| Here's a chapter from my upcoming book series. I'm not publicizing or anything, just understand that this is written in novel form, so it's more of a story than it is a field report. Enjoy!
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January 8th, 2014 ; Ukraine
My mind lags from the aftermath of a week-long party. I’ve got to give credit to the Ukrainians; they sure know how to celebrate the holidays. Last year—broke like a bum—I sat around my apartment with my thumb up my ass. Depressed and bored, I nearly pulled out my hair from the madness of cabin fever. This year, with a nice fat bankroll, I managed to do a hell of a lot better. The first day of my holiday break was undoubtedly the best—my Christmas party.
But let me back up for a second. Actually, there were two Christmas parties. Mine, and the American English Center office Christmas party, which was held on the Sunday before our final work week before the holidays. Pretty stupid, I thought. To have the party before we went on break. And it was also pretty stupid to have the party on a night when we’d have to work the following day. But hey—nobody ever listens to Fox, right?
And of course, just as I expected, the party was totally lame. First off, the coordinators totally fucked up the logistics. Two bottles of whiskey and two bottles of champagne for a party with 25 people? “This isn’t going to be enough,” I declared immediately upon arrival, to which my supervisor countered with unrealistic optimism, “It should be enough!” Yeah right. Good job. Oh, but there were bushels of fruit that nobody ate and boxes of cold, disgusting pizza. But at least the sandwiches were pretty good!
Due to the nature of the alcohol situation, it wasn’t long before we ran dry. Nobody ever listens to Fox. I assembled a group to venture out on a quest to obtain more. The recon unit consisted of me, Mike, Oksana, Anya, and Tim. (There are two Anya’s that work with me. One is the director; the other is a teacher. Teacher-Anya is the one I’m talking about here)
Mike was my room-mate. A man in his thirties whose features are permanently locked into a stern poker-face. He’s got your back in a fight, but never really has much to say. His reserved demeanor and reluctance to divulge any specific details regarding his past suggest he has skeletons in his closet. A dark past. Nevertheless, I tried to treat him as my friend. In most situations, Mike seems content to hover around in the background, observing how people interact to report his conclusions later.
Oksana was a relatively new tutor at the school. She’s a hot blonde with a sexy figure and a pretty face. I’d say her face doesn’t quite match up the Ukrainian Super-model standard… more like a “girl-next-door” type. Still, she can manage to look incredibly hot when she tries, and can easily give most American girls a run for their money. And that night, she was looking pretty hot.
Somehow, Oksana and I paired up, and Anya and Tim paired up. Mike loomed in the background.
Tim was the new guy. He’d only been there a week and had already asked Anya out on a date, which I found to be rather presumptuous. I would have scoped out the situation just a little longer before diving in there, but whatever. That’s just me.
See, Anya had had the hots for me for quite a while. It was obvious. At work, every day she kissed me lightly on the lips and gave me a tight, prolonged hug. She timed her smoke-breaks to catch me outside, and when we smoked together she stared at me like a schoolgirl with a crush. Half the time she never even said anything; she’d just smile and sway from side to side—staring at my eyes. She’s cute… not bad… maybe even above average (by American standards)…
So why haven’t I made a move on her? Well, first off—she’s my co-worker. If I fucked her, I’d have to see her every day at work. Awkward at best. Ugly and unpleasant at worst. And then there’s point #2: She’s got a kid. They frighten me, and I had no intention of becoming a stand-in dad. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to hook up with Anya, but the potential repercussions had to be taken into consideration. So, even though she practically threw herself at me, I decided not to go for it. At least… not right away.
I decided that there’s a universal loophole for situations like these—the office Christmas party. You can hook up with a coworker at the Christmas party, write it off as drunken holiday loneliness, and no one will judge you for it. So, that’s when I planned to make my move.
That’s when Tim entered the picture—a week before the Christmas party. I first caught wind of him through Anya, my director. “Look out Steve! You have some competition!” Apparently Tim was tall and handsome. But I wasn’t concerned; Besides my friend Danny Mack, I have yet to meet my match when it comes to mackin’.
To make a long story short, Tim wasted no time asking Anya out. Considering Anya was hanging all over me merely a few days before… and considering Anya went out of her way to “slip” the news of her date to me, I conjectured that she must have been trying to make me jealous—to stir me into action. To get me to make a move. I suppose you could say it worked… a little.
