tagAnalShit Happens

Shit Happens

byTara_Neale©

Michelle was desperate to please. Not just her new boyfriend either. After ten years of a disastrous marriage where her husband cheated repeatedly, never showed interest in anything but her money and belittled her constantly on everything from her weight to the clothes she wore to the dinner she cooked, Michelle was out to prove to her lover, herself and the world that she still had IT. Whatever it was. Mojo. Sex appeal.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. At thirty-nine, she was not a bad looking woman. Average. Average straight mousy blonde hair that hung just past her shoulders. Average size fourteen...and yes, fourteen was the average size; no matter what lies the media and fashion industry perpetrated. Average thirty-six B/C cups. There was nothing particularly remarkable about Michelle.

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe if she were prettier, thinner, smarter, richer. She stopped herself there. Nothing good ever came from going down that road. Months of Dialectal Behavioral Therapy had taught her to focus upon stopping the bad voices and changing the way she thought. It had gotten her this far.

How far was this far anyway? This was her third date with Michael. The first had been coffee and then dinner in a nice restaurant in Santa Monica. What had supposed to be a quick meet and greet after work had turned into a six hour date that ended with a barefoot walk along the beach at midnight. She had almost been late for work the next day she was so tired. The next date had been a Saturday hike through the canyons. The man was in great shape even if he had to stop a couple of times when she got winded.

Tonight he was making her dinner at his house in Long Beach. His house. The third date. The writing was on the wall as it were. The big one. But was she ready to have sex with someone new? She had not been with anyone except her husband in over twelve years. Even then it was not like she had extensive experience. She could count on one hand the number of lovers that she had had. In these days and ages that was unheard of, especially in Los Angeles. Was she ready for this step?

She stared at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her makeup was light but well-done. She liked the highlights that her hairdresser had added. They along with the new cut gave her hair a slight bounce and shine. She was no Farrah Fawcett but it was an improvement. Her red wrap around dress made the most of her curves. She had bought it from one of those catalogues for 'big' girls. Clothes that were designed to accentuate the positive assets of 'plus' size bodies, not just larger sizes of things meant for skinny ones. Overall she liked what she saw in the mirror. But was it enough?

She debated the question as she walked up the sidewalk to his bungalow home only a couple of blocks from the Pacific Ocean. The area was upscale and his home showed a fastidiousness that was almost pathological. She chuckled as she thought about the book Mister Neat that she read to her kindergarten class sometimes. She could almost see this man on his hands and knees measuring and clipping each blade of grass individually.

She tugged at the deep V neckline as she rang the bell. Was she ready for this? Was she really going to have sex with a man she had known only a couple of weeks? She was still pondering it when he opened the door. He was wearing khaki shorts and button up shirt that reminded her of Charlie Sheen in Two and a Half Men. She had never liked that show. His character was a bit too narcissistic for her taste, perhaps reminded her too much of her ex with his casual attitude towards women and cheating. She frowned. Was she repeating a pattern here?

"Come in," he smiled but it came across almost like a snake-oil salesman or a financial advisor. Oh wait, he was a financial advisor. But what was he trying to sell her tonight?

Dinner was nice, but Michelle had to wonder if he really made the exotic Thai food that he served. Or had he merely placed it on his finest china straight from a paper carton. Did it matter even?

The conversation was stilted too. He talked on and on about himself. His interest. His career. His taste in music, comedy, movies. Even his backhanded compliment on her new dress was more about his preference in women's attire.

Just when she had had enough and was about to make an excuse about being up early the next morning, he made his move. He reached across and took her glass of wine, placing it next to his on coasters on the table. He then took her hand and drew her into his arms for another kiss. It was their third, one for each date that they had had.

This one was no better, no more exciting than the others had been. Once more Michelle thought about excusing herself. But it was Friday night, there was no school tomorrow. So that excuse was lame.

Then he took her hand and pushed it down to the front of his shorts. For the first time since they had met, he truly had Michelle's interest. She would not have thought herself a size queen. In fact, her ex had been on the small size of normal. And none of her other lovers had come anywhere close to THIS. Curiosity got the better of her, killed the kitty as it were. She just had to know if it was real. She began to fumble with the zipper.

His hand covered hers, "Not here." He kept her hand in his as he helped her stand and led her down the hallway with its walls covered in lithographs of seascapes, all numbered of course.

She wanted to laugh when she saw that his king size had the duvet neatly pulled back to reveal pristine white sheets that looked like they had even been ironed. Who ironed sheets these days? She would bet that they were fresh too. This man probably changed them every day. Three little letters rang like bells in her head. O. C. D.

He led her to the bed, "You may fold and put your clothes there," he pronounced pointing to a chair next to the bed as he began to unbutton his shirt. Michelle watched for a couple of moments as he divested himself of his shoes, lining them neatly under a matching chair closer to him. He hung the shirt from the back of the chair, lest folding it gave it cresses. Then it was the shorts. If Michelle did not want to see that thing for herself, she would have run laughing from this house of horrors. But he kept his tighty-whiteys firmly in place as he turned back to her.

"Oh, did you want me to undress you?" he asked comically.

She shook her as she tried to come to a final decision. Oh, what the hell? You only live once and despite the underwear she could see that that thing was very much real and bigger than she had thought even. There was a quarter size spot of wetness where the bulbous head rested just below his navel and it was growing by the minute.

