

I wanted to write something different than what I responded.

I wish, but I have a big test tomorrow that I haven’t studied for yet.

Plus, I’d have to sneak out of my house. Easier said than done. However, I immediately came up with a backup plan. Friday I could tell my parents that I was sleeping at Ashley’s house. My parents loved her and trusted her. They wouldn’t check in on me and I could stay out as late as I wanted. I quickly typed another message.

Friday night?

A minute later he responded.

I have a friend staying over that night. He’s coming in from out of town for a concert Saturday. He’s sleeping on the couch, we’d have the bedroom to ourselves.

It wasn’t ideal, but I was so horny that I didn’t care. I agreed.

The remaining days seemed to go by slowly, I was so eager for Friday night. However, at the same time, it went by too quickly. Was I really going to go meet a guy for sex?

Definitely. Friday I came home from my part-time job and picked out my outfit. Jeans and a sweater on top, underneath black lace and white satin bra, matching thong and sheer stockings. The lingerie my mom didn’t know I owned and also formerly a favorite outfit of Brian’s.

I put it on with my heart pounding, my arms weak and shaking. I don’t know if I had ever been so horny.

With the outfit on, I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked hot and couldn’t resist taking another picture for Connor. I sent it, then put on my jeans and sweater to hide the lingerie. The soft fabric impossible to miss against my skin as I walked downstairs.

I felt like my parents had to know, but they barely acknowledged me other than a quick good night from my mom. “Make sure to text me when you get to Ashley’s.”

“Will do,” I said as I hurried out the door, not wanting to give them any more of a chance to change their mind and keep me in their house.

But they didn’t. It was like the dozens of other times I had sneaked out. Except this time I wasn’t going over to Brian’s. This time was very different. Was I really driving to go see a guy I barely knew? And there was no question about why I was going there. Sex. Not a relationship, just sex.

My stomach filled with butterflies making me think about turning around. However, the feeling of need between my legs kept me going.

What would happen when I got there? Would we go straight to the bedroom? Maybe a drink to help us relax? Would his friend be there with a girl? If not, would he kick his friend out for a few hours? Maybe force him to go to a bar. All these thoughts and many more kept going through my head as I drove.

He lived in an apartment complex in the better part of town. I’d driven past it before, but never pulled into the vast, modern looking complex. His apartment building was in the back. I found it and parked as close as I could.

I debated backing out and going back home. I could tell my parents Ashley wasn’t feeling well so I called it an early night. Instead, I did my makeup, fixed my hair and texted my parents that I was at Ashley’s.

My legs weak as I walked to the second-floor apartment. I knocked softly on the door and seconds later I heard it being unlocked from the other side.

“Nicole?”

“Connor?” He looked even better in person. I had to force myself not to stare. He looked like something out of a fantasy.

And then I saw his friend. Similar bodies, slightly shorter, but still tall and dirty brown hair instead of black. I would be a very happy girl with either of them.

“Nice to finally meet you,” Connor said. “Come in. This is my friend Kyle.”

They both grinned. It made me a little nervous, not that I was worried about them. More like what was I getting myself into.

They both looked at me. Even in the sweater and jeans, I felt naked. They looked at me like a piece of meat. I felt so incredibly sexy and didn’t want them to stop.

“Do you want a drink?” Connor asked.

“Sure.”

“What do you drink?”

“What are my choices?”

“Rum, Whiskey or Vodka.”

“Rum and coke?”

“You got it.”

Over the drinks, we made small talk. Connor and Kyle went to college together. Tomorrow they were going to a concert. I told them about the college I wanted to go to next year. Then we talked about music. We had similar tastes and they invited me to the concert tomorrow.

We finished the first round and I felt my nerves start to relax some. As soon as I took my last sip, Connor took my glass and made me another drink. Was he trying to get me drunk? He didn’t need to do that. I was going to sleep with him either way.

As I came close to finishing a third drink, I felt the warmth of the alcohol flowing through me. I wasn’t drunk, but I didn’t drink often and had a nice buzz.

“I showed Kyle the pictures you sent me,” Connor said. “I hope that’s okay.”

I had to force myself to not let my mouth drop. It wasn’t okay. But then I thought about it. I didn’t know where this was going, but I was okay with it.

“Would you mind showing us your lingerie?” Connor asked.

Us? That wasn’t what I had mind. I wasn’t that kind of girl. My friend Alexis was. She had done a threesome with two guys. She told me all of the details afterward and I’ll admit, it turned me on. However, it was never something I wanted to do. I mean maybe I imagined what it would be like, but I never saw myself actually doing it.

