Random Rim Jobs
I swear. True story.Alexa Di Carlo (Part 2)
Posted on October 24, 2010[Continued from "Alexa Di Carlo (Part 1)."]
My friend and Alexa communicated quite a bit. Eventually, Alexa referred a client to my friend. According to Alexa, the client, Matt, liked being a girl’s first professional fuck. Alexa, having been a pro for some time, claimed she still saw this client occasionally, because she was such a great fuck, and he was such a great client, but he had a special place in his heart for new pros.
He didn’t live in the Bay Area, but was often here on business according to Alexa. Just before she was to meet the client, my friend received the following email from Alexa:
Subject: Matt
Hey, there, gorgeous. ;-)I thought I’d pass along some info on Matt, the client I’ve referred to you. I usually provide this kind of info to other girls I refer clients to, and since you’re playing whore, I thought I’d afford you the same courtesy.Anyway, let’s see. He’s white, in his mid 40s, about 5’10″ maybe. Short brown hair with a mustache. He’s in good shape, but not athletic. He’s about 6 inches long – average sized cock. *Really* nice ass and legs (though he says he doesn’t run, he has runner’s legs). He used to be a leg model for some sportswear company and still has the legs to do that as far as I’m concerned. He’s got a unique tan line, which you’ll see. lol He doesn’t drink to any serious degree and doesn’t smoke.
He typically pops (cums) two or three times during a session depending on what kind of mood he’s in. Sometimes he won’t cum at all, but that doesn’t bother him. Seriously. In fact, it’s not uncommon at all for him to not pop during the first session with a new girl, so be prepared for that and don’t take it personally. He really enjoys the play for itself and isn’t upset at all if he doesn’t cum.
He’s an excellent kisser – one of my better clients in that area. He also really knows how to eat ass – probably my best client for that. He does okay going down on me. He loves grabbing your hair and fucking your face, and with his cock only being 6 inches long, it’s not hard to let him have at it. He’s the kind if you give him permission to treat you like a porn whore, he’ll do it – including the dirty talk.
He’ll test your limits if you want him to – slapping you, spitting on you, spanking you. He can really dirty with you, too. He’s into water sports, for example. So you’ll be the one setting the limits – don’t do anything you don’t want to do (or don’t want to try to do). And let him know – he’ll absolutely respect your boundaries without an issue. He’ll also ask you if you have a safe word, so if you don’t, think of one (I use “yellow” as a warning, and “red” as a full stop). During the sex if he’s hurting oyu or doing something you don’t like, just use the safe word and he’ll stop instantly. He’s very good about that.
When you’re not being sexual, he treats you very nicely – very kind and considerate. He’ll enjoy talking to you about just almost anything. He’s very laid back and has a really neat sense of humor – really just a perfect client in my book. I don’t think I could provide you with a better guy for your first professional lay. :p
If you want to know anything else about him, let me know. I think that covers the basics. I can’t wait to hear what you think of it – not him specifically but actually being paid to fuck. ;-)
~Alexa
I swear. True story.
[To be continued.]
Precome
Posted on October 14, 2010
Precome is sexy as fuck. I like tasting it. I like using it as lube. It’s fun.
I like the idea that a guy is so turned on that his cock can’t help but anticipate coming. With me.
I’ve been with guys whose cocks have dripped uncontrollably, which I find very sexy. The Ex’s cock I called Wa-Leaky, which, if y’all knew his first name, would make sense. Yes, I do name the cocks with which I am intimate.
That’s intimate, not just fucking. There’s more to intimacy than fucking, though I probably said to a few guys I fucked that I liked their precome. That’s one of those things that happens when fucking, the talking about what one likes. I do a lot of talking. That’s one of my things. Which is not to say I do it because I think I’m supposed to or because I think that’s what people like. I talk because I have to talk.
I talk during fucking. I talk during prefucking. I talk. Isn’t that pretty fucking obvious? I talk, and a lot.
That bit of precome just makes me want to do a quick tongue flick and then a serious suck. A hard cock should be sucked, right? A hard cock should push past my palate and go down my throat, right?
I swear. True story.
Dirty Thieves: A Fantasy
Posted on September 24, 2009My favorite, and closest, dive bar is about two blocks away. It’s often where I meet guys in person for the first time. As I meet a lot of guys in person for the first time, I’ve been there quite a bit.
I’ve noticed a regular who makes me want to lick him all over. He’s so hot I can even get past that big, mountain-man-style full beard. Because of that beard I’m not really sure what’s going on with his mouth, and I am most definitely a mouth person. I notice someone’s lips and teeth well before their eyes even register for me, usually.
But with this guy I’ve noticed he has nice light eyes. I say light because I suspect his eyes are blue, but don’t want to make the assumption that many make with me. My eyes are green, but people assume they are blue. Since I’m not an eye person, I don’t really care that much, but others seem to think eyes are so fucking important.
