West Point and a Strip Club

As I talked about in my last post, 2016 is off to a bang. Granted, I was an hour into sleep when the clock struck midnight, but I was gearing up for girl’s night.

On January 1, while everyone was recovering from their hangovers, I was chatting up a 19 year old at 8am. As I mentioned before, I started telling everyone that I am not only attached, but married. West Point (WP) wanted a reason to dislike my husband; he asked if he was a drug dealer, abusive (mentally and/or physically), or anything that would make him my savior.

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We don't all need saving.

I nicely told him I didn’t need a knight in shining armor, but if he wanted to perceive me as a damsel in distress because that makes me more attractive..go for it.

I had planned a girl’s night with friends I play and officiate sports with–three of the best ladies a gal could talk to. During our first round of drinks, we caught each other up with our lives. By round three, I was asked for an explanation of why I say my oral skills are the best. I have never seen such excited and intrigued faces from my obviously scientific instructions. Maybe I’m the only one that’s actually googled “what makes most men happy during a blow job?” because they never thought to spend a fair amount of time with the head or licking the underside of the cock, or acknowledging that there are indeed balls. So, after failed hand motions, I drew a diagram that one of my girlfriends took with her for “research.”

While finishing up drinks at our first stop, I asked if I could invite WP to the next bar. They encouraged it–they were impressed with my game and skill, and wanted to meet my type of side man. The fact that I have a 19 year old wanting to meet up with me was just icing on the cake. WP showed up an hour into drinking, and when he saw me, he literally picked me and my fat self up in a bear hug. This 6’4 tall, blonde haired, green eyes behind glasses child would not take his hand off my thigh.

For whatever reason, one of the women in our party decided the idea of going to the strip club at 1:30 was a good idea.

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Why yes, I would like to go!

I was like, sold!, let’s go West Point! I led him to my car where he decided to recreate the famous scene after the end of WWII; he held my lower back as he dipped me back and kissed me. After he put me back on my feet, I told him to get in the car so he can have a female entourage at the strip club, because I’m not one to encourage making out in super cold outdoor weather. Once at the strip club, WP had the time of his life. Collectively, my girlfriends and I decided that this had to be the time of his life; we tipped a dancer for a dance for him, and he was in heaven. By the time they kicked us out, my three friends decided to go home, and WP and I were debating over a hotel. With my frugal mind, I decided to just park my car in a lot near the strip club. We talked a bit before I made a move on him; I pulled him to my driver seat to be on top of me as I put one of his hands under my shirt.

West Point was not thoroughly experienced, he admitted he hadn’t had luck on tinder, but he had been with someone. When I finally went to give him head, even though he made the noises I’m accustomed to, he was nowhere near an actual orgasm. His penis was average; 5 inches and average girth. Nothing exciting, but it wasn’t going to feel like nothing. My jaw finally hurt from giving head, and so I stopped. WP leaned over me again and undid my pants to put his hand down my panties, searching for my clit. I had to push his hand away a couple times before finally telling him that I wanted to fuck him. I adjusted his seat and rode him until he came.

After I got him and I cleaned up as best I could, West Point wanted to have a connection. Meaningful conversation. I know that feeling, and I completely agreed. I told him everything he wanted to know and then some; what I did for work, my favorite concert, what I bet on, and other random things. The windows of my car were fogged up beyond belief, and I sat there drawing on the windows as he let me ramble on. I took WP back to his car where he kissed me again in an almost dramatic way. I told him to tell me when he got home, which would be over an hour from then.

Now, I said I would be safe. I sadly fucked up in this instance. I didn’t have a condom and he didn’t bring one. While I immediately was tested the next available day for stds (totally clean), I want to point out the flaw in what happened. When he was close to finishing, he wanted me to stop because he was scared he’d get me pregnant. Firstly, I’m on bad ass birth control, and secondly, the pull out method is not any sort of sure fire way of pregnancy prevention.

Lesson learned: Just have back up condoms. Always.

Sincerely,

The Daring Vagina

6 thoughts on “West Point and a Strip Club

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