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Collected by Djian
updated june 20 2008


Danielle stories | Barb's fall from grace | Wonder Woman versus the Dairy Farmer | Roofeless | Barb's fall from grace

by Danielle

My first year back in Hamilton. I'd made it through the first term, which had been hard.
I'd made it through Christmas, which had been brutal. Now I was in my second term and it was
going. I think we were walking around in a mild state of shock, me and my parents. We had
managed not to kill each other. We had managed not to have any huge fights. I'd managed not
to fuck up spectacularly. And incredibly, I'd made it through the term, we'd done family things.
It was like a fucking miracle.

Oh don't get me wrong. It hadn't been easy, it hadn't been fun, but somehow, impossibly,
it had worked. We'd spent months holding our breaths around each other, waiting for the
explosion. We were still holding our breaths, but by this time, I think there was a small sensation
of relief, as if, perhaps, just maybe, the explosion wouldn't be coming.

The March break, which for some reason, is in February, came up. We all thought it was
time for a vacation, so I took off down to Minneapolis for a long weekend, to hook up with my
friends. I flew there, which was way cool. I remember my original drive there had taken forever
in Lee's shitbox of a car. I was in style all the way. I stayed at a hotel. The expenses were paid
by Mom and Dad, which was their way of saying they were happy with me.

So, I got down. I hung out with people. We had a party. I looked up old haunts. One
house where I used to live had been torn down, which made me kind of wistful.

Kerry and I hooked right up, it was like old times. We always had this thing, whenever
we got together, it was like we'd never been apart.

Anyway, Saturday night, we decided to go out slutting, just the two of us.
Do you know what that is?

Well, basically, we dressed up real sexy. I mean, not cheap or anything, but definitely hot
and fashionable, and then we'd hit bars, dance, party, get guys to buy us drinks, and then leave
them behind and hit the next bar. We were basically out to flirt, not get laid. So the thing was,
to get men to buy us drinks, spend time on us, tell us how sexy we were. Then, when we got
tired of them, we'd just split, leave them and start it over somewhere else.

It's just a lot of fun, and look, life isn't always about getting fucked.

I suppose, if you're a guy, you're remembering that hot chick who you spent all that time
and money on, and then you turned around and she was gone, leaving you all high and dry with
your night wasted and your wallet emptied. Do I smell some resentment, perhaps a little hot flash
of anger?

Grow up. What do you think? You buy us a pina colada and that means we have to
fuck you? Get bent. I mean, if that's the way you're thinking, you don't deserve to be fucked.
Sometimes, we just want to have fun. That's not a crime.

Anyway, we started out early, hit some dance places, a meat market or two. We had fun,
we were basically just girls being bad. We danced. We got a little drunk. We flirted up a storm,
and before it would get to serious, we'd be off somewhere else.

After a while, we wound up at this total redneck bar. Like cheap linoleum and tarnished
brass, and just everything cracked and run down. The place smelled of cigarette smoke and stale
beer. Kerry heard that it had a good blues band, but we found that was on Tuesday nights. I
think that's pretty fucked, I mean, who schedules blues for Tuesdays. There was a sign saying
they had strippers on Thursdays and Fridays.

Nothing going on tonight.

I think it was near some factory or something, because everyone looked like they were just
coming off a shift or something, and they all looked like working guys. Thirties or forties. And
of course, there were the longhairs, the dealers, the guys who'd practically live there.
We were the only two women in the whole place.

That creeped Kerry a little bit, I could tell.

But I was okay with that. I mean, fuck. We have a couple of beers, we talk to some
guys, we fuck off. Big deal. What can happen?

For sure, we had total attention.

That was actually kind of cool. I mean, being in a dance club, we were two pretty girls in
a sea of pretty girls. But here, man, we were spectacular, we were unique. There wasn't a man
in the place who wasn't checking us out. We were totally the center of things.

So of course, guys had to cluster around and offer to buy us expensive drinks. And it was
kind of fun, just going eeny meeny and picking the one who actually got to spend money. Kerry
loosened up, enjoying it to. We were talking and laughing, it was a lot of fun, because they just
loved us. It's always a good feeling when you're getting all these positive vibes. We were like
sort of celebrities, and they were outdoing each other to make us laugh or tell us how pretty we
were and all sorts of stuff like that. Showing off in front of each other.

So we had one drink, and that got us comfortable enough to stay for the next drink, and
so on. It was easy to relax.

Actually, I was the one that started getting a little restless. Not to leave, but I was just
tired of sitting down. I wanted to go off and dance. Kerry and I always danced hot together.

We've never done anything sexually with each other, but when we danced, we looked like
lesbians in heat. I loved it. I'll dance with Kerry anywhere anytime.

Kerry didn't want to dance. It was like, geez. She was happy right where she was. It
was like, relax Dani, we'll split soon. I was okay with leaving, but I wanted to dance.
I didn't especially want to dance with any of the guys here. I mean, let's face it. I was
loving being the center of attention, and if I went up and danced with one guy, that would sort of
like be shutting the rest of them off, and I didn't really want to do that. The fun of being here was
having them all to ourselves.

So I got up on the dance stage. Actually, it was this little stage for strippers and the blues
band, not really a dance floor. And I started dancing.

And man, they were just rivetted.