He has short hair on his head. He has a lot of tattoos. Every time I’ve noticed him he’s been wearing jeans and a tight t-shirt. Which is how I know he’s got a nice thin, hard body. That I want to lick.
He smokes so I get to watch him walk between his seat at the bar and the front door. When I’m feeling particularly dirty I like to kiss someone with cigarette breath, though because of that beard I may opt to not kiss him at all (in my fantasy, that is).
I want to follow him into the bathroom vestibule and wait for him. Then, when he comes out of the men’s room he’ll see me and know. Know that I’m there for him. Without saying a word he’ll go into the women’s room. I’ll follow him in and lock the door.
He’ll stand and pull out his cock. It will be nice and thick and strong and hard. His pubic hair will be trim like the hair on his head, not bushy like the hair on his face. There will be precome coming out of his urethra. A lot of it.
I will bend down at the waist to catch the precome before it’s wasted on the dirty bathroom floor. Yum. He frees his whole cock from his pants and pulls them down to rest on his hips. He pulls up his t-shirt a bit. I see a nice hard, flat stomach complete with sinewy muscles and jutting hip bones.
I drop to my knees with a smile on my face. I close my eyes and open my mouth. He smells good and his cock fits nicely into my mouth. I slide my mouth up and down his cock. My mouth gets wet the more his cock shoves into and out of it.
I’ll try to deepthroat his cock, but chances are I’ll not be able to because of the logistics in the small bathroom. I do my best deepthroating when I can hang my head off a bed, or in the 69 position to the side (i.e., kneeling next to the guy’s torso without actually getting my pussy attended to; 69 distracts me too much).
But I will suck and lick and drool with his hand on the top of my head, guiding me. I will feel his cock throb and know he’s going to shoot his load in my mouth. It will be bitter because he drinks and smokes, and I will like it and swallow it all.
He’ll put his pretty cock away, button up, and leave the bathroom. I’ll go back out to the bar where a fresh vodka soda is waiting for me. We will continue ignore each other.
I swear. True (fantasy) story.
Really?!
Posted on September 24, 2009
A few weeks ago I placed an ad on Craig’s List. The content of the ad is irrelevant for our purposes. One guy I met at Precita Park we’ll call Allen. I knew the moment I saw him that I did not want to fuck him. He looked like a young Eugene Levy complete with Brillo Pad hair and eyebrows in dire need of a proper grooming.
And his teeth. His teeth looked, uh, British, in an Austin Powers way. I really was surprised that a person around my age who clearly could afford orthodontia (he told me he was gainfully employed and had time, and presumably money, for various hobbies) would let himself walk around with mismatched gravestones for teeth.
He looked like Eugene Levy but wasn’t nearly as funny or interesting. His voice had that typical stoner tone to it. I was trying to be polite so we chatted for a while while Isis frolicked in the park.
Then Allen told me that while I was cool I was most definitely not his type. He said he should have asked for a full-body picture before meeting. I am a typical fat girl with a bit of a chip on my shoulder. I said I understood if he wasn’t attracted to me because I’m not thin. And I did understand it, but I was still hurt. Which is the silliest thing ever since I already knew I found this guy’s looks and personality unappealing.
I was both relieved and hurt. Relieved because while I didn’t find Allen attractive in any way, I have, in the past, fucked people I didn’t find attractive because I didn’t know how to tell them I didn’t want to. Lame. Hurt because dammit, everyone should want to fuck me. We went our separate ways.
The same Craig’s List ad allowed me to meet the Vegan, whom I knew immediately I did want to fuck. Nice teeth, great smile, pretty curly eyelashes. We had great sex. The Vegan is a biter and left me delightfully covered in bruises after our first session together.
I told Allen and the Vegan’s story at Bawdy Storytelling on September 16, 2009. At least I think I told the story. I was so fucking nervous that I don’t remember what I said. Afterwords people were nice enough to tell me I did a good job, but I suspect they could see what a wreck I was and were just being nice.
Then, on September 22, 2009, I received an email:
Hi,
Not sure if this is a complete blast from the not too distant past but I have been reading your blog and must admit I enjoy it quite a bit. I also realize how much you love sucking cock and wonder how amazingly well you are at that skill you have perfected.Using my cock would you be interested in showing me sometime how good of a cocksucker you are?Hope all is well.-[Allen]
I didn’t at first know who the fuck had sent the email, but a quick email search revealed that it was the guy from the park with the teeth. I responded that I do, in fact, give glorious blow jobs. I definitely had no interest in sucking that guy’s cock and thought it a tad strange that he wanted me to do so. I did, though, want him to regret that he didn’t find me attractive.
Later in the evening I received a text message from a number that I didn’t recognize:
Sarah, this is [Allen] I replied to yur email but wanted to expedite the process with a text. Do you want to come to my place this evening and wrap your lips around my nice Jewish cock?
