[F]ucking my dirty old Airbnb host

Back in October I was in another city for a wedding, renting a really cool Airbnb out in one of the suburbs. It was a little bungalow, and the owner lived in another house next door. I met him when, embarrassingly, I couldn’t find the key to get in. It wasn’t super late, but I still felt shitty calling a dude at 9:30pm on a Thursday because I’m an idiot.

The man who walked over looked extremely good for a late-fifty something, and generously laughed at my expense — the key was hidden in a planter on the side of the house, not on the porch, like I thought. I pointed out that the instructions must of been poorly written.

We were off to a great start!

He helped me with my bags, gave me a quick tour of the house, pointing out the amenities (washer/dryer, newly installed Nest, TV, wifi password), the best of which was a fully stocked wine fridge.

“Help yourself to whatever you want.”

“What would you recommend?”

He grabbed a red.

“Mind if I stay for a glass? It’s one of my favorites.”

[F]ucking my favorite bartender

There’s this bar in my neighborhood that I like either starting or ending my night at. It’s not a dive or really high class — it’s just a cool bar with really awesome bartenders. I’ve become pretty friendly with some of the regulars and bartenders, and while it’s one of my favorite places for a convenient hookup, I usually keep it “professional” with the bartenders and the guys I see there all the time.

And I think we can tell where this is going.

Dean is my favorite bartender. 6’2, handsome, scruffy beard, tatted up from head to toe. He’s 29 and in an on-again, off-again relationship with a girl named Bethany. She loves a rugged guy as much as I do, obviously, but she hates a bartender’s hours/lifestyle.

Anyway, it was 9ish on a Thursday. Dean had been feeding me high-octane vodka sodas for the past 2 hours. He asked if I wanted to check out with him since he was getting off soon. I said yes, and of course, the bill was about half of what it should be. Then he asked me if I was done for the night or if I wanted to have a drink with him at a bar down the street. This was not unusual — I’ve hung out with the bartenders before, but usually as a group. Again I said yes. The drinking continued.

[FM] The Sunday Funday Shit Show

So after a few months of getting to know the right people, I’ve made my way into the circle of glamorous “Lean Inners” at work. They’re all a bit older than me (late-twenties, early-thirties), beautiful, put-together, and serious career-women. Yes, I wanted their friendship. Yes, I wanted their advice. But most of all, I wanted to be invited to their weekly brunches. Holy shit, do these women brunch HARD. The food looks heavenly, the cocktails look bomb, and dear god do they have some good-looking friends.

After a few brunches, the dynamic became pretty clear: my new lady-friends were kind of prudish and the boys were all friend-zoned and thirsty as fuck. I quickly established myself as The Fun One: always ordering another round and sending everyone home a bit less put-together than when they arrived. The boys were flirty, but no one made any moves until a few weeks ago.

It was the first warm weekend this spring, so instead of going out for brunch, we went to Jack’s house to enjoy his wonderful patio. Everyone brought food and enough booze to drown a country club. All the usual players were there, but everyone was a bit looser with the liquor since we weren’t in public. By 1pm, everyone was pretty drunk on their way to smashed. A bunch of other people started to show up and by 3pm, it was a full-on Sunday Funday shit show.

[F] How this bitch got her groove back!

God, it’s been a while guys! Sorry, I got sidetracked by a man and didn’t have many lonely nights/mornings/lunch breaks to drunkenly hop into the Way-Back Machine and exercise some creative masturbation :p Won’t make that mistake for a while!

Anyway, we broke up in November. It came as quite a shock to me, so I coped the only way I know how: by drinking and fucking a lot. To get the gonewildstories-kinks out, I just wanted to give a shout out to some of the wonderful men who screwed me back into my right mind.

~The First~

The first Friday back in Singledom, I barely remember. But I do remember the Business Bro. Tall, toned arms, slick hair but a forgettable face. GREAT ass. I like to think he came at me pretty hard, but I think it was the other way around. He CAME hard, though — twice that night/early morning. The Whiskey Dick was treating him well and he plowed me into sweet oblivion. 6/10.

~Stuffed Like a Turkey~

A quickie ’bout a quickie (22F/18M)

I’m trying to get over some writer’s block… I miss y’all! So I thought it’d help to write up something quick and dirty.

We matched on Tinder. He had just gotten back into town for spring break. He’s way younger than I usually go for — which is to say he was younger than me. 18. A Freshman. I’m not even sure I fucked freshman when I was a freshman. But he was good in chat, tall and fit — a soccer player clearly putting his college athletic center to work. His hair was short and neat. His face was shadowed by uniform stubble. I’d say he was approaching dark and handsome, like he was preparing to say good-bye to his awkward teen years. I say “preparing to” because in person, it was clear that he still had a little growing up to do. He said he was of Persian-descent and had strict parents; growing up, he didn’t talk to girls that much. So it wasn’t a surprise when well into our first date the Friday he got into town, he put his v-card on the table.