It got me to thinking, ‘It looks like she wants to fuck somebody… and if she –does- in fact want to get down and dirty, then she should get nasty with me. Not the new guy.’
So with that reasoning, I took her out the day after her date with Tim. Tim took her ice-skating and to dinner. Naturally, he paid for everything. I told her straight up, “I’m not paying for you.” I took her tube-sledding and also to dinner. I also invited Sasha—one of my students who was pretty and had undeniable sex appeal. She brought a hot friend, Albina, whose tits a gradually noticed more and more as the night went on. Of course, I couldn’t notice them until dinner—after everyone’s heavy winter coats came off.
There was one other Ukrainian bloke there, a friend of Sasha’s. I don’t remember his name, which is suiting because he may have been one of the most unremarkable chaps I’ve ever met. He sat there and added literally nothing to the conversation. Three girls, two guys, and he didn’t even try talking to the girl right next to him—Albina, who I’d do a lot of things to get the chance to feel her tits.
Yup. So I had to pull all the weight. Nothing new there. But, I’d say I passed with flying colors; I had the girls laughing well enough throughout the duration of the night.
On the ride home with Anya, I made my move. Making out on the bus, we were like a couple of school kids. “Did Tim kiss you?” I asked in between smooching.
“I kissed him on the cheek,” Anya replied with a chuckle. I smiled in smug satisfaction at her response. I got further, and I didn’t even have to pay her way.
We got off at my stop, and she walked me up to the entrance of Materik (the supermarket / mall next to my flat). I forget where she was even heading… the opposite direction, I think. I suppose she was trying to be a proper gentleman—walking me home to make sure I got there safely. More likely, though, she was merely trying to prolong our face time. And even more likely than that, she was probably expecting me to invite her up. Maybe I should have, but I didn’t want to violate the laws of the loop-hole. We made out for another minute or so before I pulled away and said goodbye.
‘I’ve got this in the bag’, I thought as I walked to my flat. Call it a jinx. Call it a rule of thumb. Call it what you will. When it comes to sex, nothing is ever guaranteed.
Fast forward to the AEC Christmas party, where I thought I’d be hooking up with Anya. Things weren’t going as planned. I made the mistake of talking to Oksana before Anya. Anya saw me flirting with Oksana, so she went to flirt with Tim. And so, the four of us remained paired together for the duration of the party, which was lame. Like I said before.
I knew it would be before I walked through the door. See, there are two AEC schools in my city. DP1 and DP2. I work at DP2, and pretty much have the whole school under my thumb. All the students say that I’m the best teacher… a lot of girls (students and coworkers) flirt with me. I receive constant praise left and right.
Then there’s the other school. Don’t get me wrong, there are some cool people there. Like Aaron, who helped me get my job. Then there are the haters, reminiscent of the type of people I found myself at constant odds with in America. Some people are envious. Some people hate people simply because other people like them. Some people are insecure and hate those that are confident and self-assured, because that’s how they wish they could be. But, instead of working to improve themselves, instead they try to tear the confident people down to their level. And to do this, of course—they talk shit.
Now, there is warranted and unwarranted shit-talking.
Warranted shit-talking would be saying how nasty my previous room-mate was—Tomas. Like the time I went into the bathroom and found a green condom covered in shit on top of the toilet. Not in the toilet, on top of it. When I confronted him about it, “Oh yeah…” was all he had to say for himself.
“And it looks like it’s covered in shit… what, were you fucking someone in the ass?” I probed.
“Yeah… we tried…” he admitted, unabashed.
Now, that’s all well and good in my book. As long as you don’t throw the fucking condom on the toilet, seemingly to rub my face in it. And who uses green condoms anyway? Besides prostitutes?
“Prostitute?” I asked him. Because seriously… from the first impression I got from him after speaking to him for a few minutes: He definitely didn’t strike me as a ladies man. In fact, he struck me as the type of guy who convinces himself that he’s gay due to repeated failure with women. My reasoning? I had a party at my apartment when he first became my roomie, and as soon as some girls showed up, he turned into just about the most awkward, stuttering fool I’d ever seen. I listened to some of the stuff he said, and it was like he was trying to be confident and funny… but really the nervousness behind his voice was apparent. And the shit he said left the girls metaphorically scratching their heads, “what?” Anyway, I figured the only way this dude would get pussy in Ukraine was if he paid for it.