To which I responded that my name is not Sarah, because, well, it’s not. Though he told me his name, I did not make the connection between the email I had received earlier in the day and the text to which I had just responded. I wasn’t all that offended that he had gotten my name wrong because names are not that important to me anyway, which is why I didn’t notice that the email and the text had the same name. I’d also been corresponding via text only with a guy, also named Allen. (Well, not really, but with the same real name as “Allen.”)
[Any grammar or punctuation errors in any quotes from "Allen" are not typos on my part, but have been transcribed exactly as received.]
Then I got another text:
I have no idea why I just called you Sarah! I’m looking at the letter “s” in shazam (part of yur email address.) Weird
And another a minute later:
I’m actually sitting here taking some bong ripsbeing very lazy. I apologize about the completely retarded screw up
An additional email came through:
Plans tomorrow afternoon?Better yet want to come over my place tonight; hang out, smoke some weed and swallow a load or two of my nice Jewish sperm?-[Allen]
I did not respond to that email. I was beginning to figure out that the texts were from the same person as the emails. The same person with whom I had no interest in hanging out. And what was his fucking obsession with “nice Jewish” things?
A text arrived in my phone’s in box:
Are you interested in having the back of your lovely throat put to some use this evening?
Also during this time I was having me a few drinks. I get very horny when I drink and I do like to suck cock. So I made the mistake of responding to his text that we’d have to meet in public and he’d have to foot my drink and cab bill. Obviously, the vodka was doing it’s job a little too well because I had forgotten that we had already met in public. He kept wanting me to just go to his place. I guess he was really stoned and lazy and horny.
Allen called me. And in my inebriated state I got right to negotiating a location for us to meet. Then it really dawned on me. I had met this guy. He didn’t find me attractive. Asshole.
He wanted me to suck his cock even though he wasn’t attracted to me?! What the fuck?! So I told him that he must be quite stupid if he thought I’d want to give him head. I hung up.
My phone vibrated with another text:
Sorry I didn’t mean to offend you when I first said that and I’m feel bad that it got brought up again. I thought you were nice and fun to talk and into smoking weed and just kicking it so i figured even with me saying that to you at you would be into sucking my cock cause I know you also like it a lot etc…
By this time I was worked up into a lather. I think I called him back to tell him all the reasons why he was a fucking stupid, ugly, asshole. I brought up that he didn’t even know my name (as if I cared) and that he didn’t find me physically attractive, neither of which translates into me wanting to be generous with my mouth. I told him he should perhaps try some 22-year-old girls with low self-esteem because I am too fucking old to give a guy head in hopes that he’ll like me.
I told him that while he may not have found me attractive, I certainly did not find him to be much a prize. I think he didn’t believe me, and it did sound like something a hurt little kid would say: “Oh, you don’t like me? Well, I didn’t like you first.” To make my point I mentioned Eugene Levy and British teeth. He claimed not to know what British teeth were, so I said something about gravestones and suggested he find an orthodontist.
The whole time he just didn’t fucking get it. I honestly believe he truly and really couldn’t comprehend why if I like giving blow jobs I wouldn’t like to give one to him. He said it made sense to him that he’d want a blow job from me but wouldn’t want to fuck me. He didn’t understand that I don’t want to suck the cock of a guy who doesn’t think I’m good enough to fuck. I called him stupid a few more times and hung up on him again.
He called me back! When I’m that pissed (angry) and pissed (drunk) it is nearly impossible for anyone else to talk. I interrupt more than usual. I talk louder than usual. I make some pretty fucking cogent arguments. He wanted to apologize for getting my name wrong, and to again explain that he didn’t see the problem with hanging out (with his cock down my throat) since he thought I was cool. I suppose I was to be flattered in some way, but I was not. I think I hung up on him again.
But of course I got another text:
Well, I’m glad we didnt meet somewhere or you didn’t just show up at my place that would have been really awkward:)
To which I responded that I agreed and that he needed to lose my number.
But of course he had to get in the last word:
Done. And you can say whatever you want about this experience but please do not use my name or image in your blog. Thank you
No, thank you.
I swear. True story.
Sexy?
Posted on August 13, 2009The answer to the title’s question is probably not. Hormones. Girly stuff.
I had been skipping my periods with manipulation of my birth control pills. It wasn’t until I finally had a period after three months that I noticed stupid things like my emotions. I swear the fact that I was having a period or that there were hormonal fluctuations had gone by unnoticed for years.
Then I found myself crying, or wanting to cry, for no reason. Or irrationally thinking everyone hated me. (Actually, I think I realistically know that a lot of people don’t like me.) Maybe I didn’t notice because my life had been going pretty well, so my lows weren’t all that low.
Maybe I’ve begun to notice because I have so much fucking time to just think. No one should spend this much time in her own head.
