Origin of the Trainer

Once upon a time, not so long ago (because all good stories start with "Once upon a time").

Driving down the highway in a rented moving truck with all of my belongings in the back. Thinking.

Thinking about the past and future.

The Past... The Hallowe'en party that also happened to be my girlfriend's 30th birthday celebration. The huge party we threw. The naked bounce house, the kiddie pool lube wrestling, the black light dungeon... The strapping firefighter 10 years her junior plugging her ass while I roll entwined on the floor with a long time "admirer".

Learning the next week that it was over, she'd waited till after the party so as to not spoil things.

The "Company" New Year's Eve party, all the actors and support crew we co-direct. Driving the rain slicked streets of what will soon be my new home in her little sports car, relishing the new sound system I'd had installed as a present. "Christmas Eve/ Sarajevo" blares as I search this hellhole aggie town for cloves. Later, around the firepit with the remains of a bottle of single malt in my hand and a captivated audience as my Ex and I rail out the Kirsty MacColl/Shane McGowan Pogues duet "A Fairytale for New York". I see our friends wince as we sing back and forth "You're a bum, you're a punk!", "You're an old slut on junk, lying there almost dead on that drip in that bed", "and especially "Happy Christmas, my arse! I thank God it's our last!".

Our best performance of that song together. Ever.

So, on the Second of January, here I am in a moving truck driving to this almost foreign flatland agricultural city. Me! A Theater geek intellectual slash deliberate blue collar jack of all trades slash survivalist mountain man... moving to a city I'd consider in the same zip code as Hell. If I was the Devil and I owned this place I'd rent this out and live in Hell, as they say. How'd it come to THIS?

Lots of different ways, but let's be honest... you're too damn kinky for her.

Things had... changed in the world since the post-high school years.

Thanks to my early playmates and later girlfriends, I was naturally hardwired to be kinky. Thanks to my liberal parents and background, I was naturally inclined to be open minded.

I was socially awkward and a late bloomer, but it wasn't much more than a year after I lost my virginity that we were playing with ropes and blindfolds. A year later and we were doing pretty extensive photo shoots with scenarios. By the time I'd gotten a steady handle on the whole "having sex" thing, kink was well and truly enmeshed in my being. She taught me hypnosis, which I later saw the kinky potential for and with which we'd played extensively.

At the time, pre-internet, info about alternate sexuality was a bit hard to come by, mostly in the form of terribly overpriced magazines from the local sex shop. "Bondage Romance" was one of her favorites. Sex and bondage were still verboten together in print. We charted paths in an order that would seem insane to some of the modern internet educated kink crowd. But, as newly hewn pathways to ones desires tend to, things diverged. I began to fixate on unfulfilled kinks and fantasies, and when a new parter appeared in my life who hit on those levels appeared, I lost it, and things broke apart shortly thereafter.

Yes, this does come back around to the main point... bear with me here... Scheherezade never got these sorts of complaints.

We split with little rancor, and she was together a short time later with one of our martial arts instructors, a good match which I approved of wholeheartedly (He and I are friends to this day).

I pursued my blond muse. She was my ultimate woman, wanton, free, powerful, gorgeous, and smart. My raging hormones couldn't see the impending doom. But what a glorious doom it was! She really didn't like the kinky stuff, she said... spankings turned her off, bondage freaked her out. Bad childhood. However... when she shined, she made me forget my previous fetishes. She was tall and built like a colt, barely an A cup. She never wore bras except when fashion required. She favored one piece summer dresses that zipped from neck to hem, wearing nothing else but a pair of strappy heels. She impulsively shaved herself bare so it'd be easier for me to go down on her, and because she knew I liked the feel. She'd strip bare assed in gridlocked traffic and deep-throat me to "Calm you down", occasionally looking up to smile, wink or wave to a honking admirer. She relished exhibitionism, public sex, and risky behavior that filled a deep need I barely knew I had. In my admittedly poor memories the one that stands out was a several hour drive to go pick up a truck and deliver it to a co-worker who was borrowing it. We tormented the hell out of me the whole way there, stripping down in the passenger seat and playing with herself, displaying herself to passing truckers, and alternating sucking my cock while talking dirty to me. Even after several orgasms en route, she still had me keyed up and on edge when we reached our destination and she went to go drive the truck back. We hadn't been on the road more than a half hour when she pulled up beside me, honked the horn, then proceeded to unzip the front of her dress. Traffic separated us. She pulled in in front of me and rolled down her window. She waved her dress out the window like a flag, then threw it in the driver's seat.

