Random Rim Jobs

April 15 looms large in the minds of Americans because it’s the last day to file and pay taxes.  I had e-filed and paid both federal and California state taxes the day before so April 15 itself was not a day of panic.

Instead it was a day of fuck.  The day of fuck.

The day of fuck began, as all days truly do, at midnight.  The ‘mate and I had received Liberator’s Wedge and Ramp and were using them for the first time.  The cover of the Ramp already needs to be washed thanks to our April 15 activities.  The Ramp was very helpful when the ‘Mate went down on me.  I could lie back so my pussy and ass were on full display at the top of the ramp.  My legs flipped back to get those pesky things out of the way.  The ‘Mate went to town licking my ass and pussy.

Then, as is my wont, I wanted something in my pussy.  Something big and heavy and hard:  an NJoy Pure Wand a friend had so kindly loaned to me.  The Viking (who is also the ‘Mate) was happy to accommodate me.  He fucked my pussy with the Pure Wand.  Then, because when I’m in a mood like that I want more, more, more, the ‘Mate was nice enough to put his cock in my pussy.  Along with the Pure Wand.

At first he fucked me with his cock and continued to fuck me with the toy.  Then, because the Pure Wand is a really great toy, he realized he could leave it in place without fear that it’d fall out or get in the way.  This allowed him to concentrate on making his cock feel good in my pussy and up against the Pure Wand.  His cock and the Wand were happily cohabitating in my pussy.

Yes, it felt fucking fantastic.  The Wedge and the Ramp have found a place in the bedroom.  They can’t fit in the drawer o’ sex, but they fit nicely next to the dresser in which the drawer o’ sex is located.  And I’m gonna have to get me one of those Pure Wands.  [That Amazon Wish List button does work, folks.]

[To be continued ….]

I swear.  True story.

[Continued from "Correctional Officer, Part 7."]

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).

Well, pregnancy erotica.  I stole this image from someone’s Tumblr.  Can’t remember who or which, sorry.

Thing is, it is the rare pregnant woman who looks like this.  Assuming Photoshop was not heavily used, this woman’s body is fucking amazing.  She was clearly very thin prior to her pregnancy.  She’s thin pregnant.  Her breasts, which I assume are engorged, are cute and perky.  She must be very young.  Her ass is tiny.  Pregnant women do not look like this.  Except for her.

I could have a lot of fun with this woman in its pregnant state.  I’d rub my face all over that belly.  I would not be freaked out by the fact that there’s a kid in there.  So much fun ….

I swear.  True story.

I’m pretty sure it’s rude to ask someone his name after we fucked if it’s also after we went to drinks, dinner, and more drinks, during all of which we had some really great conversations.

I remember everything else.  Good looking guy, lots of interesting talk about food, very good kisser, likes ass fucking, and a nice thick uncircumcised cock.  Names really aren’t as important as all that.

An interview with me came out today.

[Continued from "Alameda Guy (Part 2)."]

We saw each other when we could, which wasn’t often considering on many weekends he was in charge of his kids.  We talked about getting our dogs together for a play date but nothing came of the talks.

One time he came over with his overnight bag, which wasn’t unusual since he had spent the night several times before.  But that particular night was different because he had a harness and a dildo in his bag.

Of course we had talked about me fucking his ass many times before, but had never had the equipment to do so.  But that night he had planned for it to happen.

After he showed me the goods I made him leave my bedroom so I could put on the harness in privacy.  There is not much more awkward than putting on a new harness for a strap-on and I certainly did not want him watching my clumsy attempts.

I felt like I should have had a certain amount of confidence if I was to be fucking his ass.  Which I did.  Fuck his ass.  There is something so so nice about the look of ecstasy on a man’s face when something is in his ass.

However, I was a tad disappointed at the size of the dildo.  Alameda Guy had supplied it, and we had previously discussed that he should be comfortable with the size of whatever went in his ass, but I’m a size queen and truly do think bigger is better.

Especially if I’m the one with the cock.  I’m pretty sure if I was a man I’d have a big cock.  This is partially due to fantasy and partially due to what my mother told me.

My mother was always what’s called an oversharer.  I recall she would often tell people some very intimate things when she first met them.  (No, it hasn’t escaped my notice that this could be considered oversharing.)  Her sharing was to the point that it made others uncomfortable, only I didn’t realize it when I was a child since I didn’t know anything else.

By the time I was in my late teens I had figured it out.  When I was in my early twenties I accepted it.  When I was 23 she and I took a trip to Arizona to go to DJ’s wedding.  (DJ was one of my mother’s exes.)  DJ lived several hours’ drive outside of Phoenix in the White Mountains.

During that drive Mom and I got to talking about life and sex and stuff.  I had known since I was quite young that my mother and my father married because my mother was pregnant with my sister, and that four years later my mother got my dad drunk on a camping trip with the specific intent of conceiving me.  The night we drove into the White Mountains she told me that she got pregnant the first time she and my father had sex, and that she had conceded to sex with him because he kept his hands off her tits when she told him to do so.

She also told me that he was well endowed.  If only I could un-know that knowledge!  I don’t want to know about my father’s penis in any way.  But I do, so I know if I were a boy I’d probably have a big cock.

The night with Alameda Guy I had an incredibly average cock.  I really didn’t feel like it was me.  Nonetheless, I persevered and fucked his ass good and hard.

Then, when I still had my cock in place, Alameda Guy fucked my pussy.  That was extra hot.  There was this thing in the way between us but he was still putting his cock in my pussy.  I liked that a whole lot.

