Random Rim Jobs
I swear. True story.Thank You, Mike
Posted on October 10, 2011Any of y’all can comment on any of the posts here on Random Rim Jobs. I appreciate the feedback, truly I do. Keep in mind that since this is my blog I get to do whatever the fuck I want with it. Most comments just sit down there being comments, but this one I had to feature. I had to make sure that none of you missed Mike’s gem. By the way, I’ve fucked so many Mikes that it’s possible that Mike and I have fucked at some point.
Mike
mike@froward.org
216.80.20.64
You informed him that Chicago wasn’t very hip or cool? What the fuck do you know about modern trends? You’re a middle aged lawyer who likes to get other people’s dick wet. Just so we’re clear, if it weren’t for the Internet and the fact that you live in Chicago you would be another senior citizen in Cali sitting at home watching Matlock. You get your kicks off on corresponding with lonely people on Craigslist only to ridicule them on your shitty little blog (btw, wordpress? at least remove the footer information so you don’t resemble every other 16 year old girl with an Internet connection) You are in no way qualified to determine what is hip or cool, you should be knitting sweaters and shit of that nature.
Mike,
I’m so glad you enjoy reading Random Rim Jobs. I appreciate your opinion, even if it is not attached to the correct post. Your comment was meant for “Let’s Not Bother (4)” but you made it on “Photo Lotto 12.” Cause I’m smart and shit I can still address your concerns.
What I meant by Chicago not being all that hip or cool was that it’s not one of those cities that tries too hard to be hip or cool; it’s no Austin or Williamsburg. What I meant was that Chicago is an old city with roots, not some young upstart. What I do know about modern trends is that Chicago is not an up-and-coming city, it is a well-established city.
Yes, it’s true, I am middle aged. Just yesterday I did the math and realized that I was probably middle aged when I was 29. I’m sure you’re curious so I’ll tell you. My mother, who is currently 64, was diagnosed with dementia when she was 58; half of 58 is 29. I won’t kill myself as soon as I’m diagnosed, but I definitely don’t want to “live” like my mother is now, unable to think coherently.
I’m a tad confused by your “writing.” When you wrote “other people’s dick wet” what the fuck did you mean? I am a cisgendered female so all the dicks I get wet belong to other people. Also, “people” is plural so you should have written “other people’s dicks” if you still wanted to write something so obviously stupid to anyone with half a brain. (Hint, that’s not you.)
Just so we’re clear? Did I ask you to clarify? Did I ask for your opinion at all? Why the fuck did you feel the need to write? Are you president of the Chicago Hipster Foundation? Oh, no, you’re the secretary and the group voted that such a message needed to be sent, right? I only want to hear from the president.
If it weren’t for the Internet and the fact that I live in Chicago are two very huge caveats. If it weren’t for the Internet I wouldn’t have had to read your poorly written comment. If I didn’t live in Chicago I’d live somewhere else.
Don’t you ever call California “Cali” you shit-for-brains asshat.
Which is it? Am I middle aged, or am I a senior citizen? Keep in mind that despite my mother’s extreme disability she isn’t even considered a senior citizen yet. I’ve never watched “Matlock” in my life and have no plans to start.
I do get some amount of satisfaction from corresponding with people, it’s true. I’m not sure why you have determined that they’re all lonely or from craigslist though; lately most of the people with whom I correspond are fellow users of OkCupid. If someone is particularly moronic I do relish in pointing that out. For example, I’m relishing writing this. I’m really happy that I have a post pretty much written thanks to you.
Yes, I use WordPress. I never pretended to be computer savvy and I even sometimes call myself a technotard. But thanks for the constructive criticism; I’ll put my tech guy right on it.
Once again, your writing is unclear and shitty. Saying I resemble every other 16-year-old girl is saying that I myself am a 16-year-old girl. Which is it? Am I middle aged, a senior citizen, or a teenager? If you’re confused: I’m 38.
How have you determined that I am in no way qualified to determine hipness or coolness? Doesn’t everyone, to a degree, get to determine what is hip and cool? If not, how does one become qualified? Is there a class? A certificate of completion? A degree? Please tell me how I can qualify. How can I meet your obviously very high standards?
