to see how far I could push the rubber envelope with him. If that wasn't enough to make me delirious, Trent had the stupid thing on high speed—all night. I am surprised the vacationers in the rooms next to us were not banging on the walls, screaming, "shut up!” I am sure their ears were glued to the wall listening to all of our tantalizing noises that were drowning out the ocean breeze—and thinking what the hell is going on in there?
In a discouraging twist of fate, our new acquaintance was losing steam. He went from sounding like a super-charged drill—to a dying bee on a quiet neighborhood sidewalk. He started to make this low buzz before he stopped working. That was it for him. He was quiet and motionless on the sheets. The sadness I felt was odd in a strange way. I was starting to become attached to my new overpriced, green buddy. Our artificial friend could have at least given us a few months of pleasure before he met his maker. We broke that crazy thing in record time. I felt ashamed that I was somehow involved in the breaking of a sex toy. That type of thing only happens to other dirty people and not us occasionally dirty people.
The next morning Trent flat out told me, in no uncertain terms, that we must return Rex after breakfast. That was my tipping-point—Trent’s hideous words made my blood suddenly run ice cold. My half-digested scrambled eggs and bacon started to curdle in my stomach. This was my proof that Trent was super cheap! I would have rather had my pinky toenail removed if that was a convenient option!
That whole thing reminded me of the many times that I had watched porn in the past. The instant I orgasm , all I want to do is turn off the porn as fast as possible—as if it never happened. Then I realize that the stupid remote is lost somewhere in the comforter. I find myself scrambling in a panic to find the flipping remote in total darkness. I wanted that naughty stuff turned off instantly, before I had to admit to myself that I actually watched it. I enjoyed it in the moment, but when I arrived at my final destination, it must vanish. The naked strangers on the television set moments prior seemed “attractive”, and then suddenly they would morph into smelly dirty animals moaning in a sex jungle. That was me and how I felt about my broken plaything. He was rode hard and ultimately demolished. My vibrant gadget was old news. It was time for us to move on to greener pastures and forget sex toys for a while.
We were in a different zip code, but it was outrageous that we were driving back to the pleasure store—again. We were doing the walk of shame, parking the car right in front of the tacky place. We had no decency or pride left at that point. The sales woman looked like my second grade principal, and I was about to get spanked with a wooden paddle! She glared at us like, "Not them again," with a frown of disgust. I had a comatose look in my eye and my stoic face went perfectly blank. My eyes were saying, “Just let us off easy, please, mean lady, let us get the heck out of Dodge.” She allowed us to exchange the green beast for a neutered, pink, six-inch model with less power. Hiding our faces, we quickly exited—with our subdued pal. What kind of people had we become in that sleepy little town?
Later that evening, Trent and I had a few drinks at the outdoor hotel bar. I was still hurting down below in my lady-lips region. Heck, my camel-toes looked like deflated pink birthday balloons—not pretty. My ego was wounded and I felt bit ridiculous over how everything went down. Like a true sport, I chose to delight myself with a few libations to ease the constant throbbing.
Since I am a girl with a little meat on her bones, it felt like when I had one martini, I was getting hot. Two martinis and I became a bit hotter. Three martinis and I had become cha-ching, super-hot! Any more drinks than that and everything heads down-hill very quickly! For what it’s worth, that was how it
In a discouraging twist of fate, our new acquaintance was losing steam. He went from sounding like a super-charged drill—to a dying bee on a quiet neighborhood sidewalk. He started to make this low buzz before he stopped working. That was it for him. He was quiet and motionless on the sheets. The sadness I felt was odd in a strange way. I was starting to become attached to my new overpriced, green buddy. Our artificial friend could have at least given us a few months of pleasure before he met his maker. We broke that crazy thing in record time. I felt ashamed that I was somehow involved in the breaking of a sex toy. That type of thing only happens to other dirty people and not us occasionally dirty people.
The next morning Trent flat out told me, in no uncertain terms, that we must return Rex after breakfast. That was my tipping-point—Trent’s hideous words made my blood suddenly run ice cold. My half-digested scrambled eggs and bacon started to curdle in my stomach. This was my proof that Trent was super cheap! I would have rather had my pinky toenail removed if that was a convenient option!
That whole thing reminded me of the many times that I had watched porn in the past. The instant I orgasm , all I want to do is turn off the porn as fast as possible—as if it never happened. Then I realize that the stupid remote is lost somewhere in the comforter. I find myself scrambling in a panic to find the flipping remote in total darkness. I wanted that naughty stuff turned off instantly, before I had to admit to myself that I actually watched it. I enjoyed it in the moment, but when I arrived at my final destination, it must vanish. The naked strangers on the television set moments prior seemed “attractive”, and then suddenly they would morph into smelly dirty animals moaning in a sex jungle. That was me and how I felt about my broken plaything. He was rode hard and ultimately demolished. My vibrant gadget was old news. It was time for us to move on to greener pastures and forget sex toys for a while.
We were in a different zip code, but it was outrageous that we were driving back to the pleasure store—again. We were doing the walk of shame, parking the car right in front of the tacky place. We had no decency or pride left at that point. The sales woman looked like my second grade principal, and I was about to get spanked with a wooden paddle! She glared at us like, "Not them again," with a frown of disgust. I had a comatose look in my eye and my stoic face went perfectly blank. My eyes were saying, “Just let us off easy, please, mean lady, let us get the heck out of Dodge.” She allowed us to exchange the green beast for a neutered, pink, six-inch model with less power. Hiding our faces, we quickly exited—with our subdued pal. What kind of people had we become in that sleepy little town?
Later that evening, Trent and I had a few drinks at the outdoor hotel bar. I was still hurting down below in my lady-lips region. Heck, my camel-toes looked like deflated pink birthday balloons—not pretty. My ego was wounded and I felt bit ridiculous over how everything went down. Like a true sport, I chose to delight myself with a few libations to ease the constant throbbing.
Since I am a girl with a little meat on her bones, it felt like when I had one martini, I was getting hot. Two martinis and I became a bit hotter. Three martinis and I had become cha-ching, super-hot! Any more drinks than that and everything heads down-hill very quickly! For what it’s worth, that was how it
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