Picture this: I was living on a remote hotel on a far-off Greek island for a month. This sounds like Mamma Mia, but it’s not fiction. This island wasn’t Mykonos or Santorini, not one of the ones you’ll see in post-cards. It was visited mostly by Greeks–and the other Americans on the program that I, too, had signed up for.
This was the last week of the program. By then, everyone who was going to hook up with someone else already had, and I had not. Plus, I had a roommate, so was feeling very, uh, unsatisfied, in that I had no privacy.
I think all of those factors combined in me feeling much braver than usual. Braver to decide what I wanted, and then actually go after it. Usually, I waited for guys to approach me. Not that night.
It was a Friday, which meant the hotel’s restaurant was crowded enough that they had to hire some other locals to help out. One of them was this man, Giannis (which means John in Greek). He worked as a waiter, and later joined the band as a guitarist.
He was older than I was by almost a decade, and I was instantly drawn to him. It’s not that he was extremely good looking. He wasn’t. He was appealing, though, with a full beard, and a solid body. It’s more that he was new. We hadn’t seen someone outside of our group in days. And there he was.
So I started, first, with a game. I made sure that everywhere he went, my eyes were on him. I wanted him to know that I was looking at him. That he was on my mind. Then, I made sure to stay up.
In Greece, dinners last forever. it’s not unusual for a restaurant to stay open until 1 or 2 in morning. I decided not to retreat to my room as I had, other nights. Instead I waited until dessert was served to every last table, I waited for the band to wind down and start playing acoustic songs. I waited until there was just a small group of us left, gathered under the same table.
I pulled out the open seat next to him and sat down. All of us late-nighters were all squished together in this long rectangular table. The tablecloth hung low enough that my hands were free to roam as they pleased. There was only one thing to do next: Make contact.
Underneath the table, I brushed my right hand against his left knee. He didn’t acknowledge my hand, so I immediately moved it back to my own lap. I think I got timid for a second—I’d never actually seduced anyone outright, or made the first move. But then I placed my hand back on his knee, so he knew that it was deliberate. He got the message, as I’d hoped. He started running his fingers down my leg.
We hadn’t spoken a word to each other, but we were already on the same page.
His fingers explored my hand, first, turning it up and down and over. Our fingers intertwined briefly, but he was restless. His hand moved to other parts of my body. It was summer, so there was a lot on display to explore. Around the table, everyone else was distracted by the guitar player, and I was distracted by his hands stroking my leg to the rhythm. They started to move off my hand and toward my thigh.
I knew, then, that it was time to take this little dance to the next level. For the next two minutes, I tried to come up with a line that could casually express what I wanted from him, without being TOO forward. Then I remembered: It was a full moon that night, and the view was perfect off the veranda.
“I’m going to look at the moon,” I said, getting up from the table. I hoped he would get the message to follow me.
The minute I spent waiting for him seemed to last forever. Was I imagining things? Or did he really want me, too? Then, I heard footsteps and turned around. It was him. We both stood at the edge of the porch and stared at the moon over the sea.
“Let’s go down there,” I said, pointing to the cliff down by the sea. “It’ll be more quiet.”
He followed me down the moonlit stairs.
From there, what we wanted from each other was definite and obvious. We came together like our bodies were magnets. His kiss was hungry, a searching tongue. I was taken aback by how passionate he was. Clearly, his desire had been slowly building over the course of the night.
“You were driving me crazy,” he said, pulling away from my face. His hands were in my hair.
“You noticed?” I asked, smiling.
“Of course,” he said. His English was just good enough to exchange a few sentences—and that’s all we needed.
We kept making out by the sea, dangerously close to the road. Luckily the island was so quiet there were no cars going by. Not yet. We perched on a gigantic rock with a big view of the sea. The roadside was so dark that people on top of the restaurant couldn’t see us, even as they gathered on the porch.
Things were getting hot and heavy. I loved how much he wanted me. That was even sexier than he was. Just knowing that he was burning up for me.
I wanted to do everything for him. Sometimes I can’t believe what I did next.