I know how to knit, but nothing fancy. I may take a knitting class in the future, and will probably really appreciate it come winter in Chicago. Right now I’m taking a sewing class, which I’m pretty sure qualifies as shit of the knitting nature.
Thank you, Mike, for being a loyal reader.
Sincerely,
Shazam
I swear. True story.
Let’s Not Bother (3)
Posted on September 27, 2011[Continued from "Let's Not Bother (2)."]
More than one guy has accused me of being negative. I hold firm that I am realistic, not negative. Chances are, things won’t result in mind-blowing sex.
“Want to meet up soon? I’m positive we could have so much fun together.“
This guy, on the other hand, wasn’t realistic at all. Or he didn’t know the meaning of the word “positive.” I asked how he came to be so positive, and he responded with a question of his own, how I came to be so negative. After I told him I was realistic and I never heard from him again. Not a loss at all.
At least that guy had something nice to say. Not so much this guy:
How does someone become so bitter at your age? I can only imagine the quality men you get with that attitude. I feel dirty after reading that.
That was his opening line. To be fair, I don’t think he meant it as an opening line. Nonetheless, I had to respond. I pointed out that there was a reason we were considered only a 50% match (those OkCupid gods know statistics) and I asked why he bothered to send a message the intent of which was only to be mean. Then I told him not to respond because I didn’t give a shit what he had to say.
Nonetheless, he responded:
Then I suggest your profile should start with a warning. “I’m going to be real nice until the end where I’ll get vile.” WTH
My profile, which anyone can see on OkCupid, is clear – to people who actually read it – I don’t want to fuck or even meet anyone who lives in the burbs. I had no doubt that the guy skimmed through most of it until his eye was caught by my all caps paragraph:
JUST IN CASE YOU CAN ONLY READ THE TEXT VERSION OF YELLING: I HAVE NO FUCKING INTEREST IN ANYONE IN THE BURBS. THERE’S A REASON I LIVE IN A REAL CITY WITH PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION. I DON’T GIVE A FUCK IF EVERYONE ELSE IN THE MIDWEST, INCLUDING YOU, HAS A FUCKING CAR, IF YOU DON’T LIVE IN CHICAGO DON’T FUCKING BOTHER.
Of course this isn’t positive or nice, but that is because I felt I had to add this after getting numerous messages from suburbanites suggesting I take Metra (commuter train like Caltrain) or look past the fact that Oak Park is not, in fact, a neighborhood of Chicago. By the way, this paragraph is the third incidence in my profile – two of which were there well before I added this one – of mentioning that I am only interested in people who live in the city of Chicago.
I responded with something assholeish about people who live in the suburbs being idiots. I don’t like long commutes or suburbs based on living most of my life in small towns and/or suburbs. I so much prefer urban areas with easy access to public transportation, which is why, as an adult, I’ve chosen to live mostly in the San Francisco Bay Area or (most recently) Chicago.
Oh, and I also told the guy that even if he did live in the city of Chicago that I still wouldn’t fuck him. Which was absolutely true, as I have little interest in a 54-year-old suburbanite who thinks he’s cool.
For your fucking information I have a condo just east of Michigan Ave, and a place in the burbs. I was in Chicago before you fucking wanna be’s thought it was hip and cool.
And you’re assuming that I fuck bitches. I don’t!
Sexy – a place in the actual city of Chicago. Whoo hoo! “Just east of Michigan Ave” could be anywhere from just north of the river to all the way on the South Side. Chicago is big and flat, and all the streets are very long so without a cross street or block number (a Chicago system I’ve yet to fully understand) it’s not clear that his condo is in a decent area. Well, at least I could be comforted in knowing that since I’m such a bitch that he wouldn’t fuck me.
I responded to him ….
I swear. True story.
Let’s Not Bother (2)
Posted on September 25, 2011[Continued from "Let's Not Bother (1)."]
I again told him that while we would meet, I wasn’t making any promises beyond that. Apparently he didn’t like that:
I’m not asking you to. You’re so negative. You can’t just go with the flow, ever?
I told him that I felt it was better to be honest and that I’d met some shitty guys so I was being cautious.
You’re constant warnings take the fun out things. If you’re not attracted or don’t see this going anywhere then let me know.