Truth time. Sometimes, when I've told people about this, I've sort of said it happened
cause I got drunk. Basically, not taking responsibility. The truth is, that yeah, I was sort of
drunk, enough to loosen some inhibitions. But I wasn't really all that drunk. I don't really have
anything to blame for what happened, its my doing.

I like dancing. Usually, I dance at parties or in clubs. It's fun, sometimes I'm alone,
sometimes I'm in a group. I like dancing with a partner, like with girls or guys. But, like, every
time I would go dancing, there'd be people on the floor. So there'd be no self consciousness.
You'd just be there. You'd be checking out people, of course, sometimes moving off on
someone. But basically, it would just be dancing and enjoying dancing.

This was different. I was dancing, and it wasn't really sleazy or anything. It was basically
club dancing. But I was alone up there, and everyone, I mean everyone was watching. It was
like, the minute I started moving, I could hear the hush. It was like, everyone was turning to
watch, and they stopped talking and were just going 'wow, look at her.' And not just watching,
but loving it.


Total blast.

I was just going to dance for one or two songs, and then maybe we'd split. But then this
Batman song came on, I can't remember, hold me thrill me, kiss me kill me, something like that.
I loved that song back then. I just went wild on stage, still club dancing, but like, just going
loose in the way that you can't normally cause you'll wind up hitting or kicking someone. I was
totally into the song and the dance.

I got an ovation. A round of applause, guys cheered. I laughed and grinned, bowed to
the audience. I was having such a blast. Guys were going 'more, more.'
Well, I had to, didn't I.

So there was another song, and another. And I'd do moves from videos, or if I knew
some of the words, I'd hold up my hand like a microphone and pretend to sing into it. They
loved it, whatever I did, they just loved it to pieces. I was a total star. They were eating out of
the palm of my hand.

I teased them. I mean, a lone woman up on a strippers stage. Of course they're going
'take it off, take it off.' I didn't take that seriously. But I had all this attention, all this worship.
I was just grooving on it intensely.

So, I started to flash a bit of skin here and there. I mean, no big deal. Pull the skirt up
the thighs for a moment, or pull the blouse to bare a shoulder. You'd see more walking down a
summer street. But it was like anything they did, I'd just get this total roar from the crowd.
Every time I did it, more would gather, and they'd pack closer and closer around the stage. I
loved the feeling, the attention, the power.

It made me laugh on stage. Not giggles, real laughing. It was so silly. I mean, real
strippers stuck cucumbers up their cunts for these guys and I bet most of them couldn't bother to
turn their heads to look if they happened to be facing the other way. But I made them go crazy
by showing a quarter inch of skin.

I played to it, teased them. I kissed some balding guy right next to the stage on top of his
head. Oh wow, they just raised the roof on that. Everyone was grinning and laughing and
roaring, and it was all for me. They were all waving and shouting for my attention, but I had all

I just teased more and more. At some point, I took my top off. Partly, I was getting a
little sweaty. But like, the thing was, I kept wanting to go a little further, show a little more as I
was teasing them. Like, I'd show a little cleavage, or a bare shoulder. But how many times
could I bare a shoulder and have them roll around like monkeys? And hey, if they went wild for
a bared shoulder, what could I get out of them for two bared shoulders, if I lowered it off my
shoulders, still not showing anything really. Oh Christ, it just got better and better, the further I
went the bigger the charge that came off them. It was so fucking unreal.

I was buzzed. I was totally high on the energy rolling off them, just high on their
excitement. This must be what rock stars feel. You know, like when they go out on that stage
and people are screaming their heads off. It's not just the music, they're not there to make
music, they're there to just go wild.

Anyway, it was no big deal. I still had a bra on, and it covered. Like, I could walk down
the street wearing that bra and no one would look twice. A bathing suit top showed way more.
And strippers showed it all. So really, it was hardly anything, but man, they were totally totally
into it.

Kerry tried to call me down, just after I took off my top. Finally, she was tired and
wanted to leave. I tried to drag her up to dance with me, but she was totally not into it. I thought
then, and I still sort of believe that she was a little pissed cause I'd stolen everyone. I mean, when
we came in, we'd both been like celebrities. But now, I was the star, and it wasn't like she was
really getting attention. I was willing to share, but she was pissy I guess.

Anyway, I didn't want to go just yet. I mean, geez, I'd just taken off my top. They were
just wild, I had to go at least a couple more songs before I could let this go. Like, I was just
getting to the good parts, and I wanted to enjoy it. She looked cranky, but she went and sat
down. If she'd waited a few songs, I probably would have gone with her. Maybe. Maybe I'd
have just kept getting deeper into that whole rock star thing. My god, but it's hard to let it go
once you've got it. That was the last I remembered seeing her, I think she must have taken off
sometime after that.

Anyway, I kept dancing. The skirt came off. I just kept having to go further, to top
whatever I'd done last. I wanted it bigger, I wanted them to cheer harder and yell higher. So I'd
drag it out, and then when they seemed to be slowing down, or when I was tired of the level I was
at, I would just push it up a notch.

There was a pole, I tried dancing around it, but I wasn't very good so I didn't do that
much. Years later, I dated a stripper, and she showed me how to pole dance properly.
Finally, I was down to my bra and panties, and I really didn't intend to go any further. I
mean, geez. But I still wanted the heat that came off them, the excitement. I flirted with them
more. I started dancing closer to the edges of the stage, reaching down to touch their fingers and
hands waving up at me. I had this feeling like, I could just leap into them, and I'd bounce around
like I was in a mosh pit. It made me laugh.

