Tag Archives: vagina

CHECK PLEASE!

I love oysters. For many years, I stayed far away from them, then overnight, I was addicted. I had my first oyster in the summer of 2019, and I went on a mad dash to find the perfect oyster again. I went to several restaurants and shelled out hundreds of dollars to find the taste that took my oyster virginity. For months I was unlucky, then one afternoon I went to a restaurant near my job. I tried their oysters, and it was as if the world I was living went from black and white to colors. Their daily happy hour $1 oysters and their delicious cocktails had me signing a check that was never less than $60.  

In February of 2020, I wanted to do a mini alcohol detox before my first half-marathon. So, for a month, I stayed far away from the restaurant, its cocktails, and its oysters. I simply didn’t trust myself to go in and not buy a drink, so I stayed away. Then, a week before the race, the event was canceled due to coronavirus. I was pissed! I couldn’t believe that I had deprived myself for almost a month for nothing. A few days later, my office closed, and bye-bye went my access to oysters.   

Unable to order oysters to go, I had to suffer until things started to open up. As the city entered phase three, I looked forward to finally getting my oyster fix, but the options were super limited. Then one afternoon, I decided to dine by myself, have the oysters that I so craved, and was also able to fulfill an unchecked fantasy.   

I sat down, ordered a margarita, and a half-dozen oysters. I took a sip of my margarita as I waited for my oysters to arrive. The margarita was cold, perfectly sweet, and strong, just the way a margarita should be. As the tequila made its way down my throat, I felt the gentleman a few tables over, staring at me. When I turned in his direction, he winked at me. I winked back just to be polite, but when my oysters arrived, my vision became tunneled. A squeeze of lemon, a dash of tabasco, and a drizzle of mignonette sauce, and I was in heaven. Each oyster was a spicy orgasm in my mouth, and I devoured them one after the other. When I was done, my lips tingled from the tabasco, and my longing heart was content.  

As I sipped the rest of my drink, I continued to feel his piercing stare. I glanced over at him, and unlike last time, I didn’t break my line of sight, and neither did he. I sipped my drink as he licked his lips. Maybe it was the tequila or the oysters’ aphrodisiac effect, but I started to get wet. As we stared at each other, I could feel his eyes undressing me. They started at my polished toes, up to my legs, over my breasts, and stopped at my mouth, where my tongue twirled my straw.   

I ordered a second margarita and diverted my eyes for a brief moment. When my second drink came, I downed it much faster than the first. I could’ve continued eye-fucking him, but it was getting late, and I wanted to walk back home. I asked the waiter where the restroom was and went to freshen up for my walk home. As I walked past his table, I could feel his eyes scanning my body like lasers; my nipples grew hard.   

When I entered the restroom, I put some cold water on my face to cool off. I washed my hands, and when I opened the door to leave, he was there, blocking my exit. He smelled of burnt sugar and diesel, and it intoxicated me. He pushed his body up against mine, our bodies entered the bathroom, and he locked the door in a swift motion. In the next moment, his lips and tongue were on my neck, and his hands gripped my ass. He rubbed my clit over my thong, and I got soaking wet. He brought his fingers back up to his nose to sniff and whispered in my ear, “delicious.”   

He licked his fingers, dropped to his knees, and pushed up my dress. He buried his face into my pussy and inhaled deeply several times. He nibbled at my flesh through my underwear, then slowly he pulled them down. He slid his moist fingers in my pussy and began to coax an orgasm out of me. When he placed him juicy lips on my clit, I almost fell over; but he pushed his face deeper into my pussy pinning me against the wall. He licked, sucked, and slurped at my clit, the way I slurped those oysters, and finger fucked me into an orgasm. I rode the multiple waves as I held his head in place. After he drank all my newly released juices, he got off his knees, washed his hands, said, “thank you,” and walked out of the restroom.   

When I gained my composure, I walked to the mirror, and the person looking back at me was unfamiliar. My eyes were glassy, and my face was covered with beads of sweat. What did I just do? I continued to use the bathroom, and I washed my face and hands. By the time I returned to my table, the man was gone. I wanted to pay my bill and get the hell out of dodge. My moans were low when I orgasmed, but there was always a chance that they saw him enter the restroom behind me. I awkwardly signaled for the nearest waiter and said, “Check, Please!” He went into the restaurant only to return to tell me, “the gentleman has paid your bill.” And with that, I gathered my things and started my walk home. 

