Birthday Bonking Part Deux

Ah the joy of Mondays! (Said no one ever) Don’t worry Lovers, Monday is shit no matter whether you’re single, coupled up or living a little too closely with your trio of cats. But not to worry my sexy smurfettes! (and Mr smurfs to any brave enough to read) I have the tail end of the birthday bonk to get too! If it doesn’t give you a giggle, it’s sure to make you thankful you haven’t had such an experience yourself lately (or have you?)

Alrightey then!

Freshly flushed, I walked quickly out of the bathrooms, taking a wide berth of Ol’ Spewy McVomitson, who was still sobbing in the corner with her very good, but now very stained and smelly best friend.

I gave her such a wide berth that the door suddenly shifted places and I found myself face to face with a very inhospitable brick wall. And so it was that I bumped into my sex man again, dazed, possibly concussed and with quite the impressive graze covering a large part of my forehead.

Apparently my boy liked his ladies a little confused, as he sidled up to me almost as soon as I was upright again.

“Hi there,” he drawled.

“Sup.” I replied, not trusting myself with more than one syllable.

“Having a good night?” he asked, a slow grin spreading across his features like a cheshire cat. A sexy cheshire cat. A sexy cheshire cat who was going to make me purr whether he liked it or not.

Good god! What were these thoughts? How many Masturbating Butterflies was too many? (Don’t worry I’ll include the recipe at the bottom so you can make them at home. Or just ask your bartender and watch as they try and wrap their head around it.)

I decided to throw caution to the wind and answered him with “I am now. Would you like to come home with me?”

I watched as the cheeky smile turned into a smoulder. Just to be sure though I added, ” You know, to have sex… With me.”

That seemed to do the trick, as we were up and out of the club before I could say screaming orgasm. Luckily Amy was the saintliest of all friends and gave me the privacy of the apartment for an hour. We walked hand in hand towards home, stopping in at a local 7/11 on the way.

“I just gotta get some smokes.” he said simperingly. Urgh, I thought, I didn’t know he was a smoker. Then again, I didn’t know his name, age or specific gender, so who was I to judge? On the plus side, while he bought his nasty cigarettes, I put my newly discovered twenty cents to good use and purchased a Redskin. If I had known that would be the highlight of the night I would have dropped him and run back to the club right there and then. Sadly hindsight is a beautiful thing, and only shows it’s bloody annoying head the next morning when you’re already thoroughly fucked.

And so I got him back to the apartment. I do recall us swapping names at some point on the walk home, but my Redskin was proving to be much more fascinating than him so it may have slipped my mind as soon as he said it. I like to remember him as simply, Sydney Boy. Or SB for short. As SB and I entered the room it was suddenly on for young and old. (Literally, as it turned out he was only eighteen. Whoops…)

I ripped off his shirt as he peeled of my dress. I smelt the faint waft of regurgitated cocktail rise up to meet me as the bottom of my dress passed by my nose, but I just had to hope he thought it was the room and not me.

I pushed him onto the bed  and set about finding exactly where that dragon tattoo went. He grabbed my hair and yanked me up to his mouth where we shared our first impassioned kiss. Thank god he could kiss! I silently chastised myself for not doing proper research at the club but soon forgot my faux-pas as we went into downtown territory.

He dived first, as a gentleman should. As usual though I wasn’t very enthused. It’s just boring! If I ever find a man who can get me excited about having him dine downstairs I will never let him go. Hell, I’ll invite him in for the five course degustation. But until then, the only excitement I get out of the ol cunnilingus is getting a very detailed look at the ceiling. You really can get lost in counting tiles you know.

Eventually I dragged him back up to me and I slid down to reciprocate the favour. I slowly traced around his Ren and Stimpy boxers (Seriously? Are you eighteen or eight dude?) and slipped my finger into his waistband. Then, with mounting excitement, I unwrapped my birthday present.

Happy fucking birthday, my ass. He actually probably could have done me up the ass and I wouldn’t have felt it. Why God why? Have I been a bad girl this year? No wait, that’s Santa. Argh! Death to the maker and his penchant for small penises! I held back a whimper of disappointment as I saw what I’d be working with. My god, it could have been a garnish on my last cocktail it was so tiny!

I sat back for a moment and gave myself a pep talk. I had been given the gift of sex on my birthday, and now I must accept it. There is no such thing as a refund policy when they are lying sprawled in front of you, legs akimbo, tackle wobbling around in  the air conditioning breeze.

This was going to happen, and by god I was going to make it good!

“Have you got any… protection?” I asked quietly. He looked at me blankly. I sighed and headed for my bag. It wasn’t his fault, his class probably hadn’t learnt about condoms in school yet.

I grabbed a condom out and started rolling it on. For some reason though it wasn’t going on as smoothly as usual. It was as if there was no lube on it. Very strange. I finally got it on but something looked wrong. It was incredibly tight around his penis, and I could see his veins at the base start to bulge. For a moment I entertained the idea of leaving it on and seeing if the swelling would make it any bigger, but that was just cruel.

With a snap I flicked it off and examined it for a moment. That’s when it dawned on me.

In bar-tending, as in many hospitality or food based jobs, there are special gloves your use when you cut your finger. You put a band-aid over the cut, and then you place what is essentially just the finger of a latex glove over the top of your finger to keep the plaster dry and in place.

I had just tried to put a finger condom on SB’s penis. And it had almost fit.

Seriously Santa what the hell did I do this year? Gah!

I hunted around in my bag for a real condom and popped that on him, noticing the significant amount of wriggle room he had in it. With a sigh I laid back and let him do his best. My heart just wasn’t in it anymore. I made the noises and the faces and tried not to fart when he unexpectedly slapped my ass, but there was nothing more I could really do. I mean what would you do if someone was essentially fingering you with a baby carrot for the better part of twenty minutes?

Neither of us came. (Suprise suprise) and when he eventually rolled off I felt nothing but relief. I watched sleepily as he got dressed, Ren and Stimpy finally back where they belonged, hidden from sight.

“Thanks babe.” he said

“Uh huh.” I mumbled, barely conscious.

“I’m heading back to the club, you coming?”

“Um no. It’s five o’clock and they shut in an hour so I’m good. You go though.” Please, please go, I thought to myself. Take your massive ego and your tiny penis and find a lovely older lady who will teach you how to actually use the gherkin.

As he walked out the door and I faded into a drunken coma, my last thought was, I wonder if we’re doing ham or chicken for Christmas this year?

Hope you enjoyed Lovers! Plenty more where that came from! Oh and as promised, the Masturbating Butterfly recipe!

Masturbating Butterfly
20ml Absolut Vodka
20ml Midori Melon Liqueur
20ml Jagermeister Herbal Liqueur
20ml Sprite
20ml sweet and sour mix
Pour Midori, Absolut, and sour mix into a glass on the rocks. Splash with Sprite. With a spoon turned scoop side down, float your shot of Jagermeister on top.

Try it at home! Mmmm delish!

Till next time my gorgeous peeps!

Claire xx

Pick up line of the week: Do you believe in love at first sight? Or should I walk past again?

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