[Continued from "Baby's First Chicago Thanksgiving (1)."]

So it was fortuitous that I saw a Groupon for a home theater system.  It was affordable, had surround sound, and I didn’t have to do any research?  I wanted it.  The Viking was in San Francisco at the time so I texted him the info and asked him what he thought about just getting it.  His response was that it was a good brand and that we needed something.  Exactly.  I ordered it.

It arrived the afternoon of the night the Viking got home from San Francisco.  The night was taken up with getting reacquainted; we hadn’t spent so long apart from each other since he moved in with me, almost two years ago.

The next day, while I was fussing with dinner related household doings, the Viking installed the new system.  I helped a little – I didn’t just boss him around – but he did the hard work.  Thankfully, he didn’t have to re speaker wire the whole living room; the new speaker wire (with proprietary attachments to the amplifier) was simply attached to the old speaker wire with electrical tape (the Viking insisted on it), the new speakers placed, and everything plugged in.

The new subwoofer was significantly smaller than the old one and could fit on the shelf where the old amplifier had lived.  The new amplifier was thinner, but wider, than the old one, so its home would be next to the AppleTV on a shelf that was tall enough to fit about four DVD boxes stacked on their sides.  Even the speakers were smaller.

The sound, however, was much larger and clearer.  The Viking put on one of the Harry Potters and it sounded all around us like there was magic going on (I guess).  Music sounded good too.  The Netflix was about as good as it was via Wii, but now we had the option to access it two different ways.

With the home theater system – what I still think of as a stereo because I’m old – in place and working well, there was cooking to do.  I made the achiote paste.  “Paste,” that is.  I followed a recipe from the internet and I didn’t test it out first, which was a mistake, of course.  The problem with sites like Epicurious is that they don’t tend to address “ethnic” foods, leaving the recipes for those to lesser-tested and -regarded food blogs and such.  The “paste,” just three tablespoons of which I was to add to butter, was more of a liquid with sediment.  When it was all stirred up it was tasty, and the next day it worked into butter in a reasonable manner (with the help of an electric hand mixer).

The Viking made crème brûlée, with a twist, it was chocholate-ancho.  Less than a week before the Viking moved in with me he had a dinner party at his place and served crème brûlée for dessert so I knew he’d be up for the task.  Also, he hadn’t used his fun little kitchen torch for a long time.

I felt like I was pretty much on top of things.  Well, I thought it’d be a good idea to get the dressing assembled, but that was no big deal, I thought.  I had already made the cornbread itself, which was most of the work, right?  Uh, no.  I realized the next day that the dressing required a whole lot of chopping as well as some soaking.  When using dried chilies, most of the time they need to be reconstituted in hot water for about a half an hour.  I should have prepped the dressing and left it in the baking dish in the fridge overnight.  There was plenty of room since I was brining the turkey on the back porch.

That’s right, if you had broken into my yard and gone to my porch you could have stolen a 14.5 pound organic turkey in a chili-rich brine.  I’m glad you didn’t steal it because that would have ruined my day, and probably some other folk’s day as well.  I suppose if it went to feed some people who would otherwise be turkey-free then it might have made their day and it all would have come out in the wash.

The turkey was brining in a turkey bag inside an ice chest on the back porch and we were brining ourselves.  Well, I was.  I had a few drinks that night whilst watching a DVD – in the living room, something we hadn’t done since we moved in to our Chicago place.

I didn’t rise exceptionally early on Thursday ….

I swear.  True story.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

I like her outfit.  The bow on the back of the panties is a nice touch.

The Viking would think her ass is too small, which is good for me since her entire ass is probably smaller than one of my ass cheeks.

Another reason I like this photo is because there’s nothing in it that doesn’t belong.  I am so tired of seeing what are supposed to be sexy pictures with messy bedrooms in the background, or a dirty mirror in the foreground, or miscellaneous crap distracting from the subject of the photo.

I swear.  True story.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

Are you not interested in meeting up soon?

I’ve decided I really don’t like it when people seem too familiar with me.  This guy was all of a 34% match with me and he decided that we should meet?

Yea. send me s txt 859 630 8329 and we’ll set up a time to get together, have dinner and see a movie.

A first meeting of dinner and a movie.  Boring as shit.  And cliché.  Having to spend hours with some dude I probably won’t like sounds fucking horrible.  But there was no good reason to meet the guy; our rapport was nonexistent.

come over, fool around and fuck

lay back and let my thick, warm, long tongue lick your pussy while my hand rubs your clit. how does that sound?