At that point I had seen a photo of the guy’s torso on FetLife and had some limited online exchange with him so I had no clue if I was attracted to the guy. As far as “this” going anywhere, there was no “this” to go, which is why we had to meet in person.
I’ve had more than one experience in which things were going well online and even on the phone, but when we met in person I was not attracted to the person for any number of reasons. I wasn’t about to tell this guy that so long as we both like fucking we might as well fuck each other; instead, I chose to tell him that we’d meet and see where things went from there.
I really don’t want waste each others time. I like people who can do playful flirting without killing with warning messages.
This pissed me off probably more than it needed to, but it seemed such a guy move to tell a woman what he wanted in expectation that she’d bend over backwards to make it happen. Instead, I responded, “It’s not my job to be more like what you want.”
And you act like I haven’t met shitty people. I just choose not to let it effect the way I view others.
I’m not the shitty guys you’ve met. So stop looking for things wrong. Go with the flow and be yourself. I’m looking for confident, sexy, and sexual. A flirtatious, fun, and open-minded person. I don’t want to meet the bitter, guarded woman that got fucked over.
He wanted me to be myself but didn’t like the “self” I was being. He was faulting my personality because it wasn’t fitting into his idea of what he had decided I was. He was the one who friended me on FetLife. He was the one who DMd me on Twitter. I didn’t need to be what he wanted. I told him, “You’re the one who wants to meet me!”
That was my mistake. Nevermind. Meeting is a bad idea.
Once it was established that like so many before him he had decided how I should act/what my personality should be based on my photos, profile, online communication, I decided to have some fun with him: “Are your diapers soiled?” I also pointed out that telling me that I didn’t meet up to his standards made him the exact kind of asshole that caused me to issue warnings before meeting in person.
Not promising making out/sex is not the reason I don’t want to meet you. I don’t want to meet with you cause of your attitude.
It would be nice if you could promise a fun, enjoyable time. You don’t seem like you want to meet. You seem completely jaded and bitter.
I don’t want to go out with someone who has a negative attitude and sour disposition.
I pointed out, again, that it was he who wanted to meet me; it was he who decided what I was supposed to be and how I was supposed to act. I also pointed out that I couldn’t promise a good time, and neither could he. What he called bitter I called realistic.
Then, to be a dick, I pointed out that I wasn’t at all sour when I was giving a guy head that day. Yeah, I wanted to point out that though I am a sexual person with others I would never be so with him.
After showing this fun exchange to my friend Viola she asked how it is that I attract this short of shithead. I’m not sure, just lucky I guess.
Because there are more ….
I swear. True story.
Let’s Not Bother (1)
Posted on September 24, 2011There are guys whose profiles (on FetLife, OkCupid, even Twitter) help me decide immediately that there’s no point in meeting. Sometimes it’s their photos (because just like everyone else, I am attracted to certain things and repulsed by certain others), sometimes it’s their user names (I don’t care if the guy fancies himself a gigolo, DaytimeGigolo is not acceptable.), and sometimes it’s the profiles themselves (no one can do without air or water, you ‘tard).
Other times we get past all that. The guy doesn’t seem like a moron. He seems to find me appealing in some way. At that point I just want to set up a meeting in public to see if we’d get along.
The meeting is not for sex of any sort, and to assume as much is lame considering neither of us knows if we’ll want to get it on with the other.
The time leading up to the meeting is not for silly texts. Once a meeting is set up I usually give my number to the guy (they’ve been mostly guys) so he can text me if he’s running late, to tell me what he’s wearing/where he’s sitting, etc.
Because of my seeming rigidity I’ve had more than one person say I’m much more fun in person than would be apparent by my online persona. Most of them don’t read my Twitter stream, which I think is very fun, but that’s because I’d rather reveal myself in person.
Some people are too chickenshit to get to the point of meeting me in person. Weeding out the weak/lame/creepy is a good thing.
Did you ever ask Viking if he’d be open to letting me watch you two play?
I received that as a direct message on Twitter. It seemed to be out of the blue, but the guy assured me that we had discussed the topic previously and I had said I would ask the Viking. I wasn’t interested in a stranger watching us fuck, which was probably why I hadn’t asked the Viking when I said I would. The guy’s nagging and my honesty got to me, and I asked.