I danced closer, almost at the edge of the stage, and they reached up and ran their hands
along my calves and thighs, it was like worship. It was like they were all clamoring to kiss my
feet. A couple of guys were grabby, but I'd just move past them quickly. The touches sent all
theses electrical thrills racing up and down my body. I was breathless, grinning from ear to ear, as
I danced and twirled past them along the edges of the stage. That was the hardest, the fastest I
danced that night, I was a dervish, just swinging past them, receiving a hundred worshipping
touches in a minute or two. I was like Xena when she's going yip yip yip and just flying taking
out a whole army moving almost too fast to see.

I came back, swung around the pole, just a bit out of breath. I needed to stop, for a
second, my heart was just pounding. I was thirsty. I must have said something, because someone
passed me up a beer. I drank the bottle in two swallows and just tossed it away.
I slid down to my knees, swaying my hips, resting.

And oh they wanted so bad, they wanted me to twirl by them again, to touch me divine
thighs as I swirled past. They were hungry for that momentary, elusive, wild contact. And I
wanted more.

I slid forward onto my elbows, and then up on my palms. I could feel my breasts
swinging in my bra. I knew that they could see it. That they loved it.

I got such a cheer, it was deafening. Guys were screaming their lungs out. Guys were
standing up on tables and standing on the bar to watch.

Grinning, I started to crawl around the edge of the stage. Not twirling fast, not this time,
this was a slow leisurely crawl around the edges, letting them touch me, stroke me. It was
exciting. Sexually exciting yes, but that was almost buried in the thrill of it, of pushing the whole
rock star vibe, the goddess thing, to a new level. They were almost fighting to get close enough
to the stage to touch. All around the stage, it was just this sea of hands waving. Hands and
fingertips slid all over my body as I crawled past. Along my cheek, my thigh, stroking my hair,
cupping my ass, bouncing along the strap of my bra, my arm my leg.

I loved it.

Someone hooked a finger in my panties, pulling it. I tried to push his hand away. I
didn't like that. He just pulled harder. Suddenly, the hands were more grasping than stroking. I
flung myself away, the panties were pulled half down my thighs. I kicked at him, however he
was, but the panties just slid down further.

The next thing I knew, I was crawling back to the center of the stage by the pole, with my
panties gone.

That was the only sour moment in the whole thing, and I mean everything from start to
finish. That was the only point where it felt sort of unpleasant. And it was just a passing thing,
not even lingering, I stayed a little more away from them, and that was all.
It was one of those moments, it had gone too far. I knew that. I was standing up on
stage, a little frightened, a little nervous. At least no one had come up on the stage with me.
One thing, I didn't want to go close to the edges of the stage any more. But I was still on the
adrenalin, still high. And they were just howling for me, loving me. The roar I got without
panties was bigger than ever, some of them looked like they were going out of their minds. So
maybe it was all right. Tentatively, as the next song came on, 'Do You Want to Hurt Me' by the
Chameleon Club, some golden oldy, I started dancing again. More cautiously, but it was good,
and the feeling came back easily.

I got back into the groove fast, dancing like I had before. The loved it. And it wasn't all
that bad, dancing bottomless. It was kind of exciting. It was like they'd never seen pubic hair
before, which was ridiculous, but thrilling. I played to it sometimes, hiding it with my palm,
giving them peeks. It made me laugh, it was just too silly for words. Mostly, I didn't even
bother, I just danced. It was amazing how quickly I adjusted to dancing bottomless like that.
But it was like, I had to keep upping the voltage. And anyway, it was stupid to be dancing
with my cunt on display by wearing a bra. So I started playing with that, easing the straps down.
Flipping a cup for a quick peak. Oh, anything I did, it just went mental, they were standing on
top of each other to cheer and clap, shouting all kinds of things.

I undid the clasp, letting the straps fall away, still concealing it over my breasts. Finally, I
just flung my arm out, and I swear, it was like they were all being electrocuted, like the place was
just exploding, it was absolutely the best thing, the wildest thing ever. I felt like I could just fly.
I twirled it above my head and rode it like a pony, I whipped them with it. I did all sorts
of shit and they loved every minute of it. I flung it, finally, out into the crowd. Some guy
probably still has it, I hope he framed it.

And then I was dancing naked. Not particularly like a stripper, but just dancing, just
moving. I loved it. There was an exhilarating freedom to dancing naked that I'd never felt
before, this oneness with my body that I never had dancing fully dressed. I'd never understood
nudists or guys or girls who'd just strip off their clothes to run around and rock concerts, but I
did then. There's just this freedom to it.

And the energy coming off the crowd was just unbelievable. I was grinning from ear to
ear. I wanted to dance all night. I never wanted to get off the stage. I wanted it to go on
forever, and just get better and better.

Anyway, I can't remember how long after that, maybe a few songs. This big guy got up
on stage. I just assumed he wanted to dance with me, and I was going like, 'uh uh, I don't think
so. This is *mine*' I didn't want to share, and anyway, he looked crude and clumsy. I danced
away from him and he kind of followed me around, while I was making motions for them to get
him off my stage.