I live off grace and halsted, by the ihop in boystown.

Gross!  And what is up with guys on OkCupid giving me their phone numbers and locations?  I assured him that his proposition did not sound good at all.

not interested in meeting up with me and fucking?

Some guys are so fucking clueless.

Love your swallows shirt :) :)

Do any of them actually think that’s original?  I got another message from the same guy.

Dang girl — been reading your questions -
You might be as horny as I am …..
You interested in trading pics ?
Bob

Bob’s user name had “fupa” in it.  That makes me think FUPA, fat upper pussy area, which is not a pleasant thought at all.  But Bob’s user name wasn’t his only problem.  He lived in the burbs.  He wanted to trade pictures.  That would mean I would receive shots of a 53-year-old’s saggy balls.  No thanks.

Hiya, I came across your profile on my matches page and well wow, needless to say… very impressive !! I read your profile and for what its worth, your pretty much what I’m looking for…..(ya know, what you can actually pull out of an online profile anyway). So what exactly are you on here looking for…..friend, friend w/ benefits, relationship, or something else ?? Well, I won’t bore you with a long drawn out email here, so I guess check out my profile if you want and see if we click. Hopefully I’ll be getting a message back from you soon !!!

I felt it was my duty to give the little fucker some advice.  “You didn’t really read my profile or you wouldn’t have sent a message that has 1) run-on sentences, 2) the wrong it’s/its AND the wrong your/you’re, and 3) its sender living in any place other than the city of Chicago.”

Haha, I love your profile, but please move “chick or dude and a chick” to the top somewhere so other people don’t experience that disappointing moment of “oh, damn, I’m a just a single dude.” I feel like the referee of fun internet relations just shouted “disqualified!” after I already walked onto the court.

Guys do hate it to be pre-rejected.  I let him know that individual guys were free to apply.  We exchanged FetLife user names.  His profile there was pretty average with a fetish list heavy on anal.  He had a few pictures including a full frontal nude one and some of his tattoo sleeve.  None of the pictures were of high photographic quality.  I let him know that being into all things anal was not all that crazy.

haha, I’m into it both ways, but yes, sadly, it is no longer even remotely unique to be a guy really into ass play.

I have to run from work, but i had a really intense masturbation session involving myself, my fingers, my ass, and eventually, an 8″ thick dildo. Yesterday actually.

How the fuck was I supposed to respond to that?  I like that he was included in his masturbation session – it was nice of him to invite him.  Why would I care what size dildo he had in his ass and when?  I congratulated him, because he seemed to need some sort of acknowledgement.

I swear.  True story.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

[Continued from "Warren's 'Cheating' (9)."]

They came home, stripped off their clothing, and got into bed. They snuggled tightly for a while. He had been resisting the temptation for a while, but it finally got the better of him and he had to speak.

“I don’t want you to have dirty sex with other men, but not me” he said, in an almost guilty tone.

She looked at him, but didn’t say anything. She had made up her mind about it months before, but his anguish was beginning to drain her.

“All guys want their women to do dirty things,” he said, sounding a little too pensive. “I mean, every guy’s fantasy is a woman who loves having sex … like in a porno,” he continued. She realized her silence was an excellent prompt, and waited for him to continue.

“So I don’t think it’s so much that I want to have that kind of sex with you, but I just don’t want to be missing out on seeing you do it,” he finished. He looked at her, gauging her response.

“So … you’d be okay with what I want to do, if only you could see it,” she summarized.

“I think so. I just feel totally left out. It’s one thing for you to be seeing other men and doing the same stuff we do together… but when it’s a totally different experience, I feel like you’re shutting me out.”

“Well, I don’t intend to shut you out,” she admitted. “I just never through you could handle it. I thought you’d start demanding the same kind of sex with me.”

“I won’t,” he offered. “I’ll just watch. I’m totally fascinated with it. I just want to know what you’re doing. It’ll make me feel so much better about it.”

She considered this for a while. “Okay. Alright. I think it might be okay if you watch me sometimes when I’m in one of those moods.”

He smiled broadly. “Really?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” she continued. After a pause, she made a counter-offer. “Except there’s one more thing. I want to make it a deal. You have to give something up if you want to watch me.” She smiled, satisfied with the plan.

