So I’m laying in bed. I’ve got my toy box and my kindle. Underneath my ass I have a puppy training pad and a bath towel to catch my juices. I’m a super messy lady. My toy box contains a dildo eight inches long, a clit stimulating vibrator, and a jar of lavender and chamomile petroleum jelly.
My husband is in the living room. We will have sex today. But my man likes to hit a home run right out the park, and I prefer the pitcher to throw all balls so I can stroll the bases. I prefer to perform my foreplay alone, and when I’m ready for him to join me I’ll call out to him.
I open my kindle and go to my favorite porn site, XNXX. I will read at least one story and watch pieces of several short porn videos. I put a little jelly on my finger to get things started. I don’t need much. Once I get started my body will dutifully respond and produce.
Then the tip of my vibe gets a thin coat, but I wait to turn it on. I’m scrolling through my search for “muscular,” clicking on a thirteen minute video called Sensually Drilling Perfect Round Ass Sandra Blue, starring said lady and a fella called Jimmy Bud. Hit play. Skip ad as soon as possible, and we have show.
They kiss for a short bit, then start the blow job. She is energetic. I note that his penis is smooth and the same color as the rest of his skin, and that is resembles a large hot dog. Now I get why people call it a sausage. Even though I find a crisp new white t-shirt sexy, I want him to take it off. I like his face and his body. That isn’t always easy to find.
As usual, the blow job takes too long, and I skip ahead a little bit. Now he’s eating her out. I like how he puts his big hand on her belly and gently rubs. I like his enthusiasm. I’m about ready to turn on my vibe. But then I notice something distracting.
Sandra has a large tattoo on her right arm. Much of it is an intricate filigree, like something a henna artist might make. It is all dark monochrome. But… smack in the middle of the thing is a huge blotch. It’s right in the middle of her upper arm. It glares at me, incongruous as shit. Yes, I see him licking her. She has a nice clean pussy.
But my eyes keep going back to the tattoo. It bothers me. Why? Why would she have a tattoo artist do that? It makes an otherwise delicate, intricate artwork unsightly. It’s the color of what I imagine a gangrenous limb waiting to be amputated might be. There has to be a story behind it. There must be something hidden underneath.
He is fucking her now; there’s that hot dog. Neither of these two have any discoloration in their genital regions. They certainly wax, and I wonder if they also bleach. What could that splotch be hiding? I begin to tell myself a short story about it.
Sandra had a boyfriend, no, a fiancé. His name was, maybe, Tyler. Her first tattoo would one day become that spot of black on her arm. She had “I heart Tyler” tattooed; so cute. But something happens before the wedding. Invitations sent. Venue booked with a non-refundable deposit. Bridesmaids gowns argued over, compromised over, and purchased. Wedding gown on order. Pre-wedding pastor counseling complete.
But then, what? Tyler caught cheating, maybe? That’s too obvious. Tyler tearfully admits he is actually gay? Tyler is an international spy? Tyler is wanted in three states for suspected murder? A dictator in exile? I guess it doesn’t matter much. He breaks her heart.
She is pissed. I mean, she could spit bullets at Tyler. He has ruined her life. The money spent on a wedding that will never take place, the waste of the last few years of her rapidly fleeing youth, the men she could have been fucking all this time. Well, wait. That last bit probably isn’t a thing. She is a porn star, afterall.
The point is, that tattoo has got to go. I like the way her areolas are barely showing as her bra is pulled down just a little, just enough to hint at nipple. That’s hot. So Sandra goes to her favorite tattoo artist and has them draw over “I heart Tyler.” Over top of the dark gray words is drawn a big red X. Underneath, again in red ink, “must die” and a red arrow pointed at his name.
Sandra fumes. Her anger simmers on low heat for months. She fantasizes constantly of ways to off him, or at least to off his cock permanently. Her friends and family, her coworkers, everybody worries about her. They plan secret meetings where they discuss how to help her. Should we hold an intervention? Should we insist she start therapy? Is there a support group for this kind of thing? Okay, Shauna is gonna look into that.
Of course, regardless of what steps her loved ones take or which option(s) Sandra chooses, life goes on. With time and gentle self-love, Sandra comes down from her rage cloud. She will never love another the same way she loved Tyler, but her heart heals enough to trust and enjoy several young men, sometimes at the same time, to give and receive the pleasure only found in sweat soaked bodies bumping and grinding. And she flirts, too.
Now that tattoo. She goes back once more to the tattooist. What can be done with this eyesore? That’s so funny, how Jimmy’s thigh jiggles while he’s fucking her sideways. The tattooist can’t remove the tattoo. Um, maybe because the equipment for doing that is broken, or they don’t have one. Maybe this tattooist forgets to offer the option. Maybe Sandra has a skin condition that prevents removing it but accepts the blackout. Geez, I don’t know. I know nothing about tattooing, and I’m too lazy to Google it. Figure it out yourself.
Anyway, they decide on this solution. We’ll just black out the entirety of the old tattoos and work it into a lovely lace work pattern and completely surround the atrocity. No one will even notice it. And they’re in a cowgirl with her leaning down with her boobs squished against his chest. This is my favorite position. So intimate. He has his arms wrapped around her body, holding her still so he can jack hammer into her from below. I’m looking at her asshole and his pumping shaft. He has power and stamina. Cool.
I wish sometimes they would shoot this at the opposite angle, so we see the tops of their heads. I want to see their faces. Are they kissing? I like to smile and Eskimo kiss during sex; it’s nice to lighten the atmosphere.
I can’t see. Are they staring into each others’ eyes? Maybe she has her head burying in the crook of his neck. Maybe she is licking him or giving him a hickie. Are hickies allowed in porn production? He’s going to finish in her mouth, I think. I pause the video, get up, and go out to the living room naked. I sit next to my man and tell him he needs to see this.
I explain my theory about Sandra’s tattoo. We both see the hot dog comparison. We debate whether or not Sandra is wearing a weave. I turn off the kindle, and we start watching the next episode of “Fallout” on Amazon Prime. We are not going to have sex today.
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