Random Rim Jobs

This is our drawer of sexy toys and goods.  See what you can pick out.  What’s that in the bottom right corner?  How about those MEDTEXX things?  Why do we have a paint stirrer?  What’s up with those neon things?

This drawer is not a night stand drawer.  Oh no!  It’s a dresser drawer.  Clothes can go anywhere but sex toys need to be close to the bed.  When sitting on the edge of my side of the bed it is very easy to access the entire contents of the drawer o’ sex.  Drawer o’ fun.

I swear.  True story.

[This is a submission from a hottie guest writer.  I've met her, she's hot and a whole lotta fun.]

My first threesome came as a surprise. ‘Twas my 25th birthday, to which I was not looking forward given I had been recently abandoned by not only the best sex of my life but also my last great love (two different men, mind you). I still had a few very good friends and, trying to be optimistic, I ventured out to a fave bar to celebrate.

After about two whiskeys, I declared that since it was my birthday, everyone should kiss me. This would be the catalyst that led to my premiere sexual experience with threesomes and with women (but not the last).

A group of firemen from Modesto or some equally central California city were sitting close to our group and conversation began. One took a liking to me and before his group left we took a trip outside and made out for a bit. Thankfully I didn’t really mind voyeurs because a certain couple took a particular interest in our little tongue session. They became even more interested when they saw the fireman’s hand try to go up my skirt, which I deflected in the midst of still keeping the kissing hot. This move turned them on apparently; when they saw me walk back inside the bar without the fireman, they followed.

They stopped me before I got back to my group. They bought me more whiskey and asked me what was going with the fireman. I answered that it was my birthday and I was kissing everybody. So they both kissed me. We went back to the table and conversed while I got drunker (but with whiskey, I rarely get sloppy). Last call came and they invited me back to their place. I excitedly and curiously accepted.

Back at her apartment they showed me around, told me about a new dot com idea they had (something about networking via your sexual partners), introduced me to her cat, and then led me to the bedroom.

Sheepishly, I declared that I was a virgin when it came to women. With a little giggle, my first girl – a beautiful blonde with wonderful breasts and creamy skin – told me to go with my instincts and she would direct me from there. After a little bit of kissing, the whiskey seemed to fully permeate into my bloodstream and stripped away my remaining inhibitions.

I ventured towards her breasts and my happy explorations there made her moan, encouraging me to go farther south. I hesitated for just a moment before I put my tongue on her clit, tasting something indescribable but oh so amazing. I used my fingers to penetrate her pussy while I continued licking her clit and her boyfriend, who had been watching while I popped my “girl cherry,” began to go to work on me. He finally started fucking me from behind while I went to town on his girlfriend. Eventually he got his share of attention but I loved being in the middle of them; getting it from him while giving it to her.

We fell asleep after much orgiastic behavior and when I woke up in the morning and tried to sneak out, I was dragged back to bed for more and given the many orgasms that the whiskey had denied me the night before (the only real negative I get from the malted grains).

I have done a fair amount of memorable bisexual exploring since this experience and hope to do much much more but I would say that my first threesome was the best birthday present to myself ever.

7:47 pm

Why can’t I have a car?  Or at least someone who’s willing to chauffeur me around?  What’s wrong?  My mother isn’t even home to yell at about it.  Perhaps if I go over to Laura’s, she’ll want to drive me to Henry’s after she hears about the boys who were there.  I haven’t told her about those.  I can convince her that it would be in her best interest to somehow get me over there.  But then I’ll miss Henry’s call.  But if I get to his house then It won’t matter if I missed a little call.  I could get Jeff to take me.  Yep, he was so bored he would go with me.  Hmm.  That would be sneaky.  That would be smart.  Good idea.  What’s his damn number?  Anderson in the phone book couldn’t be as common as Valenzuela.  Could it?