He pursed his lips. “Give up … what?” he asked nervously.

“Cumming inside me,” she said quickly.

“What?!” he raged.

“That’s my offer. You can’t have your cake and eat it, too. I’m not completely okay with you invading my privacy, you know. And I deserve privacy. If you want to watch, you need to give me something in return.”

They sat in silence for a minute.

“Well, I can cum anywhere else, right?”

“Anywhere else,” she reassured. “But I want to leave my pussy for other men.”

“Okay. Deal,” he said quickly. He was in a bargaining mood. She had the feeling she could have restricted intercourse entirely, and he would have accepted it. She felt almost a bit ashamed for having considered that idea hot, though. Only a sense of propriety stopped her short.

He was practically jumping on the bed at this point. “Will you show me the whole tape then? Show me your favorite parts?”

“You’re never going to cum inside me again if I show you. You know that, right? I’m serious.” She tried to sound stern, but wasn’t sure if it came across. She meant it entirely, and hoped this decision wouldn’t spark weeks of fighting.

“I understand. I just need to be involved in all parts of your life,” he said, smiling sincerely.
She went into her closet, opened a few shoe storage boxes, and pulled out a number of small videotapes. She loaded the first into the camcorder, breathed a big sigh, and started the tape. She lay back down with him, remote in hand, and proceeded to show him her favorite parts.

Her favorite parts were a double-penetration with two very large men, both of whom came inside her, their cum dripping out in a torrent, a very rough deepthroating by another, and finally four men cumming in her mouth and on her chin in quick succession at the end of the tape.

He found himself searching for words. He had never seen anything so sexy on any pornographic tape, and had no idea she was even physically capable of doing the things he saw her do on the tape. He started to touch himself almost automatically, and she pushed his hand away as she continued to fast-forward from highlight to highlight.

“You’ve been doing this kind of stuff … for how long?”

“For years, honey, long before I met you. Are you okay?”

“I want you,” he said, pulling the covers aside to look at her naked body. He looked back at the screen to see two men working their enormous cocks into her pussy at the same time, and was overwhelmed. He practically pounced on her, and she was happy to receive him.

“I won’t cum in you,” he promised obediently as he entered her.

“Never again,” she reminded him.

“Never again,” he breathed wordlessly. His own orgasm took only seconds due to his delirious arousal, and he obediently pulled out and came all over her tummy.

“Lick it off if you want to see more,” she said suddenly, almost stunned with her own force.

He did so more obediently than she could have imagined any man would, and was happy to lay beside her and hold her afterward.

[That's it, kids.  And since I've not spoken to Warren for years, that's all you'll get.  Of course I am willing to entertain submissions from y'all:  ShazamChi@yahoo.com.]

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

[Continued from "That's a lot of Dick (1)."]

The conversation petered out after I assured him that I was not thin.  No big loss considering I’d never met the guy and chances were slim there’s be chemistry between me and a group of huge-cocked guys.

My friend Viola and I were hanging out at Chez Shazam-Viking one night when I told her about my various online and real life adventures.  Though I do write a lot here, there are things I leave out; my friends get to hear the whole truth.

I told her about the guy I had that date with.  After I posted the story he responded.  What he had to say wasn’t worth posting here, but that and his photo were shared with Viola.  She, of course, agreed with me and thought I was completely in the right.

I told her about a guy who wanted to meet me, but decided not to when I couldn’t promise him sex.  Yes, I did give him my usual line, “I don’t guarantee sex unless you guarantee cash.”  I’ll be sure to write about him soon.

I told her about a great date I’d had.  Well, I wasn’t sure he thought it was a date.  He paid for everything and the subject of my breasts came up so I thought it was, but when I said we should see each other again, closer to his place, he thought I was interested in seeing the neighborhood.  I was more interested in seeing his cock, which I suspected might be substantial.

I showed Viola Mr. 10″‘s picture on OkCupid as I got ready to tell her about our “encounter.”  She recognized him immediately.  I was used to San Francisco being a small town – where everyone knew everyone – but Chicago is a big city.  At least that’s what I thought.  I didn’t think one of the many, many guys I’d seen on OkCupid would have also been known by a friend I had in person.

