Have sex outside (in your yard at night) and leave your clothes 100 feet from where youre getting it on. Itll make you feel more vulnerable and naug

Have sex outside (in your yard at night) and leave your clothes 100 feet from where you're getting it on. It'll make you feel more vulnerable and naughty

I sit here typing with sand between my butt cheeks. And no, that is not a non sequitur. It has to do with the above challenge. As you might have guessed by now, D. and I had sex on the beach. (And yes, I'm giving myself major props for using "butt cheeks" and "non sequitur" in consecutive sentences for the first time in the history of writing.)

I knew from the beginning of the blog that this was going to be a challenge to complete for the following reasons:

1. My "yard" is an alley. An alley where I've seen drunk kids smoking, feral cats, Ratatouille (this is my name for rats because it makes me think they're not gross, diseased creatures, but rather adorable, friendly characters from children's movies), and trash. A lot of trash. This is not my idea of a hot hookup locale.

2. No less than 315 (rough estimate) people would be able to watch D. and me doing it. And there would probably be a YouTube clip of us. Then our anonymity would be lost. Then I'd have to stop blogging for Cosmo. And I don't want that. And I hope you guys don't either!

3. We were at D.'s parents' beach house (which they weren't using at the time) and well, how could we not complete this challenge on the beach?

So let me set the scene for you...

Nighttime. About 9:30 p.m. Empty-ish private beach. We were in clothes, not bathing suits. Totally sober (this is important to mention because I don't want you to think my judgment was impaired when you read certain details below).

We started by sitting on the shore just hanging out. He was sitting with his legs outstretched and I had my head on his lap facing up. D. wasn't making any moves—even though we had previously agreed to do the dirty there—so I had to take matters into my own hands mouth.

I turned my head slightly toward his upper body and started kissing his stomach. Then I shimmied his shorts and boxer-briefs down and had a big glass of Oral Sex on the Beach.

Then an interesting thing happened. My body was perpendicular to D.'s at this point, sort of propped up on my side and he was now leaning back on his elbows. Can you picture it? So, then he shifted a bit so that his torso was more parallel to my body and his head was near my crotch. He started kissing my belly and thighs then reached up my skirt and rubbed me through my underwear. (I had forgotten how hot it is to be touched through the fabric of undies—the sensation is totally different. And totally hot.

I was still going to town on his nether region when he pushed aside my thong and inserted one finger inside of me. I let out a moan, then immediately stifled it, worried that the people down the beach would hear my ecstatic soundtrack and know what was up...and...I don't know? Tell D.'s parents? Call the cops?

Oh? Did I forget to mention there were people on the beach? Yes, just a few and thy weren't nearby. Plus, it was nearly pitch black so they definitely couldn't see us. (There's another reason doing it in my city "yard" would be a bad idea: there's no such thing as pitch black in Manhattan, which would just make our sure-to-be-shot YouTube clip that much more embarrassing.)

So there we were in the 69 position (only it wasn't mutual oral, it was oral and manual) on the beach. Lovely. But I wanted to actually have sex on the beach. Full-on, real deal, textbook definition sex.

(For those of you thinking of doing this: throw down a towel first. Getting sand in personal crevices is less than fun. And according to something I read in Cosmo, it can be risky too.)

"I want you inside me," I whimpered. (Yes, I just used the word whimpered. That's how hot D. got me.)

"I want to be inside you," D. responded. (Sort of the equivalent of saying, "You too" when one partner says, "You make me so happy"—which is to say, not super creative or thoughtful—but this was sex, not a love letter and I believed him.

I sat up, yanked down my underwear, tossed it aside (never to be seen again), and straddled D. I lowered myself onto him slowly, taking him in one inch at a time and he groaned with pleasure slash impatience (impleatience, if you will). Then I leaned forward and pinned his hands over his head in the sand.

"Don't move," I commanded and he stopped his mini-thrusts. (Do your boyfriends/husbands/hookup buddies thrust even when they're on the bottom? I've never been with a guy who does it as much as D.) Then I moved my hips in circles, feeling the pressure of his penis on the front, back, and sides of my lady canal.

Because I was leaning forward slightly, I was getting awesome clitoral stimulation and I told D. that I was close to finishing. Actually, I moaned (loudly), "You feel so damn good, I'm going to come any second."

And I did. And he was close behind.

A moment later, I got off of him and stood up to search for my underwear. And that's when I realized it: those people who were far down the beach? Not so far down the beach? Actually, rather close. I freaked and immediately lay down next to D. (I guess so he would block me?). Then we decided to make our stealthy exit. No time to continue looking for my underwear. We grabbed our flip-flops and bolted. And as we ran—me, commando and D., with his shorts unzipped and unbuttoned—we heard laughter. I'll never know if they were laughing at us. Or if they had no idea what we were doing—or that we were there at all. But I'm pretty sure there's a group of people telling the story of the Sex on the Beach couple to their friends right now. If you're out there, hope you liked the show!

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