Cosmo Challenge: Give him a lap dance. But in this strip club, he's naked too.
I always get emotional when things come to an end. I cry at graduations (even those that aren't my own), I put off finishing good books (seriously, I have probably a dozen novels that I've read all but the last 10 pages), and you don't even want to know what I look like after a breakup. Let's just say, waterproof mascara's got nothing on me. And when the ended, I definitely felt a pang of nostalgia. And it's happening again with this blog. When I asked D. if he felt the same way and jokingly mentioned he was going to cry about it, he said, "Sure. If by crying, you mean my penis will do the crying, you're right." So poetic. So romantic.
Anyway, I saved this challenge for last because it's a bit of a doozy. You know that I'm not always totally comfortable flaunting what I'm working with. Obviously, I'm pretty damn confident (enough to do this and this ), but a striptease/lap dance is a whole new kind of confidence. And I thought it would be good to go out with a bang. Quite literally.
D. was already at my apartment when I got home (yes, he has a set of keys, something I thought would feel much more momentous than it really did). I had purposely worn an outfit that would work well for a striptease. Nothing but a red G-string and tassels on my nips. Kidding. I was in a flouncy skirt, tee, scarf, and heels. Skyscraper heels that almost gave me a twisted ankle like five times during the day. The things I do in the name of hot sex!
As soon as I got home, D. said he was starving and started rummaging around in the fridge for something to have for dinner. Knowing that a big meal after a long day would do a number on our sex drives (and my I-feel-so-hot mentality), I pulled him away from the kitchen and pushed him onto the living room chair.
And that's when I made my first mistake.
When you remove your clothing during a striptease, you shouldn't then put the items on him. Seems so obvious now. Actually it seemed so obvious as soon as I removed my scarf and wrapped it around his neck then promptly burst out laughing.
"What do you think of my ascot?" D. asked in a British accent.
"OK, uh, take that off. And uh, take off your shirt." Wow, what a hot stripper I am, I know.
But then things got sexy again. He took off his shirt—and my, were his abs looking good (gotta remember to compliment him on those later)—and I got on my knees and started kissing his chest and shoulders.
Next I roughly unbuckled his belt, pulled it off, and used it to playfully smack him then myself.
D. laughed, but I could tell he was getting into it.
I stood up and pulled off my shirt very slowly. The key, I've learned is to draw out every movement when you're stripping. The slower the better. You want to keep him on a low simmer. I turned around so my back was to D. and leaned down to grab my ankles, shaking my booty as I did.
"Holy shit," was all that came out of D.'s mouth.
Oh, what's that you say, I thought. You noticed my incredibly hot new underwear? Black lace, Brazilian cut, for the record. Pick up a pair right this instant. They are so damn flattering.
With my skirt still on, I leaned back so I was almost sitting on him, but my arms were supporting me, using the arm rests.
I rubbed myself against his crotch, feeling that he was hard already. ("I'd like to thank my waxer and my Brazilian cut undies...")
Then I stood up and pulled down D.'s pants. But his shoes were on and I didn't feel like taking them off. Something about it felt very unsexy, like I was caring for an elderly relative or something. So he was sitting there on my red Pottery Barn easy chair, pants and boxer-briefs around his ankles, with his member standing at full attention.
I dropped my skirt and my underwear followed. I left my shoes on too. But for other reasons. Those reasons being that I was channeling my inner stripper. And I don't know about your inner stripper, but mine leaves on her heels.
And that's when we heard keys. As in the roommate's keys. Outside my door. D. panicked and bolted upright. I ran into my room and without thinking, slammed the door.
"Are you kidding, S.?" he asked, out of breath, after he'd joined me in there. He had waddled in after me, pants around his ankle.
"Sorry!"
A moment later when no one had entered the apartment, we realized it was probably the neighbors across the hall whom we'd heard. So we resumed our places. D. hadn't lost his erection, which surprised me. I was worried it would have thrown off his game. But nope!
I did some more ass-on-crotch grinding then I got down on my knees and took D. in my mouth.
