Random Rim Jobs

I was walking Isis in Buena Vista Park one day when I came across something that assured that no matter what else happened, that day would be a good one.

The park is basically a wooded hill.  There a paved road to the top of the hill, and there are several dirt trials traversing up and down the hill on all sides.

Isis

Because it’s a big wooded hill, Buena Vista Park is not a good picnic park.  There are some benches strategically located to take in the view, but Isis and I treat it as an urban forest and “hike” though it.  It is well known for its view, and notorious as a cruising park for local gentlemen wanting to enjoy fresh air … on their dicks.

While hiking on one of the dirt trials I saw a condom wrapper.  Hmm, funny.  Then I saw, ever so gingerly draped over a small branch, a used condom.  Even funnier.  I should have continued the walk.  But I was interested.

I was interested like some people are thrilled to see car crashes.  I hate auto accidents–if I see a collision, or go by the aftermath of a crash, I actually look the other way.  I don’t need to see a mangled body, thankyouverymuch.  I never saw “Two Girls, One Cup” and I never will.  That video with the jar and the guy’s bleeding ass?  Won’t see it.

But this time I couldn’t tear my eyes away.  I looked at the used condom closer.  I wanted to see if it had come in it.  I don’t know why I wanted to see, but I did.  It did not have come in it.  It did, however, have shit on it.  YES!  I know, I’m a sick fuck, but that is damn hilarious.

I tried to take photos, but my phone has a crap camera.  And it’s probably for the best that the photos didn’t come out, because really, I may be the only person on earth who actually wants to see something like that.  People would think I’m into scat or something.  I am not.  The few times shit (yeah, more than once–don’t judge) has been involved in my sex life were messy and embarrassing accidents, NOT turn-ons.

A shitty used condom made my day.

I swear.  True story.

The series endures.  These pointers should be kept in mind every time you go to your fuck’s place.  Don’t get too comfortable, buddy.  Y’all are having casual sex so you don’t have to go through the bullshit of a “real” relationship.  So when she tires of your rude behavior it’s likely she won’t bother telling you you’ve been cut off; and you won’t realize you have been until all your emails to her go unanswered.  One must diligently maintain one’s manners if one wants the good sex is to continue.

• Her home is not a hotel.  That means you can’t leave used towels wadded on the floor or tangles of hair in the shower drain, or use her toiletries with impunity.  Put the toilet seat down for goodness’ sake.  You have been offered a generous gift of being a guest in her home–and in her pussy (and, if you’re lucky, her ass)–treat it like the the privilege it is.  She is not a maid, and even if she is a maid, she’s not your maid.  Leave a mess and she’ll punish you accordingly, i.e., no more pussy.

• Don’t help yourself to anything unless you hear the words, “Help yourself.”  And remember that “help yourself” is not a blanket statement that gives you permission to help yourself to everything.  This includes eating any food; drinking any beverage; changing the channel on the television; playing music; using toiletries; opening anything such as cabinets, the refrigerator, closets, bedroom doors, and so on.  Don’t nose around her computer, her desk, or her snail mail.  Just because you’re in her home does not mean she doesn’t deserve privacy.  You’re there to fuck her, not to do her taxes–you don’t need to see her W-2s.

• Use your phone–whether “smart” or otherwise–on your own time.  You have an actual person with a willing mouth and wet pussy in front of you–much better than your Internet “friends.”

More to come ….

I swear.  True story.

I want to go into Humphrey Slocombe and taste some ice cream.  They have these tiny metal tasting spoons and they’ll spend as much time with you as you want, and let you taste as many flavors as you’d like.  They’re so nice and friendly.  They must realize that a lot of people who go there are stoned out of their gourds.

I want to go there and taste a bunch of ice creams.  It won’t be busy at all so I won’t feel guilty about tasting every flavor and savoring each one for a LONG time.  Yum.  I’ll take a tiny spoonful into my mouth and slide it off the spoon.  Then I’ll push each tiny spoonful of ice cream to the roof of my mouth and let the bit of ice cream swim around my mouth, between my teeth, to all of my taste buds.  It’s all so fucking creamy.  I can smell it as I taste it, as if the smell is going to the backsides of my sinuses.  It’s so fucking good.

