Random Rim Jobs
I swear. True story.April 30, 1991, 1:51 am: A Diary Entry
Posted on February 14, 2010I was just thnking about what I was doing a year ago. Sinéad O’Connor made me do it “Where did I go wrong?” I was going through some serious shit with mysef and my parents and especially Erica. I don’t want to remember how much it hurt. I don’t want ot ever be in a situation where I let myself get out of control. It’s my life and I decide what goes on in it. Thank God time fades memories so that the only thing left is actual evens and a faint glimmer of what it was actually like.
Now I’m doing everything for myself. I feel much better thought I’m sort of at a standstill it seems. Of course I’m on the verge of another all-consuming relationship. But he’s the type who wouldn’t ask, expect or even want ALL of me. I think he’ll do me good. My jealous streak will be to no avail. He is is own person and wouldn’t succumb, or rather give himself up, to me. He won’t want to spend every waking moment with me and because from the beginning that will be establisehd, he won’t get tired of me and I won’t think later on that he cares for me any less because he “needs his space.” The space will always be there for him, and me, so I can continue with myself without relinquishing the control on myself and my life.
Wonder if he’d be very affectionate. I’ll just have to tell him, or show him, that that is a must.
I want to see his writing for some reason. And his baby pictures. And to have sex with him on the floor of the practice room with loud punk-type music playing. Wonder if he has any idea at all how much I think about him. Maybe if I think about him this much, he thinks about me at least half, ok, a quarter of the time. That would be nice. He has a very nice profile – cute little nose and an adorable pouty lip. I want to kiss his lips very badly.
New York Times
Posted on February 13, 2010
This lovely photo, taken by Heidi Schumann, was featured in a New York Times article about OkCupid. Aren’t all my plants pretty? Isn’t my place cool? Yes, it is. So cool that various things have been filmed here. So cool that it’s available for other things to be filmed here. Contact me if you need a kick-ass location to film your commercials, documentaries, features of the mainstream or adult nature, shorts, etc.
I’m glad I don’t look too fat in this photo. Thanks, Heidi.
I swear. True story.
Multitasking
Posted on February 12, 2010[A lovely, and sexy, story from one of my OkCupid paramours.]
Here’s the first one. I will tell you the story of my first time with a girl over in Korea. It’s not my craziest or wildest by any stretch, but what I thought of first … I will write you more later after this.
I worked at an ESL theme park in Korea. An ESL theme park? What’s that? It’s exactly what it sounds like … people would come to our theme park called English Village for the day to learn English and talk with white folk. The ticket booth was made to look like an airport’s Immigration Services area; we had these Korean women stamping passports and whatnot.
As part of our job, one of us would have to do a little passport stamping every day at immigration, so we hung out with the Korean women a little every day. For about two months I hung out with this girl, getting closer and closer to her. I learned that she was married, but going through a divorce.
On a Wednesday, a group of us had the day off, so we went out to the beach, which was four hours away. I asked the Korean girl if she wanted to go. She said yes, and I had a pretty good idea we were going to hook up on the trip. Just got that feeling (the same feeling I have about us hooking up … he he). But then her husband decided to make trouble and she had to stay home to talk with him. We were both very disappointed.
On Friday, when we returned from the beach, I asked her if she would like to come over for dinner since I was making pasta. She quickly agreed and after work she came over. It was only a few minutes until we were on my bed, making out, me grinding on top of her. I had heard Koreans were pretty conservative, but she had no problems and didn’t even try to stop me when I kissed her, felt her breasts, took her shirt off … or put my head between her legs to go down on her.
The sex was amazing, passionate, rough, hot, and everything else you’d want. When we were done, I decided we should eat and started boiling water for the pasta. During the 10-15 minutes it took for the water to boil, we got into it again and started round two. She was riding me hard when the water started boiling over. Not knowing which to discontinue, I came up with my best idea.
I pulled a folding chair over next to the stove. I had her kneel on it backwards, resting her arms and stomach on the back of the chair, so she was in a modified doggie position on the chair. I slipped inside her, started taking her from behind, one hand on the small of her back and the other hand stirring my pasta.
Damn it was hot, and I felt like a fucking pimp (any time you can multitask while having sex … ). I got a glimpse of us in the mirror … and while I thought my screwing/stirring was funny and amusing, I saw her face and she was all in. Her eyes were closed, she had that “not quite sure if it’s pain or pleasure” look on her face because she was feeling so good taking it.