I slid down the rock and I got on my knees. Yes, I got on my knees by the side of the road. Unzipped his pants. Took out his hard cock. And started sucking him, right then and there. He moaned and grabbed the back of my head. “But they can see,” he said.
I shrugged. I was leaving the island in two days. If they thought I was a slut, then they were right. I looked up at him. Even in the middle of the night, he could see how much I wanted him–I wanted him to want me. I kept going, making moaning noises. Then a car drove by. Surely, they saw us in the headlights, because they honked. I kept going. And going. I sucked on top of his cock and moved my hand on the base. He shot his load into my mouth and smiled.
Two days later, on my last night, he returned for again , this time for a shorter shift. We made knowing eye contact. I met him in the kitchen during his shift and he kissed me and grabbed my ass from underneath my short summer dress. I told him to meet me later.
When he was done with work, he was just getting started with me. He pressed me up against the wall at the side of the restaurant and we started making out again. I think he was turned on by the idea of other people seeing us–his friends seeing us, like they may have the other night.
That’s the thing: This place was short on privacy. We couldn’t go to my room, because my roommate was already asleep, and I doubted she’d be into a threesome. But my bed came with a fluffy, large blanket that I kicked off every night because it was too hot. I told him to wait as I got the blanket and a condom or two.
Slinging the blanket over my shoulder, I met him and led him out into the wild fields at the back of the hotel. The grass grew in large, dry stalks—not the kind of grass you can lay in, like in the States. The blanket made it bearable, but I still could feel spikes. So that small patch of blanket was like a little raft.
It would do.
I straddled him and started making out with him. Here, it was so quiet you could only hear the chorus of bugs and far-off laughter. And it was so dark that we decided to get naked. Summer in Greece is hot, and so the heat of night is a blanket of its own. I was wrapped up in the warmth of the evening and his skin.
Straddling him, I felt his cock grow beneath me. I reached over and started playing with it, mere inches away from my pussy. I know he wanted to grab me and thrust inside, but he had some self control.
“Do you have a…” He seemed embarrassed, like he couldn’t finish the sentence.
I pulled out the condom, which I had bought in the U.S.—just in case something happened.
He looked shocked by how prepared I was. Guess he thought I was a good girl. Heck, I thought I was a good girl, for a while. Turned out I was not, nor did I want to be.
I let him put the condom on himself and when he was done, immediately lowered myself onto his cock. I hadn’t been fucked in months. And I hadn’t ever been fucked outside, in a field, beneath the stars, being held by an almost stranger who seemed in awe of me. I rode him with all of that inside me. First I went up and down slowly, savoring the feeling of a cock within my pussy, feeling so full. He moved his body in tandem with mine so we were feeding off each other’s momentum, rocking.
Then i started to go faster. The thing was, I wanted to be in control. And I got it. I put my hands on either side of his body and buried my head into his chest. I rode his cock harder and harder.
I wish he could’ve lasted longer. But i get it, given the circumstances. They were hot. A few seconds later, he looked at me and moaned. He came in my pussy.
We put our clothes back on and walked back to the hotel, sweaty and clearly freshly fucked. We kissed and I told him goodbye. I never saw him again—but I think of him a lot.
I left that interaction feeling so empowered. And it was enough to fuel the rest of my adventures abroad that summer. Let’s just say that wasn’t the last time I seduced someone.
Author: xoleni
I was his maid for the evening [MF]
There is one utterly perfect time to talk about sex, and that is after you have it. The walls come down (or, when the sex is especially good, the walls are demolished via wrecking ball). Your bodies are tingly, your minds are sleepy and uninhibited. This is the perfect setting to discuss what it is you really want–what it is you might be too stiff or too scared to say otherwise.
I was in such a state of languid happiness when I told my boyfriend what it was I wanted. I’d been thinking about it for a while. Walking into his apartment, seeing the piles of papers scattered in random places, the bare walls, the residue on his stovetop, the clouded bathroom mirror. It was low-grade bachelor pad mess, but mess nonetheless.