Then I’m on the counter.  I’m face down right at the register.  The register is going through me (this is a fantasy; anything can happen) but the employees can still work.  It’s almost as if I’m an enigma. But the customers can touch me because in order to get to the register they must walk between my legs.  My legs are wide open, my feet are bare.

In order to make any purchases people must walk between my legs.  I’m spread wide so each customer must snuggle up to my crotch in order to hand over cash to get his yummy, yummy ice cream.  Some slide their licked-clean tiny metal spoons into my ass.  In and out … in and out … in and out.  So slow, so nice.  And cold.  Some people bend down and lick as they’re sliding their tiny spoons into and out of my asshole.

Some people attend to my ass and slide fingers into my pussy as well.  Several people come into the shop and take it as normal that when making their purchases they play with my ass and my pussy.  My ass is always involved.  Eventually, I get wet enough that each customer is able to slowly and easily slip his entire hand into me.  The women fist me too.  Nice and rhythmic and easy.  In and out.  I’m so wet.  It feels especially good when someone’s fisting me and caressing my sphincter with her tongue simultaneously.

The shop starts to get busy.  No one can spend nearly enough time slowly sliding his fingers into my pussy and my ass; there’s a line forming.  The busier it gets in the shop the faster each person must thrust her hand into me.  Pretty soon, every time the register drawer opens there’s a fist punching my pussy.  Each time.  Faster and faster.  The shop is doing great business, as is my pussy.

Alternatively, I’m on my knees in front of the counter so I must suck and lick everything that’s put to my face.  Cocks are shoved down my throat.  Pussies are ground onto my face.  No matter what, all the store’s patrons can do whatever they want to me.  I’m a nasty, slutty tool for each person to use as s/he wants–my mouth, my cunt, my ass are all to be objectified, and heavily.

Harder and harder, faster and faster.  EVERYONE puts his hand in me.  They take turns thrusting into my wet, loose cunt.  Each time I grunt.  I can take it.  I can take more.  Until finally, I come.  I scream.  S-C-R-E-A-M out as I come.  Everyone looks up from eating their ice cream, but in a very nonchalant way.  “Yeah, that chick on the counter came because we were all treating her pussy like the sloppy cunt it is, but that’s so not a big deal.”

But then business slows down.  My pussy is spent, the store closes.  I sit on the floor naked and eat salt and pepper ice cream.  My legs are long and lean (it’s a fantasy, dammit) and stretched out before me.

I swear.  True story (of my fantasy).

Correctional Officer (CO) broke up my marriage.

Well, he was the final nail in the coffin which contained my marriage.  I don’t blame him in any way.  For a long time I blamed myself, and punished myself accordingly.  But the end of my marriage was just a change in the relationship with the Ex.  I am proud that the Ex and I are still friends because I love him so much.  He still drives me fucking nuts sometimes, but I love him and want him to always be in my life.

I met CO on May 31, 2007.  There are several reasons I remember this.  One is that it was the day after my birthday.

I had spent my birthday at a goddamn Applebee’s (which deserves a mention only as an illustration of the sheer shit factor of that birthday) because that was the best dining option.  I was in a shit town in northeast California (that deserves no mention whatsoever) for work.  I was bored as fuck because there was nothing to do.  Towns like that are why people do meth.  If I had had to stay there much longer, I probably would’ve given meth a try because the town was so utterly dull.

My big birthday party was at the Applebee’s bar, where I ate a shitty “salad,” and had only one drink because I had to drive.  One of the many reasons I love living in San Francisco is that I don’t have to drive to get shit done, and I can drink a whole lot without worrying about how I’m going to get home.  I don’t even have a car; I rent out my space for fun and profit (that’s a fun double entendre).  I had no interest in being arrested for drunk driving in that crap town.  To be fair, I have no interest in being arrested for any reason in any place.

During the week I was there I had finished reading two books, watched too much tv, gone on pointless un-scenic drives, went to the mall where the anchor stores were Sears and Hot Topic, and experienced a lot of spiritless tedium.  I did discover Cash Cab on that trip, and I met Correctional Officer, so it wasn’t a complete–if billable–waste of time.

