Random Rim Jobs
I swear. True story.I Do Fuck!
Posted on July 14, 2011I know I’ve not been writing about the fucking lately. That’s because for the most part (more to come on that), I’ve been fucking just one person. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with fucking just one person, but I do think writing again and again about fucking the same person can be boring, and reading about the same sex again and again can be really boring.
Which is absolutely not so say the sex the Viking and I have is boring. It’s anything but. I’m the one with the problem: I lack imagination or the ability to write about something old in a new way. Which isn’t to say the sex the Viking and I have is old.
Fuck, I’ll just refer you to @darkdracie‘s blog post of text messages from the Viking about our sex life. Kind of convoluted, I know.
Have you read it yet? Really, you’re that lazy? It’s just a click. Also, Gracie’s blog is sexy and fun. Way sexier than this one has been lately, which is why I referred you. I’m nice like that.
So now that you’ve read an account of my sex life – an account, by the way, the reading of which made me feel tingly in my bathing suit place – you know that I have some very fun and very dirty sex with the Viking.
Yes, reading it made me feel horny and I had actually done it. Just in case you’re confused, the Viking fucked me the old fashioned way, then he went down on me with his come in my pussy, then he got most of his hand in my pussy while putting his dick in my ass, then I asked for the whole hand in my pussy, then I came from the dick in my ass/fist in my pussy/vibrator on my clit combo, then the Viking came in my ass. I really do make the Viking work quite hard. So far he’s not complaining.
I swear. True story.
Best. Day. Ever. (Part 4)
Posted on September 07, 2010[Continued from "Best. Day. Ever. (Part 3)."]
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.
Best. Day. Ever. (Part 3)
Posted on September 04, 2010[Continued from "Best. Day. Ever. (Part 2)."]
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.]
Best. Day. Ever. (Part 2)
Posted on September 03, 2010[Continued from "Best. Day. Ever. (Part 1)."]
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.]
Stick it In
Posted on August 16, 2010
After over a year of daily posts, I took a week off. Shit happens; things have been busy.
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.
Out of the Woodwork
Posted on August 08, 2010I’ve let trickle out the fact that I’m moving. That little tidbit has apparently caused and/or allowed guys to contact me out of the blue looking for action. Also, some regular and semi-regular fucks have let me know that they want to have a last hurrah with me before I go.
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.
Family: July 31, 2010
Posted on July 31, 2010[Continued from "Family: July 30, 2010."]
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.
