The Viking and I were one of the first tables sat for dinner at A16.  On our previous trip to A16 we’d been sat similarly along the east wall, only this time it was closer to and within a better view of the open kitchen.  Ok, so I had the view of the kitchen; the Viking had a view of me (which he seemed to like).

Very soon after we were seated (“sat” to you British folk), our waiter told us of the specials: roasted peppers for appetizer, and lamb for entrée.  Yum, I wanted both.  The Viking isn’t too keen on lamb, it tending to have strong flavor.  I like gamey meat, but then I’ve been eating meat my whole life; the Viking was meat-free for almost 15 years.

But, as the Viking is wont to do, he indulged me.  We didn’t want to eat too much or have much in the way of leftovers since we were going to the Exploratorium after dinner so we ordered the roasted peppers, a pizza, and the lamb.  A16 is known for having a great wood-fired oven, so anything cooked in it was sure to be tasty.  We opted to share everything.

Very quickly after ordering our meal I realized our waiter was hot.  She was kind of dykey with her hair in a short, hip hairstyle, and she had the requisite tattoos.  And the tattoos I could see were cool:  What appeared to be geographic outlines of states or countries on her triceps – sexy.  Added to that, she provided great service – I love me someone who does his or her job well.

The chilies arrived.  They were delicious and beautiful.  [Pictures of all the food will eventually be posted on the Viking's food blog.]  It wasn’t until after they arrived that I realized I had had them before.  Padrón peppers are damn tasty.  They’re mostly not spicy but every once in a while there’s a nice hot one.  Yum.  We devoured the peppers, leaving behind piles of pepper stems on our plates.

Our waiter refilled my wine properly and our water glasses never emptied.  Our next course was a thin crust pizza.  Again, delicious and beautiful.  It was so good we really wanted to eat it all, but I’m trying to do this thing where I don’t get overstuffed and feel like shit.  And we had anther course coming.  We opted to take half the pizza home.  We didn’t think it’d suffer too much from lack of refrigeration while we were at the Exploratorium.  (It didn’t; it was damn tasty cold the next day.)

Our main course conveniently consisted of two pieces of lamb.  We ordered cannellini beans on the side.  Great choice – the lamb and the beans complimented each other nicely.  The Viking was pleasantly surprised with the flavor of the lamb, which was not at all gamey.  I’m determined to get him to really love lamb.  I imagine I will accomplish this goal when it gets cooler (wherever the fuck we are) when it will be appropriate to make my very tasty lamb chili.

A very classy move that made sure our waiter made it into my spank bank involved wine glasses.  I had been drinking sparkling wine by the glass and the Viking had a carafe of a nice light red.  I didn’t want another whole glass of wine, and the Viking didn’t seem to be tearing through his carafe so I had some of the red in my sparkling wine glass.  Our waiter saw this and very quietly without fanfare of any kind placed a red wine glass on my side of the table.  [The Viking just reminded me that our waiter was even smoother than I thought.  She not only gave me a red wine glass, she also poured the red wine in my white wine glass into the red wine glass, split the rest of the carafe between the two of us, and took my white wine glass away.  All of this was smooth and flawless.  He says I drank my first sip of red out of my white wine glass, and by the time I got to my second sip everything was in my new red wine glass.  How classy is that?]

We asked to have the lamb bones boxed up (for Isis), took them and our pizza, and walked to the Exploratorium.  We decided dessert would have been way too much food.  I felt just the right amount of full.

Because it was the Thursday before Labor Day, when Burning Man takes a large number of San Francisco residents to a desert in Nevada, the Exploratoium was gloriously sparsely populated.  Though it was our eighth Exploratorium AfterDark, and except for the time it was overrun with fucking children, we’ve stayed and explored for hours, we still found new exhibits to play with.

Then we looked at the stuff in the store.  There are some fun nerdy things, but I settled on a Periodic Table of the Elements t-shirt.  I’m hoping to learn through osmosis in my sleep.

By the time we left the Exploratorium, it had cooled down significantly.  Though the day was especially warm, the evenings in San Francisco almost never are; it’s the Pacific Ocean keeping our weather temperate.  We had taken the bus from the Mission to the Marina when it was warm.  I was wearing just a t-shirt and skirt with flip-flops, an outfit that anyone in San Francisco is rarely able to get away with.  I rarely leave the house without at least a sweatshirt over whatever shirt I’m wearing, and bare legs are a downright luxury.

