As you may remember, last summer I spent two long, sex-free months in Africa . Needless to say, I was thrilled when I got back to New York. Not just because I had a date lined up, but because I had a date lined up with a gorgeous doctor I’d been seeing before the summer.
We were anxious to see each other, but still wanted to have a nice outing. It was the end of August and the weather was amazing, so we made plans to spend the day on the water and rent a rowboat in Central Park.
I wanted to add a little twist to the afternoon, so I stopped on the way to the park to buy a bottle of wine. But when I got there I realized I had neither a corkscrew nor glasses. Undeterred, I remedied the situation with a bottle of Champagne instead of wine (no need for a corkscrew when the cork pops off!) and a stack of child-sized paper Dixie cups the wine shop attendants generously offered me (it was all they had in terms of glasses).
Paper cups were good enough for my purposes, so I cheerfully made my way to the park, Champagne in hand, and met my sexy surgeon at the Central Park Boathouse.
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Once in the boat, we realized we probably couldn’t start drinking in the middle of the pond, so we rowed over to an overhanging weeping willow, and tried to anchor ourselves to the tree using one of the oars. It wasn’t an ideal solution, but it definitely worked well enough to keep us from drifting away from under our leafy cover.
Giddy with surreptitiousness, we popped the Champagne and poured ourselves tiny Dixie cup after tiny Dixie cup, letting the sunshine and bubbles go straight to our heads; it was a splendid afternoon and we were enjoying it.
When we finally finished the bottle we realized we were both a smidge tipsy and a getting little bit frisky. Leaning toward each other across the boat we started making out.
Now if you’ve ever been in a tiny rowboat, you know that every movement you make—especially side-to-side—is amplified by the boat rocking in the water. Unless you want to tip over, you need to keep all movements and activity very central.
So when things started to heat up a bit we had to be very careful. I stood up, very carefully walked over to him, and kneeled down on the bench, straddling his lap.
Even though I’d managed to forget the corkscrew and the glasses, I’d had the good sense to wear a dress, and a very long one at that. Not that anyone could see us—our weeping willow was doing a pretty good job blocking us—but if they could have, they wouldn’t have seen much.
Now we hadn’t planned on taking it past making out, but between the giddiness, the tipsiness, and the friskiness, all reason went out the window. We simply didn’t care.
Sitting on his lap I could feel him getting hard and it was turning me on, almost more than the risk of getting caught (or of flipping the boat). One thing is getting a slap on the wrist for drinking in public, but it’s something entirely different to get busted for sex in public; the thrill was intoxicating.
Before we had time to think it through, I unzipped his pants and lowered myself onto him. Wrapping my legs around his hips, we started rocking our way to pleasure.
It was probably the most uncomfortable sex I’ve ever had, but at the same time it was amazing.
Right as we were finishing I realized that through a space in the branches of our little tree tent I could see one of the boulders on the edge of the pond. And on that boulder was a small group of Asian tourists—armed with their trusty cameras—who could see me just as well as I could see them.
I’m fairly certain the grandmother snapped of photo of us just as we were reaching climax.
As soon as we were done, we realized all the other boats were gone, the sun had vanished, and it had suddenly gotten very overcast. We quickly rearranged ourselves as best we could, stashed the empty Champagne bottle in my purse, and untangled our oar from the tree branches just as the boathouse attendant was rowed over to us and started yelling. Apparently it was about to start raining and they wanted to put the boats away, so he hurried us back to shore.
Right as we docked the clouds cracked open into a torrential downpour and we were completely soaked through literally within seconds. We ran to the edge of the park and miraculously got a taxi, which whisked us away from our saucy and surreal afternoon of rocking the boat in Central Park.
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