[MFF] I’ve peaked and it’s all downhill from here.

I had the most intense and satisfying sexual experience of my life at the age of 37 in October, 2019. It’s almost certainly all downhill from here. Even in the free range of my imagination, apart from summoning an alternate reality’s Rihanna and Scarlett Johansson who have an inexplicable, keen devotion to my dick, I can’t top the scenario that played out in an Airbnb beach bungalow on Saturday, October the 12th of 2019. I feel like my life now neatly divides into before and after that afternoon. Whenever I find myself feeling down or lacking confidence, a quick mental replay of that day never fails to put the swagger back in my step and give me a jaunty disposition towards the world.

Fair warning: there will be a bit of an extended setup here as I feel the intensity of the experience is diminished by a lack of context. And I’m writing this mostly for mine own amusement in any case. It’s a strangely quiet evening here and I’ve just poured myself three fingers of Bulleit Rye. Take a trip with me, bored thirsty Redditors.

I am something of a stereotypical late bloomer. In high school, girls petrified me. My incomplete, adolescent mind simply had no idea how to interact with them. I had many crushes but most never amounted to more than paralytic anxiety and awkward, ill timed boners to conceal. I had one girlfriend for a few months my senior year and I graduated a virgin.

My freshman year of college, I met Anne (I have to give her blandest name I can think of as her real name is quite uncommon). She was a year younger than me and we shared a background of conservative, religious upbringing in west Texas. We sort of immediately glued ourselves to each other in a fumbling, passionate embrace of codependency. Anne was, and still is, a stone cold stunner. Shoulder length, light brown hair. Green eyes. About 5,4 with a petite, yet curvy, frame and a set of some of the finest, softball sized tits I’ve ever manually inspected. Her old man had abandoned her family a few years previously and she had some serious daddy issues to settle with his emotional vicar, a role I was eager to fill as a horny 19 year old who had just lost his virginity and was enjoying for the first time regular access to an indulgent woman with a high libido.

We stayed together nearly seven years. Even got engaged and dangerously close to getting married. Fortunately, we both realized we didn’t actually want to be married and called it off. Although the last few years together were pretty rocky and involved a lot of shouting, the sex was always good and frequent. I worked in the oil fields for about 18 months at one point and Anne would usually greet me in the shower in the evenings with an enthusiastic blowjob to help me unwind. Although we were ultimately incompatible as partners, we always had some of the most enjoyable sexual chemistry I’ve ever experienced.

When I was 26, she left after a particularly bad fight. We went our separate ways and fell out of contact and the contact we had was rarely amicable. I started working overseas. She eventually married some hip restaurant chef in Dallas. Divorced him a few years after that. Years passed without us seeing each other. Although I thought of her often. In The 25th Hour Ed Norton’s character describes Rosario Dawson as the only woman he ever fantasized about after sleeping with her. I felt the same way. Often the sound of a shower head turning on would flip some relational switch in my head and I’d get a hard on remembering how ridiculously sexy she looked on her knees, with her hair slicked back and my dick in her mouth, in the tiny shower of our shitty, thin walled first apartment.

I didn’t see her for years until she unexpectedly sat down next me at the funeral of a mutual friend in the summer of 2017. If anything the years had actually enhanced her natural good looks. She’d been transformed from a 19 year old girl to a woman of confident manner, dripping with sex appeal. We joined some friends at a bar afterwards and several rounds of Jameson later, absconded to fuck in the backseat of her car in the parking lot. Strangely, we never really talked about it. It was clear we’d both grown up a lot and moved on. During the next few months, we starting texting each other regularly and sometimes talking on the phone (We didn’t live in the same city and had a 4 hour drive between us). Our conversations were light. We joked more like old college buddies than exes. The next time I came to Dallas we made plans to have dinner which led to sex in my hotel room. I told her I still fantasized about how she used to go down on me in the shower and she responded with a thoroughly convincing reenactment.