Slave Auditions, Part 4
Posted on February 11, 2010[Continued from "Slave Auditions, Part 3."]
It was a long, exhausting day of slave tryouts. It was also a lot of fun. So much fun that after Cutey left there was more fucking.
We conducted all of our slave “business” through my email. During the week I received several emails from potential slaves to whom we’d sent the “You Lose” emails, as well as emails from those who did actually show up who wanted to come back for more. Most of them did.
Glasses told us he had driven all the way from Petaluma. Nineteen told us he was fine with us filming him. Cutey said – in German – that she wanted to be our pet. All around very flattering, and hot.
In addition, I received several emails from potential slaves whom had not been scheduled for our initial auditions. I decided to add another set of auditions the following Saturday. Once again I told them what time to be at my place. I had five scheduled until one asked, “After I clean, can the three of us fuck?” Uh, no, and our original ad made it clear that the potential slaves would not be able to fuck us. So we had four half-hour auditions scheduled.
Once again the Viking made a delicious brunch of scrambled eggs and crêpes. It was delicious. As there were only four potential slaves scheduled, and the previous week proved the flake factor was quite high, I figured no one would show up. But we had a nice brunch, it’s always nice to see Sugar, and Saturdays are good, lazy days.
We ate. We waited. The first potential slave flaked. Not much of a surprise. Then the phone rang, signaling someone at the front door. Yay! Sugar and I were ready.
I opened my front door and saw a very young guy coming down the hall. Very young. So young that I asked for his identification. He had recently turned 21. So adorable. He was a little guy – probably 5’5″ and cute as a button.
Right away I put him to work cleaning my downstairs bathroom’s tub. I used that shower/tub regularly when I had the former roommates and I still hadn’t cleaned it proper since I started using the upstairs bathroom for personal hygiene. I brought him cleaning supplies. Sugar told him to take off his pants. Then, every few minutes, Sugar went in the bathroom and spanked him with my riding crop. She’s so cute when she gets toppy.
We dubbed him 21. When he was done in the bathroom we had him do some dishes. He kept leaving the water running longer than he should have, and he seemed to think that his hands were an effective cleaning tool even though there were dish scrubbies. And though I pointed out the compost bucket to him multiple times he didn’t seem to grasp the concept of compost. Even though he lived in Berkeley.
But we were having fun, he was cute, and no other potential slaves were showing up to relieve him. He stayed and I continued to give him tasks to do around the kitchen.
We ran out of wine. I wanted vodka. I was about to leave for the store when Sugar suggested we have the Viking go to leave us alone with 21. The Viking left. In his absence we asked 21 to show us his cock. He did. I certainly hope he was a grower.
The Viking returned with vodka and several mangoes. He then juiced the mangoes in his fancy, super-powerful juicer, mixed the juice with the vodka, and served it over ice. Yum! Mango juice and vodka is one of my favorite drinks, ever.
We asked 21 how many girls – because he thinks of women as girls at his tender age – he’d had relations with. Two. TWO! So fucking cute! Sugar pointed out that if he fucked us that he could double his number immediately. Sugar is a dirty girl who wants to corrupt young, sweet 21-year-old boys. Which just makes me want to fuck her more.
I suppose 21 forgot that the ad that brought him to my place indicated that one of the potential rewards for doing a good job was to hear Sugar and I fuck each other because at one point he asked, “Do you two sex each other?” What? We each determined the other was a woman on our first meeting; continuing to sex each other is not necessary. We most definitely have sex with each other, and we informed him of such. Silly boy.
We eventually allowed 21 to have some of the yummy vodka concoction, and we finally sent him on his way. I saw him to the door and told him we’d let him know if we wanted him back. He did a pretty shitty job of cleaning.
No other potential slaves showed up – we were one for four for that day.
Sugar and I then watched Jon Stewart being interviewed on the O’Reilly Factor. We were both turned on by how fucking smart John Stewart is and how lame Bill O’Reilley is. We barely got through the interview; we had to stop it a couple of times to make out. Kissing Sugar is so much fun.
Then we went up to the bedroom. The bedroom I share with the Viking. The Viking, however, had work to do so he stayed downstairs. Downstairs in a loft apartment where the bedroom has no door or fourth wall. When she and I began fucking he assured us he did not mind. She and I have good sex. Good, loud, hot, dirty sex.
