Sex

Cowgirl up

 This is another Match.com adventure.

My date was a gentleman. He came and picked me up at my home. Score! We’re starting off the evening well. He met my roomie. He passed that test. This guy actually looked likes his pictures from his profile. Hooray! Finally someone who hasn’t posted pictures that were three years old.

We are walking to his two door sporty vehicle. It wasn’t a sissy car. Honestly, it kind of reminded me of the batmobile. Val Kilmer batmobile, not Michael Keaton batmobile.

My date opens the door for me (chivalry is still alive and well), and on the passenger seat is a single red rose. Aww… How sweet.

I turn around, before stepping into the batmobile and give him a serious look. I then inform him, just in case he was thinking it. “The rose does not mean you’re getting laid.”

His response, “it’s just a rose.”

I think, uh huh. You think you’re slick don’t you? This isn’t my first time around the block batman. You better have some new tools on that utility belt.

We go to a well known lounge, in a 4 star hotel across from the most popular park in the downtown area. Martinis are ordered at the bar (whoever invented the martini glass must of had a cruel sense of humor, drinking and talking can be hazardous with a martini glass). Small talk, common interests are spoken of. We are getting to know one another.

A few drinks, I’m pretty far gone. Oops! Darn you martinis!

Somehow we ended up in the suburbs. Meaning my recollection of after martinis is sparse. We pull up in a driveway. He informs me he’s in the process of trying to sell his home. A tour is given to me of the home. It’s nicely furnished.

After the tour, he makes me another drink…

We sit down in his bonus room. He has a projector, so we decide to watch a movie. His choice. That choice was of all things, that’s right you guessed it. Batman Forever.

I’m tipsy, so I’m cuddled quite close to his body. Well I might have been almost laying on him. What’s a couple of inches between consenting adults? As the movie progresses, we are both laying down, my back is to his front.

His hands start wandering, we begin to make out. In between great kissing, while major make out session is progressing, he pauses and asks a question. “Do you know what would make this even better?” I shake my head no, because I want to get back to it. He says if we went out to the jacuzzi. I think, hell yes!

So, a trail of clothes leads to the back door. It’s like breadcrumbs. Anyone could find us due to the trail. Apparently the jacuzzi is already on so we slip in. We are both clothing deprived. This is my first sexual experience in a jacuzzi. As I’m straddling and kissing him, I hear very strange sounds coming from a neighbor’s yard.

He pauses, and says there’s no need to be alarmed. There’s a peacock farm behind is house. The noises are due to the mating season. All he hears constantly is well, you can use your imagination as to what mating peacocks sound like. This is one of the main reasons his home is on the market.

Shocker, I know. Peacock farm behind your house. It’s every realtors dream!

Its was fucking amazing, sex in a jacuzzi. I think that between the bubbles and peacocks it couldn’t have been any better. Peacocks have never been the same for me ever again.

We walk into his bedroom. By the way, his bed is not a bed. It’s a futon. The rest of his home is beautiful, tastefully decorated and then I saw the futon.

What the hell? Are we still in college? Are we going to eat ramen noodles too?

Round two, three, and four occur. Exhaustion has now set in, sleep needs to happen. I wake up to a doorbell. Three times, then silence. I nudge him. I’m wondering if he’s expecting anyone. He tells me no, no one.

I notice one particular part of his anatomy is very much awake. I roll over on top of him and take advantage of his body. As climax is fast approaching, his bedroom door opens…

No, my readers this is not a dream. This really happened. The door opened and three people walk right on in to the bedroom with a futon that is currently occupied by two nude people engaging in let’s call it morning exercise.

The people are a realtor, and the happy couple who are considering buying his house. The three rings at the door was fair warning before entering. In other words, stop all sexual activity. At least hide in a closet. But no, I’m saving a horse and riding a cowboy in front of their very eyes.

Can anyone say exhibition?

As I think back on this moment, I have to wonder. Didn’t they notice the clothing trail? Hear noises similar to, but not exactly like the mating peacocks.

After the initial shock of the three individuals has worn off, words are spoken. My date informs them while still nude and underneath me that he thought they weren’t arriving until one o’clock.

The realtor informed him something came up. She tried to call, but couldn’t reach him. Hence the three rings at the door. The couple has now moved into the hallway. It’s a little late to give us privacy now! But whatever.

She apologizes, informs him it won’t happen again. She turns around, finishes the tour, and leaves with the traumatized couple in tow. Does that increase or decrease the value of a home? Sex and a peacock farm? I’ll let you make up your own minds.

Quote from Batman Forever, the Riddler played by Jim Carrey to Two Face played by Tommy Lee Jones: “Your entrance was good, his was better. The difference, showmanship.”

© southerngabunny

15 thoughts on “Cowgirl up

  1. Every time I almost got walked in on during sex, it never happened. Lucky me. Some close calls, but it was always my sister-in-law. I can’t remember how many times. It was more than one, maybe three.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s