And I happily took it.

Fuck me, I’m Irish! (F/M)

Because I’m a stupid girl that just can’t let college go, I burned some vacation days to make St. Patrick’s Day a 5 day weekend (we’ll call it my spring break). I planned to meet up with this guy I’ve been seeing off Tinder for some morning drinking that would become day drinking that would finally evolve into regular drinking.

Well, we made it. We started drinking at 10 am and stumbled back to Chris’s apartment to cool down before the night’s events after the parade around 2 pm. Chris lives with a roommate and his GF in a pretty cool apartment on the outskirts of an entertainment district in town — prime location for some St. Patrick’s shenanigans. All four of us were standing on the balcony, blasting music and (slowly) drinking some Guinness.

After a bit, Chris’s roommate slumped in a patio chair, about to pass out. His GF was able to cajole him inside for a nap, promising we’d see them in a few hours to hit the bars.

Then it was just Chris and I, alone on the balcony.

“Entertaining” Businessmen in Room 1032 (F/M/M)

I arrived at the hotel late Thursday evening – maybe 10 pm. The wedding wasn’t ‘til Saturday, but I always like to have a free day in a new town to explore a bit and maybe find some trouble (nothing more freeing than being where nobody knows your name haha). I wobbled into the lobby, a bit tired and a bit (a lot?) drunk. I went to the airport straight from work, so I flew looking fine af haha – a classy midi dress with a white lacey top, sporting a sweetheart neckline (my tits looked great), and a tight blue, floral skirt (plus 4 inch heels) – which meant free drinks ahoy.

I checked in and head to the elevator where I stood waiting with 5 drunk businessmen. It took them a while to notice me standing there. Eventually they glanced behind themselves, then the glances became full-on eye-fucking. I heard the groans of approval that only drunk men utter in public.

“Looks like the entertainment’s arrived,” someone said. They all chuckled. I gave an exaggerated wink.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” one of the older men said.

“Hey yourself, handsome.” He beamed.

Crushed-velvet, crushed pussy: holiday party trouble (f/m)

Company holiday parties are a clichéd, sexual minefield… which is why I didn’t get into trouble ‘til the after party ;)

A bunch of us rolled up to a karaoke bar after the main event on the Thursday the week before Christmas – the younger employees; the single folk; the don’t-stop-until-close partiers. I was in a green, crushed-velvet skater dress, tights, and gold heels. Of course, my thick brown hair was curled and my lips were a bright red – all in all, a more conservative look for a company event.

As some of us were talking, one of the older guys brought me a drink. He’s in his mid-to-late forties, tall and broad (maybe 6’2), with that touch-of-gray hair that I always fall for. He’s still in a suit, albeit, the tie is loosened. Still handsome, but in a weathered way. I know he’s a coworker, but in my drunken state, I struggle to place him. I sipped my drink as we chatted – mostly about what we like to drink and what we do outside of work.

“I do yoga a few times a week,” I said.

“I can tell.” He winked.

My neighbor has loud sex. So I have loud sex with my neighbor. (F/M)

This is a long one haha (sorry not sorry :p). Hope you make it ;)

The dude who lives below me loves to have extremely loud sex. At least once a week, I’ll pass by his door on the way up to my apartment and get overwhelmed by the sounds of women in the midst of (what I assume is) the best sex of their lives. At first I thought it was just a woman, alone, enjoying herself far too much. But then after a few months, I realized it was always a different woman – always making the noises one makes when they are being fucked exceedingly hard.

So I got curious. I’d start to linger whenever I heard. Sometimes I’d hear them outside, through an open window and I sit for a while wondering just what the fuck that man was doing in there.

Finally it happened. I was coming home tipsy from a late-ish happy hour (maybe ‘round midnight). He was leaving, locking his door. I stopped, and I had to ask. “Are you the dude having loud sex all the time?”

I (f)ucked Vin Diesel’s Mini-Me

It all started with being asked out IN PERSON for the first time in a long time.

I walked up to the Starbucks counter and ordered a double espresso. I heard a gruff voice behind me: "I think I'm in love." I turned around somewhat surprised, and was eye-to-eye with this bald, broad, jacked-as-hell dude. He winked at me with this cocky smirk on his face. I giggled.

"Any woman who orders an espresso at a Starbucks is my kind of lady. Can I buy that for you?" I'm not one to turn down a free drink. I said sure, but whispered in his ear, "And my kind of man tips well." He laughed and paid and we chatted and waited.

He's definitely not my type. I like a buff boy, but I like 'em taller than me usually. He was maybe 5'6, so without heels I'd be just a bit shorter than him. Plus he had a boisterous, obnoxious alpha male-aire to him that i don't usually go for. Still, he was extremely in to me and polite (plus ruggedly handsome, older, fit, and GOD he had huge arms…), so I didn't say no when he asked me out.