This friendship with occasional, mind blowing sex has carried on ever since. We typically see each other four or fives times in a year. We date other people. We never talk about being in a relationship and I think it’s probably for the best. Our lives are very different. She’s a school teacher and I actually make money. I’m not LearJet loaded but I’ve picked a profitable line of work and I don’t have kids. And now I think I’ve set the stage for the main event: the weekend reality strangely decided to indulge my every whim.

I’d gone to Bogota for work for a few weeks and I flew back to DFW Wednesday morning. I’d driven up from Austin and left my truck at a friend’s house planning to stay a night before returning and to see Anne for dinner and rowdy hotel room sex. We sat at the bar of some overrated steakhouse chain. As excited as I was to see Anne, I couldn’t help, or apparently hide, my distraction with the bartender taking care of us. She was a twenty-something, long haired, black Irish work of art. Piercing, cold blue eyes. Thin, toned body with an absolutely spectacular ass. As we were working on our second bottle of wine, Anne called me out for staring somewhat excessively at our attendant nymph. Pleasantly though, she seemed more amused than annoyed or offended.

As it turned out, I’d also come with a surprise for her that evening. She’d been telling me for a few months how worn out and unmotivated she felt at her job. As the thought of spending even one day trying to corral recalcitrant 8th graders and make them say words about the Grapes of Wrath makes my teeth itch, I was feeling sympathetic. To lift her spirits a bit, I’d booked the weekend at a bungalow joint on Big Corn Island off the coast of Nicaragua. I’d first visited the place with an ex about five years previously. And I absolutely fell in love with it. The property contains about half a dozen stilted, wooden bungalows with some impressive stone and coral work inside. Big Corn Island is actually quite tiny and refreshingly devoid of 12 story shoebox resort towers and the universally annoying atmosphere of an overgrown Cheesecake Factory they project. Anyway, I’d come to dinner planning on surprising her with a weekend on the beach in the Caribbean. When I told her, she jumped up and hugged me. I was a bit relieved as I hadn’t been entirely sure how she would react.

Our bartender (who I’ve decided to call Abbie) had been attentive and maybe a little flirty with me but I hadn’t thought much of because that’s how attractive bartenders make money. She came over and asked what the occasion was as Anne was beaming and we had just clinked wine glasses. Anne replied that we were going to the Caribbean “to get stoned on the beach and watch the sunset.” As I said before, Abbie had already been a bit flirty and edgy in the conversation. I think she’d figured out we weren’t married and that Anne didn’t seem to be jealous of how she interacted with me. Nevertheless, it did catch me off guard when she responded in toneless deadpan: “Who do I have to blow to a get a tropical vacation?” Anne, tipsy and giddy, ribbed me with her elbow and and said in what I took to be her best Michael Scott: “Apparently this guy.” We laughed. I was starting to feel a little embarrassed. Then an awkward silence transpired. Abbie seemed to be lingering next to us idly polishing a wine glass. One notable personality trait peculiar to Anne is that she likes to push people a bit when she’s tipsy. She enjoys dares and getting a rise out of people. So I suppose it wasn’t entirely uncharacteristic when she broke the silence to ask Abbie: “Why not? He’ll buy you a ticket. He can spare it.” I said not a word. I was intrigued but also fairly certain this was going to end with the three of us laughing at how adorably edgy we all were. Abbie put down the wine glass and turned to me. “Tell me about the place.”

I described it with details I imagined would pique the curiosity of a 25 year old (good weed, excellent sunsets for the Instagram, the Italian who runs the place is a pretty bomb ass chef and will cook you an outstanding lobster dinner). She bit her lip for a moment and then shrugged. “If you’re buying, I’m in.” At this point Anne commandeered the conversation and told her that if she was serious, I’d buy her a plane ticket on the spot. She told me to get out my phone and start searching. It’s actually kind of a hassle to get to Corn Island. You have to fly to Managua and then catch a 45 minute pond hopper to the island’s tiny air strip. So it’s actually two tickets to buy with different carriers. I asked Abbie if she had a passport and was really sure. She didn’t flinch. So I booked her on the same 3:30 AM out of DFW. I said I’d book the second leg later. She put her number in my phone and asked me to text her the details and what to bring. We settled up the tab and shook hands. I called an Uber outside expecting Anne to join me at my hotel. She kissed me passionately and while grabbing my dick through my jeans, whispered in my ear: “Wait till Saturday.” Then she called her own car and left. An hour later at the hotel my phone chimed with a text from Anne promising me the wait would be worth it and that I better not rub one out in the meantime.

