Birthday Sex
“Don’t need candles and cake“Birthday Sex” – Jeremih
My room mate and I celebrate birthday weeks, and since our birthdays are within 2 weeks of each other we tend to have a birthday month. This year we were living together again, and both having a lucky streak with men, so we were both excited to have our own birthday sex experience. Who doesn’t want a smooth talking man to hit that g-spot on your birthday?!
My birthday came, and I got drunk, real drunk, like dancing on the stage to Prince’s Pussy Control drunk (lucky for me my lover was dancing along with me). While dancing I wanted to ravage him on stage, in front of the few other drunks left in the bar at closing time. I wanted to remember my birthday sex, I wanted everyone to remember my birthday sex, but I also didn’t want my room mate to lose her job, at the bar I was dancing on stage at. In the end, all I can really remember about that dance was the battle in my head over wanting to ravage my lover’s sweaty body, and the voice saying, keep it PG.
Arriving home that night I instantly regretted my decision to drink as much as I had, I looked damn good, I wanted to have damn good sex. In the final moments of the birthday night all I could do was fall asleep, and pray my man would start my new birth year off right (and he did, but that’s not part of birthday sex).
The next week was my room mate’s chance at birthday sex. She started the week off a little rough, with a drunk-n-tumble walk home (I recruited my ex to help me get her and the bikes home), ended with a no-so-graceful ass first dive off our stoop. Having put her to bed though I was left with my ex at my house, and I thought why not? Someone should get laid tonight.
Roomie continued her birthday streak, inviting a guy back to our house a few days later, only to have passed out cold by the time he got there. The night of her actual birthday she brought a manager from her work home. Drunk, she busts into my room, requesting a condom, all I had were Magnums (yes, my most consistent lover needs these). I handed one over, praying this would not be intimidating to the man in her bed. Next morning she comes crawling into my bed, explaining it was like a tube sock on a baby’s foot. OOPS!
Needless to say, neither of us had the birthday sex we anticipated, or expected, but at the end of it all, we have the story of the “sock on the baby’s foot” and an endless supply of free drinks in exchange for our silence.
