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Sex Stories #121: The Booty Call That Almost Scarred Me For Life

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sex stories, booty call
I can't be this stoned right now.
One NYC woman explores her, ahem, wild side.

The sex stories in this series are real. Some identifying details and all names are changed to protect the wicked. Got a sex story that absolutely, positively must be told? Send your sexy, funny, erotic, decadent stories to editor@yourtango.com. We promise to keep it anonymous.

I was 22 or something, just out of college. I had a crappy job and was living in a pit hole on the Lower East Side with a Wall Street roommate who was never there. Getting high a lot and eating mostly Ramen noodles: the usual. The one bright spot for me was girls, because my lifestyle did let me focus a lot of effort on picking them up. I was having enough success that I didn't have to think about getting serious with any of them, if you know what I mean. Living the dream.

So one night I hooked up with this girl from China named Tanya. She had a very sweet face and big boobs she seemed to be making an effort to project with the outfits she wore. As if literally she judged every shirt or dress on its ability to assault you with her cleavage. She was a little shallow, and we weren't all that into each other. It was just kind of a casual relationship, an excuse to have good sex on a regular basis, with a couple of dull dates here and there to make it all feel legit. A relationship of convenience.

Anyway, I'm sitting in my NYC apartment one day in the middle of the afternoon, smoking a bong by myself because I was that kind of driven and motivated, when Tanya called me up. I could tell she was pretty horny, but I wasn't feeling it. I had a big "me" day planned: had just opened a bag of Fritos, pulled up Archer on Netflix and my couch was calling.

So I start making excuses, and I'm a little high so I'm probably talking too much instead of just hanging up, but she gets the picture. She doesn't want to take no for an answer, though, so she says: "Okay, but if you change your mind, I'm already in my costume." And I said, "Your costume?" But she had hung up.

And I'm sitting there thinking "Costume?" But I wasn't about to call her back. I plopped down on the couch and pulled my snacks in tight, and started the Archer marathon. But I couldn't get it out of my head. Costume? What costume?

I paused the show and blew another bowl to think this through. There were ramifications if I decided to leave; it would mean finding pants, and sunglasses, and braving the outside world for a subway trip uptown. But what the hell was her costume? Catholic schoolgirl? Dominatrix? '80s yoga instructor? My mind was reeling with the possibilities. A nurse, maybe? I was experiencing localized swelling just thinking about it. 

It was probably only five minutes of deliberation, in stoner time. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. One more completely unnecessary bowl for the road, and I'm on my way.

And so, after a long and harrowing journey, I pull up to her apartment and past the oblivious doorman. And I enter the elevator, just about tripping from smoking too much, with the reveal right around the corner, I suddenly start to panic.

What if it this costume was something...darker?

What if it's a dominatrix costume, and she wanted to tie me to a chair? Or an alien, with tools for an autopsy? What if she has, like, an Adolf Hitler fetish or something? People are into some weird-ass crap when it comes to sex. I was working without a net, here.

By the time I get to her door, I had just about talked myself out of it. But she already knew I was here, and had buzzed me in. And just as I was waffling at her door, it opened, to reveal...

A ladybug.

A full, head-to-toe, detailed, costume-contest contender of a ladybug outfit. I'm talking black leggings and fluttery big giant red-with-black-polka-dots body wings. Her trademark cleavage spilling out the front and two springy ping-pong-ball antennae sprouting out the top of her head.

She was giving me this impossibly sultry look, and I'm just as high as a kite, and thinking, like okay, wow, this is not what I was expecting, but yeah, I think I could be into this.

Tanya didn’t talk. Not one word, the whole time. She was in character. She just kind of fluttered around the room and over into the bedroom, out of sight.

I don't know if I could have done it, stone cold sober. But high, this was a pretty interesting proposition. Once you realize this is gonna make for an incredible story, you've gotta go through with it, right? So I follow her into the bedroom, where she had settled, or landed, or whatever, on the edge of the bed, face down, presenting her ass in the air, in see-through black spandex over white underwear. Apparently this is how ladybugs do it.

Did I mention I was incredibly high? And so I take off my clothes and peel down her tights and underwear to her knees, and climb aboard like I thnk a male ladybug might do it, and we...well, we mated, I guess.

For me, the sex wasn't crazy good, to be honest. It was just too weird, and hard not to get distracted by her wings flapping up on each down stroke, and those antenna balls bouncing around on her head, which was smushed down into the bed. But for her it was different—this was her thing, apparently—and she had a sheets-clawing, screaming-into-the-pillow orgasm.

I tried to talk a little afterward, break the ice, but she shook her head—still no, still in character, curled up on the bed—and after a little while I got the hint and left.

So isn't that the weirdest thing ever? We never talked about it later and never repeated the episode. We had like a couple more dates but the summer was almost over and soon we were both off to other people. I probably should have seen this as an invitation to explore my own freaky side, and I do regret missing that opportunity. When you meet someone who's truly up for anything, you get to take advantage; sometimes I think of looking her up for just that reason.

But it'll probably never happen. It felt exactly like bug sex, in retrospect: Tanya had chosen to mate with me, and once she'd taken what she needed, I was dead to her. We had mated and flown on.

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