I booked the Corn Island flight for Abbie and texted her the info. About an hour later she responded with a picture of her in nothing but black thong. The picture also confirmed my suspicion that her nipples were pierced and that her long sleeve work shirt concealed some ink. The next 54 hours passed like frozen molasses. I tried to concentrate on work but I was as productive as a colorblind kid with a Rubik’s Cube. Rather than driving back and forth to Austin, I had elected to stay in Dallas. By mid afternoon I was perusing Reddit for threesome tips and etiquette. I’d only experienced one before and we were all too drunk and it just ended up being me, sweaty and not entirely hard, trying to keep up with ever changing and shouted demands of this Colombian I’d just met while her friend drunkenly snored on the bed next to us. Not this time. This time I would be prepared. Weeks later, Saturday morning finally fucking arrived. We met at the airport and agreed to try to sleep on the flight to Managua so we wouldn’t be thoroughly useless when we arrived. We had just enough time in Managua to make the transfer and 45 minutes later we were strolling out onto the shimmering tarmac on Big Corn Island. As I was collecting the rental, it occurred to me that I hadn’t changed the bungalow booking with Marco. And if it had, I’m not sure what I would have done anyway. It was going to look a little shady in any case. When we arrived, he looked a little surprised when two women got out of the car with me but just winked and shrugged.

Anne went to make a call in the bungalow. Abbie walked a few minutes on the beach taking pictures. It was about 2:00 in the afternoon. I stepped out to the tiendita for ice, wine, and Nicaragua’s outstanding Flor de Cana rum. I set up glasses and ice on a cabinet and said I was going for a shower. As I was getting my hair wet, I heard the door open and close. Abbie joined me in the shower. As we kissed I started running my hands up and down her toned body. She had small breasts but that’s necessarily a detractor for me. Her skin felt amazing in the rush of the hot water. She bent over and started going down on me but I had to put the kibosh on that idea after about 10 seconds lest I sideline myself at the critical hour. Anne came into the bathroom and told me to make us some drinks in a coy, bossy tone she adopts when she’s horny.

While I toweled off she got in the shower and started kissing Abbie. Outside I mixed three Cuba libres pouring about four ounces of rum into my own because I was nervous. The ladies came out of the shower in towels and we knocked glasses. While I slugged my drink, Anne when over to the bed and laid down on her side. In the same commanding tone she announced: “Threesomes work best when we take turns focusing on one person’s needs.” Apparently she’d had more experience in this department than I. Abbie dropped her towel and walked over towards the bed. I followed suit. Standing by the bed, we kissed. Anne sat up and started caressing my thighs and occasionally my scrotum while fingering herself with her other hand. Moments later Abbie passed over Anne and laid down next her. I was about to join them when Anne picked her phone up off the nightstand and opened the clock app. She set an hour on the clock and told me not to cum for an hour.

I got down onto the bed next to them and started fingering Anne with my right hand. With six years of experience, I know exactly what she likes. She’s a rare breed in that she climaxes easily from penetration. When she felt ready I lifted her legs and entered her kneeling (a position that usually gets the trick done). Starting slow, I gradually worked up to steady pace of firm thrusts while Abbie laid next to her caressing her nipples and playing with her hair. In a few minutes she was moaning and scrunching her face up in a way she does right before she cums. During her first climax I just gripped her legs and maintained pressure. When she started to relax, I resumed thrusting now climbing top and holding her arms above her head. We worked up to two additional climaxes at which point she said she was done for a while. I started kissing Abbie and began touching each other. Anne got up and rolled a joint and stood by the window watching us. I felt the need to the pressure off my dick for a bit so I got on top of Abbie and started kissing my way down her body. With plenty of time on the clock and the rum just starting to kick in, I thought I’d try to make her cum by going down on her and giving me just one things focus on. When I reached my destination and began working with my tongue, she started arching her back and grabbing my hair. I don’t claim to have any kind of elite expertise in this area but I enjoy it and I enjoy making a woman feel good. She was also good with instruction (not everyone is comfortable in that department) and told me when to speed up and slow down. After a few minutes she started to tense and told me not to change anything. I thought she was going to pull a sizable chunk of my hair out at one point but then said: “Fuck.. fuck… shit.” And relaxed.

