We’re continuously looking for ways to change things up between the sheets, but occasionally we get distracted by the latest sex craze and overlook the basics. Leading our men out of the bedroom and into the public eye is a vintage practice, and whether we’re checking off a number on our bucket list or we get caught up in the moment, there’s no doubting that both parties in the situation are expecting more than just the average hook up. We’re leaving the sheets at home and taking our vibrators on the road, but are our expectations too high?
Expectation: We Won’t Get Caught
Expectation: We’re browsing the local record store when an employee catches our eye. He’s an old boyfriend from high school and has since lost the braces and Bieber hair. After he helps us pick out a not-so-rare Neil Diamond album, he convinces us to hang around while he closes the store. There are no other customers and the parking lot is deserted when we finally end up strolling toward his car. After some brief amateur foreplay in the driver’s seat, we crawl into his over-sized back seat. It’s dark and we think his windows might be tinted. We aren’t worried about anyone catching us as we lift our blouse over our shoulders and toss it at the windshield.
Reality: He’s not nearly as sweet as he was in high school, and hasn’t significantly improved his pleasuring skills. Maybe his car was already parked at the perfect angel across from one of the store’s outdoor security cameras, or maybe he moved his car while we were fumbling around the jazz section waiting for him to close up shop. Either way, our private tryst became a public viewing session for all his coworkers the next day. Most likely he brought popcorn and uploaded the video to some revenge porn website.
Expectation: We’ve been chatting him up at the bar all night, and it’s getting close to leaving time. He looks a bit like Jude Law and we’ve been watching The Holiday on repeat lately. Our friend drove us and she’s adamant about going straight home, leaving no chance for some alone time with our new friend. So we seductively invite him into the bathroom and manage to slip away from the group unseen. There’s no way anyone saw our cat-like maneuver through the men’s bathroom door. A few minutes pass as we’re tonguing a guy who can only be Jude Law’s long lost brother, and we think the coast is clear. We let our panties drop.
Reality: The bouncers saw us the second we walked into the wrong bathroom. They stalled any action to remove us to benefit their own perverted anticipation of catching us in the act. Their ability to open a bathroom stall door from the outside is flawless and well-practiced. We have no time to get our panties back on, and they’re grinning ear-to-ear as they escort us from the premises.
Expectation: It’ll Be Romantic
Expectation: We’re strolling hand in hand with him on the beach, and the full moon spotlights the ideal location to take a break. We sit on his lap and he wraps his arms around us to block the night’s cool breeze. He’s sweet, brushing our hair away from our face before he kisses us. As our clothes come off we lay them in the sand, attempting to generate a makeshift blanket before making sweet, sweet love beneath the stars.
Reality: He has sand in his mouth, so now we have sand in our mouth. He was smart enough to be on top, so now we’ll find sand in our ass crack for the next three days. The wind blew, and sand got stuck to the warming lubricant on the condom. We now feel like we’re having sex with a sandpaper cock.
Expectation: It’s our last night on vacation with our guy, and we’re spending it in the hot tub with a bottle of wine. He’s been lightly grazing our thigh with the tips of his fingers, hidden from view by the vibrant bubbles. One by one the pool empties until finally, we’re alone with him. We rip his bathing suit down, exposing his hardness for us to sit on.
Reality: As he’s pushing himself inside of us, he’s also pushing scorching hot water up our cooch, unnaturally expanding our insides. The pleasure is quickly lost, and as we walk back to the hotel room to finish things off, warm water is endlessly pouring down our legs creating the sensation that we’re peeing ourselves.
Expectation: It’ll Be Hot
Expectation: After a long dinner, we take a stroll with our date around the restaurant’s neighborhood. As we flirt with the idea of going home with him, we spot an empty alley across the street and quickly change the plan. No one’s around, so we take him by the hand and lead him in that direction. He has us pinned against the cool brick wall, pressing us harder against his body with each kiss. We grab at his buckle and he lifts up our dress.
Reality: A group of teenagers walks by. They don’t see us, but suddenly he’s shy. His nerves cause poor blood circulation to the area most needed, leaving us unsatisfied and him with a bruised ego.
Expectation: We’re wine tasting and starting to feel a little tipsy. He suggests a walk around the vineyard, and we quickly lose ourselves in the maze of vines. There’s no controlling it, and one kiss turns into a fuck session among the fallen grapes.
Reality: There’s no time for foreplay, and while the mental foreplay of the day was exciting it’s not enough to get us over the edge. He’s done quickly, and we head home with dried-up grapes stuck to our thighs and purple stains on our panties.