Viola not only knew about Mr. 10″, she had seen him – via Skype.  I doubted he really had a 10″ penis; she assured me that he did.  She said they had a lengthy conversation about what he wanted to do with his big cock and huge – 6’6″ – fit body.  Viola is a tall girl, which is why it’s hilarious that the Viking calls her my “little friend,” so finding a guy who can truly tower over her is rare.  While his dick was big and his stature was tall, he still couldn’t handle truly being in charge, which I suppose comes with being only 25.

Viola and I talked about Mr. 10″ quite a bit.  All of his stories together didn’t ring very true.  If he was a medical resident how was he able to spend a significant amount of time online chatting with random women, since if he chatted with Viola and I – who knew each other – with whom how many other women who didn’t know each other must he have chatted?  How could he afford to buy a house in Lincoln Park, a ritzy Chicago neighborhood?  When did he have time to go to England or Italy to visit his family, which he claimed to do a couple times a year?

Alas, Viola hadn’t chatted with him in months and I hadn’t heard from him since our original chat.  Both Viola and I had suggested to Mr. 10″ that we meet and he had either begged off – claiming he didn’t think he’d be able to handle a lady as tall as Viola – or simply faded away – apparently not able to handle all that is me.  Either way, the guy had proved himself to be a wimp who couldn’t handle women who knew what they had to offer or what they wanted.

Neither Viola nor I had heard from Mr. 10″ for quite some time and neither of us ever expected to do so.  Even if a guy has a giant cock he’s still likely to be an insecure idiot.  That may be a lot of cock but neither of us are likely to find out.

I swear.  True story.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

As per usual I had several messages in my OkCupid message inbox.  At least one was probably written by someone with the reading comprehension of a toddler, at least one was probably trying to set up a meeting, and one was from a guy who claimed he didn’t message many women.

He claimed not only in his message to me that he didn’t message many women, and so my profile must have really been special to make him do so, but the text in his profile indicated that it wasn’t his habit to message ladies because he was a busy guy.  He was busy traveling to England, where he grew up so he had a British accent, and Italy, from where his mother’s family hailed so he spoke Italian, going to medical school, and fixing up the house he just bought in Lincoln Park.  Oh, and he loved to cook – Italian, of course, since that was the food his mama fed him.  Did I mention that he was also really cute, 6’6″ tall, and in really good shape?

I suppose I was supposed to feel special because he did take the time and effort to send me a message.  I’m not sure how special I felt, but I did respond by giving him my YIM user name so we could chat some time.  I didn’t bother telling him when I’d be online and changing my YIM status from “invisible” to “available” however, just told him that if he felt like chatting to hit me up and I might respond.

I believe it was a Saturday afternoon that I saw that he has instant messaged me.  I responded.  The conversation began innocently enough and then he asked what so many guys have asked before, “I hope I’m not being to forward, but can I ask you a question?”

That is always followed by a question of the sexual nature.  Always.  He asked if I had ever been with more than one guy at a time.  Yes.  He asked if I had done DP.  Yes.  He asked if I had done DP with “larger” guys.

Here is where I had to have him clarify.  “Larger” could mean a lot, depending on who’s defining it.  Larger is in the hand of the beholder.  “Larger” to him meant 10″.

That’s a lot of dick.

He claimed that he and his friends, two of whom had 10″ penises and none of whom had less than 8″ of cock, were looking for a woman who’d be willing to entertain all of them.  I asked if he has some sort of rule about the penis size of the guys with whom he hung out, and he swore it was just a coincidence.  I responded that I would have to work my way up to taking two 10″ cocks in me, but that I was certainly willing to try.

I was willing to try provided we all had chemistry.  The guys had done the sort of thing together before, he claimed, with a female friend who knew they were all “larger” and who took on the challenge.  Unfortunately, she had moved away a couple of months before.

I said we could meet to see if we got along and then I could meet the other guys.  It was convenient since we were in the same neighborhood.  I also gave him suggestions for finding other ladies willing to entertain the group since it’s always good to cast a wide net.

He asked about my measurements.  When I told him my bra size he said it was hard to believe.  Harder to believe a 34DDDD rack – something for which bras are mass manufactured – or a 10″ cock, something that’s seen mostly in movies?

To be continued ….

I swear.  True story.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

Cucumbers make great dildos, but she’s not doing it right.  What you need to do is peel the cucumber, leaving enough on one end to act as a handle.  Cucumbers are very wet when peeled, which makes for some nice lube. (I’d use an organic one just to be safe.)  However, like any lube, you get it on your hands and everything’s harder to grip.  So leave enough peel on one end to grab on to that cucumber so you can fuck yourself or your partner.