“No, it was some bar tramp,” he responded with feigned nonchalance.
Uh-huh. Sure man. You ain’t foolin’ anybody.
A few days later, I connected the dots. He brought a “friend” over—some dude from Czech with long hair and a suit. For some reason, he always wears a suit. A short time later Tomas moved out of my apartment to go live with this guy.
Gay lovers—his bar “tramp”. Yeah. Tomas always gave me a gay vibe. I don’t really care what you do, Tomas, but don’t leave your nasty condoms for me to find.
So I guess I talked shit about Tomas, and rightfully so. And I’m pretty sure he was busy repaying the favor by talking shit about me to the other school. I’m sure he’s not the only one. My “outgoing” personality doesn’t agree with everyone, especially with prudes. Which brings me to another example at that party—a girl named Ksusha, who was a Ukrainian teacher at the other school.
There was a group of people in the kitchen; we were all laughing and joking and swapping stories. We were happy in the kitchen. Things were great in the kitchen.
In the other room, there was a second group of people. These people were not laughing and joking. They were talking boringly and playing English games, as if they were in class. In the background, lame Christmas music played softly.
Whoo-hoo! Par-tay! Pfft. Sorry, but if the conversation at a party is so boring that you have to resort to playing games—you might want to work on your social skills.
Anyway, like I said—things were great in the kitchen. In walks Ksusha from the other room. She interrupted everyone mid-conversation by shouting an announcement: it was her wish that we all go to the other room to play games. I’m guessing that the people in the other room rationalized that their games would be less boring if they reeled in the people who were laughing and having a good time.
We all met her announcement with blank stares and indifference. Ksusha beckoned for us to follow and sauntered off, assuming we were right behind her. We all looked at each other for a second before I said, “I don’t really want to play a game,” to which another guy said, “Yeah… I feel like the fun people are in this room.” We laughed in agreement and resumed our conversation.
A few minutes later Ksusha came back to interrupt us a second time. “Come on guys, let’s go. Let’s go play some games,” she ordered us, as if she thought she were our supervisor.
“What if we don’t want to play games?” I challenged jokingly. She threw me a dirty glance and insisted—yet again—that we all come join the other room. I turned around to roll my eyes and pour myself another drink.
That’s when the other guy from before cracked, “Whooooaa! Party Nazi!!”
The room erupted in laughter, myself bellowing the loudest. Ksusha stormed off, fists clenched in defeat. And the kitchen party resume yet again. Ksusha only came into the kitchen one more time, and that was to get some juice or some shit. After the other chap’s “party Nazi” crack, I’d figure I’d add on to it. “Hey! What’s up, Adolf??” She glared at my coldly, but said nothing. I don’t think she understood my reference.
And I don’t think she knows how to take a joke. Instead she took the whole thing as a personal insult. And even though it was a fellow teacher from her school that cracked the “party Nazi” jab, she still isolated and focused her hatred towards me. She’s a hater, and that’s what haters do. They hate, hate, hate.
Now me? I’m a lover and a joker, and I can laugh at myself and at my own expense. I really can’t understand how haters get so bent out of shape so easily. Oh yeah—insecurity. Being a mental and emotional pussy. This new generation is full of them. Grow some skin for fuck’s sake! If you can’t take a joke at your expense, you’ll never make it in the real world.
Anyway, I didn’t realize just how much she despised me until I tried talking to her later that night. She went off on me in the best English she could—naturally too much of a prude to use curse words. Instead she said that I wasn’t funny and my jokes didn’t make any sense. Then she told me to go find someone else to talk to.
Whoooaa!! Hold on there, cowboy. My jokes don’t make sense? Maybe you’re just not clever enough to understand them. You can say what you want about me, but leave my jokes out of it.
“Are you serious?” I replied in disbelief.
“Yes. Don’t talk to me,” she said with a glare and crossed arms.
“Oooooohhh….kay?” was all I could think of as a reply. I raised my arms in submission—“Whatever”—my final sentiment before concluding that this party officially sucked, and that it was time to bounce.
