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. Have you read number 4 yet?

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

I love Halloween. Most years, I go all out - decorations, an elaborate costume, parties, themed snacks…you get the idea. When I look back on all of my Halloweens, however, one stands out in my mind in particular.

It was my sophomore or junior year in college, and our campus-owned townhouses were hosting “around the world”. In case you’ve never player, basically, every house or apartment in a complex creates a different mixed drink in huge quantities, and then everyone visits every other house and does a little tasty test using shot glasses. mmm. Now, in a less..erm…college…atmosphere, you can play around the world with finger foods instead. It’s a fun way to get to know your neighbors.

In any case, our campus police look the other way once a semester so we can play around the world. They basically patrol the parking lot and arrest anyone climbing into cars drunk and are readily available if there is a fight or health problem. But generally, they stay out of the complex and pretend that everyone is overage as long as every is cool about it. And usually people are. The whole campus in not invited. It is only for people in the townhouse complex, who are generally 21+ seniors anyway. You have to have a wristband or the organizers escort your underage ass to the parking lot, where the police deal with you. Each townhouse has four students living in it, so each that signs up to create a drink gets four wristbands.

I did not live in the townhouses…but that Halloween, I got really, really lucky. One of my best friends did, and her roommate was going home for the weekend. So, I got her wristband! Oh, it was sweet.

In any case, I got all dressed up (my boobs were hot that night), and started drinking. I met a LOT of single guys that night. I mean, it was a college social - basically, that is what it was - a mixer for singles. We all had too much to drink and too many hormones raging. A lot of people made mistakes that night. But perhaps none had a weirder sexual experience than I did.

Early in the night, I met these two guys who had lucked into wristbands in the same way I had - they were friends of people who had roommates going out of town. They were cute (dressed as a superhero and a ninja) and fun to talk to, but I moved on quickly. The night was young.

Toward the end of the night, though, I was tired and just wanted to go home with a cute guy on my arm. And there they were, sitting in my friend’s house, finishing off her hard lemonade. She was upstairs asleep already and upset over an ex-boyfriend, so I sat downstairs guarding her possessions drunkenly until the alcohol was gone. When one of her roommate got back, though, I decided that I was going home, and I was taking the superhero with me. The problem? He had agreed, that night to act as the ninja’s wingman.

Sigh.

He really did try to change my mind too. He was a good wingman. The problem was that I simply wasn’t interested in the ninja. They were both cute, but I was interested in the superhero. So, the compromised - they both walked me home. Then they both came in for a drink. Then…they both started kissing me.

Now, I’m no prude, but a mmf threesome does not interest me. At least, not spur of the moment like that. And not with my roommate in the next bedroom. So, I had to make a choice - do I play into their scenario and choose the ninja, or do I go with my gut and choose the superhero?

And the lesson I learned that night is that I should have said no to both of them.

Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I always go into any sexual encounter with the mindset that it will be more than a one-night stand. So, I went with my gut and politely sent the ninja packing. And you know what? The sex was horrible. My superhero was worried that his friend was upset at him the entire time. He barely got off before he was pulling his spandex pants back on and running after his friend. I was left yelling, meekly, “Call me!” like a sad teenager.

That’s the night I learned that the friendship bond between friends is stronger than pussy. Don’t get in the middle of a the wingman agreement. He won’t call you.

“Would you consider being my girlfriend?” he slurred.

I sat up, a bit startled. We had had this conversation many times before. Sure, it was fun to fuck…but actually being together? It wasn’t going to happen. I was still in love with my ex and he was still in love with his. And that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. We were just friends with benefits. “Um….”

“Oh. Um. Dumb question. Pretend I didn’t say anything. We can talk in the morning.”

I settled back into his arms, feeling weird. But then, the whole situation was weird. He and I were sitting on my bathroom floor together, having just drank a fifth of vodka. And not the good vodka. Like, Banker’s Club vodka. So far, I was keeping mine down, but he had already throw up three or four times, and we decided that it wouldn’t be a good idea to try to get him up into my bed. I was in college and had the top bunk.