It’s sexy because it’s wrong.  She’s hot.  She’s thin.  She’s wearing a collar.  Her shirt is a belt.  A belt with skulls and crossbones on it.  She’s got leather wrist restraints on.  She’s holding guns.  Guns.

So.  Fucking.  Hot.

I swear.  True story.

[Continued from "OkStupid, Part 1."]

I had another OkCupid date scheduled.  The guy told me that he was going on a long trip so I’d better get to him beforehand.  Ok, whatever.  The day of the date we confirmed the location, Herbivore on Valencia, and the time, 7pm.  It’s always nice when the date is confirmed in writing.  And because we had confirmed in writing, when I dreaded leaving the house that evening, the shame of flaking forced me to go.

I stood in front of the restaurant for a bit.  I walked into the restaurant and asked if there was anyone there alone.  No.  I went back outside and waited.  And waited.  Finally, at 7:27 I began walking home.  I was very glad I’d not bothered to get dressed up or makeuped.  When I was a few blocks from my house I received a text from a number that wasn’t programmed into my phone.  I figured out pretty quickly who it was, since the text indicated the sender was three minutes away and then had to find parking.

Yeah, I’m the stupid one.  I walked back to the restaurant.  See why I make them come to me?  I sent a text saying that we had agreed to meet at 7pm.  He apologized via text and then called to explain that he really and truly did think our date was at 7:30.  We had confirmed earlier that day.  For 7pm.  He said to make up for it he’d buy me dinner.  I assured him that he was already going to buy me dinner.

He scoffed a bit, but I made it clear that he was most definitely buying.  We sat down.  We ordered.   We talked.  I said my usual charming things.  My dinner was tasty – grilled veggies and fake chicken over quinoa.  He ate oddly – with his hands but didn’t use a napkin.

He asked if I wanted to play a game wherein if I won he’d owe me double of whatever it was that he owed me, and if he won he’d buy me dinner and nothing else.  Fine.  He’d ask me five questions and I had to answer each of them falsely.  The first three questions were easy to answer incorrectly, but then he got lost and asked me if the last question was the third or the fourth.  I completely fell for it and told him that that was the third question, meaning I answered that question correctly, thereby losing the little bet.

He claimed that that indicated that I was helpful and trusting of others.  I told him that I didn’t like the game, but if he wanted to get out of making up for being over a half an hour late by tricking me then that was his prerogative.

The bill came and he – I so wish I was kidding – said, “I forgot my wallet.”  I told him to empty his pockets.  He was sure it was in his car, or at home in San Rafael. I had my wallet.  I paid.  I paid money I don’t have.  I paid for a meal, that while tasty, was not worth my $50.  It certainly was worth his $50 though.

He asked if I’d go back to San Rafael with him so he could pay me back.  When I asked how I’d get home he promised to drive me home – in the morning.  I told him I had a dog to care for; he offered to bring her along.  I declined.

He promised over and over that he did not do it on purpose.  He also promised to mail me a check.  Yeah, right.  I gave him my PO Box address.  I don’t think I’ll ever see a check and I told him as much. He promised again.  He said he was telling the truth and that his was an honest face from which only truth emerged.  Whatever.

He then pulled a couple off the street.  He wanted to ask them if he looked honest.  Jesus Christ, guy, get over it.  I told them to run away while they could.  I told him not to get them involved.  But they got involved.  He told them the story; that he forgot his wallet.  The guy said that they were in a similar situation because he didn’t know the restaurant they went to was cash only so she had to pay.

I looked at her.  Yeah, I could tell.  I said, “You two have already fucked though, right?”  She blushed.  Yeah, they had.  “And he’s got a big dick, doesn’t he?”  She wanted to get the fuck out of there.  “I told you you didn’t want to get involved,” I yelled.

My date told me he had a big dick.  I suggested he take a picture of it and include it with the check to cover dinner.  He never asked how much dinner was.

My date walked toward his car.  I walked the opposite way only so I didn’t have to walk with him.

