Spank Bank: Where This Girl Goes When Alone | 2016

When we meet at the faux Caribbean bar in the even faker Mirage Hotel on the Las Vegas Strip, I have not planned on getting laid that night. The twenty-two year old cowboy from Mexico is in town for the rodeo. I am a 40-something ex-college professor in Sin City so I can write my book.

We both wear bathing suits in the condo’s Jacuzzi even though we are alone. The complex has a nice water feature with a waterfall, and the palm trees are real, so it feels a bit like a resort even though it is a rip-off timeshare my parents have rented for me so I can “relax and get some work done.”

At first I figure I will just kiss him a little and drive him back to his hotel. At this point in my sexual evolution, I have not yet become a slutty slut, so the prospect of leaving him completely blue-balled doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I am in my Cougar phase of my metamorphosis, and many of the young men in my wake are left disappointed when I don’t pull the trigger.

Playing Russian roulette would have given them better odds.

The turning point for me in the Jacuzzi with Sombrero is when I accidentally brush my hand across his lap and feel a nice, erect shaft throbbing for more attention. Jumping on his lap in my bikini, I start to grind into him as we chat and kiss.

Our twenty-plus age difference seems irrelevant as we get to know each other. He likes my body. I like his eyes. He wants to get naked upstairs. I have the key.

I ride Sombrero for a lot longer than eight seconds. He bucks and rears like any other well-endowed steer in the corral, but I stay on until I am good and ready to get off on my own accord. Looking down at the twisted sheets and bunched up blankets, I am surprised to see a puddle. He has worn a condom—it isn’t him, so I ask him what he thinks.

“You squirted like a motherfucker,” he tells me beaming from across the room as he gets dressed.

“How did I miss that?” I, too, am pulling on some clothes so I can take Sombrero back to his hotel.

“You were too busy cumming, I guess,” his words are muffled while pulling his shirt back on over his head. “It was hot, though. Going in my spank bank for sure.”

Spank bank.

When I’m alone, getting ready for an afternoon of self-pleasuring, I need three things: lube, vibrator (or my fingers now that the damn thing is broken!), and my spank bank.

I let loose a few drops of Gun Oil, lean back on my pillows with the fan blowing on me, and I’m ready to go. The trailer to my spank bank mind-movie starts off slowly. It teases me with kisses and kind words whispered by an ex-lover like Salt-N-Pepper or Blue Eyes. In my mind’s eye, I see their eyes and mouth as I feel my hands respond to the movement going on between my legs.

My imagination heats up with memories that leap around between the soft and seductive and the vicious. Paired up like bipolar Siamese twins, I pay attention to what my body is responding to today. Do I want the kind, loving lover or the brutal, rude lover? I’m thankful I have options.

I’m nowhere near climaxing, and I want the show to continue for a while, so I allow my mind to wander to Oriole. My new leading man’s voice whispers from my memory banks as I call-up our phone sex sessions and erotic email exchanges. I know that touching him in the flesh will turn me into a ragdoll.

As I stroke my clitoris, I reach down and feel the sticky goodness being produced by my body. It’s a liquid cobweb—as I pull my fingers away it clings to me. I reach up and taste. There’s a slight smell but no flavor.

In my mind it’s time for multiple partners. I’m being fucked by two men while I suck another. I’m sharing the soldier who is being shipped off to Afghanistan with his new girlfriend. I’m sucking small perky breasts while her friend’s huge ten inch cock is being forced into my cunt. He whispers in my ear: “She doesn’t know I’m fucking you.”

I’m blowing the ugliest, fattest man I know just so I can do the most disgusting thing I can think of. I’m being ass-fucked by a T-girl. I’m sucking two cocks while being fucked by a third. I’m saying, “Yes, you can fuck me,” even though in reality I had told him No.

I’m back in Oriole’s arms. He’s caressing me lightly as he kisses my forehead, telling me how good it is to have me there. His whispers purr in my ear, he lowers his mouth to my neck, and I cum so hard that it shocks me.

Ears ring. Body shuts down. Fluids run from my pussy. Drowsiness sets in.

I roll to my side, pick up the phone, and text my love, “Thank you.”

Oriole knows exactly what I mean when he responds, “Of course, darling.”