Out Of Reach
The knock at the door got me jumping off the bed in seconds. I ran down the stairs, excited to see her. My eyes lit up as I saw her. My new vibrator was just as I had imagined, a petite wee thing, exactly like her profile. I escorted her upstairs to my room. Things escalated quickly and before I knew it, we were lubed up and ready to go. We started off slowly and sensually. She slowly caressed my body as she made her way downstairs. She had me excited, like none of her friends before her. When she hovered over my clit, she had me shaking. She continued moving down and gently slid inside.
I reached my climax like a bullet leaving a gun; fast and powerful. It was electrifying. The world had paused for a solid 5 minutes. After it was all done and dusted I realised what had happened. I had fucked up. We were too caught up in the moment. She was stuck!
To make matters worse, she was still vibrating inside of me. My brand new bullet vibrator was beyond reach, with no means of getting her out. I went into panic mode. How was I going to get her out of me? I ran into my flatmates room and told her what had happened.
She looked at me in shock and offered to fish her out. As much as my bi-side wanted to give in to her, I politely declined, as I have higher standards than my flatmate. She offered to take me to the hospital if I needed.
I couldn’t bear the thought of it as I had previously gotten myself into a similar situation. Instead of a raunchy alone time, it was an encounter with an ex-boyfriend and a tampon which we didn’t know was there. That was traumatising enough let alone having a doctor pull out a vibrating bullet, so I decided to sort this out myself.
I’ll spare you the details, but let's just say ol' mate was reborn into the world.
A UniCol Man
This was back in O-Week first year. I remember living at my hall far, far away. I loaded up Grindr and saw heaps of blokes – fellow freshers and older geezers alike.
There was one bloke that caught my attention. He was wearing a suit, in a mirror selfie. Surely. We started yarning, starting with a “Hey, how’s it going?” He was a fellow health sci who went to Mardi Gras sober. Then a few pictures later I went on a trek to his hall: University College.
I wasn’t a UniColite though, and security was tight. Fortunately for me, he gave me his wristband, and found himself amongst the faces printed on paper. From there, we went up the elevator to his room on seventh floor.
I sat on his bed, while foreplay chat commenced. “Where abouts are you from?” “Only bottomed haha, what about you?”
And then we got started. He was freshly showered, with his cut seven-inch cock being warm, and clean with a spongy tip as big as a round doorknob. We sucked each other, with me gagging as he thrusted himself against my mouth.
He had condoms, but no lube. I had condoms, but no lube. No biggie. I laid on my back with my feet held high as he inserted his fingers. He made sure to use as much mucus from his throat as he could and hacked his saliva with precision.
He condomed up his shaft, and inserted the girthy and pulsating cock inside me, I could feel my hole stretching as his tip slid through, forming a seal for the rest of his shaft. But it has been a while. The combination of inadequate lube and my neo-virgin asshole started screaming.
“Ahh, pull it out!” I exclaimed. It was too much, for tonight at least, leaving him blueballed. I did try my best to use my mouth on him, sliding, using my tongue, wrapping my lips against my teeth, sucking his scrotum with the vacuum of space etc, but to no avail. He couldn’t nut, so we called it a night, and cuddled.
At around 8am next morning, we awoke to our morning woodies. A pleasant sign that it was time for round 1.5.
This time, my hole was already stretched out. And with the power of his saliva, he thrusted me hard and fast, like the Government’s COVID-19 elimination strategy (oh wait nvm haha). He had me pinned down, with my legs up high. I could feel his tip rub against my prostate, making me hard. My hole securely fastened around the base of his tip, preventing its unexpected exit.
It didn’t even take five minutes. Once he was ready, he pulled out of me, ripped off his condom, and guzzled onto my chest and abdomen like a hose. A few drops went all the way up to my nipples, while the rest of my stomach was covered in numerous spots that formed a puddle of cum, which was unfortunately out of reach for my mouth.
