A real scum bag moment-Gone wild the wrong way [f/m] | 2016

I had mentioned in one of my previous stories that I wasn't particularly fond of one-night stands due to one ridiculously awkward and shameful experience. I decided a while ago that I was going to write down all of my most memorable sexual experiences and I suppose that means the good and the bad, and this one definitely stuck with me. I wasn’t originally going to post it and just keep it in my own collection, but then I thought it might be something different from the standard of what you read on here.

Suffice it to say that up until this point I had no objections against one-night stands and didn’t mind random impromptu hook-ups because they’d always led to more. They never seemed to remain a one-time thing and never took place with anyone I wasn’t at least comfortably acquainted with beforehand. So when things in my life took a hard right turn and I stalled out after the universe decided to remind me that no family or singular person is invincible, I moved back home after freshman year of college and turned to the only thing that I thought would make me feel better about myself and the situation.

Initially that involved hooking back up with my high school ex with no strings attached and no expectations on my part except to fuck myself into oblivion and forget the legal problems plaguing my family, and of course the inevitable interruption it was having on my education and therefore future. Still, after awhile and finding myself complacently falling back into a relationship that wasn’t going anywhere and hadn’t fulfilled me the first time around, I ended it in an effort to preserve what was left of our friendship and not get his hopes up as they were aimed towards something I was emotionally incapable of.

I had just recently turned 19 and I found myself at a stage where I was riddled with guilt due to circumstance. As a coping mechanism I had developed a method that was actually pretty consistent with how I chose to celebrate as well. That method involved alcohol naturally. Obviously not something that is recommended but it was too easy considering my 18th birthday present from one of my sisters the year before consisted of her ID which put me of legal age to drink, and right before freshman year of college too. I made a habit of using it to my advantage and was surprised at how little I was questioned when I did.

It was on one particularly emotional night that I decided I was going to go to a local bar rather than do the usual thing and remain the subject of continuous questions and sympathetic glances from all the kids who’d stuck around town after graduating and who heard about my what my family was going through. They were the ones I bought beer for and hung out with since I was now stuck as well.

In some deluded effort to convince myself that I wasn’t just treading water and watching my prime pass me by, I decided to get away from it all and live out every father’s biggest nightmare involving their daughter. I took myself to one of the seedier dive bars in town. Granted it was the beginning of the week so there weren’t too many patrons there but it was still relatively packed.

The bartender took one look at me and asked for identification, but, as usual, barely took a look at it before handing it back and asking me what I wanted to drink. I defaulted and ordered a Yuengling, the beer that my dad always kept around and that my friends and I would spring for when we felt like being “ritzy” and drinking something other than natty light.

I don’t know if it was because he was actually impressed with the order (which is laughable now) or because he just wanted an excuse to talk to me, but the guy a seat down commented on my order saying that it was refreshing to see a girl who went for taste over calorie count and told the bartender to put it on his tab. I just smiled politely and sort of nodded at the bar while muttering out thanks as I tried to pay attention to the baseball game and not bother anyone and find myself in the back of a cop car.

It wasn’t until I finished my first drink and went to get another one that he spoke up again and told the bartender to just put that one on his tab as well. When I objected he just brushed it off, so feeling like I owed him something I insisted on a buying a round of shots for us, whatever he chose. I remember he ended up choosing Jose for some god-awful reason, but I still threw it back though I did make a face which caused him to laugh and comment that the young crowd needed to learn how to handle their liquor better.

I frowned at him, unhappy with his comment, and it was the first time I’d really gotten a good look at him. He was certainly older than I was, though I couldn’t say by exactly how much. Still, I found him rather appealing as I’ve always been drawn to ruggedness and he was definitely that. Even back then I claimed to like bears and he had a face full of stubble, not too unkempt, but not particularly well trimmed either. He was attractively weathered and tan and it highlighted eyes that were a rich warm brown. He had a shrewd smile, a slightly beefier frame, and was honestly closer to what I’d describe as ‘my type’ than any of the guys I’d been with before. Even so I was curious as to how old he was and when he replied 38 the first thing that popped into my head was he was literally twice my age.

Initially the knowledge was intimidating, though somehow still invigorating, and as the night wore on and we eased in and out of comfortable conversation and relaxed silence, the age discrepancy became more and more of a turn on. That I could appeal to and entice this older man excited me in the knowledge that there was more to me than I realized, more power almost. He wasn’t anything like the guys I hung out with and his cynical sarcastic attitude sort of matched my angsty mood.

Eventually the question of why I was there alone came up and when I replied that I just needed to get away, he told me he could certainly understand that. Somehow through the haze it was then that I noticed the wedding band on his ring finger and I asked if he was trying to get away from his wife. He didn’t try to hide it and sort of exhaled and nodded, that being all he offered up on the subject. I didn’t want to pry since that seemed like all anyone had been doing with me lately and I let it go, but after a moment of silence he told me one day when I convinced some unlucky bastard to get down on one knee I might begin to understand.

I just sort of scoffed and told him he sounded like the typical man and he laughed sardonically and told me I was probably just the typical woman. When I asked what exactly that was he sort of shrugged though he bitterly described it as something along the lines of detached and disconnected, apathetic and insensitive to a man’s needs, or really anyone else’s needs but their own until it benefits themselves. Then he gave me a look that assumed too much, almost challenging me to assert something different.

