My wife and I will follow Amanda Palmer to the ends of the earth. That’s not exactly true, but we will travel anywhere within a 200 mile radius to see her perform. People tend to have a love/hate relationship with the art that she creates. I happen to fall on the love side of things.
Two weeks ago, we went into Philadelphia to see her perform. On the way there, we stopped by the aquarium and I got finger banged by the water. Last weekend, we traveled north to New York City to watch her perform her There Will Be No Intermission show at the Beacon Theatre. The Beacon is a really nice space. Gold paint covered statues cover the walls, murals are everywhere…but the seats are not as comfortable as the seats of the theater in Philly. The show is a 4 hour emotional roller coaster so having comfortable seats would obviously be ideal.
We didn’t have those this time around, so we cut out during intermission (yes, there’s an intermission during a show called There Will Be No Intermission, it’s ironic. What of it?) and made our way back onto the streets of NYC.
That’s obviously when the sexy time adventure began.
We held hands and started walking towards the garage where we parked our car. Everything smelled like pizza and garbage. Honestly, more like pizza but New York has this garbage smell that kind of hides out underneath everything in the air so it’s always present. Does the smell of pizza turn you on? Because it kind of really turns me on. My wife knows this so we stopped to get a slice.
We sat down at the table to eat and I felt her foot slide in between my legs.
“Are you seriously going to go all Flash Dance on me?” I asked.
I mean, I can’t even get mad at her for not getting the reference because I’ve never seen Goonies and people are always giving me bullshit for that.
“Please don’t fuck me with your toe while I’m sitting on this dirty ass chair in a pizzeria that doesn’t even sell the good stuff,” I requested.
She laughed and slipped her foot back into her sneaker.
After we ate, we walked another block or so when I decided to take her foot-in-my-vagina proposition as a cue. I stopped walking, pushed her up against a wall and started kissing her. She’s much more shy than I am about public sex when she’s on the receiving end, so when I tried to sneak my hand down her pants it was her turn to say no.
“Let’s just get the car and head home. We can mess around on the bed instead of on the street.”
But as she was speaking, I came up with another idea.
We got to the garage and gave the attendant our ticket. I pulled her behind one of the large cement pillars and put her hand right up my skirt.
“We’ve probably got like 2 minutes before the car shows up. Please make me cum,” I begged.
Her fingers worked quickly, like they always do. We heard the rumble of our car’s engine over head and the tires climbing up and over the speed bumps on the floor above us. I couldn’t cum fast enough though. The car pulled up, her hand was still down my pants and the garage attendant smiled at us when he handed her the keys.
Next time I’ll be quicker…maybe.
Image: Harlot’s Private Stash.