I’ve kept this one to myself for a little while now. But apparently it’s my best friend’s favourite so naturally I have to share it. That, and I didn’t think a new blog was the way for my girlfriend to find out a story of this sort. So here goes.

An ex of mine – I’ll call her Sandra. Because it begins with an S, a bit like Satan – was really into sex toys. So much so that I might as well have left her to it most of the time. Nevertheless, one weekend I arranged to take her to Brighton, where she surprised me in our hotel room that she had bought a butt plug to use on me. Fear not, it wasn’t of similar size to Mount Everest. In fact, it wasn’t much bigger than a tampon. Sure, whatever, I’m open minded.

We head out for the evening, go to a bar, followed by another, followed by a club, where we continue to get blind drunk. Now, to put this in perspective, I managed to find a painting and carry it back to our hotel. A painting I found the next day, much to my confusion.

Fast forward to the end of the night. I remember ordering pizza, and that’s about it. I’m not sure I even ate any of it.

The next morning, I wake up (obviously), with my head thumping and surrounded by food. We have little time to pack our stuff and check out. Suddenly, Satan looks at me, “where the hell is the butt plug?” I had no idea. We both rush around, gathering things and getting dressed at the same time. She panics, me not so much. “I don’t know?…” I reply. I couldn’t remember much from the night before, and the painting propped against the wall was taking all my brain power at the time.

Eventually, we give up. The butt plug is lost to Brighton. Sorry hotel, it’s yours now. We head out, slightly delicate and in need of coffee. As we sit in a Starbucks I sip water, regretting so freely abusing my contactless card just hours before. “What did you do to me last night? I fu**ing hurt,” I asked. I never get stomach cramps, but dear lord I felt like I’d been beaten up. I’m not sure she appreciated my questioning, but she laughed it off at the time. We joke about the butt plug being lost to Brighton, like a dodgy Hangover tale, and wander round the shops until I can’t take any more.

“I need to go home, I just hurt.”

After a near two hour drive, we get back. My hangover now disappearing and my stomach still hurting. I’m obviously making this scene sound proper sexy. And so, she tries it on with me. As she goes to test the waters, she stops.

“Oh my god…” she says. Going south again. Her hand pops back into sight, holding the butt plug like some sort of trophy. I couldn’t not laugh, but my god did it feel better. You know when you’re desperate for a piss and then afterwards feel so relieved?

A bit like that. But 10000x better.

Immediately I was in stitches, I had to tell someone. So I told one of my best friends who has probably never looked at me the same again. Who knew a butt plug could get lost in your fanny, eh?


One thought on “The butt plug keeper.

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