I sped up and pulled around beside her, trusting my '66 Mustang to out pace a four banger Toyota truck. She stretched up her free arm to clearly display her breasts, then looked over at me, winked, and reached down quite deliberately between her legs. I'd been wearing my kilt for the drive at her request, for better access, and due to her elevation she had the lap view. I let her see her effect on me, and started stroking with long even strokes. We frigged together for a time, then she got a mischievous look on her face, winked at me again and sped up. I followed, but held back a couple of car lengths. She pulled beside a trucker and started really working herself into a frenzy. He honked his air horn in appreciation several times. After a time she backed off... I was guessing she'd reached a plateau.

She still led me on the freeway, and started signaling that she was going to exit. Sure enough, a half mile away she pulled off, some county road with a number instead of a name, and a single gas station. She zipped through a yellow light and I was stuck at the intersection, so when I pulled into the station she was just disembarking. Yep. Stark naked except for the heels. She cocked her head at me and tossed her balled up dress my way as she headed to the bathroom. I turned off my car, started the pump going, grabbed the dress, tossed it into my passenger seat through the open window, and headed over myself. She'd gone into the men's room. The door was ajar. I walked in with my kilt pitching a serious tent. She was sitting on the toilet with her legs spread and her left hand between her legs. As I walked up she reached up under my kilt and grabbed my package, lifting it through the twin front flaps, and gobbling my cock deep into her waiting mouth. She worked me hard with long, sure strokes, drawing back till her lips were sucking directly on my head then pushing down till my (not inconsiderable) length was pushed deep in her throat and my pubes were tickling her nose. She set and irresistible rhythm, and her free right hand danced about my scrotum in counterpoint. Apparently, despite the prior orgasms and stimulation this still hit some triggers. I bucked hard and blew a remarkably energetic load deep in her throat. She kept sucking till I was empty, seeming to relish the spurts that kept pulsing in her throat.

She leaned back, licking her lips, and brought herself off while talking about how much she loves my huge cock. This lass didn't miss a trick unless she wanted to. She lay quivering, whilst I'd recovered. I offered up the role of the gallant, and opened the door to scout her "escape". The coast was clear, so I headed to my car. Her borrowed truck was much closer, right next to the bathroom. She took the walk at a deliberate saunter, accentuating the roll of her hips the heels produced. Glancing over I could see the attendant watching, and suspected that part of the show was for his eyes. I started up the Mustang and put her in gear, even as I realized I had my girls *only* clothing still balled up in my passenger seat.

We continued our drive. I took the lead, and took somewhat remote highways. Ones with lots of open space. She spent a lot of time beside me, first teasing, then pointing at her bare breasts. As we were approaching our destination, it was clear that she was getting a little uncomfortable about the idea of meeting our co-workers bare assed naked. I took pity and pulled off at a frontage road that also adjoined a county park. I pulled over by a park entrance and sat in my car. She pulled up behind me, parked, looked around, then got out. She gave me a pointed look, then walked about 10 feet inside the park perimeter, and leaned forwards onto a tree, supporting her upper body with her hands and spreading her legs to give me a fine view of her shaved cunt. In full sight of both the frontage road (itself fairly busy) and the highway, I quickly closed, shaft springing like a spear from beneath the fabric, and mounted her. We were furious, like animals in heat. The exposed space inflamed her, it seemed. I twined a fist in her long hair and pulled back, while pushing down on the small of her back with my other hand, her back arched like a kinky ballerina, and I drove in my cock. I knew at this arch and angle I'd be slamming her g-spot with every thrust. Her muscles convulsed over and over... she'd been right on the brink before we even stopped, and so even this kind of slamming was triggering her orgasms like a chain reaction in a minefield.

