Random Rim Jobs

[Continued from "Correctional Officer, Part 4."]

Since I was being accused of emailing CO too much anyway, I began to email him more.  And I began to seriously consider fucking CO.  Our emails went from innocent to dirty.  Eventually we set up a time that CO would come down to San Francisco so we could fuck.

If the Ex hadn’t pushed, I wouldn’t have set up the meeting with CO.  I swear.  I was already being accused of things I wasn’t doing so I figured I might as well do them.  Not a very mature attitude, but I was dealing with someone who was treating me like a child.

I arranged for a room at the W.  CO and I planned to go to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art and then to our room at the W where we’d fuck.

On the appointed day I worked in the morning and then met CO in front of the MoMA.  I was kind of disappointed.  I had remembered CO being hotter and less dorky.  But I was stuck.

We walked around the museum.  But it still wasn’t time to check into the hotel.  So we walked to the mall.  It was boring.

We looked into going to a movie but couldn’t agree on which one.  We had shared a fantasy set in a movie theater, but I didn’t want to go into a movie that I actually wanted to see since I’d be distracted by – according to the fantasy – his fingers in my cunt.

Finally, we ended up sitting in one of the mall’s many seating areas.  I was nervous.  He was nervous.  After so many emails and phone calls we had nothing to say to each other in person.

But it was too late to back out.

We went to the W and went to our room.  For over $400 it sure was small.  It felt like the guy who checked us in knew what was up.  We were very nervous.

After we did the obligatory look around the tiny room we took in the view.  We were in a corner room, facing southwest.  The view was nice.

Then, before I realized what was happening, we were kissing.  And then I was on the glass-covered desk.  And he was on top of me.  Being big and strong.  He got his fingers in my cunt.  I looked back, over my head, at the view.

It got very hot very fast.  The windows were cool though.  The air conditioning ducts ran along the windows and cooled the glass.  I pressed my hands and face into the glass as his fingers tore into my pussy.

He was rough and strong in a way that was obvious he hadn’t full control.  He was a big, dumb boy.

We moved to the bed where his cock finally got into me.  I don’t think we used a condom.  We had both been monogamous in our marriages and believed our spouses had been as well.  I remember thinking his cock wasn’t all that big, but I also remember not really looking at it.  I didn’t suck it.

I remember looking at him from behind and thinking he looked silly.  I did not think he looked sexy.  I was wondering what the fuck I risked my marriage for.

The fucking was ok.  He was rough in that same Lenny-esque way.  He pulled my hair – out of my head.  There were wads of hair all over the bed.  He fingered me so hard I bled.  (I was nowhere near being on my period.)

We tried to take a bath together but the tub wouldn’t accommodate both of us.  He took a shower and then began to get dressed.  He said he had to leave.

What the fuck?!  We were risking a whole lot by getting together at all, so shouldn’t we get in as much sex as possible?  And I was paying over $400 for a hotel room that was being used for all of an hour?  No fucking way.

I had to beg him to fuck me again.  Really, he was going to drive all that way, risk his marriage, lie to everyone for one pretty average fuck?

Two pretty average fucks.  He fucked me again and then left.  I stayed in the room.  I just hung out for a little while, but then figured I, too, should go home.

I pretended like nothing had changed with my husband.  It had, a little, though.  If that was sex with someone not my husband then I didn’t have further interest in pursuing it.  My husband’s cock was big and thick and he absolutely loved to lick my pussy for as long as I wanted.  I resigned myself to work on my marriage.

[To be continued ….]

I swear.  True story.

[Continued from "Holiday Cheer (Part 1)."]

Whiskey Dick showed up at Mary and Jack’s place.  He had been drinking.  CK and I had been drinking.

We chatted.  CK knew already how Whiskey Dick and I had met (Craig’s List, of course) and the nature of our relationship (fucking) and thought it was hilarious to quiz him on various things about me and us.  She seemed to think that because we were fucking and we liked each other that we should be “together,” whatever that meant.

Whiskey Dick and I were very comfortable with our arrangement, though things were a tad strained since he moved to a place not quite so convenient as a block away from my place.

The three of us were having fun.  I’m not sure who suggested it, but we decided to put on some of Mary and Jack’s porn.  We had the porn on in the background and continued to talk.