It all sounded way too similar to something that had been said by my sister about me concerning what was currently going wrong and it struck a bad cord. I sort of snorted and told him that was probably the most hypocritical thing I had heard, contemptuously asking him if he was thinking about anyone but himself as he sat there and chatted me up.

His appropriate response was to ask if he was being apathetic or any of the above by simply having a conversation. Not one to back down I cattily replied that he was probably being apathetic towards the needs of his wife given he was sitting there buying me drinks and contemplating the possibility of fucking me instead of going home to her.

I was surprised when he didn’t adamantly deny it and walk off telling me to fuck off, but instead grunted and smiled mockingly saying touché. In spite of myself I couldn’t hold back a begrudging smile at his blithe attitude and I shook my head making him clarify what he just implied by asking if he had just admitting to wanting to fuck me.

It would be an understatement to say I was surprised when he responded with, “Wouldn’t you?”

I directly followed it up by incredulously asking, “Wouldn’t I what? Fuck myself?”

After that we had a long, ridiculous, and somewhat philosophical conversation fueled by more beer and liquor about whether or not everyone would fuck themselves given an out of body experience and the chance to, and then followed it up by debating whether masturbation really constituted fucking yourself. It’s ironic that I thought he wasn’t like my friends because it was exactly the type of conversations we’d have, absurd and juvenile.

It’s when we got into specifics and started giving examples about how we each masturbate and how that could qualify as fucking ourselves that tension began to really develop and it segued into how we always imagined and wanted to get fucked. It wasn’t long after we’d really started playing out scenarios that I found myself on my knees in front of my car in the back of the parking lot as he fucked my face with a handle on my hair, shoving his dick as far down my throat as I could take.

He didn’t go easy on me at all and it strangely felt like I was getting what I deserved. My eyes were watering, tears were streaming down my cheeks, my face was a mess of saliva and so were the breasts that had been pulled free of my shirt by the time he dragged me to my feet and turned me around to yank my jeans to my knees. From there he bent me over the hood of my car and pressed one hand between my shoulder blades to keep me there as he lined himself up and drove right in, giving me what I’d asked for. I’d told him I wanted to be taken advantage of and treated roughly, and he’d told me he wanted to not be so restricted in what he was allowed to do.

It sort of felt like he was taking his anger at his wife out on me but it was almost what I needed. I was sick of all the passive-aggressive hate directed at me by my sisters, the complete avoidance of me by my brother given the blame he was taking responsibility for, as well as the way my parents would just pussyfoot around everything even though they had to know I was a guilty party too. I wanted to feel the aggression and anger I knew should’ve been directed towards me but was being shielded from even though I had never asked for it. The cock of a 38 year old stranger shoving in and out of me with such force that it was leaving me breathless was the best substitute I could come up with.

He eventually turned me around and pushed me up the hood, grabbing hold of my legs before beginning to fuck me while he palmed my tits and grabbed hold harshly to supplement his leverage. He was really going hard and my eyes were squeezed shut as I came right when he suddenly pulled out and pulled up his pants as he’d spotted people heading back towards us. I almost tripped and fell flat on my face as my orgasm was cut short and he dragged me to the passenger side door pants still around my knees and pulled me on top of him after leaning the seat fully back. I didn’t think about anything as I shimmied my jeans off the whole way and sunk back down onto him to start riding, though pretty soon I was just hovering over him as he gripped my hips tightly and pounded up into me.

Soon enough his face was contorting and I could tell he was holding himself back but then he was pulling out and telling me to get on my knees as we awkwardly and hurriedly tried to exchange places in the confined space. I really should have expected it given we had discussed it, but I was still surprised when he lined himself with my ass.

I cried out as he pushed his way in and I immediately went about trying to force myself to relax. I was relatively new to anal but I had learned to enjoy it freshman year during a brief relationship and I wasn’t going to tell this guy to stop. I didn’t try fighting the intrusion and gave way to sensation as he kept telling me how good it felt sinking in and then sliding in and out, lubricated only with my juices and breathing hard.

He fucked me a lot more softly given the resistance but he’d worked up a good pace by the time he told me he was going to cum and was finally unloading in my ass. He held himself there for a moment giving little thrusts to finish himself off and then leaned over me fully as he rest his head against my shoulder and caught his breath. It was from that position still inside me that he told me he should probably head home.

I didn’t object or say anything really as he pulled out of me and said fuck, apologizing as cum dripped onto my seat and he stepped out of the car pulling up his pants. I was grateful he didn’t stick around long and only mumbled an abashed thanks before leaving me to clean myself up and the mess. After righting my shirt and pulling up my panties and jeans over my used and soaked pussy and ass, I drove myself to the gas station and set about getting the mess off the front seat.

It was while I was scrubbing up cum with blue paper towels that I started to wonder how in the hell I had convinced myself that fucking a married man would alleviate some of the guilt I felt and not add to it. How I'd thought using spontaneous sex to make me feel what I thought I deserved was a good idea. I hadn’t thought things through at all and though it was enjoyable while it lasted it was misguided and not well thought out, hence why I am hesitant to participate in one night stands to this day. Still, I’m grateful for the experience because it taught me a lesson I needed to learn and could only do so the hard way. It was erotic, fun, and pleasurable in the moment, but I learned the importance of boundaries and the wrong way to use sex in the bigger scheme of things as it left me feeling more ashamed of myself.

Edit: grammar