Then, after Sugar left, the Viking fucked me. I’m certainly lucky.
Out of six total potential slaves, we’re definitely having two of them back, 19 and Cutey. We may invite Glasses back since he was the best cleaner.
I swear. True story.
Dexter’s Knife
Posted on February 11, 2010
Since the new ‘mate has a very nice selection of much better kitchen equipment, I’ve been going through my stuff and donating the duplicates to Goodwill.
While going through a drawer I found this knife. I have never used this knife. I had it because it was my grandmother’s. After my grandmother died, my step-mother, though she had no business doing so, gave each of the children what she thought we would like out of my grandmother’s possessions. I use my grandmother’s silverware daily. I have a nice set of bowls. I have some jewelry. I also had this knife. Though I never used it, I didn’t want to get rid of it because it was my grandmother’s.
However, as this is a transitional period in my life and purging of unnecessary crap is always good. I pulled this knife out of the drawer. The Viking was amazed at the curve of the blade, which has clearly been sharpened over the course of many, many years. I was amazed by what I saw on the handle.
There it is, clear as day, “DEXTER” in the wood handle. What the fuck? It’s a damn vicious-looking knife and it’s a Dexter.
Of course Dexter Morgan would never be so stupid as to put his name on one of his kill tools. His father certainly would have made it clear that that was not part of the code.
I feel like I have to keep Dexter’s knife, though I won’t use it for fear it can be linked to a crime.
I swear. True story.
April 28, 1991, 10:27pm: A Diary Entry
Posted on February 09, 2010Didn’t really get into a deep sleep but I was having dreams.
One – I still lived at the house in Alhambra but not with DJ and Gloria. I’m not sure who it was. Anyway, at about 1:30am I got a knock at my door and some chick was telling me that I had to do my part around the house because Mother’s Day was coming up and she didn’t want to be embarrassed. So I said yeah, yeah and blew her off. I had thought she was going to yell at me about my pot smoking ’cause I did it so everyone could see and didn’t really care. Then I went to the refrigerator because I hadn’t been home in a while and wanted to make sure everything was still good. In chalk there were instructions for everyone’s chores but somehow I never saw them except smeared. In the refrigerator were several packages of hot dogs – all partially eaten – one with a note from DJ on it, a gallon milk carton with what I now suppose to be iced tea – it was clear brown in color. I can’t remember anything else that was in there nor the exact sequence of events. Erica called but I couldn’t talk to her very well because I was so stoned (2nd dream I’ve had in which I can’t do something simple because of pot – maybe I’m afraid of something.) and we talked about her girlfriends and how she can get someone to clean for her if she needed it (pertaining to me having to clean my house) ’cause she has so many adoring fans. Then we got off the phone – oh but I remember while we were talking, I was in the living room and I turned on the tv and it was something like 3:24am – because of one of those fans. Then I came out of my room and there were a bunch of really scuzzy, dirty, old men on the couch all watching television. I was in something skimpy like a bikini or something and was talking to them like they were my buddies, though I did stay up in the dining room. Then some guys closer to my age came over and were playing music for the old men who were tripping out on it. The guys reminded me of the little guys I used to hang around with at Oak Ridge.
Two – my mother, Laura, and myself in a little car (though not my mom’s vehicle but she was driving) driving to a mall. She said something about not having a lover so snidely I replied with, “What, are you born-again or something?” Apparently she had been. but then we were arguing about whether God was a man or a woman. she kept saying that it was definitely a woman. She, etc. We got to this underground parking garage and had to find a way to get up to the mall. There was an elevator but it looked shabby so I talked them into taking the stairs. I was worried about going on the elevator ’cause I don’t like the damn things – they make me nervous. So as we were walking, Laura met up with some chick and they started fooling around – Laura on her back and the one on top on her knees doing I’m-no-sure-what to her – while moving. It ends up that the one on top is Merilu Henner (don’t ask me why) and she’s got her ass up in the air with her knees so far apart that I can clearly see her (how can I put this delicately? I can’t – ) asshole. I was like a target for me to zero in on. I was totally hairless (maybe I’ve seen too many Penthouse issues) and brown – darker towards the center. I was there very quickly licking with an incredible amount of saliva. Then they stopped and I went for her (this is what works here) cunt. Only thing was, I started to feel it – and not in the dream either.