Waiting for the 30 and then waiting for the 49 before walking home would have been a very cold and unpleasant affair.  We took a cab home.

Isis and Joaquin were happy to see us.  We (or I, or he) took Isis out and then we went to bed.  No fucking that night, as the multiple severe fistings had been quite enough, at least for me.  I’m sure the Viking would have gone for another round had I given him the opportunity.

It was a damn fine day.

I swear.  True story.

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

After a fun afternoon of pussy fucking and fisting, and ass fucking, the Viking and I made our way to the 49 Mission bus.  Then we took the 30 bus.  For San Francisco being so small – just 49 square miles – it can take a long-ass time to get around using public transportation.  It provides me plenty of time to listen to podcasts.  (Go ahead and take a look at all the ones I like.  Over there to the right under, duh, “Podcasts I Dig.”)

Despite the extensive time on the buses, we still arrived to the Marina earlier than we needed.  The Viking tends to be early rather than late, a very nice change from the Ex who would say, when he was already late, “I’ll be there right now.”  No, motherfucker, if you were here right now, you’d be here right now.

The Viking and I had time to kill so we stopped in some stores we’d seen on our other trips to the Marina on Exploratorium AfterDark nights.  Marina Meats was a meat market.  Both the Viking and I like meat.  Yum.  We just went in and wandered around looking at the various products.  The service was very good, if a bit confused by us “just looking.”  Generally, a meat market is not a place people browse.  When the Viking said we were killing time before dinner, the purveyor knew immediately where we had our reservations so maybe meat browsing isn’t all that uncommon.

I like meat markets.  It’s fun to see the various cuts laid out ready to be cooked and eaten.  When I lived in southern California in the early 1990s, I had a friend whose father was a meat cutter.  She made it clear he was not a butcher, he was a meat cutter.  The difference may be that he didn’t actually kill the animals.  Which would have mattered to her because she was a vegetarian.  Her sister was also a vegetarian.  Those rebellious kids, refusing to eat what put a roof over their heads.

What’s even funnier than a meat cutter with two vegetarian children is one of those kids – my friend – working at her father’s meat market.  She reeked of meat all the time, which probably didn’t make her want to eat the stuff.  She told me that customers asked her how to prepare certain cuts and she made stuff up.  That may be one of the reasons her father closed his market and worked for a fancy grocery store.

After the meat market, the Viking and I wandered into We Olive, a store that sells nothing but olives, olive oil, and various products in that vein.  Delightfully, there were plenty of samples.  There were olives stuffed with various kinds of chilies, with various kinds of cheeses, and other things that go with olives.  I thought the ones I had tasted pretty much the same.  There were also bread pieces that could be used to taste the olive oils and other olive-based spreads.  Because we were going to dinner, I suggested to the Viking that we get the fuck out of there before we got too full to truly appreciate our dinner.

Just a few doors down was the restaurant where we had reservations.  We had been to A16 before, on our first Exploratorium AfterDark excursion in February.  We both enjoyed the meal, which is why we wanted to repeat the experience at least once before we move.  Because we are moving … eventually.

The restaurant wasn’t yet ready for us to be seated in the dining room so we sat at the bar where we ordered glasses of wine.  I had a nice sparkling number and the Viking had a lovely light red.  The Viking doesn’t like white wines.  I like drinking white wines when it’s warm, which it was that day.

It was so warm I was able to wear a skirt and a t-shirt.  I did not wear tights or bring a sweater, sweatshirt, or wrap of any kind.  This is very unusual for San Francisco, even in the summer months.  The warmest months in San Francisco tend to be September and October.  It’s called Indian summer, a term which may or may not be culturally insensitive and/or offensive.

Soon we were sat at our table.

I swear.  True story.

[Still dinner and a "show" to come.]

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

Upon arriving home, the Viking greeted me very nicely.  He seemed happy to see me.  I was happy to see him.  So we fucked.  We fucked a lot.  We fucked good and hard.

We fucked.  Apparently my pussy and ass had already been well-fucked thanks to Jules Verne’s toy collection.  He has a huge duffel bag full of toys of all sorts.  Sex toys, not action figures – at least as far as I know.  Said duffel bag has been carted around quite a bit – he says so he always has things available, I think so his nanny/maid doesn’t find ‘em.

