Well, That's One Way To Get A Sex Toy

Hey all, I have too many serious posts planned, so I thought I'd sneak something a little more light-hearted in while I'm reflecting on it.  For those curious I'm working away on the second chapter of "Frances Haddon's Pillow Book" after which I'll get that chapter one revision complete.

So this story is a bit hard to believe, and I would have a hard time swallowing it myself if it hadn't happened to me, but it is completely true.

Years ago, I was selected by the company I worked for to attend a trade show/conference in Oregon to occupy a sales&POS booth.  It was not an exciting time.  The event was poorly attended by industry insiders and potential customers a like.  Panel discussions were canceled left and right, and I was only able to bring any revenue back with me thanks to the twin miracles of boredom and cleavage (or are those triplets?)

Even then, I'm sure it wasn't enough to have paid for my flight.

But the night was my own, and while Portland may not be the biggest city, they do have a huge number of dance clubs and the like.  I had to wander a long while in painful heels before I found a place that was A: packed and B: not a strip club of which there are like a bajillion for some reason.  (It's like they're trying to form some sort of nature boob preserve there.)

I did finally find a club though, and while I'm not usually a "WOO PARTY" girl, I had been sitting in that stultifying arena all day long and was just bursting with energy.  So I danced.  I danced for hours, long and late into the night.  I danced with men and women and accepted a good number of drinks from ogling eyes; not so much that I was drunk, but I certainly got tipsy.

Late in the night (or early in the morning) I was winding down, and ended up partnered with this kinda cute guy in sunglasses and a rumpled grey suit.  He was a decent dancer, and I stuck with him for several songs.  At one point the DJ put on this slow-tempo R&B/Rap song and during the course of getting a little close, I gave the guy a little bit of grinding action.

My eyes went wide when I did that.  There was some soft, distinct mass in there that felt ENORMOUS.  By the end of the song I decided that I had to have him and whispered in his ear that I had a hotel room and might like to hang out a bit before bed so I could wind down.

We grabbed a taxi and much to the dismay of the poor driver made out like crazy.  (In hindsight, he paid, and I don't think he left nearly enough of a tip for having to put up with us.)

We get in the door still mostly lip locked and then, right there n the foyer, I decide I have to find out just what this stud is packing.  I push him back a little, kick off my heels, and sink down to my knees, eagerly and clumsily trying to get his belt-buckle open and his pants down.

When I finally get them around his ankles I'm confronted with this lovely bulge in his tight briefs, and I'm a bit excited and tipsy and tired, so I don't give it a second thought when I yank those tighty-whitey's down and his dick falls right off.

No... not exactly.  As I'm peeling them down, this purple translucent semi-soft gel dildo falls to the floor with a weird kind of thump.  I stare at it.  I look up at him, his face red, sunglasses hiding where his eyes are, then I look back down to his real pens.

I'll be honest, I'd love to exaggerate and say that it was the smallest I'd ever seen, or that I'd never been more unimpressed in my life, but in the name of honesty that wouldn't be fair.  He was probably average.  Maybe on the small side of average.  I'll never know because he was completely soft and at this point humiliated enough to shrivel a bit.

But I was pissed.  My day had been boring, my feet hurt like mad, and now I was being denied the release I craved from a nce big dick.  I grabbed the dildo and stood.

"Seriously?" I said.

"Sorry." Was all he could manage.

I reached around him to open the door again and started to push him out.  He didn't fight me too hard, but the moment he pushed back a little I whapped him right over the head with the dildo, mussing up his hair and skewing his stupid fucking sunglasses.  He recoiled then and I slammed the door in his face.  He feeble-ly knocked two times and then left.

I washed, and then got very well acquainted with the fake dick.  I still have it to this day.

Why do men do these things?  What do they think is going to happen if their fake lure works?  Something good?  Their pants are going to have to come off eventually and no woman is going to be happy to see a roll of socks or a can of coke in there.

Now that I look back on this years later, and I'm wiser, I hope in my heart that he was just into Small-Penis-Humiliation and that the whole experience is something he's going to beat off to for the rest of his life.