It's Hard Being a Slut.
I met her in an Irish bar. She was left-handed, had a nice accent, though she didn't say much, and a tribal tattoo on her right arm. She was Amazonian tall, dirty blonde, wavy hair, startled blue eyes with long lashes, an oval-shaped face (which she touched when I spoke to her), hungry lips, a wide, bright smile, and a deep, gravelly, lyrical voice. I admired her waist which was exposed in her cutoff white T-shirt and the juicy booty booming out of her low-cut, faded jeans. Her posture was excellent even though she was drunk.
I sat next to her pretending not to notice her. While I was waiting for the barmaid to notice me and the twenty-dollar bill between my fingers, she sang to me the line of some Cold Play song on the juke box and then asked me "What are you having?"
I looked her up and down very slowly, appraised her, and answered with a cocky tone, "You—I mean, whatever you're having." She laughed maniacally. Then our eyes suddenly locked and at that moment she was mine.
We playfully discussed a couple making out in the corner ("...With the lights on and everything, just like high school. Can you believe it?") Then I mentioned how hot they were, and how hot she was and how she had a great ass. She told me she just loved my belt buckle and I told her it looked even better on the floor. I told her I just worked out and she offered me a massage. After those lies were said we rushed to her apartment off of Folsom Street not too far from the bar. The entry way to her apartment was psychedelically red, and she lived near the top of the stairs on the second floor. As she swiveled up the stairs I couldn't resist the urge to gently caress and cup her awesome ass until we got to her apartment. She didn't mind and even moaned with pleasure when I squeezed it. I felt my dick move in my pants as she unlocked the door and we entered her pad.
Like most SF apartments, there was a long hallway which passed a bathroom off to one side, a kitchen off to one side, and then some kind of Spartan dining room with candles and Buddha statues here and there, and then the bedroom with Edwardian windows overlooking the back yard. She lived alone. She asked if I liked to watch porn. We closed the curtains, popped in some porn on the TV, which was mounted above her bed, and stripped quickly. Before I knew it, she was on her knees, wrapping her warm, wet mouth around my dick and slurping my shaft which was, at first, off to one side, but now fully erect in her mouth. I lifted her up and threw her on the bed. We flowed into each other, just one groaning, gyrating tangle of arms and legs. Our hot tongues flickered like candle flames in the wind all over every nook and cranny of our bodies. Our passion rocked the walls of the building and I was vocally delighted when she enthusiastically started licking my ass as I went down on her. We both came several times throughout the night. It was pretty hot. I particularly enjoyed watching her ass shiver and shake as I pounded her from behind. I felt bad that I couldn't remember her name and I realized this when my tongue was lapping up her labia and she was snacking on my balls between ass munching sessions. Eventually, me and What's-her-Name passed out for the last time together.
What happened next may surprise and disgust you, so you may want to stop reading and just masturbate, or at least stop eating if that’s what you’re doing while reading this. Okay, I woke up at a quarter to seven in the morning. I noticed a small stain of a reddish brown color at the bottom of the sheets. Since it was a windy day prior to that night, my allergies prevented me from detecting a scent. My instinct was that it was dried blood, and I was slightly afraid due to the risk of contracting some disease like HIV or Hepatitis. I quickly inspected my body and it was cut free and clean. Relieved, I leaned over to my perverted Irish Amazon and whispered a sultry request for a shower. She blinked her blue, trembling eyes and groaned about a clean towel on the door. So I tip-toed down the dark hall to the bathroom. After grabbing the towel hanging on the back of the door, I felt nervous. I thought she could possibly be stealing my money, or going through my wallet finding out I lied about my name. So, feeling paranoid, I started to rush and jumped in the shower and washed the essentials first (neck, pits, balls, and feet). The pressure was low but I successfully washed the sin and guilt from my skin, and especially my dick and hair. When I came out I noticed a trail of the same sheet-stain color dotting the carpet on the way up the hall to the bedroom in the back. "That's curious," I thought, feeling like Alice in Wonderland. I avoided stepping on the mystery stain but I noticed shapes in them—the kind you see in clouds. One shape looked remarkably like a monkey with an umbrella. They were very faint, but as I followed them to the back of the flat, I found What's-Her-Name on her hands and knees, her ass jiggling and wiggling as she scrubbed the floor with a wet towel.
"What are you doing down there?" I inquired.
She tilted her head like a dumb cheerleader and, with a Goldie Hawn smile, the kind that shows the bottom teeth, she replied in a lovely Irish accent, "There was a little shit accident."
"What? What do you mean?" I said, feigning disinterest.
“Well, last night I went to the bathroom, and it was so dark, so I didn't notice that I tracked in some...some shit. See, I went to the bathroom and..."
"And you didn't know you were done or something like that? What—you had the runs or something? That is—that is just really gross," I said matter-of-factly and sincerely, without sounding disgusted, to my surprise. She agreed. I gave her an empathetic that-really-sucks look, and then I said, "I think I better go now. It was nice meeting you. Good-bye and good luck."
I left down the hall, out the door and back into the psychedelic entryway. The sky was bright and I squinted, hoping to God that there was not one little piece of shit on me that I didn't notice. I took the Folsom Street bus to my house and, while I was on it, I thought of people into "scat," and how they could possibly get sexually aroused by human feces. I just don't get it. Still don't. Maybe if I had the right traumatic childhood experience I could appreciate this fetish, but after wracking my brain I couldn't fathom how this would be possible with me. Shit is just dirty. I guess therein lies the answer. After another shower and a bath I still felt...I don't know...dirty. It's hard being a slut.
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