There were four of us in the room.
One white, one black.
Both white and short and Jewish.
One of the women was me.
Neither of the men was the sadist.
Everyone was fully dressed but me.
I wore a black bra and and black socks.
There were cats on the socks.
Purple cats and fuchsia and turquoise and orange and red.
I lay on my side,
my bottom on offer,
my small brown puckered butt hole prepared to be invaded.
And then I passed out.
No, alas, it wasn't some wild, abusive orgy cooked up by the fiend. For one thing, he would have been there, sitting in the corner in his chair, directing the action, becoming more aroused by the minute. He would have been planning it for months, down to the smallest detail, frustrated when circumstances he couldn't control caused changes or delays.
He hates being stymied.
He hates not being in control.
No orgy this time.
Merely a colonoscopy.
The routine colonoscopy I should have had when I turned 50 but instead put off for 11 years because I was so traumatized around such things by my 20 years dealing with ex-hubby #2 and his Crohn's disease that my PTSD led me to jeopardize my own health because I kept conveniently forgetting to schedule the procedure.
Luckily, all went well.
There's was nothing for the doctor to comment on.
Not a thing.
Oh, and the cast of characters?
The other Jewish woman was the doctor.
She's even shorter than I am.
The 2 men were both yummy.
The white guy was the anesthesiologist.
I flirted with him.
The black guy had a prominent wedding ring.
He seemed quite yummy, too.
Warm and friendly and reassuring.
Good characteristics for a tech.
He sighed as we waited for the doctor.
Good biking day.
It was a pity to waste it indoors.
As for the fiend, he told me to be a good girl at the doctor's.
So I was a very good girl.
And there was nothing wrong.
Isn't that a nice story?
And I'm sure there will be another occasion when I am similarly vulnerable. But on that day, the fiend will have gathered a group of his cronies to enjoy the privilege of fucking my ass. I know he will. Because just the mention of it makes him crazy hot.
Of course, whether he'll let me tell you about it is a whole other story.