I told him I wanted to clean up his apartment.
Now, you may ask, why is she talking about cleaning in bed? For those of us who genuinely enjoy doing the dishes (yes, we exist), cleaning actually brings us satisfaction.
But there is more to this fantasy, I promise.
I loved to torture my ex by biting his ears [MF]
One of the reasons I love sex is that you can learn *allll* about people in ways you’d never learn otherwise. For example, I had no idea that for some men, biting on their ear can reduce them into actual human puddles, until I started dating my ex.
To be completely transparent, this guy and I only got along *really* well when we were in bed. The chemistry was unparalleled. I’ve never experienced anything like it—the word “lust” in neon. Through sex, we communicated seamlessly. It’s why we hungered for it. Because when it came to words, we *never* understood each other.
Hence, we spent most of our time together naked.
For hours.
My favorite thing to do was, well, torture him. He was borderline submissive so I got to explore my dominant side, even though we never put labels on it. I liked to have him lay out on his stomach. He’d never gotten a professional massage before (a shame bc they are among my favorite activities, second to sex and ice cream), so I’d do my best imitation.
I once came in a public jacuzzi. Don’t blame me, blame the jets [F]26
I’ll preface this story by saying I know it was wrong. I broke the code of what should and shouldn’t be done in public. There was no guy teasing me or telling me what to do. I wasn’t *dared* to maneuver the jacuzzi jet so that it was grazing my clit.
No, I was just horny, pure and simple.
This happened when I was visiting Ireland with a few girlfriends about four years ago. It must’ve been day three of the trip. I’m used to coming once or twice a day, so after three days of no privacy, day *or* night, my horny-meter was quite high. (For some reason, I’ve never been able to come while I shower. Vertical doesn’t work for me. Enter: Whirlpool).
We drove across the country and got to the hotel at the west coast of the country. There was a spa at the hotel, and so naturally, we had to check it out. The place was like…something my Sims would have built if they had the motherlode hack and had endless funds. A *swanky* spa. An emerald green and black color scheme. You walked in and instantly felt rich and steamy at the same time.
He ate me [26F] out in the woods and we almost got caught. [FM]
*Sigh*. Sometimes I like to look back on my wild exploits with my first boyfriend. I’m *super duper* lucky in that my all of my “first” sexual experiences were with someone that I was crazy about, and he was crazy about me. I often think of this foundation as one of the great gifts of my life. He taught me what good, loving sex is. He was athletic, energetic, and blessed with a gorgeous cock. Every sexual experience was defined by play and adventure—well, till the relationship started to fall apart, that is. But when this story took place, things were good.
(And YES, I often fantasize about getting back together with him, or returning to that cocoon of pure adoration and accelerated love. I thought those qualities would be part of all future relationships—turns out it’s specific to 17 and first love, hahaa).
One thing my ex and I had in common was a ridiculously high sex drive. We just *loved* having sex and wanted to do it everywhere, even though we had nowhere to go while living at home. This led to many a hookup in cars, parks, and even the beach. Public sex was almost par for the course. If we were out somewhere, we were going to fuck.
I [26F] fucked the waiter from my hotel on a Greek island…in a field & by the side of the road. [MF]
Picture this: I was living on a remote hotel on a far-off Greek island for a month. This sounds like *Mamma Mia*, but it’s not fiction. This island wasn’t Mykonos or Santorini, not one of the ones you’ll see in post-cards. It was visited mostly by Greeks–and the other Americans on the program that I, too, had signed up for.
This was the last week of the program. By then, everyone who was going to hook up with someone else already had, and I had *not*. Plus, I had a roommate, so was feeling very, uh, *unsatisfied,* in that I had no privacy.
I think all of those factors combined in me feeling much braver than usual. Braver to decide what I wanted, and then actually go after it. Usually, I waited for guys to approach me. Not that night.
It was a Friday, which meant the hotel’s restaurant was crowded enough that they had to hire some other locals to help out. One of them was this man, Giannis (which means John in Greek). He worked as a waiter, and later joined the band as a guitarist.
