Butt Seriously

The blood on the toilet paper doesn't scare me anymore. It used to. I remember panicking more than once, sitting home alone, afraid, wondering whether I should go to the hospital but worried about embarrassing myself. Wait a little while, I'd tell myself, and if it gets worse then go. Words like perforated rectum and peritonitis and horrible death would run through my head. In the end, I'd always fall asleep eventually, and by morning there would be no more blood and I'd feel sheepish but relieved to realize that it was nothing serious.

I've been sticking things up my butt for as long as I can remember. In childhood, anything from a Q-tip to a pencil to the handle of a pair of scissors was fair game. I didn't know there was anything unusual or taboo about it--I just knew it felt good. As a teen, deeply embarrassed about my sexuality, I tried to force myself to stop... but within a week, or maybe two, I'd always end up giving in. It was like a compulsion.

As an adult, immersed in a sex-positive culture, I'm not shy about most of my proclivities anymore. Oh, I have one or two that I'm not ready to shout from the rafters, and I'm sure they'll find their way into this blog eventually, but I no longer hesitate to tell people I like it in the rear.

I've been awfully horny lately, and today the magic 8 ball in my brain kept turning up anal. I couldn't wait to get home. I daydreamed the workday away, rushed impatiently through errands, and finally found myself at home, alone, free to indulge my desire.

There's this thing that I do sometimes, when I'm by myself and the the mood strikes me. Partnered sex is always more self-conscious to some degree, but solo I don't have to worry about what anyone else thinks of me or the mess that I make. I like to lay out a big towel and a lot of toys, grab a bottle of baby oil or a bowl with a big gob of cold Crisco, and see just how far I can stretch that little pink pucker.

The more I play with my ass, the hotter I get. Tonight I started with a little acrylic dildo, slim and slick, baby oil squirted along its length. Once things were slippery, that toy practically fell in all by itself. I moved from that to a string of anal beads, then to a larger rubber dildo, then to an acrylic bloopy toy, then back to the first dildo, then to a glass Coke bottle I perverted years ago. I filled the bottle with two inches of baby oil and tried to pour it into my ass, but the oil stayed stubbornly in the bottle even when I upended it entirely, so eventually I trotted to the kitchen, where I found an empty plastic soda bottle. I poured the oil into that, stuck the neck up my ass, and squirted it in. Feeling the cool liquid fill me, I nearly came right then.

Suffice it to say that I made a hell of a mess. I was at it for an hour and a half, and by the time I was done, the towel was smeared with baby oil and shit and mashed banana and perhaps even a trace of blood--and so was I. I was slippery and smelly from my tits to my ankles and I didn't care. By the time I finally allowed myself to come--clothespins on my nipples, a two-inch-thick wooden truncheon up my ass and cradled between my feet, a vibrator on my clit--nothing nothing nothing else mattered.

A long, hot bubble bath, a book, a bowl of spaghetti and a lewd phone call to the Boyfriend... it's been a very nice evening. I may have to produce an encore before bidding this night adieu.