Porn being what it is, we were all slightly distracted from our conversation.  When the scene onscreen was a poolside threesome with two guys and a woman with the woman on her back, CK asked something along the lines of, “Why do her boobs go to the side like that?”

CK had huge breasts so I was a bit confused as to why she didn’t understand what gravity does to (natural) breasts when supine.  I tried to explain it to her.  She couldn’t comprehend.  She said her breasts didn’t do that when she laid down.  Really?  How could that be?  They’re huge and gravity is a constant force.

Of course Whiskey Dick took this as an opportunity to ask to see her breasts.  I had never seen them before either and was curious as to how they defied the forces of nature.

They did.  While very large – at least a G or H cup – there was little difference between bra-ed and braless regarding location.  Her gigantic breasts were high and firm.  And her pink areolas were the size of those seen on breasts a quarter of the size.  Her nipples were tiny as well.  CK had fucking amazing tits.

I was still a little irritated at CK’s lack of understanding about the plight of gravitational forces on fatty protuberances, but Whiskey Dick had no problem getting past that.  He was in boobie heaven.

He asked if he could touch her breasts.  He asked if he could touch my breasts.  At one point he had one hand on hers, one hand on mine, and both eyes on the porn that was still playing on the television.

Eventually she and I kissed.  We had been friends for years, and I never hid the fact that I was bisexual, but she was pretty uptight about girl-on-girl action, or anyone perceiving her as anything but straight.  I chalked it up to CK’s paranoid father, who CK said would burst in on childhood all-girl slumber parties to make sure there wasn’t any hanky-panky going on.  Apparently his mother was a lesbian and his worst fear was that his daughter would be as well.

So when CK and I kissed I think it was sort of a big deal.  For both of us.

We moved into Mary and Jack’s bedroom.  CK put on a pair of Jack’s pj pants and refused, despite pleading on my and Whiskey Dick’s parts, to take them off, ever.  Without vaginal penetration we had a threesome.

Whiskey Dick wanted to go down on her but she continued to refuse to take off her pants.  What CK did want to do was suck cock.  She was quite an enthusiastic cock sucker.  I recall thinking that she was enjoying herself a lot.

This was before I liked sucking cock so much.  I liked to suck cock, but it didn’t make my pussy wet and tingly like it does now.  This was before I had fully embraced cocksucking as something I enjoy rather than something I do for the guy’s enjoyment.  I believe sucking Whiskey Dick’s cock made CK’s pussy wet and tingly.  Which of course we never found out because of those fucking pj pants.

It was very late/early.  CK went to another bedroom to go to sleep.  I wanted to make sure she was ok and not freaked out by the whole incident.  She seemed ok.

By the time I got back to Whiskey Dick he was asleep in Mary and Jack’s bed and snoring quite loudly.  I woke him and we left.  In the wee hours of the morning the sun was bright and the cabs were scarce.

We walked toward my place while we looked for a cab.  Whiskey Dick could not get the huge grin off his face.  He kept saying, “That was so cool.  I’m so lucky.”  If he didn’t like tits before that night, he certainly did after.

Eventually we made it back to my place where I took care of my dogs.  I told Whiskey Dick he could sleep some at my house so we crawled in bed.

Only we weren’t ready to sleep.  All night long we’d both been denied good, old-fashioned fucking.  We were still horny as fuck.

Whiskey Dick and I generally had really good sex.  That morning he fucked my ass while I had a dildo in my pussy.  I came good and hard after all that build-up.

That might have been the last time I saw Whiskey Dick.

CK made me promise not to tell Mary and Jack what we’d done in their bed.  I kept that promise – for a while.  After CK and I had a falling out and were no longer friends I didn’t feel the need to keep her secrets any longer.  I certainly wasn’t ashamed of what had happened, and I told Mary and Jack something I had done.  I apologized to Mary and Jack for mistreating their bed without their permission.

I swear.  True story.

When I don’t want to fuck a guy and as a result he insults me it still hurts.  By the way, assholes, that I don’t want to fuck you is not an insult in and of itself.  You should feel special, because there are few men I don’t want to fuck.  Instead, you think that gives you permission to call me crazy and other interesting epithets.  It does not.  We’re not going to fuck, end of story, and hardly a big deal.  Don’t make it one.

