She Blamed It on My PTSD Pt. 02 - Sex Stories

She Blamed It on My PTSD Pt. 02

... sun dress every night, commando and no bra. She would couples from the bank and she would delight in cuckolding her ass of a husband. The saloon had a little band and we'd go and dance and she'd dance with her friend's husbands and grind on them. We'd return to the cabin and she'd annihilate me, ride me until I was drained, then sit on my face until she could not take any more.

I quit that, because I felt that helping a woman cheat again, the same thing that had caused me such pain. But in that moment, it was the rare thing that caused my pain and despair to expiate. I whimsically said to her,

"If only my dick was a dildo, with feelings."

The last thing, she said to me was, "Oh honey, I'll get you married up with a perfect wife."

It was shortly after that that I moved my work overseas. Britain, was full of adult cheaters and other sexual deviants. The establishment kids were put into schools that by the time all of them were in the equivalent of our high school they were all bi-sexual and a lesser percentage were used to being caned and loved it.

It was early August and I woke up with that wonderful slept in until noon feeling you get when you're fifteen. I took a fairly long shower letting the too hot water scald me almost. I used this handheld palm held trimmer to run it through my hair. Non-electric trimmer and in ten minutes my hair was the same length it was when I was playing ball. That is to say short.

I put on some old ratty dirt bag sweatpants and ...

... even older high school, long sleeved shirt worn under the jersey. I laced up some red pro ked tennis shoes and walked towards the Pike Place market for a late breakfast lunch combo. I hate the word brunch, quirk I guess.

I was astounded to find that Lowell's was open. The last thing I'd done with my mom and brother that had passed was to go there the summer before she passed. He died fifteen months after her. Then we had fresh cantaloupe with vanilla ice cream where the seeds had been removed, oh and dark heavy roast coffee.

Today I had a Hang town fry, which was an oyster omelet with bacon and hash browns, double order of rye toast. Finally two orders of fried calamaries.

The waitress wrote down the order and looked at me and said, "Is someone joining you?"

I smiled at her and said, "Nope, just a homecoming of sorts. I have not been here since I was a sophomore in high school, last time I went anywhere with my mom and older brother. My grandmother Lola took me here when I was a squirt, she passed on July 4, 1963. Lots of coffee please."

She smiled and scurried away, I swear there was coffee in under two minutes. Old off white porcelain mug, with steaming dark coffee.

It was so hot, but I blew on it and took a drink. It was so damn good, dark with flavorful. People don't know how good coffee really tastes better.

She was back with a clear coffee pot, "More?".

I nodded yes and held the cup up.

'Set it down please, I don't want to burn your leg."

I ...