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I swear. True story.Yes, Those Are Bruises
Posted on February 07, 2010
I bruise easily. Rather, I don’t think my bruising capability is that much more than the average person, but I do think that I am pale and therefore show the bruises I do get easily.
I like getting bruised. That means I’ve withstood something. Hopefully something to which I’ve consented and desired. All of the bruises visible in the photo here are of that variety. I keep getting more, and I like ‘em for the most part.
I do, however, have a bruise on my forehead the origin of which I do not know. While I don’t think I didn’t consent to the bump and bruise I have on my forehead, I don’t remember where or how I got it either. Thankfully I don’t need to use my forehead for a lot of activities so it’ll fade into oblivion.
Yes, those are bruises on my chest. I have a lot more, too.
I swear. True story.
Slave Auditions, Part 3
Posted on February 06, 2010[Continued from "Slave Auditions, Part 2."]
The next potential slave to arrive was young and sweet. And had an incredible head of hair. He was very young – just 19 years old. Sugar claimed she liked older men almost exclusively but she was definitely taken by his apparent innocence.
And it may have been only apparent. He told us he had been to Power Exchange several times. Wow, and at such a tender age. I suppose people are figuring out much younger what they’re into and how to make it happen. Back when I was 17 I knew I was interested in being tied up and spanked but other than the Society of Janus, which I could not join since I was not yet of age, I had no way of connecting with similarly inclined people. By the time I was 18 I lost interest in the idea of socializing with the intent to find someone to spank me, and I’m still not too keen on the whole munch thing.
We dubbed our young potential slave Nineteen. Our nicknames certainly didn’t have to be creative or original, only easy for us to remember. Nineteen cleaned pretty well and and followed directions well. By this time Sugar and I had had plenty of mimosas and wine and were certainly embracing the spirit of the day.
We had Nineteen show us his penis. He was uncircumcised, just the way I like ‘em. But we didn’t do anything with his dick other than look at it.
Soon thereafter Glasses arrived. We dubbed him Glasses because he wore very thick ones. He was very quiet and mousy and out of everyone the best cleaner. He also took very well to direction. Sugar and I were well into mistress mode when he arrived. We had no problem telling him what to do and we had him clean sans pants.
When Glasses was here my neighbor Ruby stopped by to help us assess. It was a raucous good time. Ruby didn’t stay long, and we soon dismissed Glasses.
Then Sugar, the Viking, and I went upstairs where the Viking was nice enough to tie up Sugar’s lovely breasts. She looked quite nice. The three of us were having a very nice naked time complete with hemp rope when the phone rang.
Ooops! We forgot we had more potential slaves scheduled. I threw on my clothes and answered the door while Sugar and the Viking got dressed themselves.
I opened the front door to a vision of loveliness. Her makeup was perfect. She wore a bustier with shorty shorts and fishnets. She carried a large purse. She was demure, as is appropriate for a lady come to clean.
She started cleaning right away. She was adorable. She had a foreign accent and told us she was from Austria. She was so sweet and cute. Sugar dubbed her Cutey. We loved Cutey immediately. She was very obedient. She was fun!
I called Ruby and told her to come back, that she would absolutely love our latest potential slave. Ruby is a drag queen at heart – she barely needs an excuse to get dressed up, and she makes it a point to go to costumed events – she is very theatrical. I knew she would love Cutey. In addition, Ruby speaks German, and I thought it’d be fun to listen to Ruby and Cutey talk to each other in Cutey’s native tongue.
The whole time Cutey was cleaning she was also like our girlfriend; it’d be a blast to go to dance clubs with her. She knew how to put herself together. She had a great ass. She was most definitely a girl.
Only of course she was not a biological girl, so when the Viking – who identifies as a straight man – whispered to Ruby that he was conflicted Ruby couldn’t help but chuckle. Ahh, San Francisco, how we love you for making us question our ideas of gender and sex and sexuality.
Cutey stayed longer than her allotted half hour because the next potential slave flaked. We were glad since we were having so much fun with her. We let her have some wine with us and had her sit down and chit-chat; the service portion of the interview was over. She pulled out her purse, in which she brought some things that she thought might be of use for the tryout. She had rope – fun! – and she had various anal toys – also fun – and she had a CB-3000.
I would not have known what a CB-3000 was if I hadn’t seen a video of Eve Minax (whom I’ve had the pleasure of meeting and …) on Carnal Nation discussing male chastity devices. [The video seems to have disappeared from Carnal Nation, but if you can find it, please let me know the link – shazamsf@sbcglobal.net.] They are fascinating.
Cutey showed us how the CB-3000 worked, but not on her penis. She wasn’t yet comfortable showing that side of herself. However, by the time I walked her to the door she certainly didn’t seem to mind when I copped a feel. We made out a bit and I rubbed up against her cock, which was not very girlie.