When someone doesn’t want to fuck me I don’t think there’s something wrong with him, I think there’s something wrong with me.  There must be a lot wrong with me because there are a lot of men – and women – who have no interest whatsoever in fucking me.  Guess what I don’t do when I find out someone doesn’t want to fuck me?  Insult.

I do sometimes cry.  I don’t think I cry only because I’m a dumb girl.  I think I cry because I’m frustrated at my powerlessness.

I try to be honest and open, but that’s not good enough.  Nothing I do seems to be good enough.  I’ve turned into my mother and it just fucking sucks shit.

So I have feelings.  I can take constructive criticism, but, “Just as I thought you’ve got nothing but a turd rattling around in your drunk schizo head of yours” (complete w/lack of proper punctuation – there should be a comma after “thought”) hardly qualifies as constructive.  That was from some asshole who calls himself – and really, I wish I could make this shit up – Lando Calrissian, yrpimpsucks@gmail.com.  I think he got the email account simply to insult me, which doesn’t really seem like a productive way to spend one’s time.

Or how about the nice guy who has a couple of drinks with me just because he feels guilty about claiming to be busy with his impending divorce and kids and work, when it’s really me that’s keeping him from me?  I guess it feels slightly better than downright insults, but to be told that it’s difficult to fit me in his schedule but not so difficult for someone who lives farther away just makes it crystal clear that it’s me.  That I’m the problem, that I’m the one for whom he’s not willing to make accommodations.

I have feelings.  And they get hurt.  And I get to feel sorry for myself.

I swear.  True (sad, pathetic) story.

[Same day as "3/14/90:  A Diary Entry."]

1:30 pm

touching her.  So I don’t know what she thought but I got her phone number before she left so I think I’ll call her some time soon.  [I'm in 5th period listening to Mrs. Thoma talk about what juniors should be doing this year to prepare for next year at O.R.H.S.  I should've skipped class with Erica because I'm really bored.]

I really don’t know what’s going on with her.  She told me and now Amy too that she loves me more than Juree.  Yesterday I went to the dark room during sixth period and Erica and I ended up kissing.  She got to be really intense and I stopped, I had to push her away.  I asked why she was doing that.  She said she didn’t know why.

10:02 pm

Well, went to the dark room again and Erica was saying how much she liked the smell of Fahrenheit now because of me.  She said she was doing it because I’m cute and fun to be with so I asked why Amy wasn’t in there ’cause she’s cute and fun to be with too.  She said she was already in there Monday or Tuesday.  Oooh, took a long time for her to get over me, yeah.  So then I asked if she loved me so much then why did she break up with me – so she could screw around with whomever she wants and I can’t do anything about it.  She said it was different now and I told her it wasn’t – but it has been – it’s a lot more relaxed.  She just wants to be able to fuck around and as Jason B puts it – “No shop, no bop.”  Erica said Amy decided that they’d be better friends if they had sex.  Does Amy like being used?  She must because she keeps doing it.  I told her what Juree had said about her not being attractive anymore and how Erica agreed with her.  But I bet all Erica had to do was look cute and assure Amy that that just wasn’t true and maybe kiss her or something.  Erica has said how sex isn’t much to her but that’s all she seems to do.  I don’t think I’ve said yet that Erica, on Friday night, when I walked over to Shannon’s in less than an hour, finally let me do her.  It was my first time so I kept having to ask if I was doing all right.  It feels to great – it’s wet, soft, and warm.  Then I ate her out.  She told me how I probably wouldn’t like it and it’s nauseating.  So I did it anyway.  I loved it.  If my jaw and tongue never got tired I’d do it for a living.  She tasted sweet and it smelled good – it was great.  She was enjoying herself too, which got me off even more.  I kept nuzzling her.  I’d start at my nose and move my face up til my chin ended up in her opening.  I knew my nose would be good for something some day.  Anyway, I loved it and did it again later.  She told me today that I’m very good in bed and she enjoyed herself quite a bit.  That’s good.  She said she’d scourge herself and feel guilty and dirty but I hope not.  She’s been wearing long sleeves so I can’t tell if she’s cut up her arms.  Yesterday I told her I loved her but I don’t know if I do.  I think she was just a routine that I had trouble changing.  I told her that too.  She said if she had to have a reason, then so did I.  So I told her.  She seemed kind of disappointed to find that was a habit.  And one I seemed to want to break.  I told her Ii already broke the habit, I was just trying ti again to be sure I could do without it.  Amy’s downfall is sex – that seems to be all she wants.  Oh well – I do too but I think I can do without it.  I want to start dating guys – I’ve never really dated and I want to before school gets out.  I called Lisa today.  Her aunt had a baby boy and she was really about about that because he’s the first boy in the family.  She said she has some friends in Sacramento who just got married.  [Oh Erica said with anyone she felt incomplete and without companionship, anyone but Juree.  I told (not today but have told) her I would do anything for her but oh well I wasn't a good enough companion.]  Anyway, she said she visits them and just ends up hanging out.  I told her there’s dance clubs and stuff.  She had to go but she did get my phone number again and said she call in about a week to see when she’s gonna come visit me.  And I talked about my ex and said she a lot – so she must know and not care.  But then I was hanging all over her Tuesday and she didn’t seem to care then either.  I can only wish she’s interested in me too.  She said she was gonna come see me.  Yea!  And I found this one on my own – no one had to point her out, already be with her or anything like that, I found her all on my own.  I should be outgoing like I was in San Jose more often because people just love it and I want to have “it.”

