altenra calls herself my “two-day-a-year friend.” I met her last year, when I was in San Francisco for MacWorld, my own personal hajj, my yearly pilgrimage to Mecca.
altenra knows San Francisco the way Niccolo Machiavelli knows the secret heart of man. When I met her last year, standing beneath an enormous neon sign reading “Virgin,” she offered to take me on a walking tour of San Francisco which, some eighteen miles later, left me limping around the West Coast’s most famous landmarks, and later made every step at MacWorld a constant source of agony.
Shelly and I had by this time already established our reputations among the staff of the Mosser Hotel as “the perverts of room 407.” This was partly accidental, owing to the unfortunate discovery of Shelly’s collection of sex toys by an unsuspecting maid, and partly the result of the conjunction of thin walls, strong sexual appetite, and Shelly’s amazing vocal talent.
It should be noted as an aside that when Shelly and I first became lovers, she warned me that she has a very low libido. This may have been true at one time, but as we were to discover, it was more a matter of her circumstance than it was of her fundamental nature. Her fundamental nature, once revealed, is the stuff of which legends are made.
Nevertheless, it eventually transpired that we wanted to play the role of the tourist. Shelly also saw a need to procure some of the miscellaneous items that one inevidably neglects to pack and discovers that one needs in any cross-country trip, such as over-the-counter painkillers, a better pair of walking shoes, and a strap-on dildo. So it was a blessing to have available the services of a talented and knowledgeable tour guide such as altenra.
Visiting San Francisco in the company of altenra is a treat. She knows the best places to eat, the most magnificant views of the city, the hidden attractions that might be missed by a casual tourist. She knows the city’s public transportation system better than the people who designed it. She knows the best sex toy shops.
But she was faced with a dilemma.
On my trip last year, she had already shown me the obvious places to see, and San Francisco is, after all, a finite place. What to do on a second visit?
What more was there to do? At that point, nothing but the hidden place that had the most magnificient view of the city ever imaginable to God or man, and a visit to an S&M sex club where Shelly and I can share an experience that will help her discover aspects of herself as a person that she had before only barely been able to conceptualize.