And so did he.  Until the dildo broke.  Since “my” cock was still hard (since it couldn’t be any other way) the pressure from being sandwiched between our bodies broke the dildo off at the base.  I felt bad, but we still had a lot of fun.

[To be continued ….]

I swear.  True story.

I got an email today from my one regular fuck, the Consultant, letting me know that we would no longer be fucking.  The very good reason for cutting me off was that he’ll no longer be in San Francisco.

We met (twice) through Craig’s List and soon fell into a fun routine where’d we meet for drinks or dinner, then go back to his hotel room to fuck, sleep naked (something I don’t normally do), fuck some more in the morning, and then he’d go off to work while I showered and finally walked home.  Often, I’d meet up with my friend Ramona since she’s the only person I know who is up early in the morning, but who doesn’t have to rush off to work.

The Consultant was in San Francisco, uh, consulting for a large company headquartered here.  He was here Monday though Friday for work and went back home to his wife and youngest kid in Atlanta on the weekends.  When he was here he wanted to have some fun in the sack when he wasn’t working.  Fine with me.

The “relationship” lasted several weeks, over the course of which we saw each other roughly once a week.  The first few weeks he stayed at a different hotel every time we saw each other.  And then the last few weeks he stayed at the St. Francis, but always in a different room.  We never fucked in the same place twice, which was, of course, a lot of fun.

We had a nice time together, carrying on decent conversations.  There was never any illusions about our relationship ever being more than it was, which was very comforting.  It may have been the most straightforward relationship I’ve ever had.

When we met he told me his consulting contract would end in January so today’s email was a bit of a shock.  But I’m not hurt, I don’t feel let down, and I’m certainly not sad.

I’m happy we had fun while it lasted.  He had (and I hope still has) a nice thick cock.  He fucked me nice and hard, in my pussy, ass, and mouth.  We had fun with various toys I’d bring along on our dates.  He liked licking my pussy.  He made me come nice and hard.

Best of all, his favorite way to fuck me was from behind, which is my favorite way to get fucked.

Now to find some more regular fucks ….

I swear.  True story.

I knew it was coming. I’m usually right about these things.

First, the number of face-to-face meetings diminished significantly.  We used to see each other just because our paths happened to cross during the day.  And we went on real dates out in public.

We kissed in the galleries of the second floor of the SF MoMA.   That was probably way too romantic for something that was supposed to be casual.  But I’m not completely convinced.  We were into each other; it had been a while since we’d kissed; we were in the museum, in completely empty galleries; he reached up, cupped my face with both hands, and right there in front of a Jackson Pollack kissed me.  Dammit, it was great.

The galleries were completely empty because most of the people who were at the museum on a Saturday morning (I think) were there to see Georgia O’Keeffe and Ansel Adams:  Natural Affinities.  We saw that exhibit, but not before walking through the galleries housing the museum’s permanent collection on rotation.  I tried to show him my favorite painting, but it wasn’t up.  But that didn’t matter because I was so giddy from that kiss.

Then we’d only see each other for sex.  I’d spend the night because it was convenient, but then he couldn’t wait to get me out in the mornings, even on weekends.  I got the hint and got the fuck out of there.

Then he told me that he really liked fucking me.  We had great sex together.  Great.  His cock would hit me in just the right place when we were fucking missionary.  It was hard to look into his eyes because he was so there.

He loved his ass licked.  And I loved to get my face all wet from sucking on his ass.  I loved that I could make him feel so good.

He really dug biting me.  I dug it too.  I’d come away from our time together with bite-sized bruises on the tops of my breasts and the fronts of my shoulders – where he could reach down to bite me when he was fucking me.  He never broke the skin but he grabbed a jaw full of flesh in a way that made me swoon.

I gave him a paint stirrer to use on me.  Paint stirrers make a great sound but don’t hurt that much when making contact with flesh.  He spanked my ass with the stirrer.  And he spanked my pussy.  I especially liked that, but I still think slapping pussy looks stupid in porn.

He’d look so cute walking around in the mornings, naked.  So little and cute.  But with a nice big cock.  It was nice and straight and smooth.  I liked sucking it but never got it down my throat.

He’d fist me.  Which would make me come so fucking hard.  So hard that it scared me.  He just accepted that that’s how I was when I came.  And then I’d need to hide under the covers for a little while.

While we fucked he often told me that I looked good enjoying myself; that he liked that he could see I was enjoying myself.  When he slapped me he said I looked both turned on and surprised.  I knew he was going to slap me, but that he did it so hard, and that it felt so fucking good is what gave me a start.

After the visits dropped off, our only form of communication was text.  We used to talk on the phone – I talked, he listened.

When he told me that the sex was really good, that our sex was really good, I knew that was a kiss-off of sorts.  It sounded like he wanted to assure me that what he was about to do wasn’t because the sex was bad.

Then the canceled dates.  All by text.  Not feeling sexy, want to come watch tv as a consolation prize?  No, I want to fuck.

Then he was sick.  And I think I believe that he truly was sick.  But being sick canceled another date, which gave him more time to think about things.  When I contacted him a couple of times without response I knew that it was over, but I hoped he wouldn’t be the type to just ignore me.

He wasn’t.  He responded that he was rethinking the casual sex thing.  When we met he told me he’d never had casual sex before.  I like being a guy’s first.  At least he’ll remember me.

He’s young – 26.  Twenty-six-year-olds keep breaking my heart.

He didn’t do anything wrong.  But it would have been nice to see him again.  And to have his cock hit that spot again.  And to have him bite me and fist me and spank me and slap me.

I swear.  True story.