GIRL 21
BESTIALITY GIRL
I was torn up from Girl 20, Jackrabbit Girl. And Girl 14, Piano Girl.
And Girl 6, the goddamned love of my life. I
needed something inconsequential. A snack. A dalliance. That would help
me heal, I thought.
I did a word search on the words "sexual" and "sensuous." One of the respondents had the screen name Sa-t-8-u.
Satiate you. Say she ate you.
The picture was blurry and showed a thin girl with an 80s haircut.
Probably a 20-year-old photo, I thought. But her writeup pretty much
said "bend me over." Bingo.
I wrote her. She responded with her phone number. I called her. Her
first words to me were, "do you have a basement?" No, I said, I live in
a condo. Was this some gold-digging female diagnostic of how big my
house was? Why, I asked. Because, she said, I want you to tie me up in
your basement and whip me. And fuck me. I paused long enough to gasp,
but she didn’t wait. "Are you a dom?" A dominant? Yes, I answered, and
then added, "I didn’t give you permission to ask that, you bitch."
Her voice quivered in pleasure. "Oh, yes, master! Sorry, master! May I call you ‘master’? Or do you prefer, ‘sir’?"
Michael will do, I told her. When I asked her what she was into, she
asked, what was she not into? She knew more group sex and swapping
jargon (yes, it apparently has its own vocabulary!) than I’d ever
imagined. She told me about when she and her boyfriend would go to sex
parties, it wasn’t "cheating" if – while he fucked another female – he
kept his eyes locked on hers. The second time I called her and asked
what she was up to, she said she was on a bestiality chat room and
cruising bestiality web sites. In two conversations she poured her
fantasies out to me. One of her things was being sexual with one end of
her man while another man was sexual with his other end. I had to
disappoint her on that one. Amazing, I thought, a woman who knows more
about sex than I do.
She asked what I liked my woman to wear. Miniskirt and heels, of course, I said.
Panties optional, she asked.
This was a first date fuck if I ever saw one.
She showed up in the promised microminiskirt, thigh-high stockings and
fuck-me pumps. Normally a fortunate thing, but she could have climbed
down from the cab of an 18-wheeler, and could easily have wrestled me
to the mat. I’m not sure I could have circled her waist with my arms
and had my hands meet.
She gave me a present. Inside there were two things. Her thong – she
had removed it in the parking lot – and Chinese anal love beads. Were
they for use on her or me, I wondered. I asked how she had spent her
day, as she said she was temporarily unemployed. She ordered a
margarita and I called for Coors Light, and she told the tale of how
she surfed the bestiality websites and chat rooms, and her first
through third masturbation episodes of the day, which yielded to the
sexual enema.
As she told it, she was new to enemas, and the first time she had an
accident in which, while internally pressurized, she played with the
nozzle, fucking her ass with it, and a jet of enema water streaked
across the room, hitting the cat. I started choking with laughter,
irritating the couple sitting at a too-close table, who were riveted to
the entire story. Go on, I said. This morning, she reported, when she
pulled out the enema bottle, the cat took one look at it and ran like
hell!
The conversation turned to what she wanted in life, which were marriage
and children. She was 41. If she wanted kids and a fulfilling marriage,
this was an odd way to start. I felt that strange feeling when I was no
longer in charge of the conversation. If it had been up to me, I would
have adjourned to the back seat for a nice warm good-night blowjob, but
instead there was something else planned for Bestiality Girl.
What children do you know, I asked. She told me her 6 year old nephew
was local, and that she was trying to avoid watching him while her
brother was in jail. For the second time I choked on my beer, but this
was not a reaction to something funny. She wanted children, yet
couldn’t be bothered to care for her young nephew while the brother was
in jail? What was up with that? Any other family in the area, I asked.
She shook her head; her parents were gone. Was this a terrible, awful
child, a demon, I asked? No, he was perfectly sweet, she said. But a 6
year old in the house meant cramping her style. She couldn’t play with
her dildos, watch her bestiality DVDs or get sexual enemas all day long
with a kid in the house.
I’m not sure what I said. I know the moodof the evening changed. I
remember at least that I told her that marriage and family would not be
a reality nor should they be. Spend the rest of your life playing, I
suggested. Leave children and husbands to the other girl.
There was no good-bye kiss.
Written by tigersharktorp . Link to this entry
This entry has 1 comments: (Add your own)
You have to turn this into a bound book volume. The stories are wild!
Comment from sigmapirules - 10/16/05 12:49 AM
No comments:
Post a Comment