The Servant waits while the Master bates

It started with the usual pangs of adolescence that blossomed into a desire to grind my pelvis into anything in a skirt. But my fear of girls overrode the will to act and I had to settle for grinding against inanimate objects, like the desk. Until I entered into an intimate relationship with an old back massager I found in the attic. It started out innocently enough: me, shirtless on my bed, massaging everywhere but the area that ached. I tried to ignore it. But it beckoned. It ‘slipped’ and a wave of pleasure overcame me. I held on as long as I could. Thirty seconds, give or take a few.
I had every intention of living life to the fullest with that massager, until the fateful day it died in a plume of gray smoke. I had to find another way to avoid the temptations of actual sex rather than appliance based simulated sex. I did pretty well for awhile, until I got sober at 23 and decided it was time to experience it in the flesh.
Enter Sandy. She attended my Tuesday night AA meeting. She was the only female in the meeting that didn’t have a front tooth missing or three rug rats running around. I suggested coffee afterwards and to my surprise, she agreed.
At coffee, we sat together in a booth. Sandy ordered tea. I had medium regular with extra sugar. “I’d love to go on a date with you sometime,” Sandy blurted between sips.
It caught me off guard. Maybe she sensed my hidden agenda. I tried not to react for fear it would expose me further, “How about tomorrow night?”
“Why not tonight?” She answered, her raised eyebrow made me realize I wasn’t the only one with an agenda.
We went to her house and once the lights dimmed Sandy turned into a rapacious predator. She said the filthiest things I ever heard outside of porn. She wanted to suck things, lick others, and asked me if I wanted to pound her into the mattress. Of course I wanted these things. But hearing them verbalized made them a little too real. My virginity was never a matter of integrity, only shame. Its abrupt three dimensional end, was a little too real for me. So I told her the truth.
“Um, before we get too involved in this there’s something I should tell you.”
Sandy leaned back. Candlelight illuminated her face. “What is it?” she asked tenderly.
“It’s just that…well…I’ve never done this before.”
No one knew. It felt weird to say.
She led me to her room where a candle provided the only light. When the time was right I reached for a condom, fiddled with the rapper, and rolled it on. It desensitized me, which helped.
Sandy moaned, panted, and screamed obscenities. I had a mental checklist going: I really liked the oral, wasn’t a fan of the slippery tongue in my ear, could’ve done without her asking me if she was my little slut. None of that mattered when I got behind her, though, and I was well on my way to finishing when Sandy rasped, “Slap me.”
I stopped and looked around, wondering if I heard her correctly. She said it again, “Come on baby, slap me.”
The whole idea crushed my groove and turned me off. “Um, I’m really not into that.” I said passively.
There was a short pause that made me think the matter was dropped. So I got back to work. A few strokes later, it came up again. “Please baby, slap me.” She repeated. I fumbled with a few words before she ordered, “Do it now, slap me now!”
I didn’t want to disappoint her. So I leaned forward, wound up, and smacked her upside the head. She broke the awkward silence that ensued by saying, “No, you asshole. I meant slap my ass.”
There were others. Shelly had a hygiene problem that roused my dog and forced him to leave the room. There was my first ménage a trois where I experienced pleasure overload that caused temporary erectile dysfunction. And let’s not forget Jeanine, who I inadvertently thumbed after our senior prom. I guess I’d say I’m an advocate for sex education, lest anyone else end up like me. I’m fortunate to have learned from my mistakes. Enough to bag a babe like Rachel.