A night of cocktails with very sex positive people is pretty likely to result in something interesting happening. I hadn’t actually expected anything on my end. It was, after all, a Sunday night. With work bright and early in the morning I planned to call it an early night. I live on the either side of the bridge, my place is a bit too messy to really entertain anyone, and for the most part people in San Francisco rarely seem to want to come visit us in the East Bay.

But I really should have known better and packed a slut bag just in case. A slut bag is a spare pair of panties, a toothbrush, a comb, and just enough makeup to get you through the next day. It’s a little emergency sleepover kit you keep in your purse when visiting a bar just in case. I left my boy scout badge at home that night and I was left very unprepared.

This isn’t to say it was a random hookup with a stranger (not that I’m entirely opposed to such a thing). It was a friend and someone I’m comfortable with and it was brought on by his more protective nature. For the life of me I couldn’t shake the advances of one fellow who didn’t quite understand that I wasn’t going to go home with him no matter how much he asked. I had every intention of walking myself to BART but suddenly that option didn’t seem quite as savory. What ended up occurring was a rescue fuck. My charming knight in shining armor had me return home with him as an act of chivalry, really.

We had the kind of sex I always enjoy. It was the kind of sex where we worked very hard on getting his very large paws into my small twat, also known as fisting. It’s considered to be one of the more athletic sexual feats and one that I very much enjoy even if we can get past those final knuckles. It’s also the kind of activity that can leave a girl a bit sore, especially after a few other romps throughout the night and the morning.

So there I stood on a San Francisco street corner waiting for a bus that would deliver me to work. I was already a bit displeased with the shoes I was stuck with for the day as well as being shaken out of my normal routine. Despite my best efforts, I did look a little out of sorts as one might imagine. I was wearing the same clothes as the night before and the work-appropriateness of them was handled by keeping my coat buttoned up for the entire day. I wasn’t at all amused when the muni that picked me up had to pull over because of an air bag issue. I was even less pleased that an individual on the street decided 8AM was a good time to harass me about my choice to light up a cigarette.

But deep down, it’s the kind of story I cherish. Post-fisting soreness is something that I enjoy even when people notice that I’m sitting awkwardly in my chair because it’s a little badge to remember the sexiness of it all. I also love that I have the kind of fantastic work relationship with my boss where he can see my weariness, my mussed up hair, my wrinkled clothes, and my lack of makeup and simply say, “You forgot your slut bag, didn’t you?”

Filed under: Stories |
Posted on December 10th, 2008
Posted by Miss Maggie Mayhem