"Holy shit," he said for the second time that night. (I took it as a good sign.)
The angle made it really easy to make eye contact as I went down on him. So I did just that. I made sure not to make it a staring contest. (I read in last month's Cosmo that guys like eye contact but only to a point.) And it was a huge turn-on to watch D.'s face as he experienced every bit of pleasure.
The only drawback to this position is that I couldn't get at D.'s balls. So I decided to grab his butt with my hands instead, pulling him deeper into my mouth. I also employed the good ol' hum-while-you-go-down trick, which got yet another "Holy shit" out of D. Quite the curser, that night!
D. orgasmed quickly and I got to watch the whole thing unfold because of my viewpoint. He threw his head back, squeezed his eyes shut, and his hands got all shaky. (For those of you just joining, I am in fact describing a climax, not my boyfriend having a seizure.) And his whole torso seemed to tense up with ever wave of the orgasm. Fascinating stuff, ladies. Sort of like being a scientist in a sex lab.
D. lay there for a full minute with a big grin on his face. "You are awesome, S."
And then I blurted something out:
"I think you're The One for me."
Whoa! Where the hell did that come from? I asked myself. Not that it's not true. But we don't really talk like that.
"Hell yeah," he responded. "We have such a good time together."
Sigh of relief. He hadn't taken it to be some marriage proposal or something (it wasn't, for the record) or big announcement. Maybe he hadn't realized I'd capitalized "The One" in my head. When it's lowercase, "the one", it doesn't sound as daunting. You know, like, "Which muffin would I like? The one right there." or "I like the dress with the sequins, but I like the one with the beading more." Not like, "You are The One and only for me."
A few minutes later, we were standing in my kitchen making grilled cheese sandwiches when he took my face in his hands and kissed me long and hard. "S., we really do have an awesome time together. I love you so much."
Sighhhh.
I got a little teary when he said that. Partly because I knew it would be our last challenge for 31 Days of Hot Sex. But I have good news for you ladies. This won't be the last you see (or rather, read) of me. I'm working with Cosmo on something really cool and I think you're going to love it. Stay tuned!
I always get emotional when things come to an end. I cry at graduations (even those that aren't my own), I put off finishing good books (seriously, I have probably a dozen novels that I've read all but the last 10 pages), and you don't even want to know what I look like after a breakup. Let's just say, waterproof mascara's got nothing on me. And when the ended, I definitely felt a pang of nostalgia. And it's happening again with this blog. When I asked D. if he felt the same way and jokingly mentioned he was going to cry about it, he said, "Sure. If by crying, you mean my penis will do the crying, you're right." So poetic. So romantic.
Anyway, I saved this challenge for last because it's a bit of a doozy. You know that I'm not always totally comfortable flaunting what I'm working with. Obviously, I'm pretty damn confident (enough to do this and this ), but a striptease/lap dance is a whole new kind of confidence. And I thought it would be good to go out with a bang. Quite literally.
D. was already at my apartment when I got home (yes, he has a set of keys, something I thought would feel much more momentous than it really did). I had purposely worn an outfit that would work well for a striptease. Nothing but a red G-string and tassels on my nips. Kidding. I was in a flouncy skirt, tee, scarf, and heels. Skyscraper heels that almost gave me a twisted ankle like five times during the day. The things I do in the name of hot sex!
As soon as I got home, D. said he was starving and started rummaging around in the fridge for something to have for dinner. Knowing that a big meal after a long day would do a number on our sex drives (and my I-feel-so-hot mentality), I pulled him away from the kitchen and pushed him onto the living room chair.
And that's when I made my first mistake.
When you remove your clothing during a striptease, you shouldn't then put the items on him. Seems so obvious now. Actually it seemed so obvious as soon as I removed my scarf and wrapped it around his neck then promptly burst out laughing.
"What do you think of my ascot?" D. asked in a British accent.
"OK, uh, take that off. And uh, take off your shirt." Wow, what a hot stripper I am, I know.
But then things got sexy again. He took off his shirt—and my, were his abs looking good (gotta remember to compliment him on those later)—and I got on my knees and started kissing his chest and shoulders.