The Viking wasn’t interested in a stranger watching us fuck either. Maybe someday we’ll want some close friends to watch us fuck, but for now we’re good.
Mr. Voyeur was disappointed. I pointed out that the fact that we were strangers was odd and potentially very awkward when it came to fuck watching.
What’s so odd? You like to fuck. I like to watch. You both are open-minded sexually. So it seems like you’re the perfect couple to watch.
This was the first of Mr. Voyeur’s extreme leaps of logic. We hadn’t met; he had no clue what we looked like; he had no clue if we’d get along. While I enjoy watching people fuck as much as the next person, what I enjoy is the chemistry between myself and the couple, not just seeing people fuck. If I want to just see people fuck I watch porn.
Then Mr. Voyeur suggested we could all meet first. His timing wasn’t so good; he should have suggested that first.
I said that I was more of an exhibitionist than the Viking and Mr. Voyeur suggested that he and I fuck in front of the Viking. The guy didn’t get it. I assured him that that wasn’t the Viking’s thing, but that he and I could meet separate and apart from the Viking. I did not promise him sex of any kind.
There were some scheduling back-and-forths before we settled on a day and a potential time. When it came time to pin down the location I received this:
Meeting during the day might work best. If things go well, we can always head back to your place.
This was Mr. Voyeur’s second extreme leap of logic. While he didn’t have access to my OkCupid profile, which makes clear that the gentlemen need to host, it was still presumptuous of him to assume my home would be available. I told him as much.
Then he just got nosy; he asked if the Viking was home all the time. It didn’t fucking matter, I didn’t want a complete stranger in my home. He said he’d host.
Hosting wasn’t necessary for the first meeting since we were just meeting. He said he didn’t expect “sex” from the first meeting, but he hoped there’d be “enough chemistry for a fair amount of making out.”
Whoa, Nellie! I let him know that we’d have to meet and that I wasn’t making any promises. And then there was extreme leap of logic number three:
Unless, you’re completely hideous or boring then making out shouldn’t be too hard for people two sexual people such as ourselves.
Any two people who like sex should necessarily like sex with each other?!
It got worse ….
I swear. True story.
Warren’s “Cheating” (10)
Posted on September 23, 2011[Continued from "Warren's 'Cheating' (9)."]
They came home, stripped off their clothing, and got into bed. They snuggled tightly for a while. He had been resisting the temptation for a while, but it finally got the better of him and he had to speak.
“I don’t want you to have dirty sex with other men, but not me” he said, in an almost guilty tone.
She looked at him, but didn’t say anything. She had made up her mind about it months before, but his anguish was beginning to drain her.
“All guys want their women to do dirty things,” he said, sounding a little too pensive. “I mean, every guy’s fantasy is a woman who loves having sex … like in a porno,” he continued. She realized her silence was an excellent prompt, and waited for him to continue.
“So I don’t think it’s so much that I want to have that kind of sex with you, but I just don’t want to be missing out on seeing you do it,” he finished. He looked at her, gauging her response.
“So … you’d be okay with what I want to do, if only you could see it,” she summarized.
“I think so. I just feel totally left out. It’s one thing for you to be seeing other men and doing the same stuff we do together… but when it’s a totally different experience, I feel like you’re shutting me out.”
“Well, I don’t intend to shut you out,” she admitted. “I just never through you could handle it. I thought you’d start demanding the same kind of sex with me.”
“I won’t,” he offered. “I’ll just watch. I’m totally fascinated with it. I just want to know what you’re doing. It’ll make me feel so much better about it.”
She considered this for a while. “Okay. Alright. I think it might be okay if you watch me sometimes when I’m in one of those moods.”
He smiled broadly. “Really?”
“Yeah, I suppose,” she continued. After a pause, she made a counter-offer. “Except there’s one more thing. I want to make it a deal. You have to give something up if you want to watch me.” She smiled, satisfied with the plan.
He pursed his lips. “Give up … what?” he asked nervously.
“Cumming inside me,” she said quickly.
“What?!” he raged.