Christmastime 2007.  In quick progression I’d lost my husband, friend, and job – to adultery, drug overdose, and client bankruptcy, respectively.  On the plus side, I wasn’t forced to go to the lame employer-sponsored holiday parties for either my husband or myself.

I had plenty of time to go to friends’ holiday parties.  The few friends I had left.  The Ex got all of our supposedly mutual friends when we broke up because he was victimized by my wanton ways.  I still find it interesting that they didn’t consider that he mistreated me for years based on all the times I called them crying because I didn’t know if he was coming home.  Nonetheless, I found myself short on sympathetic friends.  The friends I did have weren’t afraid to have me in their homes and were happy to introduce me to their families and friends.

Two such friends were Mary and Jack.  They had recently been through their share of drama – they had left their spouses for each other – so they weren’t nearly as interested in judging me as the high-and-mighty assholes I once called my friends.  They had a holiday party to celebrate their new condo in SoMa, Jack’s birthday, the fact that they had married each other, and Christmas.

I went, alone.  Mary and my mutual friend, CK, said she was going to show up, but as per usual she flaked.  I was more than happy to go to a party where I knew there’d be great food (Jack’s a good cook) and plenty of booze.

Mary and Jack’s party was sparsely attended, most likely because of the scandal over them getting together.  In addition to them having been married to other people when they met, he was her boss, and her then-husband worked at the same firm.  It was a fucking mess.  I completely understood, as I found myself in the midst of a shit-storm much of my own making.

Because they had planned for a much larger party there was plenty of alcohol left over.  Mary and Jack went out of town over Christmas but gave CK the keys to their place.  CK was herself in a bit of a personal pickle – her boyfriend at the time was an abusive drug addict.  Mary and Jack told CK she could stay at their place when they were gone so she could take a break from the abuse.

It was during this time that CK came over to my house to hang out.  I was out of alcohol, and we were about to restock at the corner liquor store, when she suggested we make a quick trip to Mary and Jack’s, where we could pick up whatever alcohol we needed.  Excellent plan.

Once we got to their condo though, we thought it’d be silly to bring the booze back to my place since there was new scenery – the interior of a different loft condo.  We hung out.  We talked.  I gave CK shit for not making it to the holiday party and told her that Mary’s feelings had really been hurt.

We fully indulged in the holiday booze.  We got to the point where CK could most definitely not drive, and to where I didn’t want to walk the fifteen blocks home in the wee hours. We decided to hanker down for the night, but I had to get home to my dogs (Isis and Otter, around which CK was always nervous because she was old and incontinent) as soon as possible in the morning.  (No, I am not proud of my dog parenting at the time.)

