Hit by the sex truck.

An odd thing happened with Alan the other day. He was finger-fucking me and he curled his fingers up, hard, and turned them a little to the left. Several things happened at once. My entire body turned red, my back arched violently, and I grabbed him around the wrist and clamped his hand exactly in place.

"Don't you fucking dare move."

He didn't break a big sweat, he didn't thrust, he just curled his fingers further by a millimeter. I don't have clear memories of how long that went on. My body wanted to buck but I didn't dare move my pelvis. It started to hurt. "Take them out, take them out," I said. He didn't listen. Good boy. I came hard.

And collapsed. The instant I was done coming, every muscle in my body went totally limp. I slowly curled into the fetal position and stayed there. I couldn't move. Not tired-satisfied-afterglow couldn't move. Couldn't.

"Haha, that was really great," Alan said. I didn't say anything. "Um... Are you okay?"

I had to gather far too much strength just to say "I'm okay." I wasn't completely. My voice and mind were foggy, far away. I was stoned.

I just lay there for a while, limp. Alan gave me a glass of water, and I could barely lift my head to drink. He fed me blueberries, slipping them one at a time between my lips. He lay by me and talked until I got some strength back. Even when I was walking and talking, I wasn't alright. I still felt high, silly, slightly confused. My skin was on fire. A touch felt like a fuck. Alan kissed me standing up, and my knees nearly buckled.

"Seriously, are you okay to drive home?"

It took about an hour until I was. Even then, I felt deeply drunk.

I've never experienced anything like that before. Or since. But it's only been a few days. I'm sure he remembers what he did.