I fucked a hotel cleaner while staying at a luxury resort. He snuck us into the most expensive suite. [MF]
I knew the second I caught his eye, I had him. Not to brag—but I knew I looked good that night, in a crop top and a tight skirt that clung to my body. He kept staring at me as he set up for the event that night. He was working, and I was a guest at the old resort for two nights.
There was no real need for me to be dressed up, either, perfume and jewelry and all. It was the middle of January, off season, and I was, far and away, one of the youngest people in the entire building.
So maybe the fact that I was the only girl within a mile helped me stand out, and that’s why I caught his eye.
But I don’t think so. I think he caught my eye, and I caught his, because we wanted each other. Rather, knew what exactly what we wanted from each other.
He set up for the event—a lecture—and then sat down. Instead of the watching the powerpoint, I was watching him. He had the kind of face you’d see on magazines in the ’90s. He was the boy next door, a few years after he got older and moved off the street. He had brown hair and boyish charm, but with an edge. He knew I was watching, because we made eye contact twice. Both times, I looked away nonchalantly.
I [26F] fucked a guy [28M] in an Airbnb while listening to another couple fucking in the room next door. VERY loudly. [MF]
Confession: Hearing other people have sex has never turned me on much. In college, when my roommates were getting action and I wasn’t, I’d glower a bit with jealousy (in addition to being happy for them). And I’m always terrified, a bit, of hearing someone fuck that I’d rather not hear fuck. Something about it feels like an invasion of privacy to me.
Then again, I’d never been in a situation like *this* before.
Over the summer, I briefly dated a guy who began as my COVID “pen pal.” After meeting on an app, we texted nonstop since March, and finally met in August. We had instant chemistry, and I mean *instant*. Tim was adooorable and had long-ish hair that he’d grown out during the pandemic (a total turn-on of mine). He was four inches taller than me (rare, considering my height) and not extremely fit, but active—my ideal. I appreciate the chiseled male form but I tend to prefer someone who will eat ice cream with me and laze around. (But power to ya if you have a super chiseled body!)
i [26F] came three times during an erotic massage with an “orgasm doctor” [MF]
Before I get into this, let me say: This is a big secret of mine. Let me also say: I think it’s something all women should do if they have a chance. Because honestly? This was a life-changing experience.
Back in 2018, I read about this guy in Manhattan whose side hobby is giving erotic massages to women. He has a very special set of skills, so to speak. He’s been written up allll over the internet.
Naturally, I was curious. Massages with a surprise ending have always been a huge fantasy of mine—whenever I used to get a normal massage, I’d hope the masseuse’s hands would somehow drift toward my warm and pulsing regions. But it never happened.
So I kept thinking about this mysterious man—especially as my long-term relationship was declining rapidly. My ex and I were *not* compatible in the bedroom. He had a fairly low sex drive; I’m like the energizer bunny. Plus, he didn’t give me an orgasm for the first three months we started dating, and after that, was extremely sporadic. It’d come down to me begging for him to put in effort and touch me.
can’t stop reliving my [26F] last hookup with a [33M] before quarantine [MF]
I’ve been in quarantine for months. That entire time, I’ve been turning over the same memories before I go to sleep. The memory of my last hookup. This night turned out to be a gift to myself: My raw lips, the day after. My sore pussy. My body, warm from being held the whole night through.
These memories are the gift.
It was just supposed to be a second date. We were meeting at a bar. But the second i saw him there, wearing a puffy jacket and smiling at me, I knew it would be more than a second date. You know when you meet someone, and you’re pretty sure there’s a weather pattern happening in your chest, when you’re around them? Like you can’t control what’s happening but you know not to worry, it’s completely natural? Yeah, it was that.
Even talking to him was futile. I couldn’t form a sentence. I was so distracted by him—his half smile, his smell, his deep voice that touched the core of me, that silenced me.
Guess he was distracted by me, too, because 10 minutes in—not even—when we were standing by the bar, he stopped talking. And in that pause, he leaned in and kissed me.