I MAKE MY BAD DECISIONS SOBER

For as long as I can remember, I never loved the feeling of being drunk. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good margarita with my Mexican, or bottomless mimosas during brunch. But when it comes to getting drunk, it’s just not my thing; I prefer to get nice. Because I don’t get drunk, I can never use the excuse, ‘I was so drunk, I can’t remember’ line. This means I have the unfortunate responsibility of having to playback, in excruciating detail, all the events of a drunken night with friends, or a day of drinking that ended up in a fight.  

Don’t get me wrong, I’m no goody-two-shoes. I’ve thrown up across tables, fell asleep in bathroom stalls, and in many clubs. But, like an elephant, I remember everything that happened leading up to the moment I fall asleep. I can recall the exact sip that put me over the edge. On a drunken birthday, I remember picking up dollars from the floor and handing them to the strippers on stage. I remember waiting on line to use the bathroom, then falling asleep on the toilet. I remember the bathroom attendant looking over the top of the stall to make sure I was alive. And I remember my friends escorting me back to my section and letting me go to sleep. I woke up when the ship docked.  

I used to envy those people that blacked out, for the sole reason of zero accountability. I always saw the ‘too drunk to remember line’ as a cop-out or an excuse to do fucked up shit and get away with it. –” I’m sorry I slept with you best friend; I was drunk.” — I wished that I could fuck up majorly and, like Jamie Foxx, blame it on the alcohol, but I couldn’t. For a while, I envied those people; Then, when I started attending sex parties, I learned to love my ability to remember.   

If you’ve never been to a sex-club or swinger party, they’re always BYOB. To my very first party, I brought a bottle of Bacardi Coconut Rum. I had the bar-lady mix it with pineapple juice, took a few sips, and then scoped out the room. The liquid massage the rum offered my body, was just the right amount of relaxation I wanted and needed. I engaged in some great conversations, ate some pussy, sucked some dick, was in a threesome, and rode a man’s face. And the only reason I remember every detail of that night was because I was sober.   

When I started attending LS (Lifestyle) parties regularly, less and less alcohol was needed. For starters, attending parties with a guaranteed partner removed a lot of pressure. And since I screened my partners before the party, I had an assortment of dicks ready to please me. Secondly, with the right amount of people, the party jumped off rather quickly, and with everyone having a good time, a drink to loosen up wasn’t necessary. That high school dance feeling of, waiting for other couples to dance, did not exist. I was extremely comfortable being one of the first couples to start things off. Lastly, I wanted to be in total control of whatever happened throughout the night. I need to know what titty I’m licking, dick I’m sucking, pussy I’m eating, and whose dick is fucking me. In a room full of bodies and chaos, I need to have control; and I couldn’t have that if I was too far gone. Would I recognize the person a few days later, while walking down the street? –Of course not! But, at that moment, I knew that every decision I made was mine, and that was all that mattered.   

In addition to wanting to have that control, I wanted to be able to remember how it all felt. I wanted to remember the kiss on my partner’s lips when he sees the outfit I changed into. I wanted to remember the feeling of my lingerie against my skin. I wanted to remember the feeling of eyes on me. I wanted to remember my partner kissing me, then laying me down on the mattress, and removing my panties to devour my pussy. I wanted to remember the weight of other bodies on the bed. I wanted to remember the feeling of tangled limbs and hands caressing my legs in the air. I wanted to remember the feeling of my toes and nipples being sucked and licked. I wanted to remember the feeling of a veiny dick in my mouth as my partner devoured my pussy into a screaming orgasm. I wanted to remember the moment he turned me over to fuck me. I wanted to remember the smell of the pussy I bend over to eat and the feeling of her breasts in my hands. I wanted to remember his hands around my throat, restricting my airway as he rammed my pussy and found his orgasm. And, in the end, I wanted to remember him pulling me back to kiss my lips once he reached his orgasm.  

I make all of my bad decisions sober because I want to be in control, and I want to be able to recall the memories of each encounter. I want to remember the feelings of inhibitions lost and lust that enveloped the room. I may forget the names and faces, but that intoxicating feeling will stay with me forever, all because I make my decision sober.   

TWO MEN WALK INTO A BAR

I made the decision to live my true polyamorous life in January 2019; in February, I met M. He was my first poly partner, the first to eat my ass, and the first man I used a butt-plug with. Almost weekly, we had phenomenal sex, he ate my pussy just right, and he was a freak like me. In May, I met A, my primary partner. Over time, it occurred to me that they had a lot in common. So, in December, I set up a group chat (Two Men Walk into A Bar), and a week later, we all met up.   