I do think I’m a little nicer to guys I’m fucking now that I know, sort of, that what’s going on in my mind/body isn’t them. Hell, it’s not even me. It’s THE HORMONES.
So now I warn the guys, if I can, that if I cry when I come that it’s not a big deal and that they don’t have to freak out, run away, or turn overly sympathetic. That it just is, and while they feel helpless I feel supremely embarrassed because I truly cannot help myself.
And then I get HORNY. I want to be fucked constantly. ALL the fucking time. In my pussy, up my ass, down my throat.
I need cock to shove its way down my throat. I need my hair pulled–hard, I need my neck bitten–hard, I need to have my breath controlled, I need to bury my face in balls and lick and taste and smell. I need to lick a nice metallic asshole, bury my face between a nice pair of ass cheeks. And of course I want. I want.
I swear. True story.
Pharyngitis
Posted on July 31, 2009
I woke up on Thursday with a sore throat and a headache. The pain lasted through the day despite my concerted effort to take it easy so I would feel better in time for my date that night. I took some ibuprofen and really did feel better. However, by the time the ibuprofen was doing me any good I had already postponed my date to next week. I want to be at my best when I see this particular person.
I have a big weekend ahead of me too, so I need all my strength. Saturday I’m meeting a new guy. And Sunday I’m meeting a sort of new guy. Sort of because we met on the street a couple of weeks back, and I gave him my number, but I have no clue what he looks like. I do know that I’ve appended his name in my cell phone with “fat, desperate” so I don’t hold out much hope.
The last time I had a sore throat it was caused by too many deepthroat cocksucking sessions. Or gonorrhea. I’m still not sure which. It doesn’t matter. But I do miss the guy and the cock that abused my throat so wonderfully. He would stand next to my bed, off of which I’d hang my head, and fuck my throat. His cock had the perfect curve to get down my throat just right. He would hold his cock deep in my throat so his balls blocked my nose, but I couldn’t breathe anyway since his cock prevented any air from getting in.
Then I’d feel light-headed. My feet kicked at my covers and my arms flailed about until I pushed back on him and he pulled his cock out of my throat and then out of my mouth. I gasped for breath. My eyes watered, my nose ran. And almost immediately I wanted to feel his cock push past the back of my mouth and fill up my throat again. We did this a lot.
So I got a really bad sore throat. Bad that can be felt in my ears when I swallow. I have this again now, but I’ve not had a proper throat fucking in quite some time. Most guys I’ve been with are worried they’re too rough or don’t know how to get their cocks down my throat properly. And admittedly I compare them all to that one guy who fucked my throat so well.
I swear. True story.
9/18: A Diary Entry
Posted on May 27, 2009Made a complete fool of myself with 26yo last night. The sex is so fucking good that I get loopy and gooshy. Last night I said something along the lines of, “We clearly have a special connection and it needs to be acknowledged.” To which I got crickets. And then he made it clear that no such special connection exists. Ouch.
Even if there is no “special connection” there’s more than he acknowledges.
We were on the couch making out and he told me our photo shoot was his first threesome (which I guess I had known but didn’t fully realize) and then went on to thank me further, I think because I’m willing to do such things with him. But then he got quiet in a way that appeared to be thinking about something he’s not saying. I could certainly be reading too much into it, but there was something.
Then we went upstairs. Of course I wanted to suck his cock. I rubbed my pussy on on his leg and my tits on his cock. It was quite hot.
26yo’s very generous in bed and loves playing with my pussy–until he comes. Once he’s come he’s done. I have now fully grasped this. We had gone upstairs in order for him to use gloves on me.
But rubbing my tits on his cock and pussy on his leg made him come–hard. I think it kind of surprised him.
I had come all over my chest and he had come on his crotch area. We lay there for a while with just the sheet over us and the sheet got soaked through with the come he had on him. I must’ve rubbed the soaked-through sheet sticking to his skin for a couple of minutes. I could feel the texture of the wet sheet and knowing it was come made it feel even better.
That would’ve been a time to get at my wet pussy but no such luck.
But I did get to thinking that our relationship, such as it is, is perfect for both of us–we can and do fuck other people and we’re genuinely happy for the other to meet new people. We can be completely honest and nasty and dirty about what we want sexually. We still talk like regular people, with an emphasis on sex, of course.
Why the fuck was I trying to push it into some sort of mold or place a label on it? Silly. I’m done doing anything other than enjoying him. It does no good to think about when it might end because then I don’t enjoy the present as much. And I want to enjoy every bit of him.
I like his feet, his skin, his hair, his smell, his cute little naked body, his beautiful face, his poufy booty, the way he touches me, how much he’s into my tits, that he likes to do to my pussy the things I’ve always wanted done to it, his cock, the way he fucks me. The way his cock pushes past my palate and fills up my throat.
I swear. True story.