Then he caught me, and scooped me up, throwing me over his shoulder. I was all totally
'whoops!' It was so sudden, it was funny. I was giggling, it was so caveman.. He was carrying
me off the stage, which totally sucked. I squirmed and wriggled and slipped off his shoulder, I ran
back up to the stage, laughing, and kept on dancing.

But he came back and caught me again, and I was getting carried off the stage over his
shoulder, trying to wiggle loose while everyone booed.

I didn't feel insecure or scared. Mostly, I was upset, I wanted back on the stage. I
wasn't finished, I didn't want to let them go. I wanted to stay. They wanted me to stay. I just
figured he was the bouncer and I was getting kicked out, which sucked. Like, oh pooh!
He carried me over to a pool table and laid me down on it. I thought, hey I could dance
on this. I tried to get up and start dancing on the pool table, but he had one ankle in a tight grip,
and twist as much as I wanted, I couldn't get loose.

Then he had his cock out.

I looked down at it.

And, no lie. Here's exactly what went through my mind.

I thought 'ahhh'.

Like, so that's what it's all about, he's not a bouncer after all, he wants to fuck me! This
seems insane, like I was prancing naked in front of dozens of guys, but that was the first moment
actual fucking went in my head. It was like dancing had become a sexual, sensual experience, but
it was completely unfocused, it wasn't concentrating on a specific prick, or a single guy, or on my
cunt, it was just this huge whole being, whole existence kind of thing. The energy had a sexual
component, but actually fucking, it had just never occurred to me. That was the headspace I was
in. There wasn't any fear or horror to the realization. Mostly, it was this big 'aha' sensation.
Like, oh right, now I get it, now I understand! Silly of me to have missed it.
It wasn't even really thoughts, you know, just this big sense of comprehension.

And then, I thought, 'Ok.'

Again, it was the weird head space. I didn't mind at all that he wanted to fuck me. That
he'd put his cock in me in front of everyone. I even grooved on it. They'd all watch, that was
great, I wanted them too. As long as they were all watching me, as long as I was the center of
attention, as long as I was the star, I was happy. I still wanted to dance. I remember, I had this
idea that after we'd fucked, I'd get back up on the stage or maybe the pool table and I'd dance
some more.

He shoved his cock in me, no condom, but I didn't even think of that then. I was
incredibly wet, I hadn't even noticed. But when I felt him enter me, I just scissored my legs right
around him, he had a huge ass, he was a big guy. I humped myself right up on him. I remember
cheering and getting off on that.

I don't think he took long. He pulled out, and I was so restless. I wanted more. I
wanted to get up on the table and dance, but I wanted more sex. Someone else had their cock
out and stepped up and slid right in, I just squealed with pleasure, up on my elbows watching.
My legs were kicking. Someone was pulling on my hair, not hurting, but just getting my
attention. I looked that way, and let him pull me over to suck on his cock. There were hands all
over me now, holding my legs. I felt him come in me. Pulling out. Someone else.

Gradually, the whole thing of dancing just sort of evaporated, and more and more I was
into this, just doing the next one and taking it and getting felt and fingered. I loved it. The whole
rock star vibe, the excitement of being up on stage, of being worshipped by all of them just sort of
gradually, very naturally transmuted into this more sexual vibe, of being worshipped more
intensely, one at a time, man after man. Natural, it all just seemed to flow very natural. I was
still the star. I was still the goddess, the center of attention. It was still all about me. It was
even better now, it was more about me, more intimately me, more intensely me.

I loved it. I loved the way they felt in me. I loved their eagerness. The hands on me.
The cocks in my mouth. The excitement and eagerness, the electricity it was all still there, better
than ever, but now in this intense wonderful form.

I wanted to fuck them all. I remember feeling that. Wanting them all, absolutely wanting
to have them, to feel them, one after another. Hungry for them.

I got fucked on that pool table, one after another, they just lined up and shoved their
cocks in me. Some only lasted a few strokes, others hammered hard. I felt them all, felt their
shapes, their eagerness, their excitement. I sucked cocks. But I always wanted to look up and
see the next one, watch his cock go in me. I couldn't get enough.
They all blurred together. I don't remember their faces or their cocks in me anymore,
except as bits of memories, as images, and sensations. But it just went on and on. I bucked and
scissored my legs around them, spread wide for them, parted my lips, drew their semen across my
belly, and swallowed them down.

I was obsessed with them coming in me. Once, I remember sucking a cock and he was
ready to blow, a guy was fucking me. I pushed him out of me so the guy I was sucking could
come inside my cunt. I wanted their come in me. I wanted it leaking out of me. I wanted it on
my skin, in my face, my mouth. I wanted to be saturated, every pore of me, with their maleness.
I refused condoms, they pissed me off. In that weird head space I was in, a condom was
like they were rejecting me, trying to put a barrier up against my female power, trying to deny me
my tribute. I wouldn't allow a guy to fuck me with one, they either took it off, or they fucked
off. One time, I felt one in me, and I just pushed him out with my foot and sat up and just yanked
it off. I think it must have stung because he yelled, but I just hooked one leg around his ass and
pulled him back in me.