She raised my head by the chin and told me she’s extremely sensitive right after oral. I got up to my knees and she began stroking my dick. Anne offered me a drink and a hit from the joint. Then Abbie rolled over and told me to fuck her doggy style. I obliged and checked the clock. 24 minutes remained. After another 10 minutes of fucking her at varying paces while Anne caressed my back and ran her fingers through my hair (something I’m a known sucker for), Abbie rolled over and said she had was in a good spot. I stood up to stretch my knees a bit. Abbie took over the joint from Anne and they both sprawled on their backs on the bed. As I sipped my drink, Anne check the clock and asked me coyly: “What are you going to do for 12 minutes, Sparky?” Feeling the rum and the weed hitting at a nice, manageable pace, I felt confident this was a scenario where I could do pretty much whatever occurred to me. Abbie was still lying on her back staring seductively at me. I got on top of her straddling her at the chest. I ran the tip of my dick along the curve of her lips. I told her open her mouth. Then I asked her to show me how much of my dick she could fit in her mouth. She slid her lips down my shaft to about 70% and backed off. Cupping her chin my left hand, started pushing my dick slowly into her mouth up to the same depth. And then I would mentally count off 10 seconds. Being stoned this repetition felt almost musical. I became aware of Anne’s hand running up and down my back. Losing myself in the process, I forgot the clock for a while until Anne rolled over and showed me just a minute remaining. I began to move my dick back forth in Abbie’s mouth more rapidly. In a few moments I started to feel that static buzz of heat deep in my groin, that moment when you haven’t cum yet but it’s now inevitable. I grabbed the headboard and let out an uncontrollable grunt while releasing the strongest orgasm I’ll probably ever have. When it was over, Anne leaned over and whispered to Abbie: “Don’t swallow.” While I sat back to enjoy the afterglow, Abbie sat up and leaned over Anne, looked at me, and then kissed her. I’ve often had fantasies about sexy things women could with cum but I have to confess that in all my previous experiences, my interest dries up the moment I cum. But in that moment I felt still really aroused. I knew my dick was out of commission for half an hour but the arousal was still there. After they kissed some seconds, Anne sat up and let the cum dribble out of her mouth onto her fantastic tits. I laid back on a pillow and she straddled me and proceeded to gently go down on me, doing most of the work with her tongue. I started feeling hard again after a while. Anne asked Abbie to take over while she sprawled beside me. After a few more minutes, I felt like I could cum but that I’d probably need to be at the reins. I asked Abbie to lie down and I knelt over her. One her more interesting tattoos was a sextant about the size of a coffee saucer about midway between her navel and sternum. For some reason, I found myself fixating on the sextant, the way it moved as she breathed. I came hard a second time. Less volume but surprising in intensity. Snapping out of the trance, I realized I was pretty sweaty. It’s the tropics and my grandparents were all Irish. What can you do? I got up from the bed and slipped on my board shorts and suggested we take a dip in the ocean. In the cool water, I settled into the most remarkable, mellow body high. Marco and his girlfriend came out with bottled beer and ceviche. The water on the horizon matched the color of the sky and one flowed into the other seamlessly. The world’s still full of beautiful places to explore and beautiful women to meet but I strongly doubt I’ll top that afternoon.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/l2imqz/mff_ive_peaked_and_its_all_downhill_from_here