Random Rim Jobs
I swear. True story.Really?!
Posted on September 24, 2009
A few weeks ago I placed an ad on Craig’s List. The content of the ad is irrelevant for our purposes. One guy I met at Precita Park we’ll call Allen. I knew the moment I saw him that I did not want to fuck him. He looked like a young Eugene Levy complete with Brillo Pad hair and eyebrows in dire need of a proper grooming.
And his teeth. His teeth looked, uh, British, in an Austin Powers way. I really was surprised that a person around my age who clearly could afford orthodontia (he told me he was gainfully employed and had time, and presumably money, for various hobbies) would let himself walk around with mismatched gravestones for teeth.
He looked like Eugene Levy but wasn’t nearly as funny or interesting. His voice had that typical stoner tone to it. I was trying to be polite so we chatted for a while while Isis frolicked in the park.
Then Allen told me that while I was cool I was most definitely not his type. He said he should have asked for a full-body picture before meeting. I am a typical fat girl with a bit of a chip on my shoulder. I said I understood if he wasn’t attracted to me because I’m not thin. And I did understand it, but I was still hurt. Which is the silliest thing ever since I already knew I found this guy’s looks and personality unappealing.
I was both relieved and hurt. Relieved because while I didn’t find Allen attractive in any way, I have, in the past, fucked people I didn’t find attractive because I didn’t know how to tell them I didn’t want to. Lame. Hurt because dammit, everyone should want to fuck me. We went our separate ways.
The same Craig’s List ad allowed me to meet the Vegan, whom I knew immediately I did want to fuck. Nice teeth, great smile, pretty curly eyelashes. We had great sex. The Vegan is a biter and left me delightfully covered in bruises after our first session together.
I told Allen and the Vegan’s story at Bawdy Storytelling on September 16, 2009. At least I think I told the story. I was so fucking nervous that I don’t remember what I said. Afterwords people were nice enough to tell me I did a good job, but I suspect they could see what a wreck I was and were just being nice.
Then, on September 22, 2009, I received an email:
Hi,
Not sure if this is a complete blast from the not too distant past but I have been reading your blog and must admit I enjoy it quite a bit. I also realize how much you love sucking cock and wonder how amazingly well you are at that skill you have perfected.Using my cock would you be interested in showing me sometime how good of a cocksucker you are?Hope all is well.-[Allen]
I didn’t at first know who the fuck had sent the email, but a quick email search revealed that it was the guy from the park with the teeth. I responded that I do, in fact, give glorious blow jobs. I definitely had no interest in sucking that guy’s cock and thought it a tad strange that he wanted me to do so. I did, though, want him to regret that he didn’t find me attractive.
Later in the evening I received a text message from a number that I didn’t recognize:
Sarah, this is [Allen] I replied to yur email but wanted to expedite the process with a text. Do you want to come to my place this evening and wrap your lips around my nice Jewish cock?
To which I responded that my name is not Sarah, because, well, it’s not. Though he told me his name, I did not make the connection between the email I had received earlier in the day and the text to which I had just responded. I wasn’t all that offended that he had gotten my name wrong because names are not that important to me anyway, which is why I didn’t notice that the email and the text had the same name. I’d also been corresponding via text only with a guy, also named Allen. (Well, not really, but with the same real name as “Allen.”)
[Any grammar or punctuation errors in any quotes from "Allen" are not typos on my part, but have been transcribed exactly as received.]
Then I got another text:
I have no idea why I just called you Sarah! I’m looking at the letter “s” in shazam (part of yur email address.) Weird
And another a minute later:
I’m actually sitting here taking some bong ripsbeing very lazy. I apologize about the completely retarded screw up
An additional email came through:
Plans tomorrow afternoon?Better yet want to come over my place tonight; hang out, smoke some weed and swallow a load or two of my nice Jewish sperm?-[Allen]
I did not respond to that email. I was beginning to figure out that the texts were from the same person as the emails. The same person with whom I had no interest in hanging out. And what was his fucking obsession with “nice Jewish” things?
A text arrived in my phone’s in box:
Are you interested in having the back of your lovely throat put to some use this evening?
Also during this time I was having me a few drinks. I get very horny when I drink and I do like to suck cock. So I made the mistake of responding to his text that we’d have to meet in public and he’d have to foot my drink and cab bill. Obviously, the vodka was doing it’s job a little too well because I had forgotten that we had already met in public. He kept wanting me to just go to his place. I guess he was really stoned and lazy and horny.
Allen called me. And in my inebriated state I got right to negotiating a location for us to meet. Then it really dawned on me. I had met this guy. He didn’t find me attractive. Asshole.
He wanted me to suck his cock even though he wasn’t attracted to me?! What the fuck?! So I told him that he must be quite stupid if he thought I’d want to give him head. I hung up.
