I mean, if I wanted to spend the night tribbing my brains out, I’d invite one of my girlfriends over. There’s nothing more disappointing than having a guy wine and dine you, getting him home, taking his pants off and finding nothing but a pair of balls. While his mast was far from massive, at least it didn’t require special glasses or a search party with bloodhounds to locate. It would have seemed quite unsportsmanlike now to halt the procreative proceedings so I grabbed onto his Jolly Roger and began to pump the primer. His frisky frolicking digits were flitting about my quickly moistening feminine folds when “plop”, in went a finger. He had a reasonable aptitude for getting the monkey greased and I felt myself getting more and more into the spirit of the moment. His hand had now officially morphed into Dora the Explorer and she was well ensconced in my fertile lowlands. I sure wish I could have seen what he looked, though. More deep, deep kissing ensued and much groping (okay, some of the groping may have been me).
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I was tired and a little dyspeptic and I really didn’t have the strength or the will to get into a whole, “get the hell off me you filthy pig” sort of scene, so didn’t resist when he grabbed my ass and yanked my lap-lunch full tilt into his swollen Johnson. Alas, he had his tongue plunged down my throat before I could even fully focus.
There was nothing to be gained by being hasty in my delicate condition, so I decided to roll over and see what he looked like before screaming the apartment down. I could either scream, bolt out of the bed and politely ask him to leave or I could even more politely let him fuck me again (which was obviously his intention). Mystery Man kissed the back of my neck and squeezed the titty he had in his hand. I felt him wiggle up tighter against me and say, “Hey Sandra, you’re amazing.”ĭouble Shit! He knew my name but until two seconds ago, I didn’t even know that he was a guy. Man, I must have been righteously hammered. Shit! What to do? I searched and searched my ravaged memory banks for any recollection of the events that had to lead up to this moment. I knew instantly that it wasn’t my delicious Claire because her forearm wasn’t nearly that hairy…plus I could feel an erection digging into my ass-crack. I had absolutely no idea who this person was. All I can say is that it’s fortunate that heads aren’t as big as asses when you both have to share the toilet. I think the only bodily fluid we managed to successfully exchange was our vomit the next morning. I remembered coming home with the idiot and still retained some vague memory of messy, floppy-dicked drunk sex. Hey, I occasionally like to indulge in the odd drink and this had happened to me once before but at least that time, I realized what I’d done. Waking up naked, with some equally unclothed stranger, can make for some exceedingly awkward moments. FUCK! This is one of those situations – like having a cold-fingered gynecologist – that every girl dreads.
No, it wasn’t a heart attack, it was an unexpected guest. What was of concern to me at this juncture was not my complete loss of memory but the weight I had on my chest. The events of our babe-centric bacchanal are crystal clear in my mind…until about 9 o’clock that night. I had had a bit of a fling with one of the damsels in question and I was really going to miss our “quality time” together. Two of the girls from my office were leaving for a branch Australia and I decided to send them off “down under” with an unholy evening of unbridled mayhem and over indulgence. None of this was totally surprising, considering the night I had just endured. My tummy might have also a wee bit upset.
When my eyes finally summoned up the Spartan-like courage to pry open their heavy lids that fateful morning, my head was not a happy camper.
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