Random Rim Jobs
I swear. True story.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 ….]
I’m Not Complaining (5)
Posted on September 12, 2011[Continued from "I’m Not Complaining (4).”
I’m not complaining when I say that by the time a man is in his 30s he knows how his dick measures up, so it was extremely silly when he asked me, “Is it big enough?” He knew very well that he had a pretty big cock, and I told him as much. Sure, I understand it’s nice to hear, but it’s not my job to boost a guy’s self esteem. I didn’t ask him if any of my parts were up to par; it was obvious we were going to have sex so at that point it didn’t matter.
I’m not complaining that his bush wasn’t trimmed. Everyone has the right to decide how to groom himself. I just don’t like having to stop mid-blowjob to pull hairs out of my mouth.
I’m not complaining that he didn’t fuck me hard. Nor am I complaining that when I asked him to fuck me harder that he said he couldn’t or he’d come.
I’m not complaining that when I told him to go ahead and come, just fuck me hard, he didn’t. I’m not complaining that he didn’t fuck me hard enough and didn’t come anyway. Well, he came, but not until later, and in my mouth.
I’m not complaining that after “Top Chef: Just Desserts” ended, a Kathy Griffin stand-up show came on. Actually, I am complaining. There is not much less sexy to listen to than Kathy Griffin. I must have one pretty goddamn talented mouth to make a guy come while her annoying voice talks shit about idiots.
I’m not complaining that he didn’t give me cab fare home. He had been paying all night. But it’s still nice to be sent on one’s way knowing your date cares enough to make sure you can make it home safely.
I may see him again if he’s in town.
I swear. True story.
I’m Not Complaining (4)
Posted on September 08, 2011[Continued from "I'm Not Complaining (3)."]
I’m not complaining that they didn’t offer to buy my lunch. Instead, when the check came he said they’d split it three ways. Only it didn’t seem to be split three ways because she didn’t pay at all. It was just split so I paid for myself. In my experience with couples, I, the woman they want to bring into their relationship, is the date and therefore treated. But since they didn’t want to bring me into their relationship I guess they figured they didn’t have to pay.
The couple rushed out, supposedly because they had things to do before school started again and in preparation for a lake-based mini-vacation with her family; there was some angst over having to spend time on a houseboat without complete freedom to fuck.
On the way out I suggested we become friends on FetLife and shortly after our date I texted my FetLife name and said I was interested in going to munches. Each of them has since friended me on FetLife so of course I took at their profiles.
Especially after it was clear they weren’t interested in fucking me, I have no doubt that I sound childish when I say that after looking at their profiles I decided I wasn’t interested in them anyway. But it’s true. I swear.
He considered threesomes a kink, which is just silly. She was obsessed with her boobs, which were big but not all that special. But what sealed the deal for me is that their threesome activities seemed to include putting the ladies in a dog crate – which I’m sure they considered a cage – so he could stick his dick through the slats for the ladies to suck. Uh, no thank you.
Using a dog crate as a cage did give me an idea: Sell Isis’s old crate to kinksters rather than dog owners. I imagine the fact that it was used by a real dog and probably has some doggy odors would be a plus for the puppy play folks.
So after meeting the couple that didn’t want to fuck me that day I wasn’t necessarily excited to meet someone else, but I did. And we were having a nice time. We got along well and were having a nice conversation.
After a couple of drinks at the second bar, we went to a third. Yes, we were again carded. Then it was time to go to his hotel, where there was another bar. That night I couldn’t for the life of me get drunk. Hell, I barely felt buzzed. The hotel bar was on a high floor with a great view of the Chicago skyline.
It was a weekday so the bar was dominated by men, probably in town for work; there were only two other women besides me and they had dates, too. If I ever again get in the mood for random fucks, hotel bars could be a lot of fun. Hotel sex guaranteed.
Finally, we went to his room where I raided the minibar so I could have another (somewhat useless) drink. He turned on the tv and flipped around until it landed on something we could both agree upon, “Top Chef: Just Desserts.” It was the season premier.
We watched for a bit and then began kissing. His mouth tasted of cigarettes. It was not pleasant, but he was a good kisser. I’m not complaining.
I’m not complaining either when I say that “Top Chef: Just Desserts” is not the sexiest of soundtracks. I was able to block it out for the most part. His pants came off, and then his boxers.
[To be continued ….]
I swear. True story.
Warren’s “Cheating” (7)
Posted on September 05, 2011[Continued from "Warren's 'Cheating' (6)."]
He was beginning to get tired, and finally realized the evil of her ways: she knew it was nighttime for him. She was going to send one photograph every ten minutes, knowing full well that he would never be able to get to sleep, wanting to wait just a bit longer for the next image. He was thankful to have a bit of jet lag, and decided to wait for the next image. It was a psychological challenge very much like a snooze button.