The more I did, the more I wanted. I was totally out of control. I remember wanting the
next guy and the one after him, before I'd finished the man I was with. I was so hungry for them,
I'd reach out for their cocks, grabbing one and then another. Sucking ravenously. I felt hands on
my breasts, squeezing them, pinching my nipples, hands on my belly, my legs and hair pulled in
different directions, and I still wanted more.

It was glorious.

It was fucking perfect.

I have no idea how many men had sex with me that night. I mean, the entire bar, for sure.
I think some of them may have called friends in, and I'm sure more guys came in after I started.
I'm certain that no one left once I started dancing on that stage. But how many was that? No

I think I heard someone say 46, but that's just a stray memory, and I might have dreamed
it. Even if it's a real number, does it mean anything. Forty six men? Or forty six men up to that
point? Or just forty six times I'd had sex? One guy came up, I remember, four times. I laughed
and kissed him and called him my energizer bunny. Maybe it was just the time, like twelve forty
six am. Or how much money he had, or how many cases of beer or an address. So maybe it was
something or nothing. I'll say 40 or 46 guys sometimes, but really, I don't have a clue.
I few years later, I did a train on New Years. Shan set it up for me, with the rugby team.
It was very controlled, very safe, everyone used condoms, I had lubricants and I did 26 guys. I
was really sore afterwards, but nothing close to the total physical and mental exhaustion that came
out of this. So, the only thing I'm really sure is that this night had to have been a lot bigger train
than the New Years one.

Anyway, I just kept fucking and fucking and fucking. After a while, I started to feel raw
down there. I mean, I'd done it a lot, and I was starting to get sore. So, I started doing anal,
alternating, just to keep going. Don't mistake me, they didn't decide. I insisted. Sometimes I'd
just insist they do it that way because I was a little too sore at the moment and wanted to rest.
After a while, it became optional, I enjoyed the surprise of where they would go, which dripping
hole they'd shove their cocks in. And I was dripping, there was so much come in me, I could feel
it oozing whenever someone shoved their cock in.

I couldn't stop. I was getting totally raw, both my cunt and ass, to the point where it
hurt, and I still didn't want to stop. A guy came up between my legs and pressed his limp cock,
he said I'd worn him out. I smiled, said it was okay, took his limp cock in my hand and pulled
him to the side where I tried to suck him hard, and spread my lips for the next guy, feeling pain,
but a weird satisfaction as it sawed its way in. He didn't get hard in my mouth right away, so I
spat him out and sucked someone else.

I laughed and joked, I talked to them. It wasn't like I was stoned. I was just obsessed,
excited, but I was coherent. Sometimes I'd drink beer, swallowing between thrusts. I remember
jamming a mouthful of pretzels once, but someone said something that made me laugh and they
went spraying all over. Mainly, I just wanted them.

I was fucking insatiable. My body was aching, my cunt hurt, but I just couldn't, wouldn't
stop. It wasn't enough. I wanted more men. I wanted new men. The physical exhaustion, the
irritiation, the soreness, it didn't matter. I was flying, something, some endorphins were going off
in my head and I just wanted it.

I think towards the end, I was passing out. I was getting so tired and physically
exhausted, so sore. I was bleary and incoherent. It wasn't like fainting or anything, but more
like my consciousness was a radio dial, and sometimes I'd go so low I was literally not there, just
completely out of it, and I would come back up knowing there were minutes, perhaps even whole
men, where I couldn't remember, where I hadn't actually been there.

I remember, if I thought I'd passed out, I'd get physical and aggressive for a few
moments, humping wildly, sucking hard, trying to push it before the energy started running low
again. It was like, I didn't want to acknowledge weakness or passing out.

I just didn't want to stop. Even when I could feel myself going in and out of
consciousness, I didn't want to stop. I remember this tiny fear, as I felt myself losing it a little,
that I didn't want to open my eyes again and find they'd gone away and I was alone.
The whole thing just got blurrier and blurrier. My memories at the end are really
disjointed. I remember talking, but not what I said, laughing but not the joke, I remember fucking
over and over, feeling more and more urgent. I don't remember stopping. I do remember, sort
of, being helped to get dressed. My body wasn't working right any more, I couldn't seem to do
more than fumble.

I remember a cab picking me up, and the driver rolling down his window. I remember
being a little offended that he didn't like the way I smelled. Come was still oozing out of me.
I think I fell asleep in the back of the cab on the way to the hotel. A pothole woke me
suddenly. I remember the dawn coming up, as he drove me back. The sky was bright, sun was
just starting to peak over the horizon and it was glinting off his hood.

He helped me get out of the cab. He didn't seem to want any money from me.
Looking back, I'm pretty sure they paid him when he picked me up. I think I remember
that, sort of. It wasn't something I was paying attention to then, but I seem to recall something
like that going on at the peripheries of my attention.

That's really nice of them. It's one of those tiny little gestures that just makes me feel
irrationally special. It still makes me smile. I'm smiling now.

I got to my room on my own. I remember just staggering to bed with this wild mixture of
elation and exhaustion. I smelled funky, I smelled of exhaustion and sweat, semen and male
musk, and I had semen leaking down my thighs and drying on my skin. I needed to take a
shower, I remember thinking as I crawled into bed. I had to take a shower before I went to bed,
a quick shower, or I was going to be such a mess tomorrow. Just get up, quick one, no

Sometime later, I woke up. It was dark again. I must have slept through the entire day.
Everything hurt. It wasn't a hangover, I've had plenty of those. I was just physically
wrecked. My body felt swollen and raw and awkward, the muscles, especially in my thighs
ached. My cunt was just sore, the soreness was like this raw heat that throbbed. I felt like I
would scream if I had to wear panties. The room just reeked.