During a single cigarette break Anya and I shared together earlier in the night, she dropped a hint in the form of a joke. That joke was that I take her home. We even made out for a brief moment at some point in the night. So, after the slightly embarrassing encounter with Ksusha, I figured it was time to seal the deal with Anya.
Fast forward through a half hour of blur, and we (me, Anya, Oksana, Tim, and Mike) were outside discussing taxis. No one seemed to know what the hell was going on, but for some reason it was decided that two taxis were needed. To my dismay, Tim and Anya got into one taxi, and Mike, Oksana and I got into the other.
‘So much for that idea,’ I thought. I also figured they probably wouldn’t do anything. Maybe. Maybe yes… maybe no… maybe sex, I didn’t know. I might have been able to convince Oksana to come back to my place if Mike hadn’t been my room-mate. But alas… Mike and I went home alone together.
We talked about the night over a few more beers, and he reaffirmed my theory that Anya was trying to make me jealous by hanging over Tim. He also didn’t think anything would happen between the two that night.
I vented to Mike. “But if she does fuck him… I don’t want anything to do with her. I mean, he’s been here for two weeks… and how could she be hanging all over me for months, and then go fuck the new guy instead of me when I finally give her the chance? And all to make me jealous?”
Take notes here, ladies. That works when guys do it to girls. And because it works on girls, girls think using the same tactics will work on guys the same way. It doesn’t. It drives us away. We think, “Oh, you want to run off with that guy instead of me? Go ahead.” And if you fuck that other guy, you are transformed in the first guy’s mind from a fresh dish into rotten leftovers. And nobody wants rotten leftovers. So if you want a certain guy—go for that guy, and don’t go out with other guys to try to make him jealous.
Those techniques are mass-media sponsored dating propaganda. They’re bullshit games that are wrong for all parties involved. It’s wrong for you, because you’re not with who you want to be. It’s wrong for the person you’re with, because you’re only using them and aren’t genuinely interested. And it’s wrong for the one you want to be with, because it causes them to resent you. Please, fuck the games. Keep it real.
Anyway, I asked Anya the next day if she did the deed with Tim. “No,” she told me. I didn’t believe her, and at the end of the week during poker with the guys, I asked Tim. Sure enough, he confirmed my suspicions. They banged.
Good for you, Tim. But if Anya thought that I’d still want her after finding out, she must’ve been delusional.
So yeah. The official AEC party officially sucked. Because of this, I decided to throw a party to blow the AEC party out of the water. A week before (American)Christmas, I got on the horn with pretty much everyone I knew. I somewhat worried about what might happen if I had all my sex-prospects in one room. I thought that flirting with one girl would ruin my chances with other chicks.
There was one girl in particular I was reluctant to invite because I had already fucked her, and I was worried she’d cramp my style if I macked on other chicks—Ksusha (one of my students; not the party Nazi). She was blonde, green eyes… beautiful with a beautiful body. A nice handful of titties… a juicy ass worthy of taking a bite out of.
There was only one problem: She had a boyfriend. Naturally, that didn’t stop me, and it didn’t stop her. Apparently, the life of their relationship had withered away. For some undisclosed reason, she was displeased with him. That’s where I came in (no pun intended). I’ve always had a tendency to attract chicks who are unhappy with their relationships.
Anyway, it didn’t take much to seduce her. First date—billiards and lots of making out. Our second date was on her birthday. As a pretext to meet her, I went out and got her a birthday present: a champagne flute that said “Birthday Girl” in pink glitter. We met for lunch so I could give her the present, and then I had to go to work.
At work, she texted me that she was drinking with her girlfriends at Materik (what a coincidence that she chose a café right next to my flat), and asked if I wanted to join her. BAMCIS! There it was.
Her friends left us alone after I showed up. She was a little drunk, but in good spirits. Apparently, her boyfriend neglected to get her a birthday present. I’m guessing this was just what she needed in order to justify the night with me. I won’t go into details, but it was a good night. And subsequent nights with her were great too. She was the first girl I’d been with in four months… since Nika (I don’t count the terrible one night stand I had the night after breaking up with Nika).
