We had been messaging for weeks on a scat forum, long enough to build a rhythm, but not long enough to quiet that small voice that wonders if chemistry can survive outside a screen. Still, there he was, exactly where he said he’d be, leaning casually against the brick wall of the motel like he belonged there. When he smiled, it wasn’t overdone or rehearsed, just warm and a little nervous in a way that felt real. I remember thinking, okay… this might actually be something.

We slipped into conversation like we had already done this a hundred times.  He laughed at the same small details I noticed, the kind most people overlook, and it felt oddly comforting, like being understood without having to explain myself. The perversion with shit is a unique fetish and intense arousal that few understand.  

Straight to the bathtub we went and soon I caught myself watching him instead of my own filthy conduct, just noticing the way he watched all my moves and listened back, really listened, physically became excited like what I did really mattered to him personally. That’s when it hit me, not in some dramatic, sweeping way, but quietly, like a truth settling in. This was a good first meeting.  These men are very difficult to find and a rarity.  He mentioned another women he had messaged with and he put me in contact with her for an encounter.    

Thursday morning fun with stranger