thirteenbyseven
Legendary Member
- Joined
- Jul 9, 2004
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- Orange County, SoCal
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- 100% Straight, 0% Gay
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- Male
My one sex-in-a-car story didn't really occur in a car, was not all that great; in fact it nearly ended up being an aborted mission. During my junior year in high school using all the seductive powers of pursuasion at my disposal, somewhere between algebra II and American history class I obtained an agreement from Melody to my overt sexual proposition. The only problem was, at the age of seventeen I didn't have all the funds in the world to book a room at the nearest Ritz-Carlton. A Motel 6 was achievable only if I skipped lunch for the next three-and-a-half weeks. But my ever scheming mind suddenly remembered a buddy of mine, a buddy who's parents had a Winnebago Brave RV parked ever so convienently in a carport alongside their garage, sitting unused albeit for those vacation weekends his old man would take to the mountains or desert. Yes, a buddy Steve whom I had saved from getting pounded way back in the sixth grade, had given answers (in advance) to get him through a test earlier in the year, and had covered for went he went AWOL from tennis practice. Certainly I had earned enough favor credits over the years for this one little request. "Get your old man's keys to open the door of the Winnie and slip 'em to me on Friday night, O.K.?"
Never but never request a dweeb to do anything that remotely falls under the realm of surreptitious or covert, namely anything a suave debonair James Bond-like spy would do. Melody and I stood in the dark alongside the driveway and waited...and waited for Steve to slip us the keys. After an interminable amount of time a shadowy figure approached from the rear of the garage. "I can't! My parents will hear me go into the bedroom drawer." Filled with lust for Melody, sickened with frustration at Steve, I was at my wits end. As calmly as I could I told him he was being needlessly timid, that his parents were downstairs watching TV, that his house was the sized of a d***n airline terminal and nobody would hear him go upstairs so just get the keys! He got the keys.
Part three. Melody and I fumbled around the darkened motor home searching for a spot in which to romantically rendevous, deciding on the bed in the rear portion of the RV. Quickly things got hot and heavy. My eyes, having aclimated somewhat to the dim candlepower, drank in Melody's perky pink tat-tas then went straight for the goodies below. My long dong sprang out and she gave the expected superlative response. "You are huge!" Things may have started out shaky but were going swimmingly well now.
First one earth-shaking fist then another on the rear window of the Winnebago. "Hurry up you two!" Said at a volume that awoke the neighbors Golden Retriever. It then occurred to me that Steve had no conception of the time it took for foreplay in lovemaking. Steve had no conception of foreplay. Steve had undoubtably never been in the position to even partake in foreplay, afterplay or anyplay with a girl. To conclude this fiasco, about a minute or so later we heard a much deeper older baritone voice outside. His dad!
Postscript. Steve's father was everything he wasn't, he could actually walk, talk and chew gum simultaneously. And really-really neat, the kind of understanding dad most dudes would like to have in that situation. When Melody and I emerged from the RV Steve's father looked at the object of my affection and then to me. "Hey better luck next time Tiger," he said giving the keys to the motor home a little twirl in his hand as he walked back into the house.
Never but never request a dweeb to do anything that remotely falls under the realm of surreptitious or covert, namely anything a suave debonair James Bond-like spy would do. Melody and I stood in the dark alongside the driveway and waited...and waited for Steve to slip us the keys. After an interminable amount of time a shadowy figure approached from the rear of the garage. "I can't! My parents will hear me go into the bedroom drawer." Filled with lust for Melody, sickened with frustration at Steve, I was at my wits end. As calmly as I could I told him he was being needlessly timid, that his parents were downstairs watching TV, that his house was the sized of a d***n airline terminal and nobody would hear him go upstairs so just get the keys! He got the keys.
Part three. Melody and I fumbled around the darkened motor home searching for a spot in which to romantically rendevous, deciding on the bed in the rear portion of the RV. Quickly things got hot and heavy. My eyes, having aclimated somewhat to the dim candlepower, drank in Melody's perky pink tat-tas then went straight for the goodies below. My long dong sprang out and she gave the expected superlative response. "You are huge!" Things may have started out shaky but were going swimmingly well now.
First one earth-shaking fist then another on the rear window of the Winnebago. "Hurry up you two!" Said at a volume that awoke the neighbors Golden Retriever. It then occurred to me that Steve had no conception of the time it took for foreplay in lovemaking. Steve had no conception of foreplay. Steve had undoubtably never been in the position to even partake in foreplay, afterplay or anyplay with a girl. To conclude this fiasco, about a minute or so later we heard a much deeper older baritone voice outside. His dad!
Postscript. Steve's father was everything he wasn't, he could actually walk, talk and chew gum simultaneously. And really-really neat, the kind of understanding dad most dudes would like to have in that situation. When Melody and I emerged from the RV Steve's father looked at the object of my affection and then to me. "Hey better luck next time Tiger," he said giving the keys to the motor home a little twirl in his hand as he walked back into the house.