The night after my birthday I decided I was going to try to have some actual fun, or whatever could approximate fun there.  I went to the town’s one “fancy” restaurant; the one about which everyone I spoke to gushed.  It was mediocre at best.  I dined alone and finished a bottle of wine so I was good to go.

Go to one of two dive bars across the street from the restaurant I did.  I sat at the bar where the bartender served me my beverage in a plastic cup–wouldn’t want to give anyone the opportunity to smash the barware into anyone’s face.  The bartender–I promise and swear on all things I hold dear–was visibly quite far along in her pregnancy and smoking.  NOT smoking hot–though she may have been to some.  She was smoking cigarettes.  I’m sure there are Websites dedicated to cigarette-smoking knocked-up chicks (look ‘em up yourselves you deviant pervs (written with affection, I swear!)) but that is most definitely not my thing.  Had I been on Twitter at the time, the sheer sight of her would have been tweet-worthy.

California has had a law banning cigarette smoking in public places for quite a few years–they were instituted when I worked at the pool hall several years prior to my visit to this particular dive bar.  The impetus/justification for the passage of the law was workers’ rights not to breathe in second-hand smoke.  Bars can bypass the law by being worker-owned.  Because my lovely smoking preggers bartender was, in fact, smoking, I assumed she was at least part-owner of the bar–I tipped according to my perception of her situation.

Eventually I began to chat with a cute guy.  He invited me to hang with him and his friends who were playing pool.  Despite my years of working at a pool hall I am a shit pool player, but I was willing to watch.  The cute guy’s friends were also cute.  They introduced themselves to me and we began to chit-chat.  I was talking shit about their town and they contributed their own stories of local woe.  Someone eventually bought me a drink after I all but demanded he do so.  Finally, it was time to go and somehow I invited the guys back to my hotel room.

More to come ….

I swear. True Story.

One night I was horny.  Many nights I’m horny.  Most of the nights I am horny.

A night not unlike many other nights, I was horny and sought the company of a gentleman via Craig’s List.  On this particular night I settled on a young gentleman whose ad indicated he wanted to only go down on a woman, that he expected nothing in return, and that the reason for this was that he had a girlfriend who would not let him eat her box.

He came over to my house with wine in hand.  We drank some and then retired to the bedroom.  Where he went down on me … for about 30 seconds.  Suddenly, he felt guilty that he was cheating on his girlfriend.  Nothing had changed though.  When he placed the ad he had a girlfriend, when we exchanged emails he had a girlfriend, when he arrived at my house and chatted over wine he had a girlfriend.  He even had a girlfriend when he walked up the stairs into my bedroom.

He assured me that he wasn’t using the girlfriend as an excuse because he found my snatch unappetizing.  I knew that–my pussy tastes fucking good–but it was still nice to hear.  I then went from lay-back-and-enjoy-getting-a-nice-cunt-lapping mode to comfort-a-guilt-ridden-cheater mode.

I told him that it would be better not to tell his girlfriend anything, as nothing had happened anyway.  I gave him pointers on getting her to allow him to lick her pussy.  Finally, as there was no reason for him to be in my house–he was there to give me an orgasm, but talking in mom-tones to an a confused guy just doesn’t make me come–he left.

Only I was still horny.  Back to CL I went.  This time I wasn’t wasting any time with some guy who just wanted to go down on a woman–I wanted to get fucked.  I settled on an ad, and we exchanged a couple emails; we didn’t even bother to talk on the phone or exchange photos.  As time was getting away from us, I told the guy to come right over.

A cute guy showed up with motorcycle helmet in hand.  He was really cute.  I was amazed at my incredible luck.  He found me attractive too, something he probably found fortuitous as well.  Wasting no time, we immediately went up to my bedroom.  He was a good kisser–I remember thinking, “This is going to be fun” as he took off his jacket and then his sweater.

His phone kept ringing.  Very annoying.  Eventually, he said he had to take the call.  My apartment offers no privacy, and it was late enough that I was concerned that my neighbors would hear him talking if he did so out on my patio or in my building’s hallway, so he went out to the street to talk on the phone.

I pattered around my apartment and I waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Hmmm.  What the fuck?  I noticed that he had taken his motorcycle helmet and jacket with him.  Weird.

