In the beginning there was sex…no?

To answer the question in my title?

No.

Do you remember the issues that Master and I had at our last meet? His car broke down, and we wound up with a much-abbreviated play day?

I already knew that Saturday would be a short playday to start. I had to work until 5-ish, and I have an hour’s commute home.  He had a meeting and wouldn’t make it to my home much before 630-700.

I had a plan.

I smartly laid out my slut clothing the night before. I had gathered the toys and implements I was giving to Him. And I had time to take a quick shower so I’d be all sweet-smelling for my Master.

Ah, the best laid plans of sluts.

I had gone maybe 1/2 mile from my work when I heard a sound. A funny, familiar sound. One never forgets the sound of a flat tire do we? It’s very distinctive.

Nowadays, at least here in the Northeast, it isn’t easy to find a garage. Gas stations/mini marts aplenty, and this is where I eased my lame car to. Figuring I could put enough air in the tire to tide me over, I ran into the store to get change and set the pump to working.

Except.

It didn’t work.

Obviously there was a nail or something in there that had punctured the inner tube. Fuck.

And my triple A had expired in June before I started working and it hadn’t gotten re-started. I forgot. Duh. That’s on my to-do list for today. Re-enroll in AAA.

Anyway.

I called Master in a panic. A calm panic, but inside I’m nervous. He’s not super far away from me. He calls HIS AAA and is told a truck will come in an hour, but HE must be on-scene for the tire to be changed.

I can change a tire, you know that, right?

Except this is a 2nd hand car…and while there was a *jack* there wasn’t a rod to crank it. I Rube-Goldberged it up….but there was NO FUCKING WRENCH to take off the lugs. (it’s not “my” car…my wife’s car).  To say I was also mad would be an understatement, since it was likely she was the one who picked up the nail or whatever and just didn’t mention it. She is fucking oblivious about this sort of thing.

Anyway.

The tow truck guy gets there in 20 minutes. Says he can only wait 5 minutes. Master is 10 minutes away.

“B-but…you’ll just drive away and …and…leave me here?”  I half-wail. Okay, it wasn’t a wail…it was soft-voiced, and desperate. Geezuz, I’m such a fucking girl sometimes.

Except I totally could have changed that fucking tire had I had the tools.

*sigh*

“Rules are rules” quoted the guy. I tried to buy him a drink. I tried to offer him some food.

Okay, I fucking begged him (politely) to stay.

Yanno what?

He did.

Not only that… but he changed the tire before Master even got there.  He is a true nice person. I hugged him, and thanked him. (no, no blow job!)

He says, “hey, if you’re nice to me, I’m nice. If you’d yelled and ranted I would have driven away.”

And Master showed up right then. (Later, he described me standing on the corner looking for him as “looking so forlorn, like a lost little girl”)

By the time we get everything settled and head to my house, dark is falling.  There’s a serious car accident on the road. We’re re-routed. There is construction and we have to crawl along.

We don’t get here until nearly 8 p.m.

And then…..

we eat.

In the beginning, there was no sex.

(I will hint that I’m sitting *verrah* gingerly today as I write this…!)