I didn’t know at the time of taking this picture, but these two toys had been in me.  I tend not know what goes in me, only that it feels good.

However, when the Viking was fucking me I knew exactly what was going in me – his cock and his hand.  In my ass and pussy, respectively.  This particular sex act – or combination of sex acts – I find especially dirty and hot.  [It's true, right now just writing about it I feel that familiar and welcome tingling in my pussy.]

It’s very dirty and it’s very hot.  And it makes me come.  And scream.  And come and scream.  I can be as loud as I want during sex; I like that.

Then the Viking got dressed for dinner.  I put on pajamas/comfy clothes.  I was going to take out Isis at least one more time before we left for dinner.  Our plan was to go to dinner and then to Exploratorium AfterDark after we went to dinner, which was after we took a couple of buses to the Marina.

We thought our last Exploratorium AfterDark was in August.  Then some things happened.  Or didn’t happen.  Some bumps in the road.  We thought we would have been out of town by mid-August.  We weren’t .  We aren’t.

So the Viking was dressed, and I was going to take Isis out just before we needed to walk to Mission Street where we’d catch the 49 Mission, then the 30 to he Marina.

Only we were distracted.  The Viking grabbed and puled my pussy lips.  My labia majora.  He grabbed them and pulled them through my pants, which were what I call comfy pants.  I’ve heard them called soft pants.  The kind of pants that really shouldn’t be worn in public, but in which I have no problem taking the dog out to the bathroom.  Oh, and that one time I walked to the bank, but that’s not my usual habit.  Usually I wear real clothes when leaving the house.

It felt damn good, having my pussy lips grabbed and pulled.  We had plenty of time before we had to leave for dinner so the Viking suggested we go upstairs for another round.  Ok!

My favorite part of that particular bout of fucking was the way the Viking held my legs.  I was on my back with my legs spread (obviously) and up in the air.  The Viking positioned himself for easy access to my fun parts.  To keep my legs out of his way, so he could do the hard work of pounding my pussy with his fist, he used his free arm against the backs of my knees.  I was spread open for him with no way to get away.  Not that I wanted to get away.  No, no.  I wanted – and got the Viking’s hand fucking my pussy nice and hard.

More fucking.  More coming.  It was absolutely glorious.

I swear.  True story.

[More to come.  It wasn't evening yet.]

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

I’m back with this lovely photo of Kermit making himself available for a right good fisting.  This must be Kermit’s ass, since he’s a boy and all.  I hope he’s prepped his ass with butt plugs and lube; it certainly looks like he has.

I’ve never been fisted in the ass, but I assume I will some day.  I’m not in any hurry to do it, but since I like things in my ass I don’t see why I wouldn’t eventually work my way up to a hand.  Before that, I’d need to work out my ass with various butt large butt plugs.

Today, when the Viking and I were in a pet store buying Isis treats, we saw some dog chew toys that could double as dildos.  Rather large dildos.  There were two that were particularly sex toy-like.  They were both shaped like “bones,” but to us one looked like a fist at the end of an arm and the other looked like a cock with a bulbous head and two asymmetrical balls.  I thought it funny that the thing that was not meant to be a “realistic dong” was, in fact, more realistic because the balls were not symmetrical.

We both thought the toys would be especially good for folks into puppy play.  One could actually be boned.  With a dog bone.  The Viking and I also decided that while we appreciated the shapes of the dog toys, and wouldn’t be opposed to using them sexually, neither of us has any particular interest in puppy play.

I have no interest in crawling around like a dog.  I have a dog.  She is treated very well.  I’m afraid to cut her nails for fear she’ll hate me for it.  I love her.  I have NO interest in having any sort of sexual relations with her, or with having her have such with others.

Of course I understand that puppy play is not the same as beastiality.  However, both I find unattractive.

Unless Kermit were to present himself ….

I swear.  True story.

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

This is all very flattering, to be sure, but I’m not in the mood to deal with a bunch of guys, many of whom there is a reason I’ve never met nor not seen in a while.  One guy I’ve put in my phone as Charles Asshole.  He texted me recently asking what I was doing that night.  My response was “not spending it with you.”