Right around bar-closing time my phone rang.  I knew who it was well before I looked at the phone’s display.  It was Whiskey Dick.  He had gotten that nick name very early in our “relationship” when he was too drunk to fuck me properly.

He had since made up for that.  Additionally, he lived literally a block away from me, so he was geographically very desirable.  I told CK who he was – that I had been fucking him for a while, that he was a nice guy, and that it was the usual time for a booty call.

Whiskey Dick and I had gotten into a pattern of sort.  I was extremely anti-social at the time.  He often wanted me to go out with him but I always declined.  So he went out drinking while I stayed in drinking, and then he’d call me at last call to see if I was up for some company.  That night he called and I happened to be at Mary and Jack’s with CK.

I told him that I was spending quality time with my friend and so we couldn’t get together that night.  CK grabbed my phone from me, as she was wont to do.  (She’d “made” this happen.)  She told Whiskey Dick that he should come over.  She also kept repeating that we would not be having a threesome.

She’s the one who brought up the prospect of a threesome.  I certainly hadn’t thought of it.  CK had proven to be pretty uptight when it came to sex.  She thought my casual sex habits were pathological.  I thought her insistence on staying with the asshole, abusive, drug addict boyfriend belied her extreme low self esteem.

We told Whiskey Dick Mary and Jack’s address and waited for him to show up.

I swear.  True story.

[To be continued, of course.]

12:07 pm

Well, it’s really cool ’cause today already I’ve talked to both my  mom and DJ about a place to stay when I graduate.  But I want to move out now.  DJ says I just have to be goal-oriented and look to June.  Work more hours, make more money.  I feel like I was gone a lot longer than two days – I thought it would take longer for me to be so comfortable around Erica.  And I am.  I don’t feel like I want to leave or I have to do something.  I’m cool and I know everything’s gonna be alright.  This time away really good for me I think.  I had lots of fun and realized I could do that without Erica.  She just wrote me a note that says she loves me more than anything – more than Juree even.  But I wonder if it’s because Juree doesn’t want her back or they got into a fight or something for her to feel like that for me.  It seems that this was almost too easy, maybe I’m denying feelings but I don’t think so.  I feel really happy and I know I can do whatever I want to do.  I’m not put under any [illegible] by anyone – especially my parents.  “I haven’t felt so alive in years.”  “God, it’s raining, and I’m not containing my pleasure at being so wet.  Here on my own all on my own

1:58 pm

Betina Adams is really nice.  I wonder if Dad and [Step-Mother] are going to try to talk to me.  I only have to buy time ’til I graduate.  I’m really glad I’m not super fat.  it would be hard to move around.  Chris L. has great arms – they’re really muscly.  Yippee.  Lisa – the girl at the peer counseling conference had her head shaved except for almost the very top – and that was really long and purple and black.  She also shaved her eyebrows and painted them on so they went up really high.  She carried around a little Oscar the Grouch and she had freckles across her nose.  I like freckles on girls ’cause they make them cuter but not on guys ’cause they make them dumber.  Anyway – we all got stoned – Lisa, Isaac (really cute, little chicken hawk, sweet, traded my skull earring for my neat face/mask one of his), Travis (I think but no, Justin, yeah, that’s it) – and I was really far gone.  So Lisa and I and this other guy, Keith, were walking around together after we missed the seminar on reaching out to gay youth because I was walking so fucking slow.  So the three of us were walking around together and I found myself dropping major hints about my sexual orientation.  I kept hanging on her and tou

I’m so proud of myself when I turn down sex. Or when I delay sex.

I could have fucked Bobby. But he was hanging out with his buddies. And he’s an adult child – e.g., he was so proud that he had a new skateboard.  He is someone I’ll maybe fuck once.  If he turns out to be more complex, which is possible, I’ll be happily surprised.

I like it when my original assumption is turned on its head.  I like it when a guy appears to be so “straight” but then I find out his secret, that he loves to suck cock.  I could most definitely get into watching and participating in a reluctant “straight” guy sucking cock.  Oh!  And taking cock in his ass ….

I want someday to fuck a super-faggy guy.  I don’t want him to say my pussy feels better than anything, or that I suck cock better than anything, just to have that experience; to feel like I’m giving him an experience he’s not before had.  I do not want to “turn” him; I get it when I guy wants to fuck guys.  Hell, I want to fuck guys.  Cock is glorious.

