Top 5 Sexiest Places in Dublin – according to me, not science

No 5. 777
This place is a restaurant on George’s Street. There’s no sign outside, it’s just a black shop front and frosted glass. It looks like it’s a sex shop. A dodgy one at that. And that sets the tone for me, that it isn’t what it appears to be, that it’s not trying to get your attention. But they’re dickheads and this is gimmicky. They don’t take bookings and all of this – the looking like a dodgy hole – is affected, there’s obviously something amazing behind the doors, and don’t they just know it. And simultaneously, I don’t care, they can well afford their arrogance because inside, there’s not much that they’re getting wrong and even thoughts of the place, what I’ve done and what I’d like to do there, turn me on. I sometimes masturbate thinking about people I’d like to bring here and what I’d do to make them crazy all night, until I was ready to give them a little bit. (dream on! I’m not going to just tell you!)
You can stop reading now if you haven’t figured out that this first place is mostly, mostly, about my two other turn ons: food and booze.
But food and booze (good booze) make me want to do dirty things.
The food here is sexy, it’s hard to describe so I’ll just go with gourmet Mexican? It’s not like any Mexican you’ve ever had. Then the booze – they allegedly have the biggest tequila menu in Ireland. Who’s gonna check? And it’s dark and sultry and the music is loud and clubby. This isn’t sounding sexy is it? But trust me I’m wet just thinking about the place. They have this big long counter that runs the length of the place. If you’re in a couple you’re seated here (told you they were bastards) but this is perfect. You’re on swivel stools, side by side perfectly placed for far more grabbing and feeling up. You also seem to then be in your own bubble, you can’t hear the people next to you and they can’t hear you. And because of the music, you have to lean in close to talk. The walls are covered in cheesy but well done tattoo art of Latina women in various states of undress and moustachioed men caressing them; and or guns. All in keeping with the ‘Mexican’ theme. Because all Mexicans are of course gun-toting, tattooed, gang members.
So it looks sexy, it sounds sexy, it smells & tastes sexy and it feeeeeels sexy. I have been here a number of times: with the ex, the BFF, the sister and the best bloke mate (that was the least sexy, he wasn’t drinking and so politely I abstained also, when all I wanted was 4 giant margaritas down my neck) But every other time! We had the super-laced, booze-heavy cocktails and just let go. With the ex we leaned in close, whispered filth (probably shouted it) stroked each other (probably put on a very visible show) and drank, ate and seat-danced until they booted us out and he carried me to a taxi where I tried to have sex with him. To his credit he found this (me being a holy disgrace) a turn on and valiantly managed to hold me off until he got me just about in the front door of my house.
With the BFF, we again were seated at the bar, lacing into the frozen ball margaritas and sharing food. We’re mad about each other, this is established and sometimes we might forget other people are there because we’re having such a great time together. This often gets us mistaken for a couple. But it’s not like we could give two shits. The merrier we get the more we tell each other we love each other. There’ll be tight hugs, boob squeezes and a few kisses. I’ll tell her she’s gorgeous, she is by the way, she’ll tell me the same. Sometimes if we think someone is staring we might overdo it. So what? Margaritas and this place will do that to you. And then of course there’s the dancing in the seats. Again, until we’re thrown out.
With the sister it’s more of the same, food sharing, boob squeezing and getting dance-y drunk until I call someone I shouldn’t and she goes home to her boy.

I’m aware that this all makes me sound like a big drunken lush. Or possibly does to some people? But to the ones who know what I mean? The people who are turned on by all their senses getting stimulated and being made to wait for the sex? You’re the people that I’m writing this for. And you know what I mean.
777 is the best place for a date. Not a first date mind? It’s casual dining but it’s in no way cheap (I rarely get out of there with change from €150 for two people, does include a nice tip though). So you want to take someone here that you know is going to enjoy it, someone who properly wants you and someone that you desperately want too. Maybe it’s the after you’ve had sex date? If you’re the kind of person who waits. OR like me, after you’ve met them and they were great in bed. It’s non-confrontational because they seat you side by side and this is far more conducive to a tactile, groping, nudging, knee brushing, cock grabbing kinda time.
I’m gonna end this love letter now, because frankly, it’s a little embarrassing. Last thing I’ll say about it; as sexy as this place makes me feel I’ve not been back there with a boy since the ex, I’m waiting for someone good.

