"You can pull my hair if you want to...". It's always the cute ones. In my long and illustrious career as a professional sexual deviant and all around man-whore, I have come to realise many things. One of the more interesting of these is that when it comes to sex, one must never, ever, judge a book by its cover. I'm not in the habit of writing about my exploits, I view kissing and telling as poor form, but this particular incident was as fascinating as it was pleasurable. This is one of the rare times where it would be a travesty to let what happened in Vegas just stay there.
She and I met
only recently, on a mutual friend's recommendation. Lovely girl, cute as a button, adorably chubby in that 'not always staring at the fucking floor on Instagram' way. All in all, not the perfect physical specimen of my dreams (oh Amber Rose), but then I doubt I myself ticked every box in her head. Not the queen of conversation either, but that was due more to a quiet demeanor, rather than lack of personality/intelligence. Au contraire, the young lady is a final year medical student, and I'm quite sure that requires some smarts to achieve.
During the course of our many conversations, we probed and asked the usual questions, at least learning the bare minimums we all require before deciding if it's worth committing sins of the flesh with a stranger. Fast forward and here we are.
"Let me know when you're home. I'll take a taxi, you pay and after that, it's happy hour". Her take on what we were planning was refreshing. We're here to do a job, let's not beat about the bush on that. The usual pretence made by some girls as to why they came over is more often than not tiresome. So she's here, and as I said before cute as a button. When we spoke, I mentioned my predisposition to sundresses and lacy French knickers, a preference she decided to oblige with her outfit. Have a seat, make yourself comfortable, let me get you a drink..., standard rules of engagement in these situations. She sipped on Irish cream, I puffed on a joint and we chatted. I'm no neanderthal good people, one cannot just begin ripping off clothes and inserting penises willy-nilly.
She got loose, I got even more so and just like that, happy hour had begun. Her particular kinks had been the subject of our many discussions, thus I was more than prepared to rough her up the way she said she liked. Or I thought I was... Without boring you with too many details (Vegas is still Vegas people), as we engaged in the matter at hand, the good doctor-to-be seemed to be enjoying herself, but not in the throes of sexual passion I had hoped. Her responses were similar to the faces of an audience at a show, where the comedian is more amusing as opposed to downright hilarious. My concerns were mounting. In my head, I quickly scanned my personal kama sutra, mentally searching chapters and paragraphs, desperate to find the right 'make this bitch scream' technique. Mid stroke/browse, she turns back to look at me and says the magic words...
"You can pull my hair if you want to...".
I think I may have laughed a little. Not at her request of course, but at my surprise. I should know by now. It's always the cute ones. When the doctor said she liked it rough, she apparently meant rough. The right page in the kama sutra flicked open and I begun. The audience was infinitely more responsive to the show. But wait, there's more...
Just as the good doctor in waiting was kinky, so was she vocal. Very vocal. Which in itself is not a big deal..., lots of women are loud when enjoying themselves. But the good doctor chose these moments (and many others I'm sure) to show just how well mannered she is. I've heard everything from 'YES!' to 'OH GOD!' to 'FUCK ME!' But never has anyone been so polite. 'Yes please! Yes Please! Yes Please!'... It was fascinating. That's the same answer one gives when offered a cup of tea or the menu.
"Good day miss, would like to see today's special?"
The novelty of the whole thing spurred me on, and an idea came to my head.
Step 1, flip her on her back
Step 2, keeping hitting that as hard as possible
Step 3, choke her
I wrapped my hands around her neck and applied pressure. I've never actually seen a response quite like that before. Sticking with the Vegas referrences, I'd just hit the jackpot. The 'yes please' became less audible, but the grabbing and shaking became far more pronounced. I had told my sign off joke and the audience responded to my performance with rapturous applause.
Of course afterwards I teased her.
"Why so polite? Your parents raised a well brought-up little freak didn't they?"
Don't judge a book by its cover good people. That sweet little doctor attending to you in your moments of ill health, the one who looks like the love child of a Sunday school teacher and a professional bedtime story teller. Her, that one, she's low-key the original freak of the week.
Of course I hope she reads this. I write it as an ode to the nefarious Dr Yes Please. Her story is one which deserves to be told.
Til next time, I am Womilee. Would you like me to go harder?