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 ft 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....
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 fnished 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 offce. 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 freworks 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?
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 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 — pointed at me and said, "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.
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 fnished. 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.
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 might 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.
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 intensifed and he was soon fucking me Slav style (ankles next to my ears) in the ass. His thrusts intensifed as the countdown began. 10-9-8-7-6 — I reached down to rub my clit — 5-4-3-2-1! We both came simultaneously at the precise stroke of midnight, screaming into the year 2000.
Well, that seems like a ftting end to Savage Love's 2003. I look forward to serving all your advice/kink/fetish/stress needs in 2004.