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Asked
to share their favorite, fondest, and most cherished (sex-related)
holiday experiences, my readers sent in so many uplifting,
deeply moving, Chicken-Soup-for-the-Pervert’s-Soul
stories that I couldn’t possibly fit them all into one column.
Last week’s column was devoted to Christmas and Hanukkah stories;
this week I’m giving over the column to my readers’ favorite,
fondest, and most cherished (sex-related) New Year’s Eve experiences.
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I’m not going to provide too many identifying details here,
lest we get in trouble, but my best holiday sex story happened
last New Year’s Eve. My boyfriend and I go to college together,
but we’re from different parts of the country. I went out
to visit him over New Year’s last year. One of his parents
works at a high school in his hometown, so he stole the keys
to the school while his folks weren’t looking and we broke
into the gym an hour or so before the clock struck midnight.
We were in the middle of fucking like crazy on the weight
machines (somewhat gross, but we were horny) when we heard
footsteps upstairs. We finished fast and dashed out of the
door just before midnight.
We went around the front of the building to get the car, looked
through the school window, and saw the high-school guidance
counselor in his office. We were sad for him because he didn’t
have anyone to kiss when the clock struck midnight. Just then,
the whole sky over the city turned crimson with New Year’s
fireworks as the snow fell all around us, and we realized
how lucky we were to have each other. I know it’s schmaltzy,
but I fell in love with him right there. That was the best
holiday night of my life. I got to have that thrilling almost-
getting-caught sex the same night I fell in love. Now isn’t
that special?
—Your
Biggest Fan
I’m
a straight guy. I had been dating a nice straight girl for
a few months when she asked me to share my deepest, darkest
fantasy with her. I had always fantasized about being peed
on by a girl—by a nice girl, not a professional—and I made
the mistake of telling her as much. It took much pleading
on my part for her to keep seeing me, much less pee on me.
Fast-forward three months to New Year’s Eve, Chicago, 2001.
My girlfriend’s best friend and her best friend’s girlfriend—two
hot, hot, hot lesbians—were visiting from California. After
ringing in the New Year at Berlin, our favorite bar, we ended
up back at our apartment. My girlfriend’s best lesbian friend—let’s
call her Susan—broke out some pot. We got high, and the conversation
turned to weird sex stories. Out of nowhere (it was the drugs,
she says now), my girlfriend—drunk and high—points at me and
says, “He wants me to pee on him!” I turned red, my girlfriend
laughed, and then Susan—God bless her freaky, lesbo heart—said,
“It’s no big deal. It’s just pee. You should piss on him if
that’s what he wants. Hell, we should all piss on him.”
And that’s exactly what happened. All three of them pissed
on me, which somehow wasn’t as erotic as it sounds—we had
all had too much drink, and way too much pot—but it broke
the ice. Now my girlfriend pees on me all the time. Thanks,
Susan.
—Pissed
on New Year’s Eve
It
was about six years ago, and I was still engaged to my now
ex-fiancée. We went out to one of the lamer top 40 dance clubs
in the city on New Year’s Eve.
To make a long story pleasant, we noticed that the entire
second-floor bar area was closed to the public. So, we wandered
up and (I want you to bear in mind that this is still a very
crowded bar) proceeded to have some of the best sex, public
or otherwise, I’ve ever had. The best part of this was being
thrown out of the bar for it after we were finished. At least
they had the decency to wait for us to be done.
At my ex-fiancée’s wedding to another guy, the emcee asked
if anyone had an embarrassing tale to share about the bride.
The look she gave me . . . now that was scary.
—Still
Not Absolutely Positive Public Erotic Romps Suck
Seven
years ago I was a student in London. I was seriously broke
and I wanted to be in Paris on New Year’s Eve, so my parents
sent me enough money for a plane ticket and a hotel. At a
gay bar I met some nice, flirty French guys. As I was a broke
student, they insisted on buying me drinks. At the third or
fourth bar, we ran into another “American” boy, a pretty kid
who was actually from Toronto (not America, of course, but
close enough for the French guys). He was a high-school senior—18
years old, I swear!—in Paris with his parents. Like me, the
Canadian boy was broke. So the French guys, who all agreed
that the only thing sexier than kissing American boys was
watching American boys kiss, bought us both drinks on the
condition that we kiss—full-on, open-mouthed, two-minute spit-swappers—for
each round. I didn’t know if he was attracted to me, he didn’t
know if I was attracted to him, so the kissing was hesitant
and kind of sweet.
We wound up walking all over Paris after saying goodbye to
the French guys. We watched the sun come up sitting in the
courtyard of the Louvre, with a view of the Eiffel Tower and
the Arc de Triomphe. Kind of makes you sick, doesn’t it? We
didn’t have sex that night, so this may not qualify as an
awesome holiday sex story. But we had sex eventually—back
in the states, four months later, after a long, passionate
correspondence. Now do you really want to puke? We’re getting
married next summer.
—An
American in London and Paris —and Now Toronto
On
New Year’s Eve, 1999, my husband and I stayed home and split
a couple of lobsters and a bottle or two of champagne. At
about 11:30 we went upstairs to bed and listened to the festivities
in Times Square on the radio while we fucked languidly. As
it approached midnight, the action intensified and he was
soon fucking me Slav style (ankles next to my ears) in the
ass. His thrusts intensified as the countdown began. Ten,
nine, eight, seven, six—I reached down to rub my clit—five,
four, three, two, one! We both came simultaneously at the
precise stroke of midnight, screaming into the year 2000.
—Some
Sign Off Here
Well,
that seems like a fitting end to Savage Love’s 2003. I look
forward to serving all your advice/kink/fetish/stress needs
in 2004. And while I want to wish everyone a happy New Year,
I want to send very special New Year’s wishes to Alan and
the rest of the London-based United Airlines crew on the Chicago-London
route. See you in Soho, guys.
mail@savagelove.net
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