She untied the dress. She was tempted to just toss it on the floor but feared that might spoil whatever fun there was to be had. Instead she haphazardly folded it and placed it as instructed. She had chosen matching bra and panties in red as well. Of course, pantyhose would never do. So instead she wore stockings and a red garter belt.

"Very tasteful," he nodded approvingly as he pushed his underwear aside and began to stroke the only thing that kept her in this place.

If cocks could be works of art, this one was. It was not just the size, but the perfect proportion between head, shaft and balls. Michelle might not have had many lovers but her ex had done her the favor of introducing her to porn. This one belonged in the industry.

She looked up at the odd expression on the man's face as he stroked his cock. She would swear he was about to come...and he had not even touched her.

"On the bed," he commanded.

Michelle knew that she had submissive tendencies so his strangled order actually excited her a bit. She climbed into the bed and reached out for him. He shook his head as he kept stroking his cock. "No, on your knees. In the center of the bed."

She frowned a bit. Doggy was not one of her favorite positions. Its impersonal nature always left her cold. Probably because she had always felt like her husband had used her as just another hole. She wondered who he was fucking in his mind when all he saw was her upturned bottom. "Now," he said in a throaty voice.

Oh well, maybe the size alone would make the sex better. It was worth it to find out. She climbed into the center of the bed as commanded. She saw him reach for something under the pillow and laughed as he pulled out a condom wrapper. She heard him curse softly as he rolled it on his erect penis.

Then he was on her. Inside of her. Without any real foreplay. Only the one kiss in the living room. She had not even touched his cock. And it was inside of her? Well, part of it anyway. It was tight. It had been close to a year since she had had sex. If not for her occasional use of her toys, the thing would not have fit at all. She shifted a bit side to side. Willed her internal muscles to relax a bit. And more of it slipped inside.

She sighed. Yeah, bigger might just be better. She closed her eyes and leaned forward on to her elbows. This faceless lover thing could be a two-way street, she thought as she blocked out the rest of the evening and enjoyed the sensations of her disembodied human dildo moving inside of her. Reaching places that no other man ever had. Sending new sensations of fullness and desire skittering along her spine to register in her addled brain. She moaned as she approached her orgasm.

Then suddenly her toy was gone. Vanished. Disappeared. She was left hanging and frustrated. It was not a new feeling. Her ex had left her that way more than once.

Then she felt that thing pressing against her anus. Her eyes went wide with shock. She wanted to scream. To protest. But she was frozen as she felt the head breach her tight back channel. She was not an anal virgin. It was another thing that she had tried with her ex to salvage her marriage. But this thing was almost twice the size of his. There was no way that it would fit inside of her.

But even as she thought that, it slipped a bit further inside of her ass. Pain sliced through her. She screamed into those crisp sheets as she clutched them between her fingers until her knuckles where the same white. She forced herself to breathe deeply and slowly as he continued to assault her backside. He humped frantically at it. His breathing was labored as he moaned and groaned. Then it was over. With a mighty roar he collapsed forward.

Michelle lay perfectly still for a long moment. Tears welled in her eyes. She was not certain that this could be considered rape legally. She had gone to this man's home of her own free will. Hell, she had chosen to walk down that hall way. She had climbed into his bed.

But she had not intended that. She had not agreed to have anal sex with the largest cock that she had ever had. On the third date! She had been married seven years before she gave into her husband's pleas...as a special anniversary present no less. What the hell with this man thinking? Did he treat all women like this? Anger was bubbling inside of her as she felt him shift, heard his softening cock pop audibly from her battered asshole.

The silent reverie in her mind was broken with a shrill scream. "Oh my god! You got shit on my penis."

She rolled over and looked at the man as he stared in complete aplomb at his shriveling cock. The condom was covered in her bodily excrement. And he was right. It had not reached all the way to the base when unrolled and a good two inches of skin was stained with deep brown chunks. The man just stared at the mess. His hands hung limply at his side as his face froze in distaste. She could not help herself. She broke out into laughter.

"What are you laughing at?" he asked holding his hands out to the side. She noticed a bit of brown on a couple of fingers for the first time. "You'll get IT on my sheets!" he yelled as he raced to the bathroom. Michelle heard water running then.

"Damned shrink!" she heard him curse as she looked around for something to clean herself with. "Loosen up. Live out your fantasies, he says." Those words were followed by a string of expletives. "And look, what do I get? Covered in shit. I'll have to burn those sheets." Michelle chuckled with mirth as the man continued from the other room, "A new mattress. I may have to buy a new mattress."

Except for the soreness in her bottom that slowed her search for something appropriate to clean herself with, Michelle was enjoying this show. Then a devilish thought came to her.

***

Her own counselor stared at her as she finished telling the story. The man had an odd, almost pained expression on his face. "So what did you do? How did you process this trauma?"

She laughed at him too. "Trauma? I think it was more traumatic for the asshole than it was for me. Especially when I gave up looking for something 'appropriate' to clean myself with."

"What do you mean?" the man stammered as he blushed.

"I figured that after what happened there was no need for me to be polite. So I used it to write 'Shit happens' on his wall. Then I cleaned my hands and ass with his shirt on the back of chair and left," she boasted proudly.

The man blanched at her words. Or perhaps it was the broad smile on her face. But ever the professional, "How did that make you feel?"

"Justified. Free. Alive." She smiled. "Oh and Doc, I won't need to be paying your outrageous fees anymore. I can handle my own shit from now on," she laughed as she threw a check at the man and walked from his office into the bright sunshine of a new day.

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