Random Rim Jobs
I swear. True story.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.
The End of the Day
Posted on May 01, 2011DD (and his mother) picked me up and drove the Chrysler back to his mother’s place. There, I was allowed to charge up my phone so I could make it home safely. By the time DD showed up, a mere 15 minutes after I’d called him, I felt silly that I needed him. Nonetheless, I was happy to see him and glad he and his mother were so willing to help me out.
So willing to help me out that DD’s mother offered to check in on my mother should she need any checking in considering they lived so near each other. What a nice woman! And no wonder DD is such a great guy. I’m so glad Craig’s List got us together.
DD’s mother told me to be sure not to stop at any rest stops. In my many drives in California I’ve stopped at many, many rest stops and it simply hadn’t occurred to me that they’d be unsafe, but when DD’s mother told me it just made sense that a woman driving by herself shouldn’t stop at places that have bathrooms and places for truckers to park and not much else.
After my phone was charged and DD told me how to get to the 5, I left for San Francisco. I drove. And drove. The Chrysler had cruise control, which I utilized – at the speed limit since I’d already been cop-scared by my ticket. I drove.
Eventually I stopped for gas not because I actually needed it but because I realized I’d be a fucking retard if I ran out. Filling up the tank cost just over $60. The ridiculous price of gas made me really glad I didn’t have a car since the most expensive place for gas (at the time) had been Chicago and the second most expensive place for gas had been the Bay Area. I guess I like living in places expensive for gas.
When I stopped for gas I called the Viking, who had made his way to our hotel room by that time. He assured me he would be there for him when I got “home.” It was so nice to hear his voice after so long.
At the gas station I asked for the key to the bathroom and was denied; I guess I looked fishy. After cleaning the windshield I continued my drive toward San Francisco. At the Bay Bridge I had to wait a retarded amount of time to pay the $4 I had borrowed from DD and then make my way to our hotel where we had to pay $38 (charged to our room) for overnight parking.
By the time I dropped the car off at our hotel I did. not. give. a. shit. I didn’t care. The valet was nice and let me into the building.
As I put the (card) “key” into the door, I heard ice clinking: the Viking was making me a drink. He had gone to a local liquor store to buy me soda and the kind of flavored vodka I prefer. I’m so lucky; he’s so nice to me.
The Viking let me tell him about my mother and where she’s living. He let me cry. I felt (and feel) so ineffectual; there is absolutely nothing I can do to help my mother. Living with me in a walk-up in Chicago is not an option for my barely mobile mother.
Because we don’t have regular tv at home, I took advantage of the one thing I miss about having multiple channels: mindless channel surfing. After seeing a number of really ridiculous commercials, I didn’t miss having regular tv at home.
I finally settled on the retardation that was Royal Wedding coverage. It was amazing to me that there was so much coverage, that that many people actually give a shit about a single event. I didn’t know who any of the guests were except David and Victoria Beckham, but I did appreciate the great hats. It’s a shame those of us on this side of the pond don’t wear fancy hats.
The Viking had no interest in Royal Wedding coverage so he didn’t mind that his position between my legs prevented him from seeing the tv. He also didn’t seem to mind not being able to hear when my thighs squeezed his head or when I screamed in pleasure.
The long day ended with two wonderful, forget-that-your-mother-has-Alzheimer’s-and-you’ll-probably-get-it-too orgasms thanks to the Viking’s adept tongue and fingers.
I swear. True story.
A&R (Part 4)
Posted on April 06, 2011[Continued from "A&R (Part 3)."]
That same summer R and I also had an encounter. Or maybe it was a different summer. No matter.
It was well known by the group that R was bisexual, and that that was the major impetus for A and R’s marriage being open. These things I came to know through TT. Most things about the group I came to know through TT.
R was very cute. A was also cute. They were cute together and cute individually. R was about 5’6″ and very thin. Not ill-thin, because I saw her eat and drink plenty, but the kind of effortless thin that comes from good genes and a privileged upbringing. She was everything I was not so of course I had a crush on her.
We were at one of our many outings to a beach town. TT lived inland, in Altadena, but he was absolutely obsessed with going to the beach and tanning. He was the one who used R’s parent’s beach house in Mexico the most. He had friends who lived near the beach so he could visit them. I’m not suggesting that that was the only reason they were friends, but it definitely was one of them.
There was a whole group of people who went to the beach at night. It might have been Fourth of July so we watched fireworks over the ocean, or maybe there was a bonfire. There was always alcohol involved. On this particular night we had done some hopping between houses in this little beach town. Someone knew someone who knew someone and when we were done hanging out at one place we’d make our way to another.