I waited some more.  I sent him some nasty emails (I didn’t have his phone number).  This could not possibly be.  No way.  The odds against two “horny” guys coming over without putting out on the same night were just too great, right?  And yet it happened to me.

Maybe I did smell.  Maybe I was too ugly.  Maybe I was too fat.  As a dumb girl these silly things are running through my head often.  But when I realized that not one, but two, guys who claimed to be interested in having some fun no-strings-attached sex would rather leave my apartment than get in my pussy, the dumb girl script went into overdrive.

I was beginning to think no one wanted to fuck me.  Yeah, I felt sorry for myself.

The weekend was not a complete loss, however; I did meet 26yo (more to come on him).

Recently, the would-be pussy eater contacted me, apparently finally willing to go down on me for longer than half a minute.  However, other than that he was wanted to make up for his embarrassing behavior from over a year prior, I really had no reason to give him another chance.  What was the point?  I had plenty of guys to actually go down on me.

The guy with the motorcycle helmet told me that he had been detained, but not arrested, by the police the night he was at my place.  Hmmm.  Definitely a creative story, and for that–and my attraction to him–I gave him points.  For many months we exchanged emails in an attempt to see each other again.  He was always busy with work, though, and now I can’t remember what he looked like.  But I know he was cute.

Really, I would like to know the odds ….

I swear.  True Story.

Army Guy wrote this little tidbit for me when he was in Iraq.  No fucking makes for some fine writing (for him, not me–I’m not testing the theory on myself).  And this was most definitely written for me (the sunscreen reference makes that clear), which I absolutely love.

Army Guy:

It’s a breezy summer day and I appreciate you flying down to meet me at the big air show at the Naval Air Station in San Diego.  We met up prior to the show at our static display, but shortly after the gates open, my co-pilot, Jake, and I were mobbed by attendees asking us stupid questions about our helicopter or random losers telling us the story about how their uncle was a P-51 (or was it P-47?) pilot in WWII.  You enjoy the show, manage to use sunscreen and get a little tipsy on draft beer.  By the time the sun goes down, you’re more or less air-showed out.  After we pack up the display board and recruiting brochures, Jake and I dismiss our crew chiefs who are eager to have a night on the town away from their officers.  As our second crew chief is leaving, you walk up to see what our plans are for tonight.  The sun is going down and the last of the attendees are trickling out.  As this show is put on by the Navy, our aircraft is at the end of the line to make room for all the F-18’s and A-6’s.  It’s a well-known secret among pilots that those guys are all unrepentant cock-gobblers, but that’s another story.

You’ve got a healthy buzz on, and are eager for us to lock up so we can all go out, but I ask if you want to see the helicopter before we leave in a couple of minutes.

You haven’t seen one before, so you put your beer down and climb in.  You sit up in the cockpit and I show you how the cyclic, collective and tail-rotor pedals control the aircraft and how all the radios and system instruments work.  There’s lots of gauges, etc, etc….  As I’m reaching over you to show you the GPS, my arm grazes across your thighs.  You don’t know if I did it intentionally or not, but it immediately sensitized you to what might be happening here.  When you climb out, I grab your hips to help guide you down.

Jake is in the cabin and wants to show you the crew chief stations and cargo hook.  You step up into the cabin and I climb in behind you.  The cabin is ceiling is about 4’ high, so you either have to hunch over as you’re walking around in it or you have to walk on your knees.  You choose the latter as you’re standing between Jake and I.  Jake finishes up the little speech about each part of the helicopter.  He’s done it a million times before, but he’s clearly distracted by you standing so close to him, as he keeps staring at your tits.  I notice him doing it and am grinning at him as he tries to keep his composure.

While he’s talking, I lean in and kiss the back of your neck.  You weren’t expecting it and it causes shivers to go up the back of your scalp.  You momentarily lose your balance and lean a little too far forward.  The combination of the sun and the alcohol may have affected you a little more than you had estimated.  Jake catches you in his arms.  As you look up at him, he leans over to kiss you on the mouth.  You return his kiss.  It isn’t a romantic kiss, but more of a drunken probing of each other’s tongues.  The obscenity of it only sets in more as you feel my hands reach around and cup your breasts.  You experience a flash of guilt for letting these two relative strangers molest you like this, but that very thought excites you.