Here was my opportunity to have some fun without anyone ever having to find out. Kyle didn’t know anyone that I knew besides Connor. I didn’t see Connor telling Alexis. If he did she’d probably not believe it.

I knew I should say no, but I didn’t. “Sure. Should we go to the bedroom?”

I couldn’t hide the grin on my face. A greedy grin appeared on both of their faces.

I took a long sip to finish my drink, then put it down. Connor led the way to his bedroom. Against my better judgment, I followed him.

The two of them stood on either side of me, I stood in front of them like a performer about to put on a show. I’d done strip teases for Brian, but this was different. This was with two men. Two men, I barely knew. With Brian, I was a girlfriend trying to make things more interesting. This time I felt more like a stripper about to step onto the stage.

This so wasn’t me, but I wanted to give them what they wanted. I kicked off my shoes and started to dance around to an imaginary beat.

Their eyes were locked on me and I wish I could say I gave an impressive show. More awkward than anything, but I don’t think they had any complaints. And while it wasn’t perfect, I felt like an exotic dancer.

I danced over to the edge of the bed and leaned against it. I unzipped my jeans and pulled them off, exposing my thong and stockings to them. They cheered me on. Telling me to take off of more and I did. I pulled off my sweater and through it onto the floor.

I felt like a centerfold model because of the way they looked at me. I was like a piece of meat and they were wild animals ready to attack. They stepped forward and Connor put his hand on my bare thigh. It sent an electric feeling through my whole body. It made me want more.

Kyle put his hand on my breast and groped me. Lines were being crossed and I didn’t want them to stop.

“I need to get fucked.” I couldn’t believe the words came out of my mouth.

“We’ll get to that,” Connor said. “First, get on the bed. On your hands and knees. I need you to suck my cock. I’m sure Kyle feels the same way.”

No one had ever talked to me like that before. It was so hot. The desire between my legs uncontrollable. His tone made me do anything he wanted.

I got on to the bed as instructed. They stepped up in front of my face. They both unzipped their jeans and I had a feeling this wasn’t the first time that they had done something like this. I wanted to do my best to make them think that this wasn’t my first time doing something like this also.

Connor was long and thick, just like his picture. Maybe an inch or two larger than Brian. I kissed his swollen head, then ran my tongue around the edge of him like I did his every day.

Kyle was probably about the same size as Brian, but with a larger head. I turned towards him and took his head in my mouth.

I used one hand to prop myself up, the other hand I used to stroke them. I went back and forth on them, taking my time and hoping they were enjoying this as much as me. I had a feeling they were.

I attached my lips to Connor and slid them down his long shaft. I probably went halfway down before I pulled back. I enjoyed every inch of his hardness sliding through my wet lips.

I repeated the process with Kyle. I started to get into a routine. I worked his cock with my mouth, moving faster and faster now, before I switched back to Connor. If anyone that knew me was told I was doing this, I don’t think any of them would believe it. Even as it happened it didn’t seem real.

Connor put his hand on the back of my head, guiding me as slid my lips up and down his shaft. Kyle put his hand on my ass, caressing it. Then he went a step further. He slid two fingers into my thong and to my wet lips. He penetrated me and I let out a moan as I switched cocks. Their hands made me feel like I was theirs, their plaything that they could do anything with. I felt like a slut, but I loved it. I didn’t feel like me anymore. This would be a night I never forgot.

Connor ordered me to roll over onto my back. At first, I didn’t like it. They stood over me, their cocks in my face. However, I had to practically do a sit-up to continue sucking their cocks. It wasn’t comfortable.

Then Connor joined me on the bed and I forgot about my previous complaints. He positioned his face between my legs, kissing his way down my thighs. If I hadn’t had my mouth full, I would’ve begged him to go down on me. However, I didn’t need to tell him what he wanted. He knew and he teased me. He kissed up my other thigh, then massaged my pussy through the thin satin fabric.

It felt erotic, but I needed more. Luckily, he eventually gave me more. He pulled my thong to the side and started to finger me. Moans started to escape my mouth. Then put his tongue on my clit and I wanted to scream. It felt that good. Again, if I hadn’t had a cock in my mouth I would’ve been a lot more vocal.

Connor knew what he was doing between my legs. Each movement of his tongue sent more pleasure through my whole body. He mixed in his fingers to multiply the effects. Throw in all of the hands on me, exploring every inch and it was unlike anything I had ever felt before.

Brian had gone down on me, not as often as I went down on him, but that’s beside the point. My point was Brian never made me feel like Connor did. He gave me so much pleasure it almost hurt. He gave me so much pleasure that it pinned me to the sheets. I had to stop working Kyle’s cock because I couldn’t do anything other than take the pleasure Connor gave me.