Everyone had a cute little house with a cute yard that took advantage of the southern California beach weather; there were many open windows and doors so that the outside and inside were barely differentiated. We spent most of our time in the yards, but at one place we had a reason to go inside. The house’s occupant, a friend of a friend of a friend, had been talking about woodworking, something he was either doing as a hobby or was trying to make some money doing.
He said that it was difficult to make money since each piece was one-of-a-kind and took him many hours to complete. He brought us into his place and it was immediately obvious why it was difficult for him to make money: his pieces were fucking crazy. The “couch” was a wooden bench that was so high that people sitting on it were eye level with people standing. Adding to its freak factor was that the only way to sit on the couch was to crawl up onto it like an overgrown child. A step-stool or a chair rail would have been helpful, but since it was a couch neither was available. It was a couch as opposed to a bench because that’s what he called it and because it was one of only two items of furniture in the whole room.
The room had hardwood floors and candles and some floor pillows, but the only furniture was the freakishly high couch and another one of the guy’s pieces of furniture, a “chair.” The chair’s difficulty was that it was suspended from a ceiling beam. Not many people are willing to install a major piece of architecture when they just want a place to rest their asses.
The guy was nice enough though so a few of us hung out talking about his furniture and other random subjects, and drinking. Eventually it got late enough that the crowd was thinning out. R and I found ourselves on the living room floor kind of cuddling up to each other. I was not tired at all, but the host thought we were and offered to let us stay in his bed.
His bedroom had a low bed and sliding doors that allowed the fresh sea air inside. R and I settled in the bed. I took the shut bedroom door as an opportunity to make my move on R. We made out for a while. That was nice, but I wanted more. I must’ve acted like a teenage guy because I kept trying to get into R’s pants.
She acted like a demure girl and kept trying to deflect me from getting into her pants. She said she didn’t want our host to hear us. I said I didn’t care. I kept pushing, she kept putting me off. I really wanted to go down on her and made that clear. Finally she had the last word by telling me that she thought I was “very oral” but that were were going to go to sleep.
The next day when we rejoined the rest of the group there was a collective snicker aimed at R and I. I’m sure I blushed.
At the end of the summer A and R drove back to Madison. On the way R called me to tell me that she knew about A and I and that she forgave me. I thought it was odd that she felt the need to forgive me since as far as I knew neither I nor A had done anything wrong. That was an early lesson of what not to do in an open relationship, something I’m still not sure both A and R agreed they had.
I swear. True story.
Thailand, Revisited, Reworked (Part 8)
Posted on December 04, 2010[Continued from "Thailand, Revisited, Reworked (Part 7)."]
The following month I had to leave the country for my visa trip. Actually leave the country physically, not just let my passport make the trip. Darren, though he had a business in the country, was still not able to stay in Thailand indefinitely. We decided to go on a trip to Malaysia together. Darren had a friend on the small island of Panang.
The flight there was almost empty, and because this was before 2001, we could run around the cabin willy-nilly. Also, because it was an international flight the booze was free. We were picked up at the airport by Darren’s friend, who drove us to his family’s home. His mother served us orange juice while we sat around awkwardly. I wasn’t sure if we were to stay at the guy’s family’s house; Darren had told me not to worry about the accommodations.
After we finished our juice the three of us left the house and Darren and I were soon dropped off. I was confused. Darren had apparently not arranged for accommodations. We were left, relatively late in the evening, to find a place to sleep. We walked around to a few hotels, with Darren each time asking for the “industry” price.
We “settled” on a suite in a very nice hotel. My budget was limited but Darren promised to pay what I could not. It was because of that that I didn’t complain when I had to sleep on a cot in the entry way of the suite. The room’s bed was taken up by Darren and his friend, who showed up after we had secured a room.
By this time I realized that Darren’s friend was not just a friend. Darren had a boyfriend in Bangkok, but apparently he also had “friends” in other places that were easy to go to on visa trips. There was a door between the entry way and the bedroom of the suite so I really didn’t care what they did there.
One of the reasons I will always remember that hotel on Panang Island, Malaysia was because it had such great water pressure. Also, that the hotel was sparsely populated. I first realized the water pressure was great when we went to the pool, adjacent to which were men’s and women’s gyms and locker rooms. Before we went in the pool we were to rinse off in the locker rooms’ showers.
I rinsed quickly and then went to the pool that had a view of the straight that ran between the island and the mainland. There were strategically placed palm
trees and everything – it looked like a fancy resort. What I didn’t realize from all my time in Thailand, the only Southeast Asian country to never have been colonized, was that the Colonial architecture was common and that the whole island was a resort to, in this case, the British. The Chinese had more of an influence on the island while the country had been a British colony, which was reflected in the written language – “cent” was “cen” on the coins, but our hotel had a decidedly more Western influence.