I was tempted to ask Ksusha to be my girl, but was reluctant out of consideration of the potential deal-breaker of her cheating on her boyfriend with me. And I was the second guy she cheated on him with. If she did it twice, it’s logical to think she’d do it a third time. I brought the issue up with her, and insisted the right thing to do was for her to break up with her boyfriend, especially if she kept seeing me.
A week or two later I texted her in the hopes of scoring a booty call. She wrote back that she was feeling pretty shitty. Her boyfriend was dead, she said. At first I laughed, thinking that she was using colorful language to say she had broken up with him. “Are you serious?” I asked. She was. She refused to disclose any details, only to say that he died. It didn’t take much to connect the dots myself. She broke up with him; he didn’t take it so well, so he offed himself. How exactly do I feel about the whole thing? I don’t know.
Well, shit. What am I supposed to say to that? “Sorry to hear that, wanna fuck?” Naw… I figured she probably needed some space, so I offered her my condolences and left it at that. I hadn’t seen her since then.
I figured that since most of my students were coming to my party, and afterwards everyone would talk about it, Ksusha would hear about it through the grapevine. She might get butt-hurt if I didn’t invite her, which could potentially ruin my chance of fucking her some more—which I definitely wanted to do. And since a sure thing is a good thing, I decided to invite her last minute, the night before the party.
And the stage was pretty much set. To encourage good attendance, I informed everyone that I’d be cooking a feast: Chicken Alfredo… two full birds… potatoes… honey and sugar caramelized carrots, and cream cheese and mozzarella bell peppers. Mmmmm. I didn’t actually cook it all myself. Once people started arriving, I assigned different tasks to everybody. After enough people poured in to help, I ran out of tasks to give out. One guy, Arsen, insisted that he be allowed to help.
“Ok, fine man. Hold this,” I said as I handed him a utensil that I’d need in a few minutes.
“And what?” he asked, clearly confused.
“Just hold it.” Then I made an announcement to everyone working in the kitchen: If they needed somebody to hold something, Arsen was there man.
>Game tip: Be the one others follow directions from<
Anyway, the turnout of the party was better than expected. At the peak of the party, there must’ve been fifty people in my small two bedroom apartment. I don’t think I prepared enough food. Oh well. The ratio of guys to girls was perfect: slightly more girls than guys. And all but one or two of the girls were hot as fuck. About half of them were students, and the other half were friends I’d known for a while… like Veronika (the tease), Anya, and Sveta.
Not Anya from work… I’m talking about Sveta’s friend Anya, a gorgeous blonde. Fucking Ukraine… all these people have the same names. It makes writing about them very confusing.
Anyway, as soon as Sveta rolled in (while I was cooking) she came to me and started scratching my head and massaging my back. “Aaahhh…” I uttered along with some purring noises.
“I know what you like,” Sveta said loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“Yes you do,” I agreed, attention still devoted towards brewing my special Chicken Alfredo.
Finally, the cooking was finished and I served a few people before announcing that my work was finished. I declared someone else could relieve me of my command; I sought to mingle and drink and smoke… and then eat.
Both my and Mike’s room were open to the party, but my room served as party H.Q., where most people lingered for the night. Mike’s room acted as backup—a place to retreat to for a private word with somebody or to simply have small group time.
The food was pretty good; I could have done better if I had done everything myself. But ain’t nobody got time for that! I’m sure the food scored me some pussy points. Not to brag, but the chicks were all over me that night. I guess they took the lead from Sveta—touching me… hugging me… scratching me… Indeed, it seemed girls had their arms wrapped around me all night. It was an important discovery for the psychology of seduction: Apparently, putting all the girls you want to have sex with in one room is a good idea! Who’d have thought. Instead of them getting pissed off that you’re flirting with other girls (like guys do), they actually get quite aggressive and competitive.
>Game tip: Let other girls see that other girls like you<
One of my students, Tanya—a blonde fitness trainer that sort of looked like an alien—straight up threw me a proposal. “I want you tonight,” she said (or words to those effect).
“Yeah? What about Sasha?” I asked. Not Sasha from the restaurant, with Anya (from work). This Sasha was another student. He (Sasha is a name for both girls and boys) was a big meathead that kind of resembled an ogre. Not to be mean, but no sober girl would call him handsome. But, to his credit he had clearly built his body well enough to compensate.