But I was the dutiful friend, not just for fucking, but also for rubbing his shoulders and telling him that he wasn’t going to die. I squirm a bit on the hard, cold tile. I guess I did love him, a little. Just not in THAT way.

“I do love you, you know.” He said, reading my mind.

“Just not in that way?” I answered.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I do love you for sitting here with me. Am I going to die?”

“No.”

Around 5 AM he finally felt a bit better and I helped him to the couch. Soon, he was snoring away, and I slipped into my room and tried not to wake my roommate who was asleep in the bottom bunk. My hands lingered on my still-hot pussy. He was good at taking care of me, even if it was just with his thick, rough mechanic fingers, not his long, smooth cock. He held me down on that bathroom floor as I writhed and tried not to raise the suspicions of my roommates with my moans.

Maybe I did love him.

He slipped out the next day without saying goodbye. I don’t blame him. It was noon before I woke up, and I could still feel alcohol running through my veins.

Maybe I did love him.

He didn’t call to talk. I waited with my cell phone in hand as I did homework for the next day, but it didn’t vibrate. Finally, at about 9 PM, I called him. Nervous. It was tearing me apart, but I decided I was going to have to decline his request. We were just friends with benefits - the go-between while we were looking for that next special relationship. I couldn’t date him. Even if I did love him.

“Hello?” His voice was husky. God, did I really want to hurt him.

“Hey. You aren’t dead!”

He laughed, “Haha, no, I’m not dead.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“Sure….” he said. My heart raced. “…what about?”

My cheeks felt hot and flushed, even though we were just on the phone. “About…what you said last night…”

“Oh God, what did I say? I really can’t remember much from about midnight to the point where I was finger fucking you.”

My heart sank. Even if I was going to turn him down, it was still nice to be loved. But it had been the vodka talking. He didn’t love me. He was just drunk.

“Nothing.”

“OH come on now…what did I say!?”

“It’s no big deal. I gotta go.”

Be careful with want you do to a girl’s heart. Professing love after a fifth of vodka is a bad idea.

Edit from Aurora: I’ve moved! Cum visit me at Between My 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. Have you read number 2 yet?

I won’t relate to you here the entire story of the night I lost my virginity. Believe me, it is long and filled with girly cat fights and drunken decisions - you don’t want to hear it. Oh, and the after story, including the part where I find out that the guy hadn’t really broken up with his girlfriend AND it was her birthday? That’s even longer. Let’s just say that I haven’t seen that guy since…well…the day after I lost my virginity.

In any case, it was a learning experience in sooooo many ways. Isn’t it always? Is there a single person in this world who had that perfect sex on their first night and doesn’t look back on it with a little laugh? We all make mistakes. It happens.

The lesson I want to share with you all today, in my list of the ten things I’ve learned from sex, is a simple one. Let’s not get into the emotions of losing my virginity. Let’s talk practicality. If I could do it over and only change a single thing, near the top of my list would be this: undressing on a pile.

The night surrounding my first time was a bit of a blur. However, at the end of it, I found myself in my lover’s friend’s dorm room. Apparently, his roommate was in the ROTC and sleeping, so rather than waking him, he led me, starry-eyed, to his friend’s room. His friend was out of town for the weekend. His sheets were black, but I hope he washed them anyway.

In any case, a male college dorm is not exactly the best or most clean place to have sex. The bathrooms were downright filthy. Not to mention I was about to have my cherry popped in the bed of someone who didn’t even know me. But I digress.

As he undressed me, he just threw my clothes at the base of the bed, and if you’ve ever had sex in a teeny tiny dorm bed, then you understand me when I say, they got throw on the floor somewhere mid-romp.

The problem? Around 4AM, as my lover snored from his spot on the floor (no way were two people going to fit sleeping on that bed), I had to pee. I was lucky enough for find my thong…but my pants? No where to be seen…or rather, felt, as it was pitch black in that room.

So, I had a decision to make. Hold it until morning or run down the hall in a sweatshirt and my thong.

I decided to hold it.

And that lasted, oh, three minutes.

