To say my year started off with a bang is a literal understatement.
I met a Spanish guy at the bar of a boat, cruising down the Danube, soon after the NYE fireworks had burst over Budapest. 2020 was officially here, and I was fishing for my first kiss of the decade.
He was the tall, dark and handsome type and a real smooth talker. In one hot minute, I was hooked. Pressing me up against the boat window, he whispered all sorts of sexy nothings into my ear, detailing exactly what he wanted to do to me.
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By the time we docked, it was a given, and he jumped into our taxi. Just him, me and my friend L, en route to our AirBnB, a small studio apartment in the city.
Enticed by wild fantasies running through my head, and pulsating with excitement, I urged L to invite over the boy she had met the night before.
Back at the apartment and in my single bed, the Spaniard’s hands were everywhere under the sheets, tugging at my clothes and making their way south.
Keeping my legs pressed together in futile resistance, I urged him to hold off, “just wait until my friend’s guy is here”, but I couldn’t refrain any longer.