In class, Tanya and Sasha were always at odds with each other, exchanging quips and intellectual jabs. They did it so much that it reminded me of how school children behave when they have a secret crush on someone. I joked about it every day in class, asking them when their wedding was going to be and singing old children’s ridicules: “Tanya and Sasha, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes love… then comes marriage… then comes a baby in a baby CARRIAGE!!” The other students laughed in amusement while Tanya feigned offense, disguising her flirtation as protest.
Fast forward to the party, and just like I joked—the two of them were sporadically making out like a couple of teenagers in a movie theater. I first spotted them in the corner of the balcony while I smoked a cigarette. “I KNEW IT!” I cackled victoriously at them. They paid no mind to me and kept going at it while I snickered off to the side for the duration of my smoke.
I guess she was doing it in an attempt to make this jealous (ladies, abandon this tactic because it doesn’t work), because shortly after I saw them making out, Tanya cornered me in Mike’s room. She waited until everybody left for my room, then threw her arms around my neck and boldly declared that it was, in fact, me that she truly wanted.
Tanya looked alright… not great because of the alien complexion, but still pretty good. She was really fit, and she struck me as the type of girl that’d be really fun and energetic in bed. But the night was young, and I was pretty sure I could do better, so I dodged her proposal and rejoined everybody else in my room.
And I did do better—with Sasha (not the ogre guy, but the girl from the restaurant, during my “date” with Anya).
But before I hooked up with Sasha, I had to defuse the Ksusha situation. I sat her down in the privacy of Mike’s room early on in the party and asked how she was feeling. We talked for a few minutes, during which she confirmed my suspicions about her boyfriend. He offed himself because she broke up with him, and she broke up with him because she was seeing me. And she was seeing me because he was apparently a shitty boyfriend. Not my fault, I concluded. But, I was still slightly worried that Ksusha would associate his death with me, and not want to see me because of the constant reminder.
I guess my worries were unfounded, because after a few minutes she leaned in and tried to kiss me. I dodged it by turning my head to the side. “What?” she giggled with timid uncertainty.
“I’m confused,” I lied.
“About what?” she pressed.
“About everything… About me… you… your boyfriend… I don’t know. I need to think about it all,” I said. Truthfully, I just wanted to put her on the back-burner while I pursued other pussy prospects.
“Ok,” she submitted. Then she went off to get absorbed into the party while I went around, flirting and mingling with all the girls so no one felt left out.
Psychology lesson: If it seems like a lot of girls like you—other girls will automatically like you too. Girls want what all the other girls want, and don’t want what other girls don’t want. I macked on every girl there with the exception of Anya (from work). I went out of my way to snub her, rubbing her noses in the fact that so many hot chicks had the hots for me. Try to make me jealous? I destroyed her at her own game.
More pussy points: My light show. Everybody stuffed in my room, clapping and cheering while I busted out my moves. The cheering was so loud that I was worried that the neighbors would complain, about that and the loud dance music pumping until 4 o’clock in the morning. They did and my landlord was pissed, but it was all worth it. Let me tell you why.
Like I said, I hooked up with Sasha. There was a group of five or six of us in Mike’s room. Suddenly they formed a consensus to depart the party. My mind struggled to process the news—that I would be losing a pussy prospect—as I gave my goodbye hugs. Sasha was the last to hug me. I embraced her firmly and maintained. “Awww…” she cooed, to which I cooed back.
The others had shuffled out. ‘Now’s my chance,’ I thought as I pulled back from the hug to meet her eyes. The brief sparkle of desire I detected in her green-eyed gaze flashed like a green light. I went for the kiss; she accepted. We kissed for only a few seconds before she reached over and closed the door. BAMCIS!! There it was. I stepped over maintaining eye contact with a mischievous expression as I looked the door—signifying the deal was as good as sealed.
We resumed making out, and I pushed myself into her until we toppled onto the bed, bodies locked together. I was still slightly unsure if it was really going to happen, or if she would pull away with sentiments of “being a good girl”. That, combined with the consideration of time constraints conflicting with “rushing into it” resulted in a moment of uncertainty.
Foreplay? Or jump right on in?