Yes, I was spotted. Luckily, I think that all of the other boys in the bathroom were too drunk or sleepy to notice that I wasn’t wearing pants. Still, I’m sure that a few of them ran back to their rooms and roused their roommates to tell them about the pants-less girl roaming the halls.

So, that night I learned an important lesson - when having sex in a place other than your own room/house, undress yourself and leave your clothes on a pile. Although I did find my jeans the next day, it was at the expense of my bare ass in the hallway the night before.

Edit from Aurora: I’ve moved! Cum visit me at Between My 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. Have you read number 1 yet?

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

My first “serious” boyfriend (and second guy I ever slept with) liked to be naked. In fact, you could say that he was fascinated by it. He still lived with his parents, but during the day, they were rarely upstairs in the townhouse, preferring to stay on the bottom level. So, he (and I) could be naked all we pleased. After all, we could here them coming long before we could see them. Or, more importantly, they could see us. His parents knew we were fucking, and it wasn’t that big of a deal, since they knew we were being safe. They even kept an urn of condoms on the mantle, just in case anyone in the household needed them. Weird, I know.

But no matter how comfortable they were with sex (and believe me, the noises coming from their bedroom told me that they were VERY comfortable with it…), I wasn’t about to let his mom see my rosy red behind by accident or let his horn-dog dad catch a glimpse of my nipples on the way to the bathroom. So, instead, I opted to keep my clothes on most of the time, just in case, unless the bedroom door was closed.

I have to say, though… Lounging around in nothing (or next to nothing) was amazing. He’d be sitting at his computer, playing guitar, and I’d be on the bed, naked, my skin pale and smooth, my hair still wet from a post-sex shower together. I could sit at his feet for hours listening to him play, my head resting on his bare leg, my fingertips slowly caressing his inner thighs until I could see that he wasn’t interested in the music anymore. We spent days like this, and I’d throw on only the necessary tank top and short shorts to run to the store to pick up lunch and condoms. It was a sexual paradise on the top floor of that town house.

I had my share of close calls, though. One time in particular, we were almost caught mid-naked-lounge by his sister and two-year-old nephew. God love his sister, but she was a big girl. I mean, size 28+ big. I’m no skinny mini, so I can dig a little extra weight, but she was grossly overweight, and didn’t take care of herself, sometimes going weeks without showering. She was missing a front tooth, and her hair was usually greasy and slicked back into a tight pony tail. Even if you’re into BBW, she was not a pretty girl.

Anyway, the kid, who was used to just opening whatever door he wanted to open, went for our door, and I heard her catch him just before he jiggled the knob open. Later, we laughed and told her how it was good he didn’t, because he would have gotten a full-on shot of my shaved pussy as I was giving my bf head. She laughed too and said that it was funny that we always hung out naked.

About a week later, I saw her car parked outside, so even though I knew my boyfriend wasn’t home from work yet, I headed inside, the door being unlocked and all. Her son was sleeping in the playpen in the living room, and I heard her upstairs in the office adjoining to my boyfriend’s bedroom, so I climbed up the stairs to say hello so I wouldn’t wake the baby.

She had to have heard me coming. It was a old house and the stairs creaked a lot!

Yet, as I rounded the corner, there she sat at the computer, completely naked. Nude. In the buff. All 5-foot-3 400 pounds of her. It was kind of like a car wreck. You just can’t look away. She smiled and said hello, like nothing was wrong. Later, she said that we had made it sound like so much fun that she thought she’d give nudity a try. I will have the image of her naked, her rolls suctioned to the leather office chair, in my mind for the rest of my life.

So, that day I learned an important lesson. If you’re going to be naked, lock the door. The door to your house or the door to your room. Because you know what? Even if you’re totally comfortable with your body, use nakedness with discretion. Please.

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.

It happens to everyone. You’re being all sexy, got on the red teddy or the crotchless panties. You’re giving your man (or woman) “the eyes). You’re grouping. You’re kissing. You’re longing. You’re giving the blow job of your life.

And then the unthinkable happens.

You fart.

It makes you a bit uncomfortable to even read this right now, doesn’t it. I’m not going to lie; it makes me a bit uncomfortable to write it.

