Between the Sheets

I’ve had ten sexual partners. And I’d like to think that with each, I’ve grown a little. So, here are the ten things I’ve learned about sex. Thanks, guys. lol.

Edit from Aurora: I’ve moved! Cum visit me at Between My Sheets!

At one point in my life, I lived with these two guys in a house on their campus. The situation was kind shady. Basically, I was getting kicked out of the place where I was supposed to live for the summer between school years at college, but my work had already been scheduled until the end of May. If I left while there was still days on my schedule, I wouldn’t get hired back…so I needed a place to stay, just for about three-four weeks. They went to a neighboring tech college and lived in a campus-owned townhouse. One of their roommates had recently graduated, so they had an extra bed for about a month. Perfect.

But I digress.

Life living with two boys was never dull. It was a little stinky, I’m not going to lie. However, the complex where they lived was like one big party, with nothing to really do but drink all night and sleep all day (while working occasionally of course). At a tech school, the girl-boy ratio is about 1 to 15, so things were looking good for me. I pretty much had my pick. Of course, my biggest admirer was the guy who had no two front teeth…but whatever. When the liquor was flowing, I didn’t have to look far to find someone who would buy me a drink.

One night, the guys next door decided to have a huge bash. I mean huge. We drank every night, but for this party, they were going to get a few kegs, as well as fill the washing machine with bottle of liquor on ice. By the end of the night, at least three or four of them were puking. There are pictures documenting that. Guys do all sorts of stupid shit when they’re drunk.

But on to my story. Sorry, I’m reliving old memories.

There was one guy at the party who was especially cute. I’ll withhold his name here, but let’s just call him K. About five minutes after I met K, I knew that I would be going home with him that night. We were awesome beer pong partners. He let me sip on his bottle of vodka. I sat on his lap and whispered drunken promises into his ear. While filling up my drinking, the only other girl at the party laughed and said that he had a California King bed in his house that he brought from home. I asked him if it was true, and he drunkenly smilled.

“Yeaaaaah…and it has mirrors above it…I just put them up…”

Um. Yeah. Mirrors above the bed. Riiiiiiight, I thought. I mean, it was campus housing - why would he go to the trouble

As the party was wrapping up, I asked if he’d walk me home. He said yes (I was living next door), but surprise, surprise - we just went to his house. He showed me to his room, and I sank into the red satin sheets (you can’t make this shit up) of his California King. I giggled. It was true. He had a huge fucking bed and there were mirrors above it. I heard him peeing in the bathroom, and I just cracked up, got naked, and slithered beneath the covers. I was drunk, he was worse, and this was going to be fun.

The lesson I learned that night is that you just aren’t supposed to be seen from some angles. Watching him on top of me was weird. I mean…weird. I watch porn occasionally, but being like, IN the porno is just downright strange. Plus, I wasn’t exactly getting a flattering angle. Then, he wanted me on top. I was self conscious because mirrors don’t lie. That lasted about five seconds. Finally, we settled on doggy…so neither of us could see the mirrors.

I’m secure with my body. I really am. But god, that was fucking weird.

Neither of us ever got off that night. He was too drunk to be good enough for me to get off and too drunk to get off himself. I curled up to go to sleep, and a few minutes later he goes “oh shit…” and runs out of bed. I fell asleep to him puking in the bathroom. Talk about a walk of shame when I woke up in the morning…

So, morale of the story - don’t put mirrors above your bed. If you really want to see yourself having sex, video tape it. But really - it’s just not a good idea.

You can read more secrets every Sunday at the Post Secret Blog. It’s one of my favorite haunts, so I hope you’ll check it out!

Edit from Aurora: I’ve moved! Cum visit me at Between My Sheets!

Please Note: The below story is one from the past, not a recent run-in. Please check out the other posts this week to help celebrate Between the Sheets’ Sexual Abuse Awareness Week

The first thing I had noticed about him was his smell as I walked past to sit on the other end of the bar. The small was unmistakable - cigarettes and confidence. Come home with me, I whispered with my eyes. He looked me up and down slowly, not hiding his appetite, as I trailed a finger up my leg to make my short skirt even shorter. I sipped the martini he had bought me from across the room. The loud bar seemed quite in his gaze.

My cell phone buzzed angrily in my purse, and I flipped it open to read the glaring words from my boyfriend. “RU Being Naughty?”

“Very.” I texted back in reply. I turned my phone off, slipping it back into my purse, and stood up, his eyes watching my every move. I paid my tab and walked toward the exit, pausing only to whisper in his ear, “You look like a man who likes to be in charge.” I handed him a napkin with my address, walked out, and hailed a taxi.

I had the driver take me to the river, where I looked out across the water while the wind blew my skirt. I wasn’t wearing panties, and the wind, my lover, as already teasing me, making me wet. It was night time in the city and I was walking home alone, but I lived in a good neighborhood. Home wasn’t more than a few blocks away, and I wasn’t afraid. The wind cradle me and kept me safe while I lusted for its love.

My townhouse was dark, and I slipped in quietly so as not to wake my neighbor’s dog. The floorboards creaked, and I froze. The man from the bar sprung from the shadows, using one hand to muffle my cries while using the other hand to yank my skirt to my knees.

(more…)

Read part one here.

The girl next door didn’t come home until it was very late. I know, because while she was gone, I watched him miss her. And by miss her, I mean chat on the phone with his mistress. I’ve seen him call the “other woman” before. My neighbor left him alone too often, and I’ve seen him pick up the phone, still in his terrycloth towel. First, I thought it was an innocent call, perhaps to his mother or a friend. But then I saw him loosen the towel and settle onto the bed. He closed his eyes and his fingers traveled where I imagined mine to be.

Twice, that I saw, she caught him. Hanging up the phone gently, she didn’t seem mad. Instead she pressed herself against him, trailing kisses down his abdomen and peeling back the towel to confirm that it wasn’t his mom on the phone. She teased him with her tongue for but a second before closing her cherry lips around him as he ran his hand through her long, wavy hair. He guided her exactly where he wanted, and she looked up at him as she sucked, asking with her eyes to be dominated.

And today? The curtain was closed. And yet I watched and waited, hoping to catch a glimpse of his defined muscles or her soft, subtle curves. As I undressed, I wondered what it would be like to be her…or him. To be a part of such a sexually dynamic relationship.

Who needs porn? I have neighbors.

Edit from Aurora: I’ve moved! Cum visit me at Between My Sheets!

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