My phone vibrated with another text:
Sorry I didn’t mean to offend you when I first said that and I’m feel bad that it got brought up again. I thought you were nice and fun to talk and into smoking weed and just kicking it so i figured even with me saying that to you at you would be into sucking my cock cause I know you also like it a lot etc…
By this time I was worked up into a lather. I think I called him back to tell him all the reasons why he was a fucking stupid, ugly, asshole. I brought up that he didn’t even know my name (as if I cared) and that he didn’t find me physically attractive, neither of which translates into me wanting to be generous with my mouth. I told him he should perhaps try some 22-year-old girls with low self-esteem because I am too fucking old to give a guy head in hopes that he’ll like me.
I told him that while he may not have found me attractive, I certainly did not find him to be much a prize. I think he didn’t believe me, and it did sound like something a hurt little kid would say: “Oh, you don’t like me? Well, I didn’t like you first.” To make my point I mentioned Eugene Levy and British teeth. He claimed not to know what British teeth were, so I said something about gravestones and suggested he find an orthodontist.
The whole time he just didn’t fucking get it. I honestly believe he truly and really couldn’t comprehend why if I like giving blow jobs I wouldn’t like to give one to him. He said it made sense to him that he’d want a blow job from me but wouldn’t want to fuck me. He didn’t understand that I don’t want to suck the cock of a guy who doesn’t think I’m good enough to fuck. I called him stupid a few more times and hung up on him again.
He called me back! When I’m that pissed (angry) and pissed (drunk) it is nearly impossible for anyone else to talk. I interrupt more than usual. I talk louder than usual. I make some pretty fucking cogent arguments. He wanted to apologize for getting my name wrong, and to again explain that he didn’t see the problem with hanging out (with his cock down my throat) since he thought I was cool. I suppose I was to be flattered in some way, but I was not. I think I hung up on him again.
But of course I got another text:
Well, I’m glad we didnt meet somewhere or you didn’t just show up at my place that would have been really awkward:)
To which I responded that I agreed and that he needed to lose my number.
But of course he had to get in the last word:
Done. And you can say whatever you want about this experience but please do not use my name or image in your blog. Thank you
No, thank you.
I swear. True story.
2/26/90: A Diary Entry
Posted on September 23, 200910:28 pm
Another weekend goes by, another week of pain, oh well, it’s worth it right? Saturday Erica told me she wanted to live with me and that I’m good for her, why didn’t she see it before, etc. Whenever we’re together we don’t do much but have sex. I don’t know if that’s good or bad but oh well. Sunday she came over here (ha, bad pun) and we attempted to watch 9 1/2 Weeks. Of course we didn’t see the whole thing. I have never seen a whole movie with her but am I complaining? I was supposed to be at work but called in sick so I couldn’t be home. We all, including [Step-Sister], went over to Shannon’s. We tried to watch A Clockwork Orange but Shannon’s mom got quite offended. Erica was in a tissy [sic] so she went upstairs, where I soon followed. We were doing stuff with [Step-Sister] downstairs, which almost made it more exciting. But then [Step-Sister] and Shannon came up to talk to us, etc. Shannon has some terrible timing but at least she was loud enough going up the stairs to warn us. They left (thank God) and we were happy. Shannon told us that Ryan was there but Erica said to say she wasn’t there. She told me how sexy my mouth was and how classic my face. She sucked on my lips so much that my bottom one is bruised. (It looks like I sucked on a pen.) Then she was fucking me and I wanted it harder but she said she wanted to be gentle and for me to do it myself. So I arranged her hand so I could put my body into it. But that wasn’t what she meant, she meant for me to do it myself. I was a wee-bit surprised because she always talks badly about masturbation like it’s gross. Si I did it in front of her and … Shannon knocked on the door. The woman has some awesome timing. Erica asked if I had ever done that before and I said not in front of anyone but by myself. I wonder if she’s ever watched anyone before. Maybe, but from the way she’s talked, I don’t think so. She said something like new experience so maybe. I wonder when I’ll surpass Juree. I want to be better than her, I want Erica to “get off” more with me. She said that really, really turned her on. Well, I hope so. I asked if it was just going to keep getting better and she said she’ll make sure of it. So I’m looking forward to next weekend, I don’t feel dirty all all, I don’t feel like that’s the only reason she likes me, like I have with guys.
What Happened in Vegas, Went to Omaha (Part 3)
Posted on September 22, 2009[Continued from "What Happened in Vegas, Went to Omaha (Part 2)."]
I flew into the Oakland Airport and took BART home. Then, I went right away to a couple of friends’ house for Easter brunch. The Ex was already there. I was still wearing the clothes from the night before, was definitely hung over, and felt like shit about what I’d done in the guy’s hotel room.