The next soft ping made his stiff cock ache even more strongly. He opened the email excitedly, clicking several times in the wrong spot before hitting it properly. It turned out to not be an image at all, but a video. His hands began to shake, his heart pounding. Did she send him a video of the entire encounter? That would be like a dream come true – in over a year, he had never even seen a glimpse of her with another man, and that became something like the Holy Grail to him, the ultimate win.
He opened the movie, which played for a second, and stopped. He cursed. All he saw was her face, which filled most of the frame. She was apparently in a doggy-style position of some sort, her arms down in front of her. Her mouth was open, her eyes were closed, and she was moaning – no, screaming. He clicked the play button again – the video was only about one second long, and contained just one powerful stroke from the man presumably but invisibly behind her. He saw her eyes squeezing a little tighter as he presumably filled her completely, heard one gasp escaping from her lips. He played the video over and over again, cursing at it for being only one second long, cursing himself for actually thinking she’d send him a whole video. The sound of his thighs slapping her ass as he finished the stroke dominated the audio track; that and the look of her eyelids tightening slightly were the only clues he had to what she was doing. His imagination was going wild, and he was masturbating almost without intending to do so, touching his penis instinctively with so much pent up sexual frustration. He was about to let himself cum, watching this silly one second video on an endless loop, when the email program pinged once more.
He opened the new email to find another picture of her, this time on her tummy on the bed. Most of her torso and hips were visible, but not her head or legs. There was a very powerful looking man laying with his stomach against her back, his skin a little darker than hers, his cock invisible but surely following the curve of her buttocks, buried deeply in her pussy. He couldn’t resist it anymore, and came buckets all over himself. He mopped it up with his underwear, and decided to go to sleep. He closed the laptop’s screen, but couldn’t bring himself to close the email program first. He knew full well it was going to ping again in about seven minutes, but he couldn’t bear to not hear that ping. He climbed into bed and waited for it. He listened to many more, groaning after each one, fighting with himself to stay in bed, his mind wandering helplessly, trying to guess the content of all the images or clips of video that now awaited him.
He finally fell asleep several hours later, and was grateful that the ping was not loud enough to wake him. It was going to be a very long week.
[To be continued ….]
Warren’s “Cheating” (6)
Posted on September 01, 2011[Continued from "Warren's 'Cheating' (5).]
He arrived in Japan the next Sunday night. He called her cell phone, but got no answer, which was odd. She seemed to always answer her cell phone these days, in a very effective effort to hide her tracks. He sighed. It was the middle of the night in Japan, but still daylight in the US. He set up his laptop computer, connected to the internet, and browsed the web for a while, trying to encourage himself to sleep. His email program emitted a soft ping, indicating a new message.
It was from her; the subject was, “See? I have a heart.”
He opened it, not sure at all what to expect.
There, glowing on his laptop screen, floating silently in the darkened Japanese hotel room, was a very graphic photograph of her pussy, quite obviously soaking wet. He stared at this photograph for a few minutes before noticing the head of a man’s erect penis in the bottom-left part of the picture. Below the photo was a simple caption: “I love you honey!”
He sat back in his chair in amazement, his cock growing hard. He had never, not even once, gotten a glimpse of her with another man. He had gone through periods of pleading, but she always insisted that it was not going to happen. She pretended to be angry at him a few months before for trying to catch her on a hidden camera, and told him she’d never allow him to see her in the act, ever, for the rest of their lives. He was pretty sure she meant it, since she had carefully prevented it for more than a year.
He was just beginning to ponder whether or not she was going to keep her word when the email program emitted another soft ping.
He opened the next email to find another full-color photograph, this one of her mouth, her lips spread wide to accept a cock that had to have been 50% bigger than his own. The photo was zoomed in, cropped so that all he could see was her lips and his shaft. He shuddered, and began to desperately hope she was going to send full-body photographs, showing her in her entirety.
He picked up the phone and called her again. It just rang. While he listened to the grainy rings, he looked at the two emails, and noticed something curious. They had been sent exactly 10 minutes apart, down to the second, in an odd coincidence. She must be there at her computer at this very minute, but she wasn’t answering the phone.
He called a few more times over the next few minutes, and was beginning to feel a little helpless and frightened. Where was she? He didn’t have much time to worry before he heard yet another soft ping. Another color photograph, taken over her head. He could see that she was holding two different cocks, one in each hand. They were large, with an ideal shape. She had no doubt selected them carefully. He began wondering how often she saw these men. He wondered if he had tasted one of these men’s cum in her mouth that morning he kissed her in the shower. He was so entranced with the image that he didn’t notice the caption for a few minutes: “I can’t talk on the phone sweetie.. I’m a little busy :o) I love you!”