Out of fourteen scheduled potential slaves only five showed up. That means I won the bet I had with the Viking. The wager? I got to gloat. We hadn’t bet anything of substance because we both knew there were few things I would want that he wouldn’t already have done for me if I asked. But I won. Ha!
I swear. True story.
[True story that is not yet done. The next week we continued our slave auditions.]
I Love San Francisco City Clinic
Posted on February 05, 2010
Every time I go to San Francisco City Clinic I pick up a fun variety of condoms. I like the sexy possibility of having this many condoms.
The clinician didn’t want to test me, which I find hilarious. The clinic bases its testing on statistics that indicate a woman of my age is not high risk for contracting sexually transmissible infections. I asked that they treat me like a young bisexual man. The clinician said she couldn’t do that. Ok, but I certainly have more sex than the average 36-year-old woman who contributes to the stats. I’m at the far left of the bell curve, dammit.
What allowed the clinician to test me was that I said that I have sex with men who may be bisexual. What did not do it was telling her that I have had oral, vaginal, and anal sex sans condoms. I find that rather odd. Apparently bisexual men are still the bad guys of fucking. But not bisexual women.
I didn’t bother asking – because I don’t think she would have done it – for my ass and throat to be cultured as well. Besides, if I’ve got anything it’s in my pussy or in my blood, and those were covered.
When I was getting my blood taken there was this very young, very scared guy getting his blood taken. From the sounds of it – and I did try not to listen but the quarters were very close – he felt like he was going to die, had been exposed to HIV, and could not possibly wait the required two weeks for the other blood test results (syphilis and herpes). He made me sad so I got out of there as quickly as possible. I didn’t want to get a good look at his face to really assess his age, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he was under 18.
I’m glad the clinic is there to serve patients like him, who really need their services, and people like me, even if they claim I don’t need their services at all.
I swear. True story.
April 28, 1991, 4:59pm: A Diary Entry
Posted on February 04, 2010so it looked like (forgive me please) he was fucking that guitar like there was no tomorrow. I was very turned on and not because I was stoned ’cause I wasn’t.
I have cookies in the oven – they’re for Laura so she’ll bring me toilet paper.
After they played, Beth went right up to Maury to hug him so I went right to Henry – but I didn’t hug him. I asked if he wanted his jacket back but he didn’t. I asked if he had fun and he said he was kind of bored and did he look it. I told him I liked the way he looked. I figure I’ll tell him how sexy he is later in our relationship. I don’t want to totally freak him out. Or maybe I should be direct – he did say he liked that. Well, we’ll see what happens. While the next band was playing we all had to wait around cause they were using our guys’ equipment (not their personal equipment though). We sat around the tail of Henry’s truck and got stoned and talked. Bill was still hyped after singing so he was loud and funny and of course I laughed loud and gross. I don’t like it when I’m loud, that’s why I cover my mouth and try to stifle my laugh. I also don’t look too hot when I laugh cause I smile too big or my mouth opens. Henry was saying how cold he was but he still didn’t want his jacket back. So finally he asked if I wanted to “sit in the truck and listen to music.” Hell yes. We were in there talking and stuff. People kept coming up to the window to talk to him so we didn’t really get to the point where I scooted a little bit closer and kissed him. But oh well. Then, when everyone was ready to go, Beth tried to say she couldn’t give me a ride home so Henry would’ve had to. But I didn’t want to impose and he didn’t offer and he was burned out. So we went home. Not even a good bye kiss or anything. Oh well, next time for sure. And I believe he was thinking about kissing me ’cause he asked me if my mouth “tasted like shit” (from the pot) and in the truck he kept saying how dry his mouth was. We each had a Lifesaver which did help the ol’ cottonmouth problem but that’s when he started having everyone ask him lame questions. Then when he finally had to go help load the stuff back into his truck he kept looking at me as he was getting out and with a cute look on his face. Oh and he kept bending over – first time in his back room right in the front of me – to expose his cute little butt. He had on faded jeans with holes in them (not, as I had at first suspected, strategically placed by him) with black spandex tight-type things underneath and a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. And the only reason he had his shirt unbuttoned enough for me to see his chest was ’cause he was hot from the coke. Or did I already put that? I wish my memory wasn’t so bad. Too much pot’ll do it to ya. This all started when I said he bent over – he had a cute LITTLE butt and nice skinny legs. But not skinny bad ’cause they are very cute in shorts, skinny good – they look good n pants and all the time. While he was playing I started thinking about running my hands up and down his legs and sliping my hand into one of the holes that was on the back of his upper-right thigh.
I like the smell of wet cement. Then we were driving home, I was really stoned and I was thinking about being in Henry’s truck with him and giving him head while he’s driving. Only thing is, I was thinking about it in extreme detail. Wow, I’m amazed even at myself.