“That’s my offer. You can’t have your cake and eat it, too. I’m not completely okay with you invading my privacy, you know. And I deserve privacy. If you want to watch, you need to give me something in return.”
They sat in silence for a minute.
“Well, I can cum anywhere else, right?”
“Anywhere else,” she reassured. “But I want to leave my pussy for other men.”
“Okay. Deal,” he said quickly. He was in a bargaining mood. She had the feeling she could have restricted intercourse entirely, and he would have accepted it. She felt almost a bit ashamed for having considered that idea hot, though. Only a sense of propriety stopped her short.
He was practically jumping on the bed at this point. “Will you show me the whole tape then? Show me your favorite parts?”
“You’re never going to cum inside me again if I show you. You know that, right? I’m serious.” She tried to sound stern, but wasn’t sure if it came across. She meant it entirely, and hoped this decision wouldn’t spark weeks of fighting.
“I understand. I just need to be involved in all parts of your life,” he said, smiling sincerely.
She went into her closet, opened a few shoe storage boxes, and pulled out a number of small videotapes. She loaded the first into the camcorder, breathed a big sigh, and started the tape. She lay back down with him, remote in hand, and proceeded to show him her favorite parts.
Her favorite parts were a double-penetration with two very large men, both of whom came inside her, their cum dripping out in a torrent, a very rough deepthroating by another, and finally four men cumming in her mouth and on her chin in quick succession at the end of the tape.
He found himself searching for words. He had never seen anything so sexy on any pornographic tape, and had no idea she was even physically capable of doing the things he saw her do on the tape. He started to touch himself almost automatically, and she pushed his hand away as she continued to fast-forward from highlight to highlight.
“You’ve been doing this kind of stuff … for how long?”
“For years, honey, long before I met you. Are you okay?”
“I want you,” he said, pulling the covers aside to look at her naked body. He looked back at the screen to see two men working their enormous cocks into her pussy at the same time, and was overwhelmed. He practically pounced on her, and she was happy to receive him.
“I won’t cum in you,” he promised obediently as he entered her.
“Never again,” she reminded him.
“Never again,” he breathed wordlessly. His own orgasm took only seconds due to his delirious arousal, and he obediently pulled out and came all over her tummy.
“Lick it off if you want to see more,” she said suddenly, almost stunned with her own force.
He did so more obediently than she could have imagined any man would, and was happy to lay beside her and hold her afterward.
[That's it, kids. And since I've not spoken to Warren for years, that's all you'll get. Of course I am willing to entertain submissions from y'all: ShazamChi@yahoo.com.]
Warren’s “Cheating” (9)
Posted on September 19, 2011[Continued from "Warren's 'Cheating' (8)."]
He let her words sink in until halfway through their entrees. In the interim, they talked about the tiresome details of his workweek. Finally he said, “So why don’t you want me to see your favorite parts?”
She smiled confidently. She had anticipated this question, and already had her answer prepared in her head.
“Well, you see … I’m in love with you. I love the way we have sex. It’s romantic, it’s sweet, it’s intimate. It makes me feel close to you. It relaxes me. That’s not at all the kind of sex I had this last week. I don’t want you to see it, then think that’s the way I want to have sex with you. I want our sex life to stay the same.”
“So wait … you have dirty, nasty sex with these other guys all week, and then you don’t want me to even see it, because you think I’ll want that all the time?”
“I already know you’ll want it all the time; I’ve worked hard to keep it separate,” she said.
“But why don’t you want that same kind of sex with me?”
“I haven’t seen you in a week … and I’ve had a lot of sex over the week. I have been looking forward to having sex with you, though, like a thirsty man in a desert,” she said. “Do you see what I mean?”
He had to admit the idea made some sense to him. However, he didn’t want to admit it.
“Not really, no. Why can’t we do both?”
“I just like to keep it separate,” she said, putting down her fork.
He sat quietly for a moment. “How many times did you have sex over the week?” he asked quietly.
She smiled. She took the check and pen waiting for them on the table, and wrote a number on her lap. She put it back in the book, folded her napkin, and excused herself to the restroom.
He picked up the check immediately, turned it over, and saw the number “16” written on the back. In a good week, they had sex four or five times. Obviously sixteen was totally out of the question. There was no way in hell he could compete with that. He held the check in his hand, lost in thought, until the waiter interrupted him and asked if he was ready to pay.
