I suspect he worshiped her
Atleast we know someone got on their knees...
I think I'm due for some strange...places.
well, LV is strange enough, but Death Valley is better..
JoanneDorel wrote:Las Vegas
That ain't strange. EVERYONE has sex in Las Vegas!
Of course, in Nick's case, he was all by himself.
At one time I thought sex in a car was kinky and a wierd place. Now that seems commom place, even if it was on the side of the road with the door open.
In a park on a rock with people around.
on top of a 40' high fuel storage tank. gotta love females being in the military more and more.
cjhsa wrote:Of course, in Nick's case, he was all by himself.
Hey cjhsa. I'm sure I must know you from somewhere...
Strangest place
Hot air baloon over cornwall - made the basket shake & me too
NickFun I thought the question was about having sex in a strange place not about how many people were having sex in that place.
Osso I guess you were in Death Valley in the early spring or winter.
No, not early spring or winter.... I'm guessing June..
June would be good warm during the day cool at night and lots of desert blooms.
Death Valley is WAY too hot in June. I live in Arizona and it's too hot here even at night in June. Sex for Death Valley should be reserved for the months of December to April.
Well, there was hardly another human in the whole place that we could see...
then of course there were those that might well have seen you...
That's true, there were the bats...
And the occasional flying insect (gnats, flies moths perchance)
Actually, the sex was delightful and usual, sorry to disappoint, but the place was strange. I am not so sure it was June. I know the Furnace Creek lodge or whatever the name is - we stayed at its cheapo sister lodge - was like a ghost town. We had the pool to ourselves... and the bats did visit. Luckily I didn't see them with my funny eyes or it would probably have been a health crisis with woman freaking out in pool.
My husband saw them as they swooped down, fine with him, he was comfortable with bats, knew I didn't see them and might be frightened and left well enough alone, as it were.
In the intervening years I've lost much of my bat fear.
I think.
Oh, goodness. I missed this thread entirely in the past. This needs re-reading. Joe is my hero!
Joe Nation wrote:Shoot! We already jumped the shark! Well, never mind the following:
I felt rather badly about that guy being in the front seat, but it didn't stop me. What did stop me, several years later, from consorting with women whose husbands were nearby was an incident involving Fruit of the Looms in cowboy boots, sliding patio doors, biking skills and VW Rabbit tracks across a front lawn.
To my credit, if I had any credit in those days, I didn't ask if she was married, she didn't say. We met a bar in Tulsa. There were sparks, but she didn't want to go to my place. I just followed her over to Broken Arrow and after she parked in the garage, I parked in the driveway, up near the garage door. (Bad move #1) or maybe #2, whose counting? We were uh, proceeding when suddenly she jumped up and ran down the hallway. Now, I have had that effect on others before so I didn't think anything was amiss, but when she returned a moment later yelling "Get out! Get out !! My husband's truck is in the driveway!!" I caught on.
There didn't seem to me to be enough time to dress fully, so I shoved my underwear into my cowboy boots*, grabbed my jeans and shirt and headed out the patio door, which wouldn't open using one hand, so I had to drop everything, yank the door open and then gather everything back up. My one thought as I bent over was, at that moment, I made a pretty good target. All this time, she was yelling something about going to the right and out the gate, which I did.
And I did something else that probably saved me a backside buckshot picking-out party or a beating or both, I pulled my car keys out of my jeans. That way when I got around to the driver's side of my car, it was toss clothes in, jump in, jam keys in and turn to start.
That was when two things occurred to me. 1) The front door was opening.
2) His big pickup truck was parked behind me.
Um
Volkswagon Rabbits had a tiny turning radius and that night, except for a slight bump to a potted somethingorother by the edge of the sidewalk, my little red speedster and I did a beautiful tight left turn onto the house's front lawn, which I must say was more gravel than lawn. I noticed that as he pounded on my driver's side window shouting something. I didn't stop to ask what, I thudded down the curb and headed out. In my mirror I saw his truck's headlights come on and I took the first right I saw and put the pedal to the metal.
I had no idea where I was. This was one of those sprawling neighborhoods with big curving streets and cul-de-sacs and switchbacks and I knew if I just drove I might end up right back on the same street. So I looked for a big driveway with cars already in it, saw one and pulled in beside a lovely big white van and two other cars and shut her down.
I sat there in the dark for about a half an hour and twice thought I heard that big pickup roar by, but it may have been my imagination.
When I headed out again, I was lucky, the entrance to the neighborhood loomed up in front of me after making just one turn. This is where my bicycling experience came in because I turned right onto County Line Road, a backroad that leads to nowhere unless you know where it leads to and I did. I had ridden all over that neck of the woods. I took all the backroads around to the south of Tulsa, stopping once once to pull on my jeans and slide into my boots. One of my socks was lost forever. Before heading home, I looked to the stars and swore I would never again talk to strangers.
And I never did,
except for those couple of times when it was impossible to ignore an opportunity without hurting someone's feelings.
Joe
* Yes, Eva, I wore cowboy boots. Tony Lama's, which is why I didn't want to leave them behind and my watch was in one of them.
Joe Nation wrote:
Nobody ever stole the Goya. I always thought that was something. All those folks, strangers, weirdos, girls with several many complex problems, but nobody stole the Goya.
That's why this story probably doesn't count as a sex story, it's a love story.
Joe, when you refer to Goya, is that short for Nagoya?!?!
See now you're getting me excited, because I own one and thought there weren't any others left on the planet.
Actually just played Zep's "tangerine" on it today.