I spread my legs wide, pushing the sheet off, hoping that cool air would feel better, and to
keep anything from touching it. My legs had gotten stuck together, the semen drying between
my thighs into this slick gritty glue. When I parted my legs, I could feel the skin pulling.
I realized I was laying on something wet. At first, I thought I might have peed myself,
but it was too cold and slimy. I slowly realized that I was laying in this puddle of semen that had
oozed out of me as I slept. It was pretty gross. Not gross enough to move off of, not the way I
felt, but it was gross.

Eventually, I got up. Moving was sheer hell, it hurt to move anything. My tongue felt
swollen, and my mouth was dry. My skin was all gritty. I had a headache, and every time I
moved, I could feel muscles protesting. Even my bones hurt.

After a while, I stood up from the bed and staggered awkwardly into the bathroom. I
turned on the light, and then I turned it right off. I made my way to the toilet and sat down and

My vagina was just throbbing. I was completely swollen up and raw down there. I
couldn't really pee, it only dribbled, trickling down my lips. I kept touching myself. It didn't
even feel like me, not the shape of it. You always sort of know what you feel like, the way it's
supposed to feel, you know. I felt down there, and it was all swollen puffy flesh, raw and tight
and hot, with a protruding mound and bloated puffy lips. It was like picking at a scab. It was
uncomfortable to touch, but I just kept touching it.

Eventually, I decided I wanted a nice long hot bath.

I thought about that for a while.

Then I started to run the water. Luckily, I didn't have to move very far.

As I listened to the water run, I rubbed my eyes, feeling grit on my cheeks. I thought
suddenly, that I really didn't want to share my bath with billions and billions of dried sperm.
I took a warm facecloth and started to wash myself slowly and carefully. My whole body
felt raw, and I had to kind of dab away very softly and slowly. It became a methodical thing.
Eventually, I washed my vagina. Ooh that was a painfully delicate operation. Each touch
would bring this flare of raw soreness. The tub was full. I turned off the water, and sat splay
legged on the edge of the toilet, holding my lips open with one hand and gingerly probing myself
with the other. Dabbing away with the facecloth and then bits of kleenex to dry. I fished these
lumps of goo out of my vagina, congealed wads of partly dry semen, it was like bits of muck. I'd
feel for them, and work them out carefully, because I was so sore, I'd squeeze their soft bodies in
my fingers, and then slide them off into the toilet. They hit the toilet with little plopping sounds.
That's one life experience I won't mind not ever having again.

Finally, I felt my vagina was clean, or clean enough.

I settled into the tub.

Oh god, that was bliss. I swear, you can't ever be so fucked up that a nice hot bath isn't
the next best thing to paradise.

I laid back and soaked, and thought about last night. I wasn't thinking clearly. My body
was sending out way too many 'we hurt' signals and I was too tired and strung out to really be
coherent. But just kind of reflecting.

I remember thinking about all the sperm that must be floating around in the bath with me,
even after I had wiped them all off.

I thought about women getting pregnant from swimming pools. That was sort of funny,
it made me smile a little. Pregnant from sitting in a bathtub with sperm.

And then, smooth and slithery as a snake, the thought snuck up on me.
They'd come inside me. A lot of them had come inside me. There was a lot, like an
immense amount of come that had been in me.

I wasn't on the pill.

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

I was remembering, remembering my insistence that they ejactulate inside me. The
compulsive need to have them ejaculate up inside my vagina.

Oh shit. I couldn't believe what I'd done?

Oh shit. How could I have been so fucking stupid?

Oh shit?

What if I'm pregnant?

What if I'm pregnant right now? Right now, at this very minute. I could practically feel
it inside me.

I was still all warm and cozy on the outside, but inside, I was turning ice cold.
What if one of them had HIV or AIDS?

Oh jesus fucking christ shit.



Every venereal disease I'd ever heard of was running through my head.

Oh god oh god oh god.

Once I'd started thinking about it, I just couldn't get it out of my head. My guts started to
flip flop, and the horror of it made all my aches and pains into minor things.
What if I got aids? What if I got pregnant? What about chlamydia? Gonorrhea?

Syphilis? Herpes? Hepatitis? What about....

It just got worse and worse, the knowledge, the fear sinking into me. My heart started to
pound. I got nauseaous, I'm sure if I'd had anything to eat I would have thrown up.
By the time I got out of the bath, I was in a full blown panic. I'd thrown myself into this
state of sexual terror. Horrified by what I'd done so foolishly, by the spectacularly bad
judgement, by the unbelievable recklessness. I hated myself, I hated this betrayal of myself. I
was terrified. I could literally feel my body crawling with zygoes and microbes. Live sperm and
bacteria and viruses colonizing me, slithering over my skin, infesting pores.
Climbing out of the bath, I felt exhausted, like everything weighed twice as much. I felt
weak as a kitten. I literally had nothing left. But I was still in panic. I had to do something, I
had to go and see a doctor, right now. It was still dark. In a few hours then. I hated the
throught of waiting. Perhaps there was some 24 hour VD clinic or something. I made my way
back to the bed, sitting on it with my legs spread to preserve my tender swollen vagina. I was so
fucking tired. I put a blanket over the big slimy spot. I needed to open a window, the place
stank in here. I grabbed the yellow pages and tried to leaf through.