 

 

No. 4 The Vintage Cocktail Club (The VCC)
This is another little gem that looks super dodgy and is actually kinda hard to find. Well, not terribly. The first time I was there I knocked on the door and I swear to god this is what happened; after I knocked, someone opened the door an inch and warily asked me what I wanted, Cocktails! Was my enthusiastic response. And then after a heartbeat’s hesitation where I assume they calculated my response, they said, ok, come on in. As if this was the magic answer and if I’d said ANYTHING else the door might have been shut forever.
The inside again is quite affected but it works well. I don’t know where they got the carpet or the wall paper but it looks like your granny’s’ house from 50 years ago, all brown and paisley and kinda faded. The theme of the place is 1920’s prohibition era, speakeasy. The staff all are gorgeous and wear suits. The cocktails are thankfully amazing and should you so desire, served in a giant bowl. It’s dark, the music is good and it’s on 3 or possibly 4 floors. All of them small and cosy. It’s perfect for secrets, and groping and leaving every concern at the door. Also, like a speakeasy I imagine, there are no windows – I just feel like I could get up to no good in here. I haven’t, but I always desperately want to. I’ve plotted no good, I’ve tempted someone here knowing well what I was doing. This place is custom designed for being saucy and acting saucy. They’re open til all hours anyway – plenty of time to get inspired.
I got deliciously pounded right into the ground one night, after sitting at the bar drinking blackberry & passion fruit concoctions with an ex. Each sip bringing us both closer to the inevitable. I knew exactly what I was doing bringing him here. (I’m pretty sure he knew too)

 

 

No. 3 Lansdowne Road (The Aviva)
Honestly, Thomond Park is actually sexier for me. I’ve been there more often, gotten drunk there more often and been chatted up there more often but this is about Dublin so I’m going with this. Yes, it’s a rugby stadium. Rugby turns me on, insert no fake apology here. It’s not the men that do it for me (well of course it is but not in the way that you think). Generally, a rugby build is too big for me, I prefer GAA player build or a swimmers build if I was to name a shape, which I’m not because I generally fancy everyone, so let’s not focus on that. To get back to the point, it’s not men running around in tight shorts, grabbing each other that is the turn on. Of course it isn’t, I don’t think that actually turns anyone on? It’s what the game ignites in me, that I love. I have a team, which I was born to. It’s where I’m from. My earliest memories are of my Dad bringing me to the rugby on Saturday mornings. I’ve known it as long as I can remember, so it’s an old, well established, deep rooted passion. I couldn’t discard it if I tried. And I think passion is the key here. I love this team, I’ve known them all my life, even when they’re shit, I love them and believe. They’ve broken my heart but they’ve fixed it again and they will always, always be forgiven.
So needless to say but I’m obviously going to say it anyway, I am invested and excited when I get to watch rugby. The adrenaline pumps in my veins, my heart beats out of my chest and I’m sure my pupils are disproportionately dilated. My whole temperature rises, I heat up at my core. But nobody needs me to describe sporting passion to them and that’s not what I’m doing, I’m just explaining, for some who might find it hard to grasp, that I am a genuine fan of this sport. I get properly riled up and this sometimes feels like sexual desire.

I met one of my favourite boys after watching Ireland beat Australia in Lansdowne in some of the most torrential rain I have ever seen. This same boy 6 months later was languishing in my bed after we had done god knows what the night before. It was a Saturday, as I stirred I realised the time (probably about 3 in the afternoon) and that the game was about to start. ‘Apollo, Apollo (for that was his moniker given here) – wake up, the Ireland game is about to start’. Luckily for both of us all we had to do was sit up a bit, as there was a TV at the end of my bed. I couldn’t be more pleased with myself. It was cold outside, we had been wrecking it the night before but right now? I was in my warm bed, naked, lying on the chest of this boy I adored, having just woken up in time to watch the rugby. It was bliss. Apollo loved rugby also, possibly my only beau who did, so he was just as content as me to be where he was. And then Ireland started playing well, better than well – we were cheering every few minutes, it was gonna be a walkover. So my thoughts turned to something else. I told myself if they scored soon I would start, they did. And then, if they went 50 points ahead I was going to climb onto him, they did. He didn’t stop me, I’d been stroking and lightly licking his cock for about 15 minutes. I was excited by the rugby, delighted to be where I was and so wet from having been teasing him. I rode him slowly and ground down onto him so that we were both happy. I could hear more excitement from the screen behind me, I don’t know if he could still see it, I think my eyes were closed. Flashes of that scene from Trainspotting went through my head – when Renton is having sex with Kelly and imagines some goal – I giggle and tell Apollo. I get more excited, this is great sex and I know I’m making more noise, possibly guessing that I’m close, he grabs my wrists and pulls me harder down on to him. Once again I can hear more excitement from behind me and just as I’m coming I can hear the noise – Ireland have scored again! I nearly fall off him laughing but he’s too quick, he has me under him and is pounding me to finish himself before I know what’s happening. Delicious. Ok, so that sex didn’t actually happen atthe game. But I met him there, and the game we were half watching half having sex to was on there. This makes it a sexy place. I won’t retract that.