I’m not always so mean, but that guy, Charles Asshole, knew how I felt; it was offensive that he even contacted me.  We had had a relationship of sorts.  Well, we’d had relations.  We met via a Craig’s List ad wherein he was supposed to come over to fool around with me and a guy.  He ended up ignoring the guy, flirting with a lady guest, and getting a blow job from me.

I suppose our relations began with him “mistreating” me; the night we met I rather liked that in front of my friends he flirted with the lady guest, and when no one was around we sneaked into my downstairs bathroom, where I sucked his cock.  Thereafter, he’d come over, we’d fuck, and he’d leave.

Which was fine until it wasn’t.  At first I liked that he was cute and that he’d reach up and choke me when we fucked.  Then that wasn’t enough.  It’s not like we had a deep relationship, but at some point even the superficial goings on weren’t worth it.  I finally told him via text message that having never come with him wasn’t worth it.

I had a “new” guy contact me.  He had written a guest post for this very blog.  It was sexy, for sure, but that alone wouldn’t make me fuck him.  It was nice of him to contact me, and to throw me an offer, but I’m not “there” right now.

I’m not “there” mostly because of the Viking.  It continues to amaze me that he will do anything to make me happy.  Well, not anything; it’s not like I’ve asked him to kill for me ….

I’ve had guys I’ve fucked before tell me they want to do so again before I move to Chicago.  Very flattering, but I don’t have time.  Rather, I’ve not made the time in every case.  Jules Verne and I have had three “last” fucks.  We seem to really dig each other.  The last time we got together he told me he thought I was crazy, but that I was the “cool” kind of crazy; he liked hanging out with me.  He’s moved to Manhattan; I’m moving to Chicago.  Perhaps we’ll see each other again.

I’ve had a guy I fucked only twice tell me he wants to do me again before I go.  He’s the one who has issues between his wife (to whom he is not “out”) and Grindr that don’t allow us to fuck more often.  He’s also fucking my friend (who referred me to him), and she says she rarely gets to see him either.

A guy I fucked only once and whom I’ve barely contacted since asked, “Can I. come. over and service you?”  I didn’t bother to respond.

Another guy I’ve dubbed the Altar Boy keeps wanting to get together.  He was my first admitted frat boy (Jules Verne was the most recent), but he still had a bit of charm.  He also fisted me sans lube when I was bent over the back of my couch, the image of which is still in my spank bank.  But I just don’t have time.

Also during this time I’ve had a guy who I thought was a regular tell me that he’s “taking a break.”  I get it.  He’s married with teens, but he certainly seemed to be into not only me, but also being in an open marriage.  His wife was very into being “open” so I’m not sure if it was his decision or theirs.  What I do know is that after telling me he was taking a break he didn’t bother responding to me otherwise.

A guy I used to fuck semi-regularly asked if I wanted to go to the Hot Tubs with him.

They’re all over the fucking place.

At this point I just want to fuck and/or hang out with the guys I really, really, really like.  And then I want to move to Chicago, where it will take me some time to make friends and even longer to make friends with benefits.

While I’m not monogamous, I am a homebody who finds it comfortable and nice at home if my home is a happy one.  I still like the thrill of sucking a cock in a random bathroom, but I don’t have to have that.

At least for now.

I swear.  True story.

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

We were woken up by the sun beating down on the tent and my sister’s voice.  My sister talks all the time.  She’ll talk to strangers in line at the grocery store.  She’ll talk to anyone.  She got that from our mother who, before she got sick, was very social.  It works in my sister’s favor since she works in sales, but she wasn’t selling anything on a family camping trip and I was in no mood to be woken up by her.

My parents had lent the Viking and I a camp stove, and the Viking brought his French press and pre-measured ground coffee, so we didn’t have to join the rest of the family right away.  Mornings are not my thing, and since I don’t drink coffee, I need quiet time to adjust from sleeping to interacting with humans.  The Viking seems to understand this and doesn’t demand too much of me in the mornings.

After breakfast, the Viking and I went for a walk with Isis.  The Oak Bottom area of Whiskeytown Lake is pretty small, and it was already hot, so our walk wasn’t very long.  I was worried that Isis’ pads were burning on the blacktop and I wasn’t sure if my SPF 55 sunscreen was enough to protect me.  That, and after seeing the Whiskeytown beach where I had visited multiple times when I was a kid, I got a little sad.  Mostly, I was over it.