He figured it out quickly. She had it all planned out. She wasn’t going to speak to him all week – her only communications were going to be these explicit photographs, sent once every ten minute by some automated program. He didn’t know if these photographs were of previous encounters, stored up for this purpose, or whether they were more or less live images, documenting what she was doing this very day. He assumed that he would probably never know.
[To be continued ….]
Dream Journal: 4/21/11
Posted on July 15, 2011Family gathering at a town-wide pitch-fest for tv shows. [Sister] a lot skinnier so I’m the fattest one again. Family pitching a tv show for which I’m the on-air personality.
Staying in a basement bedroom of a huge house owned by a family of big wigs. Best not to make a mess or anger them.
Rumor is that our show is liked but they’re not sure about my commitment. Somehow they think I may move to LA. I assure them that I’m not flighty by saying, “I lived in San Francisco for 11 years. I just moved so I’m going to give the new place a chance.”
In bed cuddling with Otter. Brandi staying in same room.
A guy I’ve met and liked gets someone really fat to open our room door. I hide on the floor on the far side of the bed because I don’t want him seeing how I look so late/early.
Biggest Little City in the World
Posted on May 02, 2011On Friday we checked out of our little hotel room in Union Square and got the Chrysler. In the light of day the car looked even bigger than I remembered. No wonder it wanted so much damn gas, the thing was huge.
Even though the car rental company thought I was the only driver, the Chrysler had been driven by DD the day before and the Viking that day. The Viking, along with not being an “authorized” driver, does not have a valid driver’s license. He uses an expired Canadian driver’s license for ID. He’s not been denied entrance into bars or turned down for buying alcohol because, well, he looks well over 21, and probably also because his ID is so confusing to anyone checking it that they don’t realize it’s expired.
So the Viking had to drive carefully. Sure, I could have driven, but I had done plenty of driving the day before and the Viking likes driving. As the navigator, it was my job to find us an In-N-Out on our route. I had gone to In-N-Out in Redding with my mother and the Viking wanted to experience the glory that is a tasty In-N-Out meal himself.
Not too long after getting out of the city, I reclined my seat and fell asleep. The Viking woke me up saying he was hungry and it was In-N-Out time. I looked around at the hills and trees and knew it was too late; we had passed all the In-N-Outs on the 80, and our next chance was Reno, our destination. I apologized to the Viking for being a shitty navigator.
Once in Reno, I navigated us directly to the In-N-Out where we had delicious burgers and fries. I don’t like hamburgers all that much, but I love me an In-N-Out burger.
We checked into our hotel, which was very near the In-N-Out. The hotel was also very near where we were having the rehearsal dinner that night, and very near where the wedding was the next day. The only reason we were in Reno was for my brother’s wedding; the city itself held no interest for me or the Viking, so we liked that our hotel was near where we had to be.
After the rehearsal dinner a few of us went to the closest casino for some fun. The Viking got some cash and I sidled up to a blackjack table. I sat in my favorite spot, third base, and began playing. The minimum bet was just $5 so I began with $40. As I played, I told the Viking what I was doing and what the other players were doing because the Viking had never played.
When I had to go to the bathroom, the Viking took over my seat and played blackjack for the first time. When I returned from the bathroom and wanted my place at the table back the Viking didn’t get up. The gambling bug got him! I sat next to him and began anew with $40.
For a while a lady with long fake nails, the thumbs of which were about twice the length of the others, sat next to me. She was in Reno for her wedding anniversary and we were there for a wedding so she was kind of put off when both the Viking and I said we had no interest in marriage. I was put off by those creepy long thumb nails.
The Viking got a few blackjacks, I got a few blackjacks. The Viking lost some hands, I lost some hands. Then, just after we had both lost, we decided to walk away. We cashed out ahead: from the original $40 that I had started with, the Viking had $45; and from the $40 I got after returning from the bathroom, I had $75. Always nice to come out ahead.
The next day was the wedding. It was small and nice and short. Then, since I was a member of the groom’s family, I had to pose in a bunch of pictures. The Viking took pictures of us getting our pictures taken, and of the ceremony, and of the reception so we could send them to my sister, who couldn’t make it to the wedding at the last minute.
The bar was open, the food was good. During the reception there was a slide show of my brother and sister-in-law as they were growing up. There were a few photos that included me with bad perms so I was lucky when the Viking still wanted to take me back to our hotel room and have his way with me.
Before we left I said goodbye to my brother. We hugged and told each other that we love each other. My family isn’t very effusive so genuine expressions of love are few and far between.
The next day after breakfast at my dad and step-mother’s house, we left Reno. I don’t see any reason to go back there, but if you want to visit, or live there, try my dad’s website, which is all about Reno.
I swear. True story.