Usually, I try to have a little bit of foreplay to get the juices flowing before diving in there, but in that situation, I figured we didn’t have enough time to fool around. I pulled off her pants and panties, and then my own. She lay there, legs spread… waiting. I cast my head to the side in a brief moment of hesitation. I’m sure we both realized the same thing at the same time. I—being in Mike’s room, and not my own—did not have a condom.
‘Fuck it,’ I thought. And then we were going at it.
“Just don’t come inside me,” she reminded my own mind’s warnings. After only a minute or two—as I on cue—someone started knocking on the door. I slowed down to prevent excessive bed squeaking, but otherwise we both ignored the knocks on the door and kept going. Thankfully, the person knocking decided not to kick the door down and left us in peace for another few minutes.
The performance wasn’t spectacular, but good enough considering the circumstances. After another few minutes, a second round of knocking began. “We should probably stop,” I suggested, then kept going. A minute later, Sasha reiterated my sentiments and pushed me off of her.
“You didn’t come, did you?” she asked.
“Of course not. You don’t come; I don’t come.”—a half-truth, but one she seemed to respectfully accept. I always do my best to make my partner come, but sometimes it just doesn’t happen. And anyone who says it always happens is a liar or gullible—believing fake orgasms to be true.
Anyway, after we got our clothes back on we finally opened the door to take the walk of shame. Of course, there wasn’t any shame for me, because I’m pretty sure I was unable to wipe the “just got laid” grin off my face. Apparently, Sasha wasn’t too ashamed either because she decided to stick around instead of leaving with the others.
The party was at half numbers, but still going full strength. All prominent parties were still present. Ksusha sat dutifully in the kitchen while Sasha, her friend Albina, and I occupied the privacy of my bedroom balcony.
Albina, as mentioned before, had an exquisite rack—one that I thought touching for even a few seconds would make a wonderful Christmas present. I proposed the idea to her earlier in the night to which she sternly refused. I’m not sure what changed there on the balcony… maybe she was feeling a little tipsy… Maybe I was feeling emboldened for having just scored with Sasha… regardless, I presented my proposal to Albina yet again.
“Awww… c’mon and let me get just one feel,” I appealed.
“No,” she insisted.
But then something magical happened. Sasha said, “You know… I want to have a three-way with a guy and another girl.” I can’t remember the exact details of how it started… I think Sasha started kissing me… then started kissing Albina.
‘Sweeeeet,’ I thought to myself as I watched them make out. ‘But what the fuck am I supposed to do?’ I wondered. I’d never been in this sort of situation, and Albina still seemed extremely reluctant to the unfolding events. I could kiss and touch Sasha with impunity, but Albina was practically a complete stranger. I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries too quickly.
I opted to put a hand on each of the ladies’ backs, rubbing them firmly—yet gently—as they kissed each other. After a minute, I started to feel like a second-string quarterback on the sidelines.
“Hhh—HMM!” I coughed with exaggeration. They broke away from each other with a giggle. “I was starting to get jealous,” I said to no one in particular before leaning in to kiss Sasha. A nice five-second kiss. With a hand on each girls’ lower back, I turned to kiss Albina.
I was half-expecting her to shut me down, but she received me with shy uncertainty. The kiss was a bit awkward—as some first kisses are—until our tongues found rhythm together. I didn’t prolong the kiss, judging that frequently mixing things up would keep everyone entertained.
I pulled back, then gently pushed the two ladies back together again. It wasn’t too long before I had full access to Albina’s tits. I copped them as thoroughly as possible—storing the memory for later—while the three of us took turns kissing each other.
“Hey! What about me?!” Sasha teased with mock jealousy.
“Oh… of course!” I played along, grabbing her left tit with my right hand. I kept my left hand on Albina’s right tit, and suggested we all kiss at the same time. As we leaned in, I grabbed their hands and placed one on each of my butt-cheeks, then grabbed hold of those splendid titties yet again.
The three of us stood there, leaning … hands on each other… massaging each other’s tongues…
It felt pretty fucking cool, and at that moment I felt pretty fucking boss.