Thereafter, time moved extremely slowly.  The Viking was nice enough to keep my Nalgene bottle full of things that made it easier to deal with my family.

Eventually, my step-brother showed up with his fiancé and their dog.  Their dog was much younger than Isis, and liked to swim, so the two dogs pretty much ignored each other after the initial butt sniffing, but she was very cute with soft, floppy ears.  Coincidentally, my step-brother’s dog and my step-cousin’s daughter had the same name.

The people with children, my step-sister and my step-cousin, went to the swimming beach with their kids.  The rest of us opted to stay at the camp area where it was shady and we had access to water if we wanted it.  The Viking had brought his iPad so he spent some time reading.  I decided to go out onto the lake on a doughnut-shaped flotation device.

The Viking was bored.  I was bored.  It seemed like the people with the kids were out at the swimming beach for a long-ass time.  It seemed like everything was taking a long time.

My sister’s girlfriend napped.  The Viking and I ate some beef barley soup.  Not canned soup.  No, no.  We heated up some beef barley soup that I had made with leftover bones from House of Prime Rib.  I make some damn good beef barley soup, a variation of this recipe.  I’ll post the recipe, probably in the fall, when beef barley soup is more appropriate.  It will be especially appropriate when I’m somewhere where it snows.

We were still bored.  I went out on the lake again.  Isis laid in the dirt.  The Viking read.

Some of the family members came back to our camp sites.  We were still bored.  I opted to take a nap.  It was hot inside the tent so I left the front flap open to get some air flow.  This proved to be a mistake; I should have left just the “window” open.  The next morning both the Viking and I were woken up by flies … and my sister’s voice.

After napping I swam some more.  I was still bored.  Time really was moving e x t r e m e l y slowly.  The Viking surmised that time moves slower the farther away from civilization one travels.  I agreed.

When everyone was back at the camp, and after some rearranging of tents to accommodate my step-brother and his girlfriend, I asked if we were ready to have appetizers.

The Viking and I had agreed to contribute appetizers to Saturday night’s potluck dinner.  To that end, the Viking made his very tasty hummus and I made my eggplant bruschetta.  We also provided pita bread and baguette to accompany.  There were 16 people, including four children, on the camping trip, so the Viking and I brought a lot.  A lot.  Barely a quarter of what we brought was eaten.  Fine, more for us.

After dinner, my sister, step-sister, and step-brother went to my step-brother’s campsite, as that was the one farthest away from the rest of the family.  After some talk and a few drinks things got loud.  Once standing, I realized I was a tad disoriented.  My step-sister felt pity for me and made sure I made it to the Viking and Isis, who were sleeping in our tent.

Once in the tent … yeah, we fucked.  I was quiet enough, I think.  The campsite closest to us was unoccupied, and the closest tent held my sister and her girlfriend; we had little reason to be quite as quiet as we were the night before.  I was a tad noisier, for sure, especially when the Viking fisted me.  He does that so well ….

We slept.

To be continued.

I swear.  True story.

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

The Brit and I chatted for a bit.  She asked if, perhaps, she could get another guy to join us, if I could host.  She had been in my place, she knew very well that I had it to myself that night.  I said I could host but I didn’t want to guarantee sex with just anyone.  She assured me the guy she had in mind was cute, that he had a big cock, and that he was a good fuck.

Mrs. Vet and her date took off.  They had been making out like teenagers and needed to continue their fun in a less public place.  That left the Vet, the Brit, and me to our own devices.

We went across the street to get some pizza.  While waiting for the food, we saw the acquaintance who had spoken at the Make-Out Room.  The Vet and I talked to her while the Brit met the new guy out front.  I had told the Vet some inside information about the acquaintance before we left my place.  I had not made it clear that the information was inside information, but I still didn’t think the Vet would tell the subject of said information that he knew the information.  Out of my earshot, though, that is exactly what the Vet did.

I was embarrassed that I looked like a gossip, especially considering the information I had was, according to the acquaintance, not accurate.  It was interesting to know that there were most definitely two sides to the story, and chances are the “truth” was somewhere in between.

We got our pizza and our foursome gathered on the sidewalk.  The Brit was right, the guy was cute.  The four of us stopped at a liquor store for provisions – vodka and soda for me, and gin and tonic for the Brit and the Irish.  The guy the Brit had join us was Irish.  Two people with sexy accents for sexy times?  Yes, please.