I could feel it for real. I wiggled my finger – or at least I think I did – and I felt more So I proceeded to take my panties off one leg and masturbate. I expected myself to be a lot wetter than I was – I thought the dream was going to whip me into an orgiastic frenzy – but I proceeded anyway.
I feel sorry for Laura. Orgasms are nice to have and seem to complete the act. Of course I wonder what will happen if Henry doesn’t give me orgasms. (Yep, I’m confident we will have sex ‘cuase unless some other chick butts her way in, we will be together.) Will I have to masturbate anyway? Will I show him what he can do? Why am I assuming that he won’t be able to? I’ve assumed quite a few other incorrect things about him already. That’s good, I like surprises. He has had 9 IX nine years of experience.
I just want to break through and really get to know him. I want him to tell me that I’m different and that he’s never felt this way about any other girl. I don’t know if I can be patient much longer either.
My ear hurts a lot. Why do I put myself through the torture [of piercing my ears with my own ear-piercing gun]? I can’t sleep on my left side at all unless I prop pillows up just so. And I know that after it heals, I’ll do another one and there’s no place to go but up. The only problem with doing it myself is that they’re not very even. Like the one I did before this one is up a wee-bit too high. And the one I did before that one is too close to the one above it. There was one I did so close I couldn’t get the back of the stud on so I had to take it out. Wasted energy. But the more I do it, the more nerve I’ll have and the better I’ll get, I hope.
“My Douche Bag Boyfriend”
Posted on February 08, 2010One of the great things about being my age is that I know myself pretty well. Also, I know that some things many think are important really are not. Like putting up with people who don’t contribute positively to my life. Because I know now what that means.
It means if someone hurts me more than s/he helps me s/he’s probably not worth my time or my energy. No, I do not keep scorecards on my friends, but I do know that it’s not worth the heartache and turmoil to be around people who make me feel like shit – about myself or them. I will never seriously say, “My douche bag boyfriend …” because I will not have someone I call a friend – boy- or otherwise – treat me in such a way that I want to call him a douche bag.
Not so Tammy, a very cute, very sweet, very naive, and very young lady I recently met. Ruby asked me to join her for some drinks at Latin American Club. She was there with a friend who had clearly started drinking much earlier, though she was not drinking the Latin American Club’s infamous margaritas. And neither was I, since I didn’t even know about their infamous margaritas. The next time I go I will definitely get a margarita or two.
Ruby’s friend suggested I meet a guy with whom she’d hook me up. Ok, what’s his number? She said I could only have his number if I was “ready to settle down.” Uh, no, I am most definitely not ready to settle down, I’d like to fuck, please. She said she couldn’t let him get his heart broken like that so I’d not get his number. I told her that just because someone doesn’t want to settle down does not mean that hearts will be broken so long as everyone is honest with each other.
She was not listening. She had had quite a bit to drink. And she had gone on to how great her boyfriend was. Yes, I agreed when she showed me a photo on her phone, he was very cute. Yes, they did make a nice couple. Frankly, I didn’t give a fuck about her boyfriend, and talking about how great his cock was was getting a little old.
Then we all met Tammy. Tammy was at Latin American Club while her boyfriend was across the street at at a class at the Mission Campus of San Francisco City College. Tammy was waiting for him because he asked her to do so. At one point Tammy left, and we assumed she and the boyfriend had met up and made their way home.
However, Tammy returned. She told us that her “douche bag boyfriend,” though he had asked her to wait for him, “forgot” that she was waiting and left without her. Wow, what consideration. Tammy told us more. She had recently turned 21. She and the boyfriend had been together for three years. She had moved directly from her parents’ home in with him. She was trying to move out on her own.
Oh, Tammy. Of course I went into I’ve-been-through-it-and-trust-me-you’ll-look-back-and-realize-it-wasn’t-worth-it mode. She claimed she was trying to get free of the boyfriend and wanted to be more independent. I told her that she didn’t deserve to be disregarded by someone who claimed to love her. I said a bunch of other stuff too, and Tammy claimed to understand, but I don’t hold out much hope for Tammy.
I left soon thereafter, as I preferred to spend my time with someone I’ve no interest in calling a douche bag rather than waste my breath on a sad girl who may or may not eventually learn that she doesn’t have to be miserable.
I swear. True story.