For a while I didn’t like, or didn’t think I liked guys but I like Henry and he’s a guy so I must like guys. The thought of him driving that big truck and being all powerful really turns me on. I like masculinity. But I still like girls cause I look and want to touch them. Maybe it’s just the person I like male or female.
I think I’m gonna steal a big flood light from work to put in my brown lamp on the floor so it will be realy bright in here.
I mean whomever I happen to like, be it male or female, I find things attractive, sexy and appealing about them. I was saying this to Laura and she said, “Suzanne, you’re bisexual.” Just like that, matter-of-factly, and everything. Why can’t I just be normal though? Oh well, it’ll never happen. D.J. told me when I was 14, I think, that I would always live an alternate lifestyle, be it with a male or female or by myself.
My hair falls out a lot – there’s hair all over my damn house – room.
Now that I have the time and energy (sort of) to make stuffed shells, I should. But I don’t feel like it.
Wonder who’s gonna get impatient first? He wanted to kiss me last night but didn’t. I want him to kiss me. I don’t want to make the first moves. For some reason, with boys, I always have to be the first. Does something about me scare on intimidate them? So I act nervous, that’s normal, isn’t it? One time when I was sitting on the hood of Beth’s car and he was leaning up against the side right next to me, he turned his head and I noticed out of the corner of my eye so I turned and asked, “What?!” like I always do. He was all, “I didn’t say anything.” Maybe he was going to kiss me – maybe not. Who knows but he and he’ll never tell.
Slave Auditions, Part 2
Posted on February 03, 2010[Continued from "Slave Auditions, Part 1."]
The next potential slave showed up with a bouquet of mixed flowers, also obviously from a grocery store, and a bottle of wine. I like wine. Good boy.
Potential slave number two we dubbed Too Tan because, well, he was. He went to work washing dishes and pointed out some of Baseball Bat’s sloppiness. I thanked him, though maybe I should have given him some shit for being a tattle tale.
He asked for some of the wine he brought. I denied him. After all, even when the person bringing the wine is not a potential house slave the gift is a hostess gift and should not be expected by the guest. That he asked as he was trying out to be a slave made it an even ruder request.
I had him take out the trash, recycling, and compost. He took a little longer than he should have, but during his absence Sugar suggested we have some wine for him as a reward. She really is a much nicer mistress than am I. Also, I don’t think she had gotten into the spirit of our exercise.
But then after Too Tan left Sugar said she wasn’t into him as a slave. She had no interest in seeing his dick, and didn’t really care enough to bother to try to humiliate him, since ostensibly that is exactly what he wanted.
The Viking pointed out that we were two for three, and that at that rate he’d surely win the bet. I agreed that if the potential slaves continued to show up that rate he would definitely win the bet, but I wasn’t calling it before the end of the day.
Which was good, because the next five potential slaves flaked. During the time when they were supposed to be here my friend Mr. Zip arrived. We had told a few people to stop by so they could help us humiliate the potential slaves. We figured the less intimate it was, and the more shit we talked about the peons who were cleaning, the better.
As I didn’t know what time Mr. Zip would arrive, when the phone rang I used the same stern tone I had with the service supplicants and told him not to take the elevator. He made it clear that he would not be told what to do. Oh, sorry!
Mr. Zip and Sugar met for the first time. He and I have had a few threesomes together, and I could tell right away that the possibility of another one occurred to him as soon as he met Sugar. Sugar is a hottie, and she and I have some very fun and sexy chemistry – who wouldn’t want to join in?
Mr. Zip focused on Sugar and even went so far as to ask if she liked chocolate. While that doesn’t seem all that crazy, I knew exactly what it meant. Mr. Zip goes to the Winter Fancy Food Show every year. This year I went with him. Hundreds of food manufacturers – including many chocolatiers – give out samples. Mr. Zip doles out his chocolate samples to the various ladies in his life, and is especially generous to those he’s not yet bedded.
I pointed out my own stash of chocolates from the Fancy Food Show and told Mr. Zip that Sugar could have as much as she wanted from me, that his little samples weren’t likely to impress her. I have no problem if Sugar and Mr. Zip fuck – whether with me or not – but I felt I had to call him on his silly shit.
None of the potential slaves showed up when Mr. Zip was present. To each of those who flaked, I sent an email with lovely face photos of Sugar and I attached to show that we’re both reasonably decent looking (she much more than I) and wrote that they missed out. I did not hear back from any of them.
We thought maybe no one else would show up when the phone again rang.
I swear. True story.
[To be continued, of course. Stay tuned for the results of the bet between the Viking and myself. Find out if we saw any more cock, girthy or otherwise.]