I wound up falling asleep.

It was a bad sleep. I kept having nightmares. I'd wake up with this sense of panic and
unease, and kind of thrash around a little before drifting back to sleep. The slimy spot soaked
through the blanket. I think I must have gone into a deep sleep sooner or later, because when I
woke up finally, it was noon. I laid there for another hour, just feeling this sense of horror and
awfulness washing over me. I wanted to be unconscious. But I couldn't go back to sleep. I felt
awful physically, mentally and emotionally. Finally, I got up to go to the bathroom.
I douched, which hurt like a motherfucker. Then I showered and put some clothes on. A
loose dress, no bra, no panties. Basically, I couldn't stand anything tight against my skin. I took
a cab straight to the women's clinic, the one down between the Hospital and Uncle Hugo's.
I had to wait hours. I swear, I could feel all the little VD bacteria multiplying inside my
body, the little zygote visibly splitting and growing. I felt like I was actually swelling up inside. I
was barely controlling my panic.

Once I got in finally, I was so flustered, I told probably the most incoherent story of my
life. I was so bad the nurse asked if I was on drugs. Finally, I got it through to them that I'd
had unprotected sex, lots of unprotected sex, and desperately needed an aids test fast. I think I
was on the verge of freaking out.

Anyway, they gave me a shot of demerol, which I thought was an antibiotic, but I found
out last year that it's only a mild sedative. The fuckers. I wanted to be pumped full of penicillin
or amoxicillin or something.

Then they took blood and had me pee in a glass, and took a lot of vaginal smears. They
couldn't give me an aids test right away, because it took a while for serroconversion, like weeks.
But I got a prescription, just in case I might have picked up a bacterial infection, and the Doctor
advised me about hygeine (the fucker, I hate it when men go around giving you lectures on
keeping your vagina clean, its just so fucking condescending. When you pricks start scrubbing
out the insides of your uretrhas, then maybe I'll fucking well listen to you.), and suggested some
over the counter or off the shelf remedies, basically creams and ointments, that might help.
After that, I took a cab to the pharmacy and bought fucking everything, including
spermicides. Then I went back to the hotel. I was so ravenous by this time, that I had to eat
something or I was going to die. I ordered, and then while I waited, I snuck off to the bathroom
and basically squirted tubes up inside me. At least it felt cool for a little bit, before it started to

I wolfed the food down while the stuff slowly leaked out and stained my dress. Then I
went back to my room and much more carefully, smeared spermicides and antibacterials, lotions
and everything else up inside my vagina and anus.

Probably it's not a good idea to do it like that, I was going way over recommended
dosages, and mixing it all up. I slowly came to my senses, over a week and stopped doing that,
which is probably why I still have a vaginal lining. To this day, I don't know if it helped or hurt.

But, I think it did result in the worst yeast infection I've ever had in my life.

Kerry showed up towards suppertime. She'd come by the day before, but there'd been
no answer when she knocked. I guess I must have been still out of it.

Anyway, I was just totally freaked. I couldn't believe she'd bailed on me like that, I was
really upset with her. I was angry she'd let me get into that situation. She couldn't believe I
was trying to blame her for the whole thing. Turned into a huge fight, and I wound up telling her
to go fuck herself, and she left.

Looking back, I guess I was sort of in the wrong. I mean, I'm still upset with her for
bailing. She shouldn't have done that, and I don't think, if I'd been in her situation, that I'd have
done that. So, as far as I'm concerned, it's still sort of her fault. And frankly, her attitude then
was 'Dani, I can't believe you did that!' all judgemental and stuff, and that was the wrong tone. I
needed sympathy and support, not a fucking 'I told you so' kind of thing. I mean, here I was,
just aching and sore and scared and panicking, and she's being judgemental. Well, fuck her. I
just blew up.

I didn't talk to her for a few years. That was probably cause we lived in different
countries. But I saw her last fall at Flora's wedding in Windsor, and we talked, so now we're
friends again.

The prescription was just bullshit.

When I got back to Canada the next day, the first thing I did was go to a clinic again, and
go for a full spectrum STD screening. I booked an appointment for an HIV test for about three
weeks later, and because I was still freaked, I had a second appointment scheduled for a month
after that, just in case I was slow to serroconvert, whatever the hell that was.

As it turns out, I contracted Gonorhea, but we caught it right at the start, I never ever had
symptoms, I got a real prescription and that was that.

I also contracted pubic lice, which I didn't realize for a few days. Then, one evening in
the bathroom, as I'm on the toilet scratching, I found what looked like a tiny scab. And it
moved. Fuck! I just about climbed the walls right there. I shaved my pubic hair away
completely, and scrubbed till it chafed.

A few days later, as it started growing back in, it itched. That reminded me of the bugs,
so I shaved again. Shaving got to be a compulsive behaviour. I just feel cleaner without pubic
hair. Even the thought of it makes me squirmy. Any lover I'm with for any length of time, I
want to shave them too. I know it's neurotic behaviour, but I can't help it. Pubic hair,
especially thick pubic hair, and all I can think of is bugs.