A Sinking Feeling
I’d always wanted to try car sex. I’m not sure if it was the added excitement of the risk of getting caught, or just jealousy of friends who always bragged about their automobile exploits, but it always seemed like something that was worth giving a try. I had been going out with this girl for about a month, and we still hadn't done the deed. We discussed where we should have our first time. A park? A library toilet? The front row of a movie theatre? Eventually we settled on plain old car sex.
The next afternoon she picked me up in her blue Daihatsu and we drove out of town in search of a beach. It was a mid-winter 4pm, so it wasn’t far off getting dark. Driving onto the sand we could only see about a half-dozen surfers and old people walking dogs. Perfect! We climbed into the back seat, and she started attending to my shirt and belt, but all I could think about was what would happen if one of the old folk mistook our car for theirs. I told her I wanted to wait a few more minutes, just until it got a little darker.
It wasn’t long before the windows were properly fogged, and so we got to work. Seeing as it was our first time together I knew it had to make a good first impression, after all there’s nothing sexy about a guy who’s done and dusted after 90 seconds. Unfortunately, or perhaps I ought to say, luckily for me she knew exactly what she was doing, so all I could do was try to take my mind to the least sexy place possible for the next twenty minutes or so. In that instant I could only think of one thing that wasn’t sexy: The National Party.
I focused on that big blue ’N’ for such a long time, but eventually those thoughts gave way to John Key’s ponytail pulling and before long I was back to thinking about the ponytail that was swinging right in front of me. I knew it had been roughly enough time and that she wouldn’t be too disappointed, so I relaxed... And I relaxed... And I relaxed… NOTHING.
We changed positions. We put the front seat all the way down and moved onto it. We climbed into the boot. We tried both lying across the back seats. Nothing. By this point I could see she was getting worried and perhaps a little offended. We had been going at it for at least an hour. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing. I’m good.” I panted. I knew it was time to finish up, after all she had done a stellar job, and as far as I could tell I had returned the favour. I was about to complete “La Petite Mort” as the French might put it, when she suggested a change of position. Fuck. One hour 20 minutes in, and I was in trouble.
The new position actually turned out the be just what the doctor ordered, or at least what more doctors should be ordering, and I was immensely relived to know that my ordeal/heavenly excursion was soon to come back to Earth. That was when she said “Should we check the tide?” All I could do at this point was grunt so I grunted in the negative, and kept on going.
The question of the tide, however, went nowhere. Soon I was fixating on the story of the idiotic backpackers who lost their camper to the surf when they went for an extended walk along the beach during an incoming tide. I remembered the explaining they had to do. The tow trucks. The court appearance. I gave up all hope of finishing as we neared the two-hour mark. “Yeah okay, we should probably check the tide.”
We separated, and she slowly pushed open the door. I breathed a sigh of relief. But before I could finish even the sigh, the footwell was filled with salty sandy water. She pulled the door shut and jumped into the drivers seat. I tried getting into the front passenger seat but it took me a minute as it was still leant all the way back. We reversed up the beach with the engine roaring, and drove straight into the loose sand - the stuff that NOBODY can drive on. Now that it was high tide there was a lot less available beach to drive on. What’s more, all the windows were fogged up, we were both stark naked and full of adrenaline. I grabbed my favourite undies and did my best to wipe the fog off the windscreen, while she redlined the engine and moved the steering column left to right trying to get free of the natural sand-trap. The poor Daihatsu lurched sideways as the tyres found some more solid sand, and we were off.
We got stuck two more times on our way off of the beach. It turns out that sand dunes look pretty different at night when you’re naked and disappointed while driving a car with fogged up windows and salt-water paddling pools in the footwells. It was a real mission just finding where the gap in the dunes was that allowed us to drive in.
It was a good 24 hours before my adrenaline levels returned to normal, and I still have the images of the news headlines etched into my mind. Juvenile Fornicators Stuck in Surf or Young Lovers Discover Cars aren’t Submarines amongst some of the possibilities.
If you want to try car sex, just find a nice quiet car park like a normal person. You’ll probably have a much better time for it.