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By the end of that day, I had “discovered myself.” I now knew my true calling. I was a freak by nature, a woman of greatness when it came to throwing down. I was the one who would be dubbed the Trisexual.
For months, it went on. I had my pussy eaten. I ate pussy. I had my ass eaten. I ate ass. I rode more dicks than every other woman there. I loved dick. I even loved pussy, and before then, I had hated to even look at my own pussy. I never realized that every dick and pussy had its own individuality. I used to buy into the premise that dick was dick and pussy was pussy, but nothing could be further from the truth. Each one has its own special look, special taste, and special ability to give pleasure to another.
Poor Carl didn’t have a clue. I would still break him off once or twice a week for good measure, but things were not the same. Instead of working at Dawn’s two days, I was over there all the time, waiting for some action. I was ripping off men’s clothes the second they walked in the door, making sure that I got to the dick first. I became so popular on the website that men—and a few women—emailed Dawn trying to set up private sessions with me. They did not want to be plastered all over the internet with a webcam, but they wanted to fuck me nonetheless. They wanted a try at the Trisexual, and if they looked even halfway decent, I was down.
I started flying to them, as long as they paid for it. One man, Ronald, emailed Dawn and said that his wife could not fuck him right with a strap-on dick. He asked if I was capable of doing it right. When Dawn approached me about his offer, I stated, “If he wants to be fucked up the ass, I will fuck the living daylights out of him!”
Four days later I was landing at JFK Airport and taking a cab to Queens. I was a little taken aback when his wife answered the door, proclaiming, “Thank goodness you’re here! Ronald’s driving me nuts! I have the strap-on all ready for you!”
Sure enough, when I walked into the upstairs bedroom, Ronald was lying on his stomach tied to the bedposts with nylons, and a gigantic strap-on dick was sitting at the end of the bed waiting for me to put it on. That shit turned me on like nothing else in my life. For years, men had fucked over women, and now I had the opportunity to fuck them back—with no grease!
Ronald was so excited as I mounted him that he came before I even stuck the strap-on in his ass. I stuck it in slowly at first and told him, “You’re gonna be my bitch by the end of the night!” I made him my bitch, too. He screamed with delight. He praised my good deed. He paid me ten thousand dollars for giving him the fuck of the century. Then I left.
I stayed the night in New York City, on Ronald’s tab of course. I chose the most expensive hotel I could find and ordered almost everything on the room service menu. I got bored halfway through the night and decided to “peruse” Times Square. Okay, I admit it. I wanted some dick, and dick is never hard to find anywhere but it is extremely accessible in the Big Apple. I found a lively bar, took a seat on a bar stool, and searched for what was appealing to me for the night. Instead of one appetizer, I found two. They were an attractive couple, obviously tourists because they looked scared. I was not from there either but I wasn’t scared of a damn thing. I approached their booth and asked if I could sit down. It did not take much convincing to lure them back to my room. They were engaged and from Texas. I turned both of them out and wished them a long, happy life together.
The next day I flew back home. Carl was waiting for me at the door, so angry that smoke was damn near coming out of his ears. My secret was out. One of his friends had seen me on the internet. Now all his friends knew about me fucking on Dawn’s site. His parents knew. His grandmother in the rent-controlled apartment in Brooklyn knew and had declared that he was not getting another penny of her money since his wife was making a bundle “selling ass.”
What amazed me about the entire thing was that Carl cussed me out like he had some kind of leverage in our situation. He threatened to leave me. I asked him, “How long will it take you to get your shit packed?” He announced that it was already packed. I said, “Good, then don’t let the doorknob hit you on the ass on the way out.” He stood there, shocked, realizing something that most men never see coming. I did not need him. I did not want him. I could make it without him. I could do badly all by myself and he was not contributing shit.
Carl did leave and returned to his musical pipe dreams. I stayed with Dawn’s enterprise for another year and decided to move to Vegas after my divorce was finalized. I became a high-class hooker and made more money than Dawn was providing me by starting my own stable. What’s the name of my company? That should be obvious. It’s called Trisexuality.