We both came several times. Her nipples were raw from rubbing against the rough bark. With nothing to mop it up our come was slowing oozing down her inner thighs. She squatted to pee while I watered a bush, then we headed back to our respective vehicles. I started my engine and almost immediately put in in gear and started rolling off, which startled her. She rushed to her truck to follow. I got to the freeway on-ramp, pulled into the wide shoulder where truckers would traditionally park at night to get some shut eye, and dropped her dress out the window. I then rolled forward a hundred feet or so, and watched. She pulled over and in full sight of the increasing traffic got out of the truck and wiggled into her dress, zipping it back in place.

We continued on to our destination then headed off together to find more trouble.

Yeah, OK, so it ended badly. Yes, she'd been abused and was "acting out". On my behalf, it was very therapeutic for her, and even now 20 years later we still call each other "friends". And she could suck a golf ball through a hundred feet of hose. And had a body to die for she was quite willing to share with the world...

But I digress.

That was just the beginning... so my personal bar was set rather high, as it were. My most recent ex and I had had a good run, many, many years, but the kinky side she was just now exploring (as a final act in our relationship), was a part of my deep seated needs, and the diversity of our desires could only logically lead to a parting.

Thus I reflected, as I drove into this smog filled, poo-smelling, corn pone aggie hell of a city. I had a lot of friends who lived in the area, and my unemployment check would go a lot farther here, but... Damn!

Now that the cat was back outta the bag it was gonna be hard to get it back in.

As if I wanted to.

In anticipation of my impending move, to try and show the proper can-do attitude (and to hopefully impress my female sparring partner in my Karate class) I'd taken to wearing a pair of damn near skin tight black leather pants over a cockring (if you've got it, flaunt it), with knee high "pirate boots", and a tight, black muscle-t, and that was my "driving outfit" that day. No real reason why... I was down in the dumps about the move and had no prospects, but was trying to put a good face on things.

I pulled off near my destination to grab some lunch and call a friend. The only one free today, on break from college as opposed to all my working stiff friends. A total stoner, but some of my stuff just won't move with one person. He's surprised to hear from me "Oh, yeah... that's today. Duuuuude.... uh... I kinda told my friend we would hang out. Is it OK if I bring along someone to help?".

"The more the merrier!" I replied.

I figured it was one of his many school friends, many of whom I'd seen or met in passing. Long haired hairy hippy guys in tie-dyed shirts who spend a whole lot'ta time toking up and watching comedy tapes or listening to the Dead. Whatever.

I'd been at the storage unit for 45 minutes when they showed up, unpacking boxes with the efficiency I'd learned over years at the shipping and receiving department of a bookstore warehouse, one of a myriad of jobs I'd held. They pulled up while I was in the truck shifting boxes, stripped down to my muscle shirt with a bit of a sweat up. I saw my friend first... big frizzy hair, huge black beard, John Lennon sunglasses, and yes, a tie dyed shirt.

The his friend got out of the car.

First thing I saw was a leg.... about a mile long. Wearing a high heeled calf boot and jeans that looked painted on. She unfolded from his economy car. Probably close to 6 feet tall. Almost waist length mane of auburn hair. Wrap around sunglasses. Ultra low rise skintight faded jeans. visible black lace g-string. Tiny black halter top with no room for a bra. Pronounced nipples, visible.

The erection hit me like a freight train and I stepped to the roll door of the truck. My cock made a visible bulge down my left thigh.

We locked gazes. She took off her sunglasses, and I saw the heat in her chocolate brown eyes. Then her eyes dipped to my rather obvious bulging hard-on, lingered a moment, then returned with an appraising element to my own.

I had a feeling my cards had just turned. Here was the girl who would go anywhere with me, do anything... IF properly motivated.

Oh, man, was I right.