Next I roughly unbuckled his belt, pulled it off, and used it to playfully smack him then myself.
D. laughed, but I could tell he was getting into it.
I stood up and pulled off my shirt very slowly. The key, I've learned is to draw out every movement when you're stripping. The slower the better. You want to keep him on a low simmer. I turned around so my back was to D. and leaned down to grab my ankles, shaking my booty as I did.
"Holy shit," was all that came out of D.'s mouth.
Oh, what's that you say, I thought. You noticed my incredibly hot new underwear? Black lace, Brazilian cut, for the record. Pick up a pair right this instant. They are so damn flattering.
With my skirt still on, I leaned back so I was almost sitting on him, but my arms were supporting me, using the arm rests.
I rubbed myself against his crotch, feeling that he was hard already. ("I'd like to thank my waxer and my Brazilian cut undies...")
Then I stood up and pulled down D.'s pants. But his shoes were on and I didn't feel like taking them off. Something about it felt very unsexy, like I was caring for an elderly relative or something. So he was sitting there on my red Pottery Barn easy chair, pants and boxer-briefs around his ankles, with his member standing at full attention.
I dropped my skirt and my underwear followed. I left my shoes on too. But for other reasons. Those reasons being that I was channeling my inner stripper. And I don't know about your inner stripper, but mine leaves on her heels.
And that's when we heard keys. As in the roommate's keys. Outside my door. D. panicked and bolted upright. I ran into my room and without thinking, slammed the door.
"Are you kidding, S.?" he asked, out of breath, after he'd joined me in there. He had waddled in after me, pants around his ankle.
"Sorry!"
A moment later when no one had entered the apartment, we realized it was probably the neighbors across the hall whom we'd heard. So we resumed our places. D. hadn't lost his erection, which surprised me. I was worried it would have thrown off his game. But nope!
I did some more ass-on-crotch grinding then I got down on my knees and took D. in my mouth.
"Holy shit," he said for the second time that night. (I took it as a good sign.)
The angle made it really easy to make eye contact as I went down on him. So I did just that. I made sure not to make it a staring contest. (I read in last month's Cosmo that guys like eye contact but only to a point.) And it was a huge turn-on to watch D.'s face as he experienced every bit of pleasure.
The only drawback to this position is that I couldn't get at D.'s balls. So I decided to grab his butt with my hands instead, pulling him deeper into my mouth. I also employed the good ol' hum-while-you-go-down trick, which got yet another "Holy shit" out of D. Quite the curser, that night!
D. orgasmed quickly and I got to watch the whole thing unfold because of my viewpoint. He threw his head back, squeezed his eyes shut, and his hands got all shaky. (For those of you just joining, I am in fact describing a climax, not my boyfriend having a seizure.) And his whole torso seemed to tense up with ever wave of the orgasm. Fascinating stuff, ladies. Sort of like being a scientist in a sex lab.
D. lay there for a full minute with a big grin on his face. "You are awesome, S."
And then I blurted something out:
"I think you're The One for me."
Whoa! Where the hell did that come from? I asked myself. Not that it's not true. But we don't really talk like that.
"Hell yeah," he responded. "We have such a good time together."
Sigh of relief. He hadn't taken it to be some marriage proposal or something (it wasn't, for the record) or big announcement. Maybe he hadn't realized I'd capitalized "The One" in my head. When it's lowercase, "the one", it doesn't sound as daunting. You know, like, "Which muffin would I like? The one right there." or "I like the dress with the sequins, but I like the one with the beading more." Not like, "You are The One and only for me."
A few minutes later, we were standing in my kitchen making grilled cheese sandwiches when he took my face in his hands and kissed me long and hard. "S., we really do have an awesome time together. I love you so much."
Sighhhh.
I got a little teary when he said that. Partly because I knew it would be our last challenge for 31 Days of Hot Sex. But I have good news for you ladies. This won't be the last you see (or rather, read) of me. I'm working with Cosmo on something really cool and I think you're going to love it. Stay tuned!
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