The three of us were the only ones at the pool. It definitely was not high tourist time there on Panang. We swam around some and then the guys went back to the room. To leave them some time to be alone I decided to swim some more. When I got bored I again showered in the women’s locker room.
I noticed the shower head was of the detachable, massaging kind. The water spray could be adjusted from gentle shower to pulsing focused concentration. I used the pulse/massage setting and fixed it right on my clit. The water pressure was glorious. Usually I feel guilty about wasting water when masturbating in the shower, but Southeast Asia has plenty of water; I’ve never seen it rain harder.
I was the only person in the women’s locker room so I didn’t have to worry about anyone hearing me, or even wanting me to hurry up. I spent about a half an hour in the shower with the water massaging my clit until I finally came. Then, for good measure, I came again. I also washed myself.
By the time I got back to our room, Darren and his friend were done with whatever they were doing. Later that night, I took another lengthy shower. The room’s water pressure was great, too. Darren knew what was up when I emerged from the bathroom looking extremely satisfied.
We did some touristy things around Panang, took a ferry to the mainland, and ate at some great street food carts, but what I remember most is that water pressure.
I swear. True story.
[To be continued.]
Alex & Brendan (Part 3)
Posted on October 21, 2010[Continued from "Alex & Brendan (Part 2)."]
At the time I sent the RSVP for the celebration of Alex and Brendan’s relationship, I thought the Viking and I would already live in Chicago. I was excited to come back to a city I love very much, but as a tourist. And I was looking forward to the hotel sex.
It’s a good thing the Viking never booked the flights or the hotel rooms, though, because by the time the party came around we were still living in San Francisco. No matter, it worked out rather well, since the party location was walking distance from our place in the Mission.
In addition to the celebration, there were some other events planned around it, just like any wedding. There was a brunch with Alex, and there were cocktails the night before the party – a rehearsal dinner without a rehearsal or a dinner.
I hadn’t seen Alex or our mutual friends from law school for a few years. I had gone through a period of being rather unfun to be around. I decided to not subject my friends to me when I didn’t even want to be around me; I would have talked about my misery and I learned first-hand that my misery was boring as shit.
So when I received the emails about Alex’s “bachelor” brunch and the day-before cocktail event, I was quite happy. I was eager to get together with Alex, of course, but also our mutual law school buddies. Because I was no longer a pain in the ass to be around.
I confirmed meeting for Alex’s “bachelor” brunch. It was conveniently close to my house so it wasn’t difficult for me to make it to the restaurant at 10am. Mornings aren’t my strong suit.
Alex was there, of course, as was another close friend from law school and his partner, and a woman I’d not met before who endeared herself to me when she told me how she quit a law firm I used to work for several years ago. She quit without notice via an email to the boss on a Saturday. That may not seem like a big deal, but I’m sure it was the case that there was a lot of scrambling to notify clients and to figure out exactly what work she had been doing. The boss was an ass, and had been an ass to me when I worked for the firm.
Turned out there were a few people who couldn’t show for the brunch due to illness. That meant there was an extra seat. Everyone agreed that I should call the Viking and have him join us.
The Viking is so nice and pleasant to be around that of course everyone liked him right away. We had a really tasty brunch and then the Viking took his leave; he said I should catch up with my friends.
So the three guys and I went back to the couple’s house to figure out what we were going to do next. The original plan had been to go to the Academy of Sciences to do some nerding out. Then there was the possibility of the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival. They had cars so our possibilities were open. Not having a car means it takes a shit-ton of time to get around even tiny little San Francisco.
We couldn’t make a decision on something major to do so we opted to drive to a bar. There, we did some talking (ok, I did a lot of talking) and some drinking. Actually, three of us did some drinking, with Alex just doing a bit of sipping; just before we left I finished the remaining two-thirds of Alex’s drink.
Then Alex had to go home. I said goodbye and told him I’d see him the following week.
The remaining three of us went back to the couple’s house where my law school friend packed for a work trip and his partner and I drank some more. Then, when we ran out of booze, we drove to Trader Joe’s to get some more.
The partner had been to culinary school so when it came time to eat, the meal was, of course, fabulous.
Finally, my drunk ass caught a bus. Unfortunately, my drunk ass was out of it when it came time for me to change buses. My drunk ass realized I’d missed my stop so I hopped off the bus. Well, hopped off the bus and fell on the ground. In the Tenderloin. The streets in the ‘Loin are not clean and there I was on my hands and knees.
I’m not altogether sure how I got home, but I obviously did. It involved a lot of walking and possibly another bus. The next day I had a scrape on my right elbow, a bruise on my left knee, and overall body aches.
I again saw the folks the following Friday. [To be continued.]
I swear. True story.