I recall sitting on the friends’ couch with my sunglasses still on and feeling horrible. Apparently I looked cool because one of the hosts told me I looked like a rock star. Nice. I didn’t feel anything like an actual cool rock star.
I had the Omaha guy’s phone number. I called him from work to ask him the question I should have asked before we fucked bareback, whether he had any sexually transmitted infections. He assured me he did not; I assured him of the same. I also told him that I was on the Pill.
We got along pretty well. We talked about things other than us fucking. The next weekend the Ex was out of town so I called the Omaha guy and we had some good phone sex. (Don’t EVER expect me to be monogamous in any way.)
The Omaha guy worked in a junk yard so he could talk on the phone pretty much whenever he wanted. I was working in an office at the time and could easily shut my door so my secretary didn’t hear the dirty content of my half of the conversation. Consequently, the Omaha guy and I talked a lot. Omaha was two hours ahead of me in San Francisco so we’d have to take a break when he got off work.
I began going for a lot more walks. At the time the Ex and I had Otter, our old, incontinent dachshund that was unable to go on walks of any length past the corner. (She died in February 2008.) We would not get Isis from my mother for three more years, when she was kicked out of her house after she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and dementia at age 58.
But I digress …. So I went for walks under the guise of getting more exercise, but not walking Otter. I had been doing the usual lame thing of gaining weight since we got married, so the Ex didn’t begrudge me my time “exercising.” Which I was doing, because I walked while the Omaha guy and I talked on the phone.
Sometimes I talked on the phone in our place, a loft with absolutely no privacy. I guess I thought I was being sneaky enough that the Ex wouldn’t know I was talking lovey-dovey to someone, not him. He and I hadn’t talked like that pretty much since we were married, five years before.
One night I woke up but the Ex wasn’t in bed. Somehow I knew there was something awry. The Ex was in the downstairs bathroom with my phone, I assumed checking the phone’s call history. After that I changed the name of the Omaha guy in my phone to something cryptic.
The Ex never said anything to me about this. He still hasn’t, and there’s no reason to bring up now. [Yes, he knows about Random Rim Jobs, but he chooses not to read it.] He doesn’t know about all the times I cheated on him, and letting him know would only serve to hurt him. As I like the guy (and live with him), there’s no reason to hurt him.
The Omaha guy last talked when he happened to be hosting a party. He told me how much he was into a certain chick and I could tell he didn’t want to be distracted by me any longer. It ended without hard feelings. I suspect he’s fallen for the stereotypical Midwestern thing: married with a kid or kids and be absolutely miserable.
I swear. True story.
Could I Interest You …
Posted on September 21, 2009[This little gem from @SingleDad42.]
Could I interest you in having two beautiful women restrain you while a group of nameless men with thick hard cocks used every one of your holes? Fucking your face, spitting on you, slapping you with their cocks, pounding your cunt and ass, getting you to beg for their cum as they finally shot their loads all over your face and tits?
As you lay there used, bruised, covered in cum, and totally satisfied with your slutty behaviour that’s when I’d come out from the shadows and have my fun with you.
I’d get the girls to tie you spread eagle on a bed. Once you were properly restrained with your head laying off of the bed I would order the guys to fuck the girls just inches from your face. You’d see cock after cock stretching their wet pussies, hear the room filled with the groans of the guys and the girls as they cum time and time again. I would be stroking your clit bringing you close to orgasm but stopping just as it’s about to rip through your body. You can smell their cum-filled pussies so close to your face. My touch plus the smell is driving you crazy.
You are begging me to let you cum. I order the girls to take turns sitting on your face. With one hand they pull your face deep into their cunts and with the other, part their newly-fucked lips. This allows the fresh cum to cascade out and down your throat. You can’t move as you are forced to eat their cum-filled pussies and they both cum hard all over your face.
All the guys are rock hard again as they watch this amazing sight. I tell you what a good little slut you are as I force my stiff thick cock deep inside your cum-filled ass.
I can see the cum, spit, and pussy juices glisten all over your body and push my cock farther inside you.
As I pound away at your ass the first guy steps forward and pushes his cock all they way down your throat. You gag and we laugh at you and tell you to take it all. All around you, you see men stroking their cocks and the girls fucking each other. The room is full of the smell of sex as I take my cock from your ass. It is covered in other men’s cum and your ass juices. I order the man to remove his cock from your throat and hear you groan as he does so.
The girls now move round and one eats your swollen ass as the other eats your bruised pussy.
The precum is oozing from the tip of my cock as I inch it towards your mouth. You are begging me to fuck your mouth, pleading with the girls not to stop, telling the guys you need more cum and that’s when I slap you and tell you to stop your whining.