My moans became louder. I worried that Connor’s neighbors might hear, but he didn’t seem to care. He used his tongue and fingers to make me moan even louder.

He didn’t stop until he had pushed me across the edge. He pushed me into an orgasm the likes of I had never felt before. I didn’t know an orgasm could feel like that. It felt so good. It exploded within me and took over my body. Making my whole body shake before it released me from its grip.

I opened my eyes to both of them looking at me, still filled with desire and need.

“Time for you to get fucked,” Connor said. “Get on your hands and knees.”

I positioned myself to be fucked and Connor went to his dresser. Out of the top drawer, he grabbed two condoms, handing one to Kyle. “You want to go first?”

Kyle just answered with a grin. He walked around behind me, then I felt the bed move under his weight. He grabbed my waist and positioned himself behind me. Connor positioned himself in front of me for more time with my mouth. I still couldn’t believe this was real.

I opened my mouth for Connor and he pushed his cock through my lips. From behind, I felt Kyle penetrate me with the tip of his cock into me.

Kyle filled me with his hardness and if I didn’t have Conner’s cock in my mouth, I could’ve closed my eyes and imagined it was Brian behind me. It was exactly what I needed and what I was craving. My ex-boyfriend could fuck whoever he wanted. I didn’t care anymore.

Brian varied from being an intense, passionate lover to being awkward and sometimes finishing way too early. Kyle was intense and athletic. Each thrust filled me with pleasure. Both of us were breathing heavy and sweating.

I don’t know how long I was in that position. It might’ve been a few minutes. It could’ve been a lot longer. I lost track of time as I was fucked into a world of pleasure.

Kyle’s breathing became grunts. His thrusts were harder and on the verge of being out of control. With a cock in my mouth it was slightly uncomfortable, however, I stayed there for them. I wanted them both to come, more than I ever wanted Brian to come. I wanted to pay them back for the pleasure they were giving me.

With a final deep thrust, Kyle came. He gripped me tight and filled the condom.

He pulled out of me and I felt my energy levels drop. It was late, the alcohol was wearing off and this was unlike any other workout I’d had before. However, Connor clearly wanted more. His look told me so.

I rolled over onto my back as he put on the condom. I opened my legs as he climbed onto the bed.

“I’ve been waiting for this.”

“I’m sorry to have made you wait so long.” He said with a sarcastic tone. His rock hard cock aimed at between my legs.

He didn’t make me wait any longer. He climbed on top of me and I guided his hard shaft to my waiting lips. He pushed into me, feeling very different than Kyle. His cock noticeably thicker, stretching me as he pushed deep into me. I had to work to accommodate him.

But once we were both comfortable, it became better than anything I had ever felt. I held him tight and he fucked me hard. Far more intense than anything I had felt before. Each thrust shook my whole body and filled me with electricity.

We fucked with him on top, then from behind. He went so deep and so hard that I thought he was trying to split me in half.

We ended up with me on top of him. At first, it was a little awkward. With Brian, I always kind of just sat there and he did all of the work from underneath me.

But then Connor had an order. “Ride me.”

I did, slowly at first. I rose up and down on his long shaft, feeling inch by inch flowing through me. My body sore and ready for a break, but I went as fast as I could. And then I got a second wind. His cock hit the right angle and I could fill the energy building inside of me again.

His hands moved from holding to my ass to my breasts. He pulled down the cups of my bra and squeezed my breasts. He put his mouth on a nipple and I lost it.

I closed my eyes and went with the energy. Another intense explosion, pleasure rippled through my body. I didn’t know an orgasm during sex could be that intense. On a scale of one to ten, it was a twenty.

As my body went tight around him, he thrust up to meet me. With his hands squeezing my breasts too hard, he came. Our bodies collapsed together, intertwined as our bodies came to a rest. Sweat covering both of us and both us fighting to catch our breaths.

“I didn’t know sex could feel like that,” I whispered as he kissed my neck.

I made an excuse about having to get home. I really didn’t, in fact by leaving then I had to sneak back into my house. However, I got what I needed and what I craved. I didn’t want to stay there any longer.

I drove home feeling like a slut and not in a bad way like I used to consider it. It was just three people having fun. No one got hurt. I don’t know if I wanted a threesome again, but I didn’t want to be tied down in another relationship… at least not for a little while. I wanted to have fun, I wanted to fuck the guys that I knew wouldn’t lead to relationships.

I wanted to fuck whoever I wanted and maybe I didn’t care who found out.

It was a night that changed my life.