After eating like pigs and getting drunk like Vikings, the boys and girls decided to go to bed, well, the ones that not were already on coma on the beach chairs anyway.
I’d been checking one guy that was at the party, a friend of a friend of another friend, meaning we didn’t know each other at all. I had crossed ways with him each time we went to the kitchen for more wine.
Anyway, the few couples at the party had already taken by assault the few rooms and there was only one room with not a lot of comfort or privacy. He was there in the living, as sober as me, so there wasn’t the excuse “I did it because I was drunk” all the contrary. We talk about all and nothing and soon we ended talking about pornography, a topic that I know, modestly talking of course. He asked me why I liked this or that and it was starting to get cold. We went to the room and we sat down to share the last cheers of the night, “For the pleasure of meeting a girl that knows more than me about sex”. I started laughing… and told him it wasn’t true and that I was giving him the chance to prove me wrong. And then it all started.
I must admit that there isn’t anything I like the most that laying there on the bed – or standing up against a wall, or laying on my side or any way imaginable and have a man that knows how to do things. Call me lazy, call me passive, call me boring, but I like men who takes command of my body without instructing me to be a vamp or a tigress on bed.
Why are the best men in my life the ones that I won’t ever see again? Now that I think about it, I don’t remember his name; I think he never told me. Bah! It doesn’t matter now!