Naughty Grown-up Night

I said to myself:

Self, you should wait until Thursday so as to combine HNT with Naughty Grown-up Night.

To which I replied to myself:

Self, I'm not the most popular blogger in the world (nor do I pretend to be), but if I do that, certain bloggers who are my friends may revolt.


To which myself replied:

Good point, I'll get the wine, you get the glass.

So with a glass of Fat Bastard Shiraz nearby, I present to you (drum roll, please...)

Funky's Naughty Grown-up Night (aka Gawd I Hope My Kids Aren't Still Reading My Blog)

*Cue the flashback music*

By Friday evening, LoveBug and I poured over your very creative, very naughty suggestions. There were a few we had to nix immediately.

We apologize, but we do not do golf courses. Funky dated a golf-pro for a short period of time, and to this day LoveBug becomes madly deranged at the mention of such things golf related.

We also apologize for the fact that Funky works for the State of Florida. As such, it would be an egregious error to get caught having sex in an adult bookstore. While Funky and Love enjoy the voyeuristic things of life, we neither desire for Funky to lose her job, nor do we desire to be something a frightfully grotesque man beats off to.

We likewise apologize for not partaking of swinger-related activities. Love has been there and done that, and while it's his story to tell, suffice it to say, "he had a bad experience." (bonus points if you can tell me what movie that line was stolen from).

SELF! I know for certain none of these bloggers came by today to hear what we did NOT do. Get on with it!


So finally I say to LoveBug, well, they were nice suggestions, but we've already done the sex in public thing, and the groping in a restaurant/lounge thing. To which LoveBug responds, "Yes, but we haven't done either in about three years."

M-kay. So.

After dropping my children (who I pray do not read mommy's blog and if you are said children and you are reading mommy's blog, you must know that there are some things mommy needs all to herself, and you must respect her privacy. Likewise, remember the time you saw mommy naked? Yeah, it's like that, only more uncomfortable) onto a plane, LoveBug and I made out in the airport. Yes, in.the.airport. You see, after a year of long-distance lovin', we both are incredibly good at finding places in airports with which to release certain, um, tensions.

We proceeded to Wolfgang Pucks, where LoveBug proceeded to explore certain areas of my upper extremities with his tongue, intermittantly describing what he'd rather be eating.

We check into our hotel and Funky tries valiently to get ready for our date. LoveBug is not helping. Have you EVER had a man's mouth water so profusely out of desire, that he's drooling? I swear, it's sexier than it sounds... especially if you're looking in the mirror while his saliva trickles down to your breasts.

Fortunately, LoveBug discovered the dry cleaners ruined his shirt, so he had to go to the lobby for a new one. This gave Funky time to do some, er, gardening. Funky must now stop speaking in third-person. I barely made it out of the bathtub without exploding.

We chose Sleuth's, a murder-mystery dinner theater for our first outing. On the way, I announced that it was "Penalty-Free, Truth Syrum Friday." Darlings, the only way to find out what your man really wants, it to give him immunity in telling you what he fantasizes about while masturbating.

I barely made it out of the car.

Sleuth's is oh-so-kind as to provide unlimited alcohol during the three or so hours you are being entertained. With a bottle in me from Wolfgang's, and a glass in me from the bar, it's no wonder my hands found their way into LoveBug's pants. Bless all creatures GREAT and (not) small for making long, floor-length table cloths. Inside the theater, we greeted our dining companions, taking extra precaution to note WHICH hand we used for greeting, and which hand we used for er, shaking. An actress approached LoveBug and began flirting with him mercilessly. I'm assuming she thought he was flushed because she was so cute. I'd like to tell you what she said, but I dropped my fork.

After massive quantities of alcohol, public (and not so public) displays of, er, affection, and numerous sexual fantasies spilled throughout the night, we headed into Orlando in search of a classy jazz/cigar bar.

We.Did.Not.Make.It.

Really, I'm out of practice, and I just couldn't carry on with the tantric foreplay.

Which reminds me; I need to call the hotel manager and ask him if they were able to retrieve my stockings from the ceiling fan.