I arranged for us to meet at a Mexican restaurant, by my job, and on the walk there, I was extremely nervous. I was confident that they would get along, but I was worried that the male ego might get in the way. However, once we were seated, everything went off without a hitch. Over dinner and a few margaritas, they got to know each other and talked on how much they both enjoyed fucking me. It was, to say the least, a great introduction date.  

After our date, the conversations in our group chat became highly sexual as we tried to plan out the details for our threesome. A few times, they attempted to rush the plan, like the horny men that they are; but I wanted to make sure the event was not rushed. As weeks and months passed, I wondered if our long-awaited threesome would ever happen. Then, a week before New York City went on lockdown, the stars finally aligned.  

We arranged to meet at M’s on a Sunday afternoon. I met A when I got off the train, and we walked together to his apartment. Once there, we sat down and talked over some wine. I could tell that M was nervous, as it was to be his first threesome, but I assured him that he would enjoy himself. After a while, we all went into the bedroom to get things started. We got undressed, and with me sandwiched between them, I started kissing my dates for the evening. M began to lick my nipples, A started to eat my pussy, and I sucked M’s dick. I released a loud scream as I was delivered my first orgasm of the day; afterward, he slipped on a condom to fuck me until he reached his orgasm. As he went to clean up, M changed positions and went down on me, and in no time, he delivered me my second orgasm. Still riding my orgasm, M bent me over and fucked me from behind as I sucked A’s dick. Since attending my first sex club, I had been in quite a few MFM threesomes before. But fucking strangers versus men that I actually had cared for, was a totally different experience; it was totally euphoric.   

An essential role in being the woman in an MFM threesome is to make sure all people involved are paced and having a good time. After round one, A was ready to keep going, while M suggested a moment of rest. Men, enjoying an MFM threesome, often forget that a woman’s body, not only, needs to reset, but is also her possession. My body has to be enjoying every second of the encounter. So, because my arms, clit, and vagina had just put in serious work, despite A’s resistance, I made the decision to rest. We weren’t on a clock; therefore, there was no need to rush. We took a nap, and when we were all ready, we started up again.   

At the start of round two, I wanted it doggy-style, with M lying on the bed and A behind me. He lubed up and proceeded to fuck me in the ass, and with my Womanizer on my clit, like clockwork, I collapsed onto M’s lap as I rode my trembling orgasm. My ass needed a break, so I let my mouth do the work for me. With deep passion, I sucked, licked, and swirled my mouth and tongue back and forth around their dicks, and when I was ready, M positioned himself behind me.  

With my ass in the air and my face buried in A’s lap, M licked and bit at my ass. He slipped one finger in and then another, and knowing what was coming next, I grabbed my Womanizer. As he slid into my booty-hole, my body instantly began to tremble. Each thrust felt like heaven, and, once again, with my Womanizer on my clit, my orgasm began to build. As he picked up his pace, my body started to lose control. When my orgasm finally peaked, each outcry of orgasm was accompanied by a burst of squirt. I had no control over what was coming out of my body, but I kept the Womanizer placed over my clit. And with every breath, I exploded again and again. I could tell he was taken aback and aroused at the same time as he was showered in my juices. Fearing that my screams could be heard up and down the Grand Concourse, I buried my face into the bed and rode out the rest of my orgasm through muffled screams. When my tank was finally empty, I fell onto the bed; and after four orgasms, I was officially done.   

After we showered, we got dressed and took a walk. Walking down the street with my guys, I felt empowered, sexy, and magical. As stated before, MFM threesomes are always amazing; but partaking in one with partners you care for, that care for you in return, was the cherry on my Sunday. 

Maybe this hoe life isn’t for me…

In January, 2019, I finally stopped beating around the bush and went public about, not only, my herpes status and polyamory; I also openly questioned my bisexuality. I spoke about the difficulty I had finding women that wanted to be intimate with me; and my struggle finding casual sex with women. I figured the only way to confirm if I was truly bisexual (enjoyed eating pussy) was to venture into a sex-club.  