Jake stops kissing you to help you pull your blouse off.  As it goes over your head, you feel me unhooking your bra to free those luscious tits.  We both want you so fucking bad and are stripping out of our flight suits as you wiggle out of your jeans.  The soft amber glow of the evening sun warms the tarmac and it feels good on your naked skin.

You look at Jake and admire his thin sinewy frame and completely shaved body.  By contrast, my build is a little stockier and my chest his decidedly hairier.  (No, I’m not hairy, but I’m definitely not as metrosexual as Jake.)  We both trim our pubic hair, but what you notice more than that is we both have raging hard-ons.

Since you’re facing Jake, you lean over, grab his cock and feel its weight in your hand.  He pushes your head lower and you open up to take it in your hot, wet mouth.  He moans in approval and I admire the hourglass shape your ass and hips make, bent over in front of me like that.

While you’re sucking him, you feel me wrap one of my arms around your hips and start to massage your exposed pussy with the head of my dick.  You continue to stroke and suck on him rhythmically as I start to work myself inside you.  Once I’m half-way in, I begin to slide back and forth until you loosen up a little bit.  After a couple of minutes of this, I thrust into you as hard as I can, which causes your mouth to slide all the way onto Jake’s cock, making you gag a little.  We both start to laugh (because you have to admit, that was funny) and I can’t help but thrust into you one more time to elicit the same response.  “Hey, just because you’re taking a cock from behind doesn’t mean Jake’s going to let up on your mouth, you fucking slut!”

At this point, Jake pulls you off his cock and reclines on the pile of clothes, flight suits and jackets.  You don’t know what he’s doing at first, but as I guide your hips down towards his erect cock, you get the picture and get on your knees.  You’re already wet from me fucking you, so you glide down onto his pole with little resistance.  Jake comments on how wet you are and thanks me for lubing this whore up for him.  As I release my hands from your hips, Jake’s hands replace them and he begins rocking you back and forth.  Again, I can’t help but admire how shapely and feminine you look from behind.

You’re sitting upright as you’re riding him, so when I push your shoulders down, to make you lean over, you have to put both your hands on either side of him for balance.  I can see your pussy sliding up and down on Jake from this angle and see your glistening juices, dripping down his shaft.  My own cock is starting to dry out in this West Coast air.  As you rock forward, I push you all the way off of him.  As you rock back I slide my own cock into your now well-used slit.  The change is a little disconcerting, but it feels great and you continue to back yourself onto me.

Once I’m good and wet, I pull out of you.  Jake guides you back onto him, and pulls you forward.  Once you’re laying on his chest, you feel me spread your ass cheeks open.  At this point, you feel very exposed, and you know what’s about to happen to you, but the fear and the anticipation feels like an old friend, visiting after a long separation.  You must admit, you’ve become quite the hedonist (at least by this Southern boy’s standards) and your desire to experience something new has been growing with each lackluster encounter you’ve had.

As Jake continues to fuck you, you feel the head of my cock, bumping into your back door.  You relax a little and take a deep breath as I start to slide in.  Once I’m inside you, I pause and Jake stops moving in order to give you a moment to accommodate me.  I reach underneath you to rub some of your moisture on my shaft.  When you tell me you’re ready, I slide into you a little further.  Jake is still inside you, and I can feel him through the thin wall of your vagina.  Since we’re both inside you, that negates the “you’re gay because you just touched a cock” rule, so we’re both OK…

When I’m completely inside you, your perspective shifts for a second to contemplate what’s happening.  You’re getting used as a fuck-toy by two horny soldiers in the back of a helicopter.

As I slide my shaft deeper, I can’t help but notice how unbelievably tight you are.  You fit me like a lambskin glove.  I start to pump slowly in and out of you and Jake matches my rhythm with his own hips.  You feel full and violated inside.  Your desire to be penetrated has never been so thoroughly addressed as in this moment.  As you grow accustomed to what’s happening, you begin to tentatively rock back onto us.

It’s a little awkward at first: the three of us trying to synchronize to each other, but we all soon get the hang of it and are both thrusting into you at the same time as you rock back and forth.  I too, can’t help but laugh of the absurdity of it all.  “This feels so fucking obscene.  Jake and I love having our cocks buried in your tight holes.  Now keep rocking back onto us.  You need to be filled to the brim with our come.”