2/22/90: A Diary Entry
Posted on September 20, 20098:26 pm
Today has been a fine day. I really do feel as if anything could happen and it would be cool with me. I said something at lunch like I was worth it and Erica sort of went off on my new ego. Hell, I deserve it. But people should stop telling me because my head’s probably going to explode soon. Just kidding. Last night Shannon said she wanted to be me for a week. Because a day would be too short to figure out what’s going on inside my head. If she could figure out what’s going on inside my head in a week, “I’ll eat a bug.” (Quote from Cal Worthington, used car salesman extrodinaire [sic].) So, anyway Erica said today that that kind of bothered her. Yesterday I went to Amy’s after school and we talked a lot — about how much alike we are in giving and how those to whom we give don’t really appreciate it. And love — how words are easy to say but feelings tend to change rather quickly. Today I went to wait for my cute little tweenkie [sic] and Erica was on hers and she said howdy. Anyway, I was taling to her and she acted goofy. Like she was drunk and really weird when I mentioned Amy’s name. Maybe I’m just paranoid — maybe not — but I’m going to ask Erica tonight if she would do something with Amy if the situation arose. She does have a conscience so if she feels at all guilty, she’ll tell me if anything has gone on. Well, I was thinking the same thing when I was over at her house but I didn’t act on it. What really irritates me is that Amy and Erica are so mean to Shannon — not to her face or anything but they think bad things. Shannon is such a good person inside, why should it matter what she looks like? She would do anything for a friend and even goes as far to worry herself about others’ problems. Today Mr. H told me I’m politically schizophrenic. Well, that made me quite estatic [sic], let me tell you. It’s because I’m neither liberal nor conservative. Oh well, I guess I can live. But now I don’t know what to register as. He said I’d be a good candidate for a Libertarian position. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.
Fuck!
Posted on September 19, 2009I just watched a lot of people fuck and suck and come. And now I’m gonna go to the Vegan’s house and get myself fisted and lick some ass.
I swear. True story.
What Happened in Vegas, Went to Omaha (Part 2)
Posted on September 18, 2009[Continued from "What Happened in Vegas, Went to Omaha (Part 1)."]
The next night we went to a piano bar in the New York, New York. I had no fucking interest in the piano bar. I had been going along with whatever Sally and Vicky wanted to do the whole damn trip. I told them my only requests were to have one nice meal at a fancy restaurant and to see the water show at the Bellagio. We did neither. But we went to the fucking piano bar.
We drank enough and I began to have some fun. We took a lot of photos at the piano bar. This gem is one of them. Please forgive the quality, as it’s a shitty phone camera picture of an old-fashioned photo print.
We eventually left the piano bar and went to some “cheap” casinos on the strip to gamble. We finally ended up on the gaming floor of our hotel. Vicky went up to our room to go to bed; Sally “played” craps, which just meant she got the dealers to show her how to play considering they were bored and it was about 4am.
I was about to go to bed myself when we bumped into the Omaha guys from the night before. I sat with one of the guys at a bar within eyesight of Sally at the craps table. I don’t remember what happened to his friend, because by that point it was pretty obvious what was going to happen. I placed my hand on his knee and we both knew what was up.
We went to his room and fucked. We were so drunk and horny that we didn’t bother with condoms. At some point his friend walked in and then immediately left when he saw what were were doing. We fell asleep for a bit, but then I had to get back to my room to get my stuff and get myself to the airport to fly back to San Francisco.
I did the walk of shame from his hotel to the hotel where Sally, Vicky, and I were staying. I didn’t realize it at the time that our hotels were literally next door to each other. I left his hotel and walked for a while. Then I stopped into a McDonald’s for an Egg McMuffiin, which I assert is one of the best breakfasts ever, and even better when hung over and feeling supremely guilty about cheating on your husband. Again. Then, as the time was getting away from me I grabbed a cab.
I ALWAYS get lost on the strip. Still. Stupid, but I don’t know any directions when I’m there even though I do pretty much everywhere else; I know where the fuck the ocean (that’s the Pacific) is from where I am (now). Maybe because I’m pretty much fucked up the entire time I’m there.
I barely got back to the room in time to get my stuff and go to the airport for my flight. Sally was pissed (angry, not drunk). I assured her everything was fine. She said she had worried about me and that I should have at least said what I was doing when we last saw each other (when she was playing craps).
The reason I didn’t say anything to her the night before had something to do with having to acknowledge what I was doing, cheating on my husband again. I really did feel like shit every time I cheated on my husband, but I couldn’t help myself. I needed so to be fucked, and hard. I’m still like this. I think I’ve always been like this. I need a good pounding. Need it hard.
I swear. True story.
[To be continued, of course.]
