This is our truth, tell us yours
I’m a lucky man.
My work means I travel the UK, and I often find myself in situations where people are willing to make smiles with a Travelodge Tart like me.
I am also in a long term relationship with a woman who is the quintessential submissive. Ask yourself what kind of sub you would like to be in a relationship with, and if you’re a dom who grew up with the Story of O and other 70s texts, you’re likely to say a woman who consents to being pierced and tattooed, and who is a cockslut.
I am, I have to say, blessed.
So why, when I’m away, do I consent to being a Travelodge Tart?
Sunday night was a good example.
She, a lovely stranger who wasn’t as well read as the average woman I like, protested that, as a married woman, she’d never done anal, or been spanked or consented to the kind of sex I like. However, her orgasms were noisy, and she consented to buggery in a way that suggested that it wasn’t the most inconvenient experience of her life. As a grown up, I mustn’t discount the possibility that I provided her with a smaller cock, for anal, than she was used to from previous attempts, but truthfully, I was not overly concerned so long as no-one said no and we got to the intended destination.
Either way, she came quite a lot, which made me happy.
We were in the same place for three days.
By the end of two days I wondered why I bothered.
There was a rhythm to what we did.
We would socialize, discuss which pubs to visit, and discuss whether to have dinner early, or drunk food later. And she would slope off to phone her hubby, then giggle about what a bad girl she was being.
I did something guys like me do sometimes, or rather, something I’m told we do.
I shut my mouth, and said nothing, and let her be who she wanted to be.
She was a nice fuck, not great, and she seemed obsessed with herself in a way that was amusing in a kind of ironic way. She offered to pass on my details to her friend, who was, apparently, as good in bed as her, and as accommodating.
What was I to say?
It was Sunday.
According to my plans I would be home within five days, with a submissive who could do whatever I wished waiting for me,
This is starting to sound like a bragfest. It’s not.
Sometimes, we choose to have a kebab, or a cheeseburger. Sometimes, we choose to dine a la carte.
I understand why I’ll settle for a cheeseburger, and why I’ll come home for steak.
You might wonder about the rather opaque title.
It’s quite simple.
I can’t have the party I want, led by Attlee, Orwell and Bevan.
Make your own judgements, that I will sometimes settle for cheeseburger rather than steak.