But, I miscalculated the situation. See, my room—which was connected to the balcony we were fooling around in—was the main party room. People were coming in and out between the kitchen, Mike’s room, and the balcony all night. Because of this, I didn’t consider three-way sex to be a realistic option at the time. Little did I know—while we were out on the balcony fooling around—the numbers of the party dwindled down the final ten. Had I looked in the bedroom, I would have discovered that it was empty. It would have only been a matter of closing the door and locking it.
But I didn’t look, so I didn’t see. So the furthest that three-way incident went was second base.
Oh… the missed opportunity kills me. An item on almost every man’s bucket list—two girls at the same time. Could’ve had it… should’ve had it… would’ve had it—if only I’d looked.
Oh well. Still, it was pretty cool. Pretty exciting. Plus my Christmas wish was granted—I got to touch Albina’s exquisite tits. And I got to bang Sasha. And once everyone else left except Tanya, Sasha, Sveta, and a few others—guess who waited patiently in the kitchen.
Ksusha! I guessed her strategy was to sit and wait until all the other girls were gone, and then she’d occupy my bed. Later, Ksusha confirmed my assessment by admitting as such in the guise of a joke.
Sveta, Mike, Tanya, and Sasha were also in the kitchen. Sveta sat on Mike’s lap. I knew her strategy too. On most other occasions when Sveta partied with me, she’d sleep over with me. We fooled around sometimes, but she refused to fuck me unless we were in a relationship. She asked me earlier in the night if she could stay with me. I grimaced apologetically, “Sorry but I’ll probably have company tonight.”
“Are you serious?” she balked in slightly offended dismay.
“Yeah, sorry.” Guys would understand.
Anyway, I saw what Sveta was doing with Mike. She’d tease him a little, maybe make out with him, but stop anything further from happening. And then she’d have a place to sleep, since her house was out in the boon-docks and inaccessible after 9.
It was about 4:30 in the morning when I turned off the music, announced the party was over, and grabbed Ksusha by the land—leading her into my bedroom. I told her to wait for me while I said goodbye to the last of the guests and locked the door behind them.
When I returned to the bedroom, Ksusha was curled up on my bed, either sleeping or pretending to sleep. I figured that gave me some time to catch a few kisses of Mary-Jane before I pounced on that pussy-cat. I took my time and got nice and baked before returning to my third Christmas present of the night. Ksusha lay there on her side, snoring softly. The way she was situated offered a very pleasant display of cleavage, so I decided to take a few snapshots before getting down to business. Is that wrong? Probably. But.. she had posed for me in her bra wearing my dog tags and USMC dress blues cap before… So I didn’t feel too guilty.
After taking two good pictures, I sat my camera down and crawled into bed next to Ksusha. I mounted her and slowly rubbed my body against hers to rouse her from her slumber. She responded with a soft sigh and a slight smile before her eyes fluttered open to lock onto mine. We both leaned in to meet each other’s tongues with open mouths, softly… slowly… firmly… After a few minutes of massaging each other’s tongues... rubbing each other’s bodies up and down… it was just about time to commence my favorite operation. Operation: Copulation. Only this time with a condom to prevent increasing the population.
I won’t go into any more details, except to say that it was good—as it always was with Ksusha. I’m honestly surprised she even fucked me that night. She knew I’d had sex with Sasha. She even confronted about it. “Did you have sex with her?”
“Have sex with who?” I stalled, attempting to play dumb.
“You know who. The girl with dark hair,” she pressed.
“Uuuhhhhh….” I stammered, casting my glance off to the side as my mind frantically scoured for the correct response.
“Don’t lie to me,” Ksusha warned.
Ok—the truth it was. I looked her dead in the eyes with my best poker face and told her, “Yes. I did fuck that girl with dark hair.”
“It’s ok. I don’t care,” she said nonchalantly. “Thank you for being honest,” she concluded, grabbing me by the shirt and pulling me down to kiss her.
‘She doesn’t care?’ I philosophized to myself as I kissed her. ‘But that would mean… I… no she… no it… wait, what?! What the fuck?’
I was beginning to realize that everything I thought I knew about girls was wrong. Apparently, it is possible to have your cake and eat it too—for a little while, anyway.
That night I slept like a baby—hardly even drunk—feeling quite satisfied with myself and how the night turned out. It was by far my most successful party; hats off to all those who attended.
***Sorry about the weird spacing... copy and paste didn't work very well.
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