What I didn’t expect was, while eating random woman’s pussy at the first sex-club; I also realized that I really-really loved being an exhibitionist; just as much as I enjoyed having, and watching people having sex. I would enter the room, shy on the outside, yet burning up on the inside. However, once I started engaging, all inhibitions left the room. With one random-hand squeezing my ass, another caressing my leg, random mouth licking my freshly pedicured toes, another sucking at my pierced nipple; add to that, the room filled with eyes on me; I was elevated to a level of sexual nirvana that I hadn’t experienced since I was a teenager.  

After that, each party I attended, was for the sheer joy of pure surprise-induced satisfaction.  

I used to dream of; entering a huge loft where every person would enter from a separate door, all wearing masks. There would be no talking, only action. After a few hours of pleasure, each person would walk back to the room they came from and no one would ever know the identity of the other person. Masks and anonymity, mixed with the cocktail of sexual aura was a recipe for great orgasms this fantasy.  

However, in real life; sex-parties, sex-clubs, and (in my case) just sex in general; turned out to be the recipe for repeated trips to the GYN.  

After I lost my virginity, I made the GYN my best friend. Because I was highly sexually active, (and not always the most careful); during my teenage and adolescent years, I got pretty comfortable waiting, and having my vagina examined. Quite a few times, I knew what my ailment was going in, and would leave with a prescription that would have be back in tip-top shape after a week. None the less, getting examined, swabbed, and blood drawn was a very natural thing for me. I was very sexually active, so I tested often in between partners.  

One day, in 2008, after a night of less than eventful sex, (so much so that I had to call someone else over to fuck the memory of the previous guy out of my mind); my vagina felt less than perfect. Naturally, I went to the GYN and she told me it was BV (Bacterial Vaginosis); something I had never heard of and she described as an STD. I was, not only, pissed and uncomfortable; I was extremely confused. By this time, I was WA-CONDOM-FOREVER, so how could I have gotten and STD? All she could do was give me the prescription and send me on my way. I notified both my partners so they could get treated. After the antibiotics to treat the BV, I had to take a round of treatment for the yeast infection that the treatment for BV caused. After a little over two weeks, I was back to normal. It wasn’t until month’s later that I had a new GYN and she informed me that BV was not actually an STD, but an overgrowth of bacteria in the vagina (similar to a yeast infection); and that made more sense. Armed with that knowledge, I continued to use condoms, stopped using scented soaps, and was confident I would live happily ever after…  

I fucking wish.  

Once I got my first BV diagnosis, the son-of-a-bitch kept coming back. Every few months I would get a weird sensation, that would cause me to go to the doctor and every time it would return BV.  

Change of soap = BV 

Stayed too long in sweaty workout clothes = BV 

Toilet water splash back from poop = BV 

Occasional long session of rough sex = BV 

It was a repeat-offending disaster. 

It wasn’t until years later that, there appeared to be sunshine just beyond the horizon.  

In 2019, after my 8-month sex-break, I was confident that my vagina had reset itself. During that time, I learned some new tools to alleviate friction and I kept condoms on stand-by, just in case. So, after my 8-month sex drought, I was eager to walk into the sex-club. Armed with lube, condoms, and vibrator in my bag; I dived in. And, a few days later, I was in the doctor’s office, again.  

All treated, a month later, I met my first polyamorous partner and we started having amazing sex. He loved playing with my ass and probably had a digit slip every once in a while, once again. Every time he did – I had to go back to the doctor’s office.  

Treated again, a few months later, I went to my first all-black swingers party, followed by a day of sex, with an already sore pussy. And once again, I went to the doctor. 

I was really beginning to think, maybe this hoe-life wasn’t for me…  

It made no sense to me that, after every time I had a night of amazing (sometimes rough) sex, I would have to report to the doctor, days later. I once attended a party where the girl was literally filled with a dick the entire night. At parties, I would see all the other women taking dick after dick and I just knew they would be fine in the morning. It wasn’t fair! Not to mention $60 every visit, plus the price for the medication started to add up.  

To my surprise however, it turned out that, last time all my results came back negative. It appeared that, my vagina was not used to so much pounding. It was a crazy night after all. 

After a few more run-ins, my GYN, after seeing me for, what seemed, the 2000th time, decided to run a different test. She decided to check the bacteria in my vagina, as by BV was extremely recurrent.  

My results came back positive for high levels of ureplasma.  

Now, ureplasma naturally occurs in the body (hence why it’s considered a bacterial infection, and NOT An STI); however, the bacteria can also be passed to you via sexual contact. A-fucking-HA! That finally explained why once I got BV, it kept happening. It was all due to the rise in ureplasma in my vagina.  