[To be continued ….]
Warren’s “Cheating” (8)
Posted on September 13, 2011[Continued from "Warren's 'Cheating' (7)."]
The rest of the week went as he imagined. Each night, every ten minutes, he received another picture or short movie clip. He continued to send text messages and leave her voicemails, sometimes up to a half-dozen times a day, to let her know he was thinking about her. She did not answer the phone or respond to his text messages, but most of the emails he got contained some kind of sweet note, in addition to the very graphic evidence of her continued infidelity. He was anxious to fly home not to stop the barrage of emails (he saved every one permanently to his computer), but simply to actually have a live conversation with her.
She met him at the airport wearing her prettiest dress and an enormous smile. She ran to him, jumped into his arms, and smothered him with kisses. They held each other for several minutes, as if they hadn’t seen each other for years. When she broke their embrace, he asked if she’d accompany him to dinner, and explained that he had made reservations at her favorite restaurant. She squealed with happiness, and the two departed, arm in arm at last.
He had his hopes up that she was going to explain her entire week in excruciating detail, and began goading her as soon as they were in the car.
“So, how was your week baby?”
“Oh, it was good… I missed you. I was kind of bored. You know, just normal work stuff.”
“You couldn’t possibly have been bored, you sent me all that stuff.”
“Well, yeah, but it wasn’t all from this week.”
“Some of it had to have been,” he said, preparing his Detective voice. “We switched those two pictures on the wall about two days before I left, and at least some of the pictures showed them. In fact, I don’t think any of the pictures showed them the way they used to be.”
“Well, okay,” she smiled broadly, “I wasn’t that bored. But I definitely did miss you.”
“Fair enough,” he said triumphantly. “But will you tell me one thing?”
“Maybe,” she said, narrowing her eyes as she smiled.
“How many times … did you?”
“Oh honey, you don’t want to know things like that,” she said, stroking his arm.
“I really do, actually,” he said.
“How many do you think?” she challenged.
“I don’t know, I sometimes couldn’t tell the guys apart. It seemed like at least ten different guys were in different pictures.”
She laughed out loud. “You really scoured those pictures, didn’t you baby?”
“Well, yeah, it’s the only thing I had to do at night.”
“What, you couldn’t go find yourself some tiny little Japanese hooker and relieve yourself?”
“Do you think that’s what I wanted?”
“I don’t know, what did you want?” she asked coyly.
“What I really wanted was to see the entire video tape. You sent me four little pieces from it.”
She just smiled at him.
“So… will I get to see the entire video tape?” he asked hopefully.
She hesitated, but did not stop smiling. “I don’t know,” was all she said. She cocked her head to the side, considering.
“Oh, come on, you let me see some of the best parts of it already,” he said.
“Those weren’t necessarily the best parts, sweetie.”
“Please?” He didn’t know what else to say.
“I’ll think about it,” she said in a sort of authoritarian way.
He decided that pressuring her was not likely to elicit a positive response, so he doubled back and decided to ask more questions.
“How long is the video?” he asked, almost shaking in anticipation of her answer.
“Well… it wasn’t just one video, it was three. And each was pretty much a full tape, ninety minutes.”
He was stunned. He tried to do the math… seven days, four and half hours of video, more than 30 minutes a day on average.
“Wow,” was all he managed to say. “You mean…”
“But honey, you can’t see the tapes,” she said, suddenly seeming to have made up her mind.
“Why not?” he said, aware that it sounded like he was about to whine.
She sighed slightly. “I just prefer to keep them to myself.”
After a few minutes of pained silence, she continued. “The tapes show me doing things I’ve never done with you, and I don’t want you to get any ideas.” She knew this was a bombshell, and she was going to enjoy the aftermath. They were just pulling into the restaurant parking lot, and he was going to have to wait a while to get anything more out of her.
His jaw dropped. “You mean … the clips you sent me were … the tame parts?” He thought back to the video clips, which all had shown her having very savage sex with different men. One had shown her accepting an enormous load of cum in her mouth.
“Well, they certainly weren’t my favorite parts,” she said, opening her car door.
[To be continued ….]