After some pizza and drinks the four of us made our way to my bedroom.  Then, because we all knew why we were there, we were naked and our bodies were writhing about each other.

It was a good combination of people for a foursome.  The Brit and I are both of curvy figure. Both the Vet and the Irish both had nice thick cocks.  It’s always good when there aren’t huge discrepancies amongst the naked bodies.  I had a foursome that I would not qualify as a success, partially because the guys’ cocks were of vastly different size.  I spent a lot of time in that threesome avoiding the guy with the tiny cock because I didn’t want it in me.

Not so with the Vet and the Irish.  They both had lovely cocks that I wanted in my pussy and in my mouth.  With the aid of the boxes of condoms I keep on either side of the bed, there was penis-in-vagina fucking.  There was cock sucking.  There was pussy licking.  There was watching.  The Vet likes to watch. 

When I’m in a fuck mood I can be pretty rough and like it pretty rough.  Both the Vet and the Irish throttled me whilst fucking me.  I like the feeling of getting my pussy pounded while feeling a bit lightheaded.  The Vet is often surprised he can be as rough with me as he can, but I can take a lot.

And because I can take a lot I sometimes forget that not everyone can – or wants to.  I’m a biter.  I like to bite as hard as I like to be bitten.  When I’m in the bitey mood it really is rather difficult to get me not to bite.  I left both the Brit and the Vet with bite-induced bruises.  The Brit has since told the Vet that she’d like to have another group situation so long as I promise not to bite.

Along with biting I also swallow.  I was lucky enough to get to swallow two loads of come – one from each of the gentlemen – that night.

Generally, my mouth was pretty busy.  I licked the Brit’s pussy.  I don’t get to lick enough pussy in my life.  I need to do something about that.

My mouth also found its way to the Vet’s ass when he was fucking the Brit.  That’s one of my specialties in group situations:  licking man ass while his cock is otherwise engaged.

The Brit and the Irish left, leaving the Vet and I to fuck once more before falling asleep.  The Vet left in the morning, but not until after taking Isis out.  He’s quite the gentleman.

I swear.  True story.

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

I get this kind of email probably because I am open and honest and unashamed of my own sexuality or by that of my many partners. Also, because it’s just email – because I’m not a “real” person – I’m safe.  I’m safe because I’m a faceless stranger on the internet.  I’m safe because until one talks – actually talks face-to-face – about his desires he doesn’t have to “out” himself as “a perv, or a sicko.”

I’m safe also because I’m encouraging.  My response to the initial email was to tell him that being a perv, or a sicko is part of the fun of having a dirty mind, that it might as well be embraced.  Our email exchange continued.  He told me he had been in a sexually incompatible marriage, and that he had considered hiring a professional, but that seemed “too risky.  And expensive!”

Ladies and gentlemen, isn’t your sexual fulfillment worth a few hundred dollars?  A few thousand dollars?  Being honest with yourself and others?  I simply cannot understand why someone who is afraid of his own desires, who worries about being labeled ill, wouldn’t hire a well-respected escort with whom he can be open and honest without fear of rejection or judgment.  You’re not paying for the sex, you’re paying for the faith that she’s probably seen “worse.”  An escort is a professional who gets paid for her discretion.  If she wants to keep you as a client, she doesn’t laugh at you or judge you.  You think you’re depraved?  You should’ve seen the last guy.

An escort is much like a waxer.  (Stay with me, people.)  An escort, like a waxer, sees her clients at their most vulnerable – with their ankles behind their heads.  Sure, you have some dark fantasies, but you’re not the only one, and you needn’t concern yourself with shame.  Your escort will take care of you so you can go out in the world anxiety-free.  Sure, you’re hirsute, but a few minutes behind closed doors and no one else needs to know.  Both waxer and escort suggest you come back about once a month.  I would suggest not seeing escort and waxer the same week every month – stagger those appointments.

I suggested the emailer and I meet.  He told me that he had a place in the East Bay, and said he didn’t have a lot of either time or money.  He also told me that he could almost “cum” from licking pussy.  And then I knew it:  This guy was ashamed that he had fantasies about being submissive to women.  I think it’s just plain silly to be ashamed to want a woman to sit on one’s face, but then I live in the sex-positive bubble known as San Francisco.