You abide and begin to increase your pace.  Jake and I both grab your hips and begin thrusting in earnest as you impale yourself on our engorged poles.  I start to quiver and grab a handful of your hair to pull your head back.  I’m about to explode inside you and I want you to arch your back.  The synergy of it all is overwhelming and Jake is on the verge as well.

Your desire to pleasure us is being granted and from the energy you feel between the two of us, you know we’re about to explode in both of your holes.  The imagery that goes through your mind isn’t of any particular past experience, as you have no benchmark to compare this to, but more of an abstract visualization of being impaled as deeply as possible by as large an object as you can bear.  You tense up and grab onto Jake’s shoulders as your body is wracked in orgasm.

I, too, enjoy giving pleasure and that was all that I needed to push me over the edge.  In that fleeting instance, I succumb to that white-hot oblivion that I want so badly.  I scream your name and dig my nails into your side as I make three final violent thrusts into you.  On the final thrust, you feel my balls slap into you as I pivot my hips forward to go as far as possible and inject my seed deep into your ass.  The orgasm is so intense that I feel as if all my essence and every last drop of energy in my body is being passed to you.  I want to collapse, but I’m still hard, so I remain inside of you for a few more seconds.

It’s Jake’s turn.  He tells you to hold still.  Shortly after, he grunts and spasms underneath you as you feel him shooting deep into your womb.  You want this moment to last as long as it can and even think for a second that you wish two more men were standing by to take our place in order to continue punishing your well-used pussy and ass.  Nevertheless, you feel like a pure sexual being and an object to be fucked, violated and used for gratification.  To that end, I can say that you’ve done a superb job today.

Exhausted, I can’t hold myself in this position any longer.  I slide out of you and roll over onto my back.  You sit back and lean against a crew chief’s seat on the opposite wall of the cabin.  You still feel wet between your legs.  Your skin is glistening in perspiration and your hair is a beautiful mess.

You first look to Jake; then to me.  I wink, which causes you to laugh.  Ever the gentleman, Jake grins, motions with his chin to the profusion of semen dripping out of you and proclaims with as much panache as he can muster in his diminished state:

“Ma’am, on behalf of a grateful nation, please accept this small token of gratitude for the invaluable service you’ve rendered today.”

**************

Text received from Army Guy after he read the post (he’d not read it since he wrote it):

Aww.  That was so sweet!  I remember writing and rewriting that over a period of a few days.  Took frequent delays to ponder the mechanics of doing a DP in the back of a helo and to stroke myself whilst pondering the sensations of fucking your nice, round ass.

That is the kind of text message a gal wants to receive!

Remember, pupils, that our goal is for ongoing semi-regular hot sex.  We need to treat the situation and the lady with the reverence they deserve.  Isn’t it cool that casual sex can be discussed openly?  Aren’t we living in a great time when we can have a good relationship and good sex with someone without having to have a relationship?  Isn’t it nice that you know this woman has no interest in you for money, jewelry, marriage, children, or anything else but your company and your cock?  My pointers should be taken to heart, dammit.

• Be able to have a conversation with the woman.  You don’t have to have deep philosophical discussions, but it’s nice to gab between bangs.  If you can’t think of anything else, talking about other people you’re fucking or other sexy things you’ve done in the past may give you ideas for even more fun together.

• Don’t overstay your welcome.  If the sex is over and she’s talking on the phone, sitting in front of her computer, watching tv, getting ready to leave, etc., that means she’s done with you.  Take the hint and take your leave.  Better to leave her with a pleasant memory of the good fuck than the bitter taste of your socially retarded ways.

• Don’t run away before she’s come.  And don’t treat the joy that is helping a woman come as a chore.  That’s not sexy and a shit attitude just means it’ll take even longer for her to come.  If she doesn’t come with you, don’t treat her like she’s a freak of nature or take it as a challenge to do everything harder, faster, more.  Some women (and men) need the stars aligned just so in order for them to orgasm with someone else.  Trust her when she says she’s had a nice time, even if she doesn’t have an orgasm.

More to come …

I swear.  True story.