I’ve not yet checked my PO Box.  I don’t hold out much hope.  I’m the stupid one.

I swear.  True story.

The stupid one is me.

I’ve started using iCal to keep track of not only where and when I meet my dates, but also their email address or OkCupid user name.  It’s incredibly efficient.  It makes me feel very adult.  It allows me to be a less flaky flake.

I often dread my dates.  Not when I make them, but when it comes time to go on the date.  When I make the dates I’m happy to do so.  Sure, let’s meet.  But then the day of the date comes and I think that the date will just be shitty and I’d rather stay home where I know I’ll have a nice time.  Lately, I also know that staying home means I’ll get laid.  Possibility of a shitty time combined with guaranteed sex at home isn’t much motivation to meet a new people.  When it’s time for me to get ready for a date this is how I feel.

To help me get out of the house and actually meet people I make sure my dates come to me.  I plan to meet them at a bar or restaurant in the Mission.  Always within walking distance.  I’ve been flaked on enough to know it’s not worth it to get on a bus, and I’m certainly not going to the other side of the Bay for a guy who may be unattractive to me, and cheap.

But the cheap ones come to me, too.  I found out the hard way.  A couple of times.  Because I don’t learn, and I really am fucking nice, dammit.

The first guy I met for lunch.  He was late.  That’s fine, as traffic and other shit happens.  I didn’t wait too long.  We had a nice conversation.  Lunch was very tasty.  The bill came.  He said, “So, you wanna go Dutch?”  Uh, ok.  I just happened to have my wallet wherein there was $8 in cash.  I handed it over, though it didn’t cover my meal.  As we were leaving he said that he would have paid for everything.  Yeah, but you didn’t, buddy; you asked if we could go Dutch.

I get it, I do.  He drove over from the East Bay so he had to pay for gas, and a bridge toll, and it is the 21st Century and I am a modern woman.  I would be happy to pay … if I had any fucking money.  I don’t.  I’m unemployed, which I told him over lunch.  I am poor.  If it weren’t for me meeting him, I would have made myself Top Ramen for lunch.  I make kick-ass ramen.  So if he wanted to meet me over something other than blank looks, he had to pay.

Nonetheless, he was a nice guy, and we seemed to get along well.  We made a date for dinner.  Again in my neighborhood.  Dinner was nice.  He did not ask me to pay, which I appreciated.  We left the restaurant and went to Pop’s, a fun dive bar.  We ordered drinks.  My drink was $3.  It’s a dive bar.  He asked if we were going Dutch.  No, most certainly not, as I didn’t have my wallet.  Of course if I did have my wallet it wouldn’t have mattered, because my last $8 had gone to the lunch we had together.

He guffawed and said something along the lines of, “Oh, that’s how it is” when I said I didn’t have any money.  I then proceeded to tell him several very sexy stories, and not just the ones he could have read on Random Rim Jobs.  I also told him about Random Rim Jobs.  (Hi there.  You know who you are.)  I told him in a sing-for-your-supper way.  I figured – and told him as much – that my stories were worth something.

We finished our drinks.  Our glasses sat there empty in front of us for a while.  I continued to regale my date with sexy stories of threesomes and so on.  Finally, the bartender asked if we wanted another round.  He said, knowing full well that I had no money, “No, I’m good.”  Of course I had to say the same.

I walked him to his car and gave him an obligatory hug.  I declined his offer to drive me home, as I was just blocks from my house and it was a lovely evening.  When I got home I got fucked.  I’ve not heard from that guy again.  So far.

I swear.  True story.

[Sadly, there is more.]

I was asked on Formspring if I would ever bukkake.  I suppose.  It seems like it’d be a lot of work to try to get things coordinated, but sure, I’d have a few guys come on my face, or wherever.  I like come on me.  It’s fun to turn my face up and shut my eyes and wait patiently for it to hit my face.  It’s fun that every load feels unique.

Yeah, I’d bukkake.

I swear.  True story.