We scheduled a date to meet.  He told me he wanted a woman to squirt on him.  More submissiveness.  I want to make clear that a man being submissive to a woman is not a negative thing, does not make him any less of a man, yet he was only letting me know this about him in bits and pieces because he thought it was something that was shameful to disclose.  That was probably one of the major reasons his marriage was sexually incompatible, he didn’t tell his wife what he wanted.

[To be continued ….]

I swear.  True story.

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

Cock No. 3 was Jules Verne.  No, not the writer of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, but nonetheless that’s the nickname this one’s gotten.  We had gone out once before.  We met at Velvet Cantina, a Mexican restaurant/bar in the Mission.  It seemed to be a bit of a bridge and tunnel crowd, but after a couple of strong margaritas and finally getting a table it wasn’t so bad.  We had fun even though we didn’t get around to getting me a new tattoo.  (Damn San Francisco tattoo parlors for not being open late-night!)

On the Day of Fuck Jules Verne picked me up and we went to dim sum.  I hadn’t had dim sum since I dated Ms. Absinthe, and she had a slight allergy to shrimp so we could have very few of the dishes.  She did, however, introduce me to chicken feet.  Yum.  I told Jules Verne I liked chicken feet on the drive over.  He agreed to try them, but I could tell he thought I was a little gross.  He did try the chicken feet, barely.  Lucky me, I got to eat the majority of them.

Lunch was very nice, though not without its problems.  Jules Verne’s credit card was declined so we had to wait while he called the card company.  Apparently the card, which was in his hand, had been stolen.  After that was resolved, we went to the parking garage to get his car, stopping on the way to pay for parking at a machine.  The machine ate the parking ticket, so we had to wait for an attendant to open up the machine to retrieve it.

Jules Verne was afraid to do anything else for fear that something would go wrong, again.  We drove to his house in the Oakland Hills.  Well, his parents’ house.  His parents’ house that was well-stocked with wine.  The parents, conveniently, weren’t home.  The day was gorgeous so Jules Verne and I sat on the patio sipping wine and enjoying the view.

Of course we got to talking about sex.  Of course.  A large duffel bag appeared from which he pulled a huge dildo.  Huge, not “super” at all, SUPER.  I’m not sure if he asked, but I told him I could take it.  Perhaps I can, but that was not for the Day of Fuck.

What the huge dildo in Jules Verne’s possession told me was that he was a size queen.  No, he’s not a queen.  But he likes to see big things going in pussies.  Isn’t that was a lot of porn is all about anyway?  Well, he clearly wanted to see it live.

That Jules Verne and I were going to fuck eventually became inevitable.  I wanted to go upstairs and fuck but he refused me.  What?!  I could tell he wanted to fuck me, I was offering myself to him, I was wanting his cock in me, so why was I being refused, dammit?  He was worried the maid would show up.  Uh, we’ll just tell her not to clean the room in which we’re fucking.

Only “maid” wasn’t quite the right term for her.  She was apparently Jules Verne’s nanny when he was a kid so he felt an affinity to her as a child for a mother.  He wanted to keep the illusion between them that he was not a sexual being.  Fine, whatever, but I wanted to fuck.

Into the car to drive back across the Bay Bridge to San Francisco.  To my building where my neighbors’ apartment was still an option for fucking.  I deposited him there and then had to, for the second time of the day, go to my apartment for my Magic Wand, the Pure Wand, lube, and condoms.  And for the second time of the day it was clear that I needed a Doctor of Fuck bag always at the ready.

For the next couple of hours Jules Verne fucked me in my pussy and ass with his cock, the Pure Wand, and his hand.  I lost track of where went what and I didn’t care because it all felt good.  It was clear that both Jules Verne and I liked fucking pretty damn hard.

At one point both of us could tell that I was going to squirt or gush or whatever – I was going to female ejaculate.  And I really wanted to, I did, but I was on my neighbors’ bed and I was worried about the state of their bedding.  Worrying does not a huge orgasm make.  By the time I decided, “Fuck it, I’ll wash everything anyway,” it was too late, the moment had passed.

My pussy still felt fucking great.  We were having a lot of fun … until I looked at the clock.  Fuck, it was late.  I had another date that night, and I don’t like to spring a threesome on a guy without warning, so Jules Verne had to go.

