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 77 Positions in 77 Days blog 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, so 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.
Cosmo Challenge: Play strip trivia. Ask each other questions like, “What’s my favorite restaurant?” and “Where was our first date?” Whoever answers incorrectly has to remove an item of clothing.
Warning to readers: Part of what I’m about to write is not sexy. In fact it’s so unsexy that I felt the need to do a redo. But I wanted to be honest with all of you, which is why I’m sharing both stories: The first attempt, which made me feel like D. and I were a couple who’s been together for 40 years. And not in an awww cute way. In a we are waaay too comfortable, this-is-getting-asexual way. Ugh. The second attempt made me feel like D. and I were a couple who’s been together for, oh, three days and couldn’t get enough of each other.
I had emailed D. earlier in the day to say, “By the way, we’ll be playing strip trivia tonight. Start coming up with ideas.
D. came over to my place after work and we ate dinner…in pajamas…in front of the TV…me, faux complaining about how when we watch DVR’d shows, he’s so bad at hitting Play at the right time so that we don’t see any commercial, but also don’t miss any of the show. I know, a picture of romance, right?
Finally, I stood up and turned off the TV. I was going to turn this runaway train of unsexiness around. Right after I picked off the piece of rice that had fallen from my sushi roll and stuck to my yoga pants. “Let’s get you out of those clothes,” I told D. with a smile.
We went into my room and he lay down on the bed in a pin-up pose, which made me laugh out loud, but didn’t do much for my libido.
"OK, how does this work?" I asked, standing over him. "I ask a question and if you get it wrong, you take something off, right? But what about if you get it right?"
Cosmo Challenge: Pick up candy necklaces and slide them up each other’s thighs. Then nibble off each piece.
I sent D. to pick up the supplies and he came back with the following:
Four candy necklaces of varying color combinations.
A candy bracelet.
Two candy watches.
Please don’t say you’re going to wear the watch on your junk, please don’t say you’re going to wear the watch on your junk, please don’t say you’re going to wear the watch on your junk, I repeated silently.
D. held up the bracelet. “Guess what this is for?”
That D.! Years of knowing each other and he still manages to surprise me. Here I was thinking he’d put the watch around his shaft. And he was planning to put the bracelet around it.
We ended up putting watches and bracelets aside and opened up one of the necklaces.
I pushed D. down on the bed, he pulled off his socks (thank the lord) and boxers and leaned back with a grin.
I stretched the necklace out and carefully put it on, making sure it didn’t touch his feet. Ew. Then I rolled it up above his knee. And that’s when it started looking like it might snap. Note: These are made for children’s necks, not grown men’s thighs.
Cosmo Challenge: Send naughty texts or emails back and forth for all-day preplay. Start with “When we get home…” and see where the story goes from there.
The following is an actual email exchange between D. and me. I’ve put his email in italics so it’s easy to differentiate between what I wrote and what he wrote.
Subject: you should really take a break from work and do this…
Take it away, D.
Funny you brought this up because I was just about to email you that when we get home tonight I was going to spank your butt very firmly.
That’s such a coincidence because I was going to do the same thing. But with a spatula. Aaand switching to my iPhone since I’m paranoid HR is watching my computer.
Yeah! Bring HR with you. Now we’re talking. I’ll pick you up and throw you down on the bed after that spank. What do you think?
Not if I throw you down first then rip off your shirt (the red button-down) and start licking your nipples…
"I think this could be like a gateway drug," said D. as we walked into the drugstore a few days ago.
I looked at him puzzled.
"First it’s a little vibrating ring that you pick up in Duane Reade. Then it’s bunny rabbits."
Awww, D. was having vibrator envy. I assured him that he didn’t have to worry about competition because nothing beats a good old-fashioned, non-battery operated penis. (What I didn’t tell him: I had a sneaking suspicion that a battery-operated device combined with a good old-fashioned penis might win the competition.)
We purchased our new toy. It cost $13, $15 if you count the gum I purchased along with it because I suddenly turned into my 14-year old self (the girl who was embarrassed to buy tampons) and didn’t want to be seen purchasing just a vibrating ring. The gum clearly made it much better. Right.
"I don’t need a bag, " I told the cashier. Always thinking about the environment, even when I’m thinking about D.’s soon-to-be-buzzing shaft.
"Just a garbage-sized bag to wear on my—"
D. started to joke.
“Oooookay!”, I interrupted and pulled him out of the store.
I’ll skip over the subway ride home in which we made just about every “ring” pun you could think of. The highlight was probably D. doing the “Single Ladies” dance in his seat and singing, “If you like it then you shoulda put a c*ck ring on it”. You get the idea.
Yes, that dashing young woman you see above is me. Though because D. is quite the artiste (we both were into art in college), I had to cut off my head from the image. But he did an awesome job and I’m sort of tempted to frame it and put it up in my room. Except, of course, that my parents are often in my apartment. And I have roommates. And friends who come over. And a landlord who is occasionally there too. But there is a part of me that’s glad I at least have the option of doing it. It’s like that Sex and the City (last SATC reference in this blog, I promise…maybe) episode when Samantha gets nudie photos taken so that when she’s old and gray and saggy, she can remember when she looked hot. Sidenote: I don’t think Kim Cattrall will ever be old and gray and saggy. I, on the other hand, will be someday.