I love sex so fucking much.  I understand it’s not productive to just fuck all the time (unless in the sex industry), but I really wish it was ok to incorporate fucking into one’s life.  “They” say one should do what one loves and the money will follow.  I love fucking.  LOVE it.  And I think that should make me some money, dammit.  Because I have a special talent.

Or I’m just delusional.  I have a good time – I always thought – when I fuck, and think I should keep doing it.  But it could just be that I’m stupid.

I so want to go find a nice big cock to suck.  Really, is that so wrong?

I swear.  A lot.  True story.  For the most part.

[Continued from "A Fucking Machine May Not be for Me (Part 1)."]

The next night I went back to Nadia’s place to give the machine another chance. The second night was to be a mixed crowd: Nadia and I, the British Gentleman, and the Marketer.  They all worked together; the fuck machine and I were to be the interlopers.

I knocked on Nadia’s door.  I knocked again, harder.  Finally, the dog George came to the door.  And then the British Gentleman.  He showed me to the bedroom where Ms Boots was lounging in bed.  She looked exhausted.

Apparently they’d had a tough day at work.  So tough that the Marketer went home instead of attending our little party.  I offered to leave.  They had had a shitty day; they didn’t want to have to entertain me.  They insisted I stay.

We went to the kitchen where we proceeded to chit-chat over wine (for them) and vodka sorbets (for me).  I’ll need to come up with a better name for my drink, but it consists of a tall glass full of ice, then some vodka, then some sorbet of any flavor, then some soda water.  The bartender is to combine all ingredients so it’s a cohesive – shaken, not stirred – if not milkshake-like drink.  Best consumed through a straw.  They’re fucking good.

We chatted.  The British Gentleman was sweet enough to pretend like he was fascinated with me … which was so damn flattering.  Both Nadia Boots and the British Gentleman are such cool people; I feel so lucky to be able to talk to them even a little bit.

We made our way to the fucking machine.  He started to fuck me.  It was obvious I was feeling shy.  My hosts left us alone at my request.

Only I couldn’t figure out the fucking machine.  There were four dials:  depth; speed; velocity; and the other one.  All I knew was that it wasn’t doing me right and that I couldn’t really get into it.  I asked my hosts to rejoin me.

They did.  I was very happy to have them take over the controls of the machine they knew.  Nadia was clearly much more relaxed than she had been earlier.  She began fucking herself with a metallic dildo, the brand of which I blocked out because it was so hot but I knew I could never afford it.

The British Gentleman asked if he could play with my ass. Uh, yes.  My ass can be played with.  With which you can play my ass.  I want my ass manipulated.  I want it.  I want it.  Some day I want my ass fisted ….

I began to feel like I could come, only that I wasn’t going to come.  When I care too much what the others in my presence think I can’t come.  At least not easily.  I began to feel like I could come but that it would take a shit-ton of time and concentrated energy.

I hate that coming is sometimes that much work for me.  The fact that I was thinking that much almost definitely assured that I wouldn’t be able to come easily.  So I did a bit of a freak out.  I curled up into a fetal position and begged for blankets.

Both Nadia Boots and the British Gentleman comforted me and assured me that everything was fine.  I couldn’t help but feel that I’d turned what should have been a sexy night into a night where they felt compelled to comfort me (which I don’t find sexy).

I definitely find both Nadia and the British Gentleman sexy and fun and interesting and fascinating, which is probably why I was having trouble coming.  I can come without problem when I’m with someone about whom I do not give a shit.  The other night the Consultant made me come, twice.  I like him, but I don’t care very much if he likes me, which gives me a lot of freedom.

Freedom I thought I’d have with a fucking machine.  Apparently I need something between a completely impersonal machine and someone whose opinion I value.  Nadia later told me I confused her; “Is it deep fucking you really want or personal attention??? I seriously want to hook you up but you’re hard to figure out ”

The answer is both.  Some I just want for a deep fucking, some I want for personal attention, some I want for both.  It really does matter how we get along.  I’m not playing games; I’m being completely honest.

I may try a fucking machine again, but I don’t hold out much hope.

I swear.  True story.