Shan used to say my shaving thing was some sort of sublimated reaction to the whole big
train itself, or a way of dealing with the fear that came out of it. But really, its just all about the
bugs. Yuck!

Anyway, I was scared for about two solid weeks. I was just in this permanent state of
panic, jumpy as a cat, sometimes I'd be off by myself and just hyperventilating. It was all I could
think of, 24 hours a day, what I might have caught. I promised myself, if I got through this, I
would never ever ever ever do any shit like this again. I'd become a nun or a virgin or something.

I was really hard to be around, I had to fight not to fly off the handle and start screaming at
people. I kept it under control around Mom and Dad, but I lost it completely at a dry cleaners.
And I had a few sexual blowouts, one after the other, fast violent sexual encounters, almost
completely without pleasure.

This is the thing with porn, right. There's no consequences, there's no feeling, it doesn't
mean anything. Porn is never about the panic and uncertainty afterwards, it just kind of floats
there disconnected, it doesn't come out of anything, doesn't lead to anything. The thing is, with
real sex, you feel about it. You feel things about it before you do it, and you have feelings and
reactions to it afterwards, even if its just soreness or raw knees. Even if you don't feel anything,
like, quick one night stand, you still feel something. Like, in a porn I wouldn't have had a couple
of weeks of hell, which, I think, is sort of dishonest. I don't mind that guys might jerk off to the
idea of me getting gangbanged by thirty or forty men, but if that works for you, then you can
fucking well stick around for what I went through afterwards. The trouble with men, I think,
sometimes, is that you think sex is just something you do and walk away from. It's not.

Gradually though, the state of panic wore off. I don't think human beings are designed to
be scared for extended periods of time. Eventually, you get over it. That or you go completely
insane. But normally, I think, we've got this built in coping thing going for us. So after a while,
the panic and the fear ebbs, and you can start thinking again.

By the time I went for my first HIV test, I was still scared of having HIV, but at least I
was dealing with it, I was almost back to normal

As it turns out, I didn't have HIV, not on that test, or the next, or on any of the tests I've
taken since then. So, I guess I lucked out, once again. Or maybe I'm just not very susceptible.
I've read that certain individuals and ethnic groups seem to have a very low susceptibility.

Somehow, that doesn't make me feel confident.

After a while, after I was long past the crippling fear and panic, I kind of look back on the
experience and feel a sort of pride. I suppose I shouldn't be proud of it, but I sort of am. It was
an adventure, it was this huge sexual thing. Maybe I blundered into it, and maybe walking out of
it wouldn't have been an option, maybe I didn't come as much, but fuck. I took on forty men, I
mean, I think that's impressive. I don't think I'd ever want to do it again. But I did it and I came
through all right, and so I'm glad that I did it. It was one of those legendary things.

Afterwards, whenever I heard stories of getting drunk in a bar and pulling a train in front
of everyone, I'd think it was about me. The legend of Dani had spread. It's sort of funny to
admit that. I even thought that movie, 'The Accused' with Kelly McGillis was based on my story,
all distorted, but there. Until I saw the date.

Nowadays, I've got a bit more perspective. I think that the whole barroom train or
gangbang thing isn't unique. It's like those stories you hear of the martial artist getting his ass
kicked in a barroom brawl with a street fighter. It probably happens every now and then, just
often enough to keep the stories and legends circulating.

When you think about it: Primarily male bar, woman comes in drunk, or gets drunk,
things get out of hand and she pulls a train. It doesn't seem like a hard equation. Not common,
but I could see it happening now and then, with enough bars, enough years, enough women
looking for something and losing their inhibitions...

So, maybe I'm not as legendary as I thought. That's actually a little disappointing to me.
But still, it was one of those once in a lifetime experiences, and it was bigger and bolder and
wilder than anything. Its beyond description and beyond judging. I said it was perfect. And
fuck, it was. It was perfect, it was glorious, and the absolute terror that came afterwards doesn't
change that. I don't know if I'd feel the same if I'd come out of it pregnant, or crippled, or with
HIV or some incurable disease. But the truth is, I didn't, I came out of it okay. I'd never do it
again, and probably, if I'd known what I was getting into, I wouldn't have gone in at all. But it
was incredible. The New Years train I pulled long after, that was sort of Shan's gift, her trying
to give me that same kind of perfect experience, but safe. It wasn't even close. This was one of
those extraordinary things, and I don't think I could ever duplicate it. I don't think it should be

You know what?

They'll never forget me in that bar. They'll fucking tell their grandchildren about me.
And for every guy that night, like its burned into their heads, the wildest, the hottest, the
wickedest time of their life, and from here on in no matter what they do, its downhill, its only ever
going to be just ordinary dull sex for them from now on.

It was glorious. I mean, for that one night, I was a fucking goddess. I was like Mick
Jagger or David Bowie or Courtney Love, I was like a rock star. I was fucking there, I owned
them, I owned it all. I went out so far past all the fucking triviality of ordinary life, I went
someplace different and above and beyond, there are hardly words to describe it. I flew, I
fucking flew, above and beyond. People live their whole lives and never even come close to a
taste of it. It was magic.

I'm fucking proud of it.

So there.

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