She ordered me a prescription, along with advising me to take daily probiotics; to further promote the growth of healthy bacteria.  

After years of repeat occurrences, I finally had an answer; and due to her detective work, I finally had a cure.  

With that, in the closing of 2019, I was finally back to having the sex and the experiences I always wanted. I was not ready to hang up my sex-party robe just yet; and I was elated that I didn’t have to. 

LIKE A COZY SWEATER

Sex (for those that enjoy it) is a wonderful thing. After a long day, sex can often be better than a stiff drink. I love everything that leads up to sex; and it often starts from when he licks on my nipples, to when he buries his face in between my legs and tastes all of my juices. After he delivers me my first orgasm, he gets on top of me and slowly enters me. As I can feel his penis pressing through the tightness of my entrance and once he’s inside; I can only describe it as, amazing. But what does that really feel like, it’s hard to describe. As he proceeds to fuck me, in as many positions as my limited flexibility will allow, I revel in the pleasure of knowing that he too is loving every single moment of being in my body. When he finally reaches his orgasm, I deliver myself an invisible pat on the back and know that I have, once again, satisfied my partner. It’s one thing to know you’re a good fuck, but I’ve never known how good, until my partners started verbalizing it.  

The first time, I remember, a partner attempting to describe how sex with me feels, I was in my late twenties. This particular partner loved to fuck me; the problem is, he never lasted long. I would freshen up to go and see him. We’d kiss, he’d play with my nipples and he’d be hard as a rock. Then once inside, he’d deliver a few good thrusts; and although I could feel him trying to hold out, all the time he would fail. One afternoon I was highly upset, and I called him out on it and his response was, “he missed me”, and my pussy “was too good”. I asked him what he meant; because he made it clear that this only happened with me. So, I needed to understand what he felt. He described sex, with me, as; an ice-cold coke on a hot summer day, when you stopped drinking coke years ago. I guess I understood what he meant, and I was grateful for the accolade; but I had made up my mind that his sex was no longer worth the walk across the street for me.  

At the last swinger-party I attended, my partner and I had an amazing time. After he pleased me, I happily returned the favor, then we proceeded to enjoy the other party-goers. Every once in a while, in between our individual pussy devouring and sex sessions we would circle back around to one another, and reconnect. As the party came to an end and the lights came on; two of the men I had played with during the night couldn’t stop bragging about how good my “punany” (as one guy called it) felt and tasted. They kept calling it; good, amazing, and fantastic. They asked him if he was my man, to which he said yes. Then they proceeded to congratulate him on being able to enjoy me whenever he wanted. I didn’t quite know what to say; but “Thank you” and blush. 

In a room full of pussy, I was semi-surprised that mine garnered such accolades. I’m aware that when there is an emotional connection, the sex can be much more magical. But these were two strangers, and there was nothing but animal lust driving the interaction. I mean- sure, I do my Kegels; but, could sex with me be that different from other women? I had to take their word for it, until it was solidified with this remark.  

I had an amazing sex session with M_Tinder. We hadn’t connected in a while because we were both busy; but he didn’t let distance stop him from sending me enticing pictures and telling me what he planned to do to my body. When I arrived; after chatting with his roommate for a bit, we headed to his bedroom. After kissing, he made his way to my breasts then to my pussy. He used his tongue to deliver me an intense orgasm and long after he drank my juices, he kept on going. He took his time fucking my body in a variety of positions. He fucked my ass while I used my womanizer on my clit and found another, more intense, orgasm. Then, he switched out the condom and finished fucking me doggy style. We passed out, and in the morning, I showered and left for work.  

I was sitting down and eating my breakfast when he messaged me to make sure I had indeed enjoyed our time together. I told him I had a fantastic time and I asked him the same. That’s when he responded “Yes! Your pussy feels so great and comfortable.” At first, I took a moment to process exactly what he meant by it. More often than not, comfortable means just that, but without pizazz or anything special. So, needing better clarification I said, “Like a cozy sweater” and he replied “Exactly!”. Then it all made sense.  

You know the feeling of cold in the winter time. Not just any cold, but the cold that gets under your skin and sits in your bones to where nothing feels warm. Then, you find or buy this nice, fluffy, soft, cozy sweater that warms you up and then you just want to go to sleep… That’s how my pussy feels.