Farts are going to happen. It’s just a fact of life. And after like, a few months in a new relationship, you’ll have farted. Maybe you owned it and let it rip. Or maybe you sneaked it out and you both pretended that it didn’t happen. Maybe you even blamed the smell on the dog. In any case, I’m sure it happened.

But farting in your everyday life is sooooooo different than farting in bed. Even if you’re comfortable with it in your everyday life, it’s probably one of the most uncomfortable things that can happen if you’re trying to get it on.

So how do you deal with it?

Well, I’m not trying to sound like an expert here. I mean, who wants to be an expert on gas. But, here is my opinion on how to deal with it. Really, you just need to overcoming the fart.

• If you’re prone to gas, stop eating gassy foods for dinner. No one likes to admit that they’re got a little tooting problem, but we all have weird/gross things about ourselves that we don’t like. If yours is farting, look to the foods you’re eating. You won’t have that problem in the bedroom if you just cut out certain foods before you go to bed.
• Carry on. I’m not usually one to pretend that nothing happened, but if you’re fucking your lover, it’s perfectly acceptable to just pretend that a fart didn’t happen. Weird noises in general, actually - just move on. If you laugh or comment, you’ll kill the mood.
• Excuse yourself. If you feel a “big one” coming on, excuse yourself and go to another room for a second. Yes, leaving in the middle of sex can be a bit of a mood killer, but not if you come back with something totally awesome. Fart, and then bring back some whipped cream from the kitchen or massage oil from the bathroom.

• What’s your advice on gassy situations in the bedroom?

I used to see this guy who was really bad at sex. He obviously enjoyed it a lot and even was “experienced” enough that he should have been decent, and yet there he was, he ass in the air, thrusting away like the Little Engine that Could and falling over himself to pull out before cumming, even though he was wearing a condom. Extra precaution, he’d say. He looked like he was having an epileptic seizure every time we fucked.

Sex with my mystery fellow lasted…oh…three minutes at best. He had a nice, big dick, though - nothing that smelled funky or was laughably small or thin. That’s the sad part of my tale. If he knew how to work it, sex with him would be really could. He certainly was long and thick enough. He even shaved his balls for me. Talk about romance.

But then he’s get himself worked up and start a-thrusting away, crushing me as he leaned too much of his weight on my chest and making me turn my head as he’d literally start panting in my face, the sweat dripping in his eyes and rolling down his back. Ten second later, he was done, hogging his tiny bed and snoring louder than my grandpa. That’s pretty damn loud.

And I’d fake the orgasm. He didn’t know any better. I’d just fake about 80% of the time and tell the truth the other 20% of the time. I’m usually a big fan of telling the truth all of the time, but he just seemed so dejected every time I didn’t orgasm for him. He knew he was bad at sex. When I lied and faked the orgasm, it just seemed to make his day, so I continued to do it throughout our brief relationship.

Sometimes, when I’m snuggled up next to my current squeeze, legs wobbly and heart still racing from an awesome orgasm, I think about this guy from my past, imagine him on top of me looking like a spasming seal, and laugh. I wonder where he is now…

Don’t forget to mark your calenders for Global Orgasm Day in December!

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

faking the orgasm, orgasm, sex, sex problems

I’ve had a handful of sexual partners. Let’s just say…enough to make some people blush (although, friends, you’re the one reading a sex blog, so I’m not sure I’ll make you blush at all). I’ve been with men that were packing so much it hurt and men that made me wonder if they were even in at all. I’ve seen cockrings and piercings and shaved balls and bulging veins.

And I have to say that the vast majority of these men knew what’s up (and I do mean up). They worked with what they had and *most* or the time, we both left the bedroom at least mildly pleased. Sure, there’s been the occasional mishap, like the virgin who didn’t know which hole to finger (poor guy was so confused) and the drunk who passed out in the middle of everything, sploging cum everywhere at the last second (and for that, I left him sleep in the pool of his own bodily fluids while I snuck out the door). But really, what can you do but laugh and move on.

Except when it comes to the deadly sin that gets me most upset–sloth.

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