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I realized why the foot rape video bothered me so much so I thought I'd share my story with everyone. I mentioned before in this XXX foot massage video how I had my finger's sucked while on a Grey Hound bus and so I'm going to recount the tale. Just as the foot rape fetish guy gets off while girls are sleeping, so did the guy on the bus.
Maybe this is all about a sleeping fetish.
This isn't going to be the most eloquent story I've ever written, but quite frankly, I'm absolutely traumatized by this and will not ride on a Grey Hound ever again. I also have an aversion to planes, trains and any other form of transportation where I am in a cramped space with people who have the potential to be psychos with mystery sex fetishes.
I had to make 7 transfers when I was going from my college to my home for summer break. It was at the second stop that a man got on the bus and sat next to me. Now, this is no problem as I was just listening to my MP3 player.
This guy wanted to talk though so I took my headphones off. The conversation was normal enough to start with. He was going to the same general area as me and we had the same buses to get on. It seemed reasonable to say, 'hey, we can sit together, that way we know who we're sitting with.'
Oh, how I wish he hadn't said that and I agreed.
After stop 3, it started getting weird. He started talking about his life, about how he was living on the street until he went to a church that has... I guess the closest you can call it is a halfway house to help people get on their feet. I personally have no knowledge of these things, so I'm not sure what they're called or how common they are.
I, naturally, felt a little bad for him and even told him he was doing the right thing by going back to his hometown to be closer to his family where he'd have a support system and blahblahblah.
He then revealed while living in this halfway house, collecting unemployment and food stamps and whatever else the government may hand out to people who are 'down on their luck', he spent money on seeing a dominatrix. I think I took on the most dumbfounded look of my life. So he had no money to get an apartment, had to mooch off the government and a church, but he had money to see a very, very expensive dominatrix? And trust me, they are expensive.
Seeing as I was a dominatrix for a couple years of my life, I was more disgusted with the waste of resources he had no right to be wasting - your tax dollar at work! - than by the act itself. That is, until he started telling me what exactly he did with the dominatrix.
What you do behind closed doors is your business. He shouldn't have shared that he saw a sex worker in the first place, but he did and I could forgive that faux pas, if only he'd shut the fuck up about the rest of it. He recounted the use of gas masks - I'm still not entirely sure what that is in regards to fetishism - latex body bags, asphyxiation, whipping, electro torture and a variety of other things. The whole while I was saying, "I see. I'm really not interested." I even put on my headphones but he just spoke louder, like he didn't care that the whole bus might hear him recounting his sexploits.
Stop 4 just couldn't roll around soon enough, but I was not lucky enough to ditch him. It was late and the bus was clearing out of people so there was no one to squeeze myself in next to to escape him. He sat with me again. He didn't talk. I thought he must have gotten the message.
By this point I had been awake for more than 24 hours, had walked 2 miles with 115 Lbs of duffel bags and had been on the bus for 8 hours. I was exhausted. I still don't even remember falling asleep.
What I do remember is waking up because I felt something slimy on my fingers. I assumed I had stuck my hand in an empty bowl of noodles I'd eaten earlier. No, no, it was much worse. My eyes opened and I saw this guy with his mouth on my fingers.
He tried to apologize. I smacked him in the mouth again.
I smacked him in the mouth hard enough to draw blood, wiped my fingers on the back of his seat, wet wipes and anything else I happened to pass for the next four hours. I would have happily wiped my hands in dog shit if only to distract myself from the incredible nastiness of some nasty, scumbag, societal leach sucking on my fingers.
And people wonder why I hate people. It seems anytime I deign to come out of my home and meet people outside of my normal circle of friends, I meet completely fucked up weirdos - that's right, this isn't the first time something utterly gross and weird like this has happened to me, but that's a story for another day.
Too bad I didn't have this blog back then; I could have sent him to it. Of course, he'd get off to all the videos instead of finding them hilarious.
Maybe this is all about a sleeping fetish.