I swear.  True story.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

[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.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

I last went bra shopping two years ago.  At the time I bought three bras.  One didn’t fit so I exchanged it for another that didn’t fit, but in a different way, too large in the cups – it would be a great bra for smuggling contraband.  I still have it but I prefer not to wear it.

I prefer not to wear a bra at all, but if I want to leave the house I need to.  I know that the girls shouldn’t go out off-leash.

One bra I bought was “sexy,” meaning it wasn’t meant to wear under anything even slightly clingy since it was lacy and would show as lumpy.  Also not too comfortable.

The last one was very practical.  It has turned out to be the ugliest bra I have ever owned.  Its shape doesn’t allow me to wear it under anything clingy; it’s not lined and it makes my tits look pointy.  Also, it has some weird panels on the outside of each cup.  Said weird panels have bunched up after washings (on delicate cycle, air drying) so that it looks like I have lumpy side boob.

I had been needing to go bra shopping for a while, since those three plus one much older bra were the only bras I owned.  The Viking knew I needed to buy more bras because I complained often about being uncomfortable, not having a bra for a certain outfit, or having lumps and bumps show through my shirt.

I kept putting it off for various reasons.  Any reason would do because bra shopping is so fucking unpleasant.  The Viking didn’t understand, but I’m sure you ladies can.

When I retweeted a message to the effect of bra shopping being a circle of hell the Viking reminded me, again, that I needed to go bra shopping.  I had retweeted a tweet of someone I had actually met in person.  We had met in person over  manicure-related issue – she helped me when I needed to get my no-chip manicure off my nails.

While she helped me with my nails we seemed to get along well enough.  The Viking remembered that and tweeted her that we should go bra shopping together.  I texted her that the Viking wanted us go bra shopping together.

Realizing almost immediately that both he and I sending her such messages seemed pervy, I assured her that the Viking, while very interested in large breasts, would most definitely not go along on said bra shopping trip.

The Viking had suggested we have a couple of drinks before shopping, which was a brilliant idea.  We coordinated to meet for a boozy lunch near the big Chicago Macy’s.  It’s the Macy’s that used to be Marshall Field, which I know from my time at Macy’s in San Francisco.

We met for lunch and commiserated over the fact that it was difficult to find well-fitting bras in our sizes, which were of the relatively-small-rib-larger-cup variety.  It wasn’t until I talked to a friend who was of the relatively-large-rib-smaller-cup variety that I realized it’s only the women who are in the 34C range that don’t have a horrible time shopping for bras.

After lunch we went to the huge, fancy Macy’s.  We took the ancient elevator up to the floor that held not only the lingerie but also the maternity and juniors sections.  We walked around amongst the many bras.  Many, many bras.  We lamented that the department was divided by brand rather than size.

Nonetheless, we were able to find some bras in our sizes.  She was able to find many more bras of her size.  Bras are funky.  A size of one brand will fit while the same size of another brand will be too big, or too small; it’s very frustrating.

She had many to try on.  I had a few to try on.  After walking around the bra section, pulling bras off the racks, and trying some on in the dressing room we still had not been approached by a single salesperson.  Not one.  We had seen a couple, but they didn’t seem to give a shit that we were there, clearly ready to spend money.

We should have left, but we had already psyched ourselves up to buy some fucking bras.  I settled on three; she on one.  She was definitely more discriminating than I considering she had tried on many more.  The three I decided upon actually held up my boobs without anything spilling out – not the highest of standards.

The service was so shitty that we couldn’t even purchase our bras in the lingerie department; there was only one person at the checkout and she was clearly going to take a long time with the one customer she had apparently decided to help.

The nice thing about having to go to the juniors department to purchase our bras – my three for well over $200 – was that we didn’t have to hear the lingerie department’s shitty jazz.  Instead, we got to hear shitty pop.

We didn’t have to hear the shitty pop for long; we made our way to the street where I caught the Brown Line and where she hopped on a bus.

I’ve worn the three bras I purchased, and understandably each of them is uncomfortable in a different way.  They just confirm that I prefer not to wear a bra at all.

I swear.  True story.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

[Continued from "Sweet and Innocent."]

Yeah, this guy responded.

I swear.  True story.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.