April 28, 1991, 2:51pm: A Diary Entry
Posted on February 02, 2010I’m sunbathing – hanging my legs out the front door. I don’t think there is a time when my neighbors aren’t noisy. Oh well. They got up early (I do mean early – before 10am) today and made lots of noise. It feels very nice to sit in the sun thought I should have sunscreen on my face.
Last night – the “Band” played at a party out in the middle of nowhere – it looked like a cross between Yosemite and Palo Cedro. The band before them played a long time so for a while we were all just standing around. Getting stoned whatever. But Henry would always stand by me – quite close I might add. We had to stand around a lot. We were “backstage” (behind a couple of tarps strung up)
I think I have skin cancer on my leg and I just found another spot not as big on my hip.
and Henry was standing close to me. He had told me earlier in the evening that he was tired cause he smoked too much pot and also did some coke. He showed me he was shaking and had me FEEL HIS HEART. At first I put my hand tentatively then he held it closer and tighter with his hand. Lordy. He has pecks and everything. And he has hair on his chest. But it’s not gross, it looks kind of nice – ok. He has a cute little cleft-type thing in his lower lip.
I have to go to the bathroom but I’m out of toilet paper. Maybe I should go buy some.
Anyway. When they went on, Beth, Carla, and myself sat in what would’ve been the wings. And right before he had to play, Henry asked me if I wanted to hold his jacket. How chivilrous (shit, I can’t spell). He looks so sexy when he plays. His face gets this look like he really doesn’t care but his hands are touching that instrument like it’s a woman. (Or at least how I’d hope he’d touch a woman.) He leans forward at the hips and the strobe light was on so he looked like he was moving a lot ore than he actually was
Slave Auditions, Part 1
Posted on February 01, 2010[Continued from "Ask for a Slave, Get a …."]
Saturday came. The Viking agreed to make brunch for Sugar and I. He ate too; after all he’s not a slave. He also agreed not to clean up a damn thing, as that was the duty of the slaves. Along with brunch dishes there were also dishes left over from my involved butternut squash lasagna-making the day before; the kitchen was a mess.
I had already decided that the potential slaves would not have the benefit of the dishwasher. After all, they were to be the dishwashers.
Brunch was delicious. Sugar said she was nervous about the interviews. The mimosas (with fresh-squeezed satsuma mandarin juice) helped allay Sugar’s nervousness.
The Viking and I had a little side bet going. Having extensive Craig’s List experience I know the flake factor is very high so the Viking was a bit of a fool for betting that at least seven of the fourteen potential slaves would show. I bet there would be fewer than seven, and I guessed there would be many fewer.
Actually, I guessed that the day would be spent having brunch, drinking mimosas, and hanging out with Sugar and the Viking. Then the three of us would end up doing our own damn dishes. As I had told the potential slaves to be on time, when 1:30pm came and went I already started gloating to the Viking, telling him that I’d win our bet for sure.
At precisely 2:00pm the phone rang, signaling someone at the front door to the building. I said exactly what I want to say to every first-time visitor to the building, “It’s on the second floor, take the stairs, do not take the elevator.” Really, people need to take the elevator to the second floor? That’s just damn lazy.
A middle-aged man with a bouquet of pink and white, cellophane-wrapped, grocery store carnations was at the door. I put him to work while I trimmed the flowers and placed them in a vase. He started washing dishes.
We did not ask his name; we didn’t care. Sugar and I had already decided they’d get nicknames or numbers, or both, based on our impressions. This guy, because of things I knew about him previously, we’ll call Baseball Bat. He was fast, and we found out later that he worked quickly – and sloppily. The dishes he did weren’t all that clean.
While he cleaned I looked at my OkCupid messages and Sugar and I talked about various things, including ass fucking and fisting. The Viking went about his business.
Sugar was still a bit nervous. She asked a few times, all under her breath, if she could see Baseball Bat’s dick. He kept not pulling it out, but it was completely understandable that he didn’t know what she really wanted. Finally, with some encouragement to her to make it clear what she wanted, he brandished his cock. Sweet Sugar said, “Hmm, girthy.”
So fucking cute. And completely unnecessary. He put it away and I told him to leave. I had each of the potential slaves scheduled for no longer than a half hour, and while I didn’t mind if they saw each other in the hall, I really didn’t want to bother to introduce them. I thanked him for his service and showed him to the door.
I teased Sugar for saying what she did when she saw the guy’s dick. She was so fucking cute; she said she felt that since he was nice enough to show us his cock that she should say something nice about it. Uh, slaves don’t need something nice said about them, silly girl; they want to be humiliated. She didn’t know that Baseball Bat literally wanted a baseball bat shoved up his ass, which, wrong or right, probably didn’t go along with the need to be told he had a thick dick.
The Viking thought there was a possibility that he’d win the bet at that point considering we were one for two. We still hadn’t discussed what were the terms of said bet ….
[More to come. Not even close to done, folks.]
I swear. True story.