 

 

No. 2 The Memorial Gardens
These are a hidden gem in Dublin. I’d been living in this city 10 years before someone brought me here. It was the electrician with the super-hot name. It was in the summer in that amazing fantastical time when it’s actually warm, better than warm, it’s hot. He wouldn’t tell me where we were going just told me to meet him at Heuston Station and we’d walk to where he intended bringing me. A short walk from there is this little oasis that you can’t believe exists. It’s a park and some wild land and a river. It’s so close to everything but seems miles away. And it’s so close to the Phoenix Park too, but in my opinion it’s infinitely better. So we sat near the river and drank red wine and lay on a big picnic blanket and got merry and kissed and groped each other, it was gorgeous. I’d never been here and he was incredulous at this and then after possibly two bottles he announces ‘You’ve never been here, which means you don’t know’ – I don’t know about what? ‘The rose garden – they’ve got this stunning and elaborate rose garden’. So we lay there and drank more wine until we were out and then it was time to see the rose garden. And it did not disappoint, it was genuinely magical. I think I skipped around it as he watched me bemused. He was leaning against a tier smiling at me when I sauntered up to him and nudged his legs apart so I could stand between them. I draped my arms around him and kissed him below his ear before whispering into it ‘Thank  you for this, thank you for bringing me here’. And then I kissed him, slowly, languidly and I felt him get hard. Not one to miss a trick he traced his hand up my thigh under my very short skirt. Then he stopped, I don’t know if he was teasing or testing, to see if I was ok with this in public. I was fine with it. The sun was going down and there was nothing I wanted more than for him to be touching me. So I touched his hand and moved it up further never taking my mouth off his. I was soaking by the time he slid his fingers into me and started doing the thing he did so well. He was so good with them, so deft and he could always get me off like that. I started to make noise, or at least my breath started to catch. He had two fingers in me and a thumb circling my clit, I had to bite his neck to stop from gasping. Every now and then as I moved my head, I caught sight of him, wholly bemused with the power he was wielding over me or possibly awestruck that I would let this happen – I don’t know, I didn’t know him that well at that point. He would look at me with the crooked smile and then go back to kissing me always maintaining the right pressure with his hands. I’m sure he was getting off on this. But then maybe reading it wrong or just being a gentleman (and he certainly was) as I was nuzzled into his neck trying to stifle my noises he casually mentions that a tourist couple has entered the garden at the further end. I hate this, it doesn’t turn me on, I derive no pleasure from the ‘excitement’ of possibly getting caught. ‘They’re not coming this way though’ he adds, so I let him continue. I’m so close, I want to come so badly, I need to. But having gauged my reaction correctly from the first bit of info he duly tells me that they’re coming closer, and asks me do I want him to stop. No, I don’t but I think you have to. As a consolation prize, to myself, as he slides his fingers out of me I catch his hand and take them in my mouth, sucking as much of the delicious taste off as I can.
His place isn’t far from here. So we stroll as fast as our drunk and wanton bodies will take us to his house so we can finish each other off.

 

 

No. 1 My couch
I know, I know. This is a cheat and I really should have Whelan’s listed here as I seem to have an outrageous track record in that place not to mention the time I had a girl there. But I don’t care if these are sexy places you can realistically visit or just places I find sexy. So my couch is the number one sexy place in Dublin. For me. And I’m not even a tiny bit contrite about that. Any guy who’s had the pleasure would agree.
And it has some hot competition from the bed and the kitchen table but really, this is a one horse race.
The couch is leather and L shaped. Big enough for anything you would like to be getting up to on it. And of course, wipe clean. It’s also out in the floor, not pushed up against a wall; which means that it is the perfect height for being bent over while giving stability to both partners. And of course there’s the arm of it, perfect also for bending me over it and spanking me or whatever you would want to do to me. It has close proximity to the giant cushions so I can get on my knees and stay there for ages while bestowing some maddeningly long fellatio on you until I am ready to straddle you. Either reverse cowgirl, and who doesn’t like that. Or facing you, gripping the back of the couch so I can grind right down on to you or hover tantalisingly, just on the tip. I can also kneel on the couch, facing over the back of it so you can take me from behind, with the option of kneeling behind me or standing so you can get in right and deep. This couch was custom designed for me. Actually it was, it’s bespoke but I had no idea what I was doing when I ordered it, clearly some part of my brain did though. I remember one occasion, when I was being taken by The Cop, I’m kneeling on the couch bending over it, he’s behind me, one leg kneeling and one upright, pounding me into oblivion. As this continues I go further and further over the edge of the couch so that my hands are touching the floor. But he keeps going, fucking me furiously being completely encouraged by me, I go too far though, I lose my grip and suddenly I’m in danger of going over, we both are. I’m going and I’m taking him with me! But we don’t, he obviously catches me.
I have lay here for hours watching movies. I have lay here getting myself off. I have lay here sick, sad, tired, happy and horny. I have written most of my posts here on this couch. I adore this thing and it is the very, sexiest place in Dublin. It’s good for everything.

 

 

No science was abused or incorrectly invoked in the writing of this post.

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