This isn't going to be the most eloquent story I've ever written, but quite frankly, I'm absolutely traumatized by this and will not ride on a Grey Hound ever again. I also have an aversion to planes, trains and any other form of transportation where I am in a cramped space with people who have the potential to be psychos with mystery sex fetishes.
I had to make 7 transfers when I was going from my college to my home for summer break. It was at the second stop that a man got on the bus and sat next to me. Now, this is no problem as I was just listening to my MP3 player.
This guy wanted to talk though so I took my headphones off. The conversation was normal enough to start with. He was going to the same general area as me and we had the same buses to get on. It seemed reasonable to say, 'hey, we can sit together, that way we know who we're sitting with.'
Oh, how I wish he hadn't said that and I agreed.
After stop 3, it started getting weird. He started talking about his life, about how he was living on the street until he went to a church that has... I guess the closest you can call it is a halfway house to help people get on their feet. I personally have no knowledge of these things, so I'm not sure what they're called or how common they are.
I, naturally, felt a little bad for him and even told him he was doing the right thing by going back to his hometown to be closer to his family where he'd have a support system and blahblahblah.
He then revealed while living in this halfway house, collecting unemployment and food stamps and whatever else the government may hand out to people who are 'down on their luck', he spent money on seeing a dominatrix. I think I took on the most dumbfounded look of my life. So he had no money to get an apartment, had to mooch off the government and a church, but he had money to see a very, very expensive dominatrix? And trust me, they are expensive.
Seeing as I was a dominatrix for a couple years of my life, I was more disgusted with the waste of resources he had no right to be wasting - your tax dollar at work! - than by the act itself. That is, until he started telling me what exactly he did with the dominatrix.
What you do behind closed doors is your business. He shouldn't have shared that he saw a sex worker in the first place, but he did and I could forgive that faux pas, if only he'd shut the fuck up about the rest of it. He recounted the use of gas masks - I'm still not entirely sure what that is in regards to fetishism - latex body bags, asphyxiation, whipping, electro torture and a variety of other things. The whole while I was saying, "I see. I'm really not interested." I even put on my headphones but he just spoke louder, like he didn't care that the whole bus might hear him recounting his sexploits.
Stop 4 just couldn't roll around soon enough, but I was not lucky enough to ditch him. It was late and the bus was clearing out of people so there was no one to squeeze myself in next to to escape him. He sat with me again. He didn't talk. I thought he must have gotten the message.
By this point I had been awake for more than 24 hours, had walked 2 miles with 115 Lbs of duffel bags and had been on the bus for 8 hours. I was exhausted. I still don't even remember falling asleep.
What I do remember is waking up because I felt something slimy on my fingers. I assumed I had stuck my hand in an empty bowl of noodles I'd eaten earlier. No, no, it was much worse. My eyes opened and I saw this guy with his mouth on my fingers.
He tried to apologize. I smacked him in the mouth again.
I smacked him in the mouth hard enough to draw blood, wiped my fingers on the back of his seat, wet wipes and anything else I happened to pass for the next four hours. I would have happily wiped my hands in dog shit if only to distract myself from the incredible nastiness of some nasty, scumbag, societal leach sucking on my fingers.
And people wonder why I hate people. It seems anytime I deign to come out of my home and meet people outside of my normal circle of friends, I meet completely fucked up weirdos - that's right, this isn't the first time something utterly gross and weird like this has happened to me, but that's a story for another day.
Too bad I didn't have this blog back then; I could have sent him to it. Of course, he'd get off to all the videos instead of finding them hilarious.
"It seems anytime I deign to come out of my home and meet people outside of my normal circle of friends, I meet completely fucked up weirdos"
There's reasons behind many sayings...
Like similar personalities attract each others. It needs one to like another.
So could the reason why you are pulling weirdos to you like a magnet is that you are one yourselve? ;)
I'm here and i have finger sucking fetish too! :P
I prefer to think that opposites attract in these situations since I'm completely asexual. Perhaps my lack of interest in anything sexual attracts the ones with crazy fetishes.
I'll see about finding some stuff about fingers, though this site is primarily for humor so it will have to be humorous to me before I'll post it.