Cosmo Challenge: Have sex outside (in your yard at night) and leave your clothes 100 feet from where you’re getting it on. It’ll make you feel more vulnerable and naughty.
I sit here typing with sand between my butt cheeks. And no, that is not a non sequitur. It has to do with the above challenge. As you might have guessed by now, D. and I had sex on the beach. (And yes, I’m giving myself major props for using “butt cheeks” and “non sequitur” in consecutive sentences for the first time in the history of writing.)
I knew from the beginning of the blog that this was going to be a challenge to complete for the following reasons:
1. My “yard” is an alley. An alley where I’ve seen drunk kids smoking, feral cats, Ratatouille (this is my name for rats because it makes me think they’re not gross, diseased creatures, but rather adorable, friendly characters from children’s movies), and trash. A lot of trash. This is not my idea of a hot hookup locale.
2. No less than 315 (rough estimate) people would be able to watch D. and me doing it. And there would probably be a YouTube clip of us. Then our anonymity would be lost. Then I’d have to stop blogging for Cosmo. And I don’t want that. And I hope you guys don’t either!
3. We were at D.’s parents’ beach house (which they weren’t using at the time) and well, how could we not complete this challenge on the beach?
So let me set the scene for you…
Cosmo Challenge: Put your hair in a ponytail and have him gently yank it while doing you from behind.
Call me crazy, but in some ways this feels like the raunchiest of all the challenges we’ve done. (This coming from the girl who answered the door in a whipped cream bikini and ate a doughnut off a shaft.) But I think it’s that this one seems porn-ish. And don’t get me wrong, I love porn as much as the next horny girl, but that doesn’t mean I want to star in my own personal porno, thankyouverymuch.
So I decided to have a little sit-down with D. before engaging in this challenge.
"I don’t want this to get…weird," I said, hoping he would just read my mind.
"Uh, care to elaborate?" he responded, clearly not having read my mind.
"Like…don’t think of me as a porn star."
D. stifled a laugh and I got irrationally offended. “I could be if I wanted to, you know.”
"Got it, S. You’re not a porn star, I won’t treat you like one, but I’ll remember that you could be one. Anything else I should keep in mind?"
"That’s all. Except…well, do we need a safety word?"
That’s when he full on burst out laughing. “S., we’re not breaking out ball gags or doing intense roleplay. I think we’ll be fine. All I’m going to do is pull your hair.” Then he reached over and tugged at my hair. “See?”
Satisfied that this wouldn’t get into icky territory (I know, I know, I’m crazy), I agreed to carry on with the challenge.
Cosmo Challenge: Have him stand facing you while you’re laying face-up on the bed and give him upside down oral.
So, uh, this is pretty much the opposite of the last challenge. (Though D. did try to convince me otherwise. He said, “Think of it as making love to my penis.” Real nice, D.)
Now, I don’t remember how I first learned about upside-down oral. It might have been Cosmo, it might have been Samantha on Sex and the City, and it might have been a friend at a sleepover. All I know is that the word on the street was that if you went down on a guy while you were face-up, it was easier to deep throat.
Full disclosure: I am not a deep throater. I gag. A lot. I gag at the dentist when they put the fluoride treatments in. I often gag when I brush my teeth. And I occasionally gag when I go downtown on D. (Downtown on D. Hmm, sounds like a dirty movie.) My name is S. and I’m a gagger.
It hasn’t ever been a problem even when the package in question is rather large. I have a little trick which I’m sure I’ve shared here before (or more likely, you already knew because you all are such sex goddesses!): “extend” your mouth by wrapping your thumb and a few fingers around his shaft and keeping your hand flush against your lips. It gives the impression of taking him in deeper than you are.
Cosmo Challenge: Make up a sex position based on the name The Dirty Downward Dog, and try it out tonight.
Yesterday I was flipping through the channels and came across Going the Distance. And I would have kept flipping (don’t hate me for saying this, but I’m not a huge Drew B. fan), but it was the scene where she and Justin Long are having slow, sweet, romantic, perfectly lit, intimate sex, probably with some amazing song in the background, and I was entranced. You’d think I was some 11-year old who was watching a sex scene for the first time. (Hmm, guessing kids these days don’t usually make it to 11 without seeing a sex scene. Ugh, I feel old.) But I couldn’t stop watching. Justin does not do it for me (except in those Mac/PC commercials and I think that’s more about the fact that I am super into Apple products), but in that moment, I never wanted to be under Justin Long so much in my life.
And then it hit me. They were—excuse me while I gag out this phrase—making love. I despise that phrase. Like, despise despise. But that’s exactly what they were doing and there’s no other way to describe it. And a moment later, something else hit me. It has been a long ass time since D. and I have—must suppress gag reflex—made the love.
Don’t get me wrong. The sex, as you all know, has been good. Oftentimes damn good. But love has not been made as of late. And I miss it. (OK, as I typed that, I had to suppress another kind of physical reaction, a little lump in my throat.)