I sent Jules Verne on his way and realized my pussy was quite sore.  I was a bit worried, as the next fuck of the day was the Russian.  The Russian has a delightfully huge cock …

[To be continued ….]

I swear.  True story.

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

The Ex and I broke up.  I didn’t contact Correctional Officer.  I fucked a whole lot of people.  I didn’t contact Correctional Officer.  My life generally went to shit.  I didn’t contact Correctional Officer.  I fucked a lot more people.  I didn’t contact Correctional Officer.  My dog died.  I didn’t contact Correctional Officer.

I did finally contact him just to say happy birthday.  I figured I’d send an email into the ether, he’d read it or not, but that I wouldn’t hear anything from him.

Only I did.  We began emailing each other again.  He told me that he and his wife had broken up, less over he and I, and more over her being an irresponsible mother to their son – by overdosing on prescription drugs when she was caring for him.  He told me about his friends I had met.  His one sweet, young friend who had only slept with one woman had taken in a woman who had just had a baby and he was considering marrying her, but only after she divorced the baby’s father.  I guessed when they were bored in their shit town they created their own drama.

CO and I didn’t have the same relationship we’d had before the shit storm.  Maybe because neither of us was cheating, so it wasn’t nearly as exciting.  Or maybe because we had both been through so much shit.  I encouraged him to go out and find some ladies to fuck.  He said he was too shy.

I didn’t fully comprehend just how shy he was.  I didn’t fully comprehend that the major reason we fucked because I made things happen.  Though it was he who drove several hours to really make it happen (because I certainly wasn’t going to go back to the shit town he called home) so I thought he had some initiative.  However, he had cast himself as the shy guy who was afraid to talk to women so he was the shy guy who was afraid to talk to women.  Well, not afraid, because he talked to women all the time, but unaware if they were hitting on him and unskilled in the flirting arts.

Eventually we planned another tryst.  He had to lie to everyone about what he was doing, which I thought was just silly – everyone needs to get laid, it’s good for the soul.  He drove to San Francisco.  We had planned to go to sushi but the two places I knew were good that were close to my house were closed because it was a Monday afternoon.  We finally settled on burgers, but not until he whined about having to walk too much.  Or maybe he was just giving me a hard time and I was defensive.  I hate being in a situation where I’m supposed to know something – like my neighborhood – but I fail miserably to meet someone else’s expectations.

I had told CO that we would be using condoms this time.  I informed him that there were concerns other than pregnancy, and since I was on the Pill and he had had a vasectomy, that wasn’t a concern at all, and that he should practice jacking off with a condom on if he thought he might have trouble coming whilst using one.

Once I saw his cock I realized that I had not really looked at it when we had fucked before, at the W.  It was larger than I remembered.  What a pleasant surprise.  It was one of those cocks that is thickest at the midpoint of the shaft, as opposed to the head being the largest part.  We fucked, utilizing condoms, of course.  Again, he tossed me around and roughed me up in a somewhat clumsy way.  It was probably due to his job that he was rougher than he realized.  I reminded him that I was a girl, and that I was not a guest of Butte County, and that he needed to tone it down a bit.

He reminded me that I had not given him a blow job the first time we fucked.  I apologized profusely.  Apparently he had only ever gotten one blow job in his life, and it was half-assed.  His ex-wife didn’t see the point of blow jobs since they didn’t provide her with any pleasure.  How sad.

He sat on the edge of my bed.  I sat on my haunches between his legs.  I sucked his cock.  At first I think he just felt lucky to have a mouth on his cock.  Then, after I got his cock all wet and sloppy, I put my hands behind my back and let my mouth do all the work.  He came in my mouth and I swallowed it all.  I looked up at him with a smile on my face.

CO looked down at me … sort of.  He couldn’t really focus.  He was loopy.  That fun kind of post-orgasm loopy.  He said he was worried he’d not be able to drive home.  I assured him he’d be fine and told him that he should tell his coworkers what he did on his day off, because surely getting a driving impairing blow job was worth bragging about.

After that we continued to contact each other, but not with nearly as much zeal.  I had no intention of going to his town, and it was way too much driving and lying for him to come to me, even for great blow jobs.

Our last communication had him asking me, via text, about fisting.  Really, fisting is more than a text conversation so I told him he should call me but he never did.

I swear.  True story (that is over, finally).

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.