Random Rim Jobs

One year ago today, I had my IUD inserted.  In late July or early August I had a period, and I haven’t had one since.  It is glorious.  I never have to buy tampons or sanitary pads … yes, sanitary pads.  (You Distorted View Daily fans may know this reference.)

I have no worries about being stuck somewhere without a means to deal with a period mess because I never have a period mess.  When I had first started my period, and for years until I went on the Pill, I never had regular periods.  I was always paranoid that I’d embarrass myself with a bloody mess at any time.  I woke up more than once in huge pools of blood.    Gross.  And annoying.

So it’s been a year of no need to take daily pills, of not worrying about making sure my prescription’s filled, of not worrying at all that I might be pregnant.  It’s glorious.

I didn’t really name my IUD, but I sure am happy it’s in there.  Even if a condom breaks there is an infinitesimal chance I will conceive.  I have no interest in having an abortion, but I have even less interest in having a kid.  I really, really don’t want an abortion.  I’ve heard the post-abortion waiting room dubbed the “room of sadness.”  I have no desire whatsoever to be in a room that anyone has called a room of sadness.  NO DESIRE.

The IUD is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made in my life.

I swear.  True story.

[Continued from "Jade's Vacation (Part 4)."]

At first Jade was just taking. She was on her hands and knees with Teal licking between her thighs. She felt Teal’s fingers on her hard nipples and she felt her squeezing her tits, too. Jade loved having her tits kneaded and having her pussy licked at the same time; the combination always made her gush quickly. Now with a woman doing it, she couldn’t even breathe. She gasped and groaned as her pussy sprinkled gold. She was in a lust frenzy as she panted for her orgasm to overflow.

“AAAAAHHHHH,” she howled as Teal pushed a dainty fingertip into her snug anal accordion. She bucked wildly as the fingertip found its way inside her opening and began throbbing to the same tempo her cunt was getting tongue fucked.

The orgasm was so wet Teal nearly drowned as she guzzled hungrily. She flattened her tongue out and pressed Jade’s clit firmly as she vibrated her mouth on the heated button. More come gushed from Jade and she dipped her head down and buried her screams into Teal’s parted slot.

Teal’s clit was engorged; it was protruding and thick like one of Jade’s nipples. Jade began sucking it, nursing it, mouthing it, like it was a little cock. Bobbing her head up and down and feverishly licking and lapping and reaching inside Teal’s fuck tunnel, Jade gathered more of her come and reached deep to feel the cushion of Teal’s aching G spot.

As Jade polished the cushion inside Teal, she felt the convulsion coming in her body. Teal was writhing wildly now, squirming and nearly bouncing Jade off of the top of her. Jade grinned wickedly as she watched in the mirror. She saw the effect she was having on Teal by using her pussy this way, saw Jason’s hard meat being pumped by his strong hands, and saw her own come soaking Teal’s face and tits.

“AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW DAMN. FUCK, I LOVE TO COME!” she growled wickedly as if the virgin Jade had just been posessed by some cock- and cunt-hungry demon.

Jason grinned at that sound and rose up behind Jade and pressed his aching cock into the snug wetness of her simmering cunt. He felt Teal begin to lap his balls and tease his asshole too as she guzzled the frothing jizz from Jade.

As his load spewed inside Jade, Teal released her last orgasm into Jade’s hungry mouth. Jade delved Teal’s ass with her tongue and lapped every drop of the woman’s cum from her thighs. She released more of her own honey onto Jason’s prick and into Teal’s lips. She shivered and ached as she felt them both begin to subside from their aggressive actions.

As she glanced at her two spent lovers, Jade felt the tingling ache between her legs begin to burn like fire. She knew she needed more.  She wanted more.  She had to have more

.

As Jade stepped out onto the balcony she quickly looked down below for the other couple. To her pleasure they were there sitting nude and inviting. Jade reached into her frothing slit and gathered some of her blended sauce and let it drizzle down from her fingers onto the man’s nude cock below.

As he looked up and smiled, the woman leaned over and licked it off of his perking cock. Jade smiled as she saw the woman motion for her to join them.

“I will be back in a couple hours, guys,” she chirped as she slipped through the doorway toward the stairs.

“Teal, Jason loves to have his ass played with when you are sucking his cock,” she advised as she watched the puzzled look appear on Jason’s face. “And Jason, if you come in Teal anywhere … don’t let her clean up.  I will get it when I get back,” she continued as she cupped her fingers over her seeping slot to keep the rest of her treasured gathering inside until the other couple had a chance to sample it.

[That's the end.  This Jade chick seems pretty fun.]

I had a date with the Vet to go to the Make-Out Room for a monthly fund raising event for The Rumpus.  I wanted to go to see an acquaintance do a reading, and the Vet volunteered to be my patron.  Apparently when he checked out the event it looked good – to him and his wife.

He texted and asked if it was ok for his wife to come along.  Sure.  I’d never met her, but the Vet had talked about her enough that I certainly knew a few things about her.  She liked big cocks, and she was on a search for “the perfect cock.”  Also, she fucked someone I had fucked.  San Francisco is truly small.

It was the Vet who, from each of our descriptions, figured out that both his wife and I had fucked the same guy.  I wasn’t so sure, though, because he told me that she said he was a premature ejaculator.  My friend is no premature ejaculator.  But every other thing the Vet said about the guy sounded like my friend.

I asked my friend.  He assured me he did not ejaculate prematurely.  He said the sex wasn’t particularly hot, but they fucked for at least ten minutes.

When informed of my friend’s description of the fucking, the Vet’s wife laughed.  She said she wished it had been ten minutes of fucking.  She said he hadn’t bothered to take her to dinner when she said she was hungry.  That last part definitely sounded like him; he’s generally pretty cheap.

So I wanted to meet the woman who had an interesting encounter with a friend.  A friend, by the way, I’ve decided not to fuck again.  It wasn’t the discrepancy with Mrs. Vet’s story, it was so many other things.  For instance, he creeped out a girl I was fucking by staring at her, but only when I wasn’t in the room.  Also, I find his cheapness supremely unattractive.  He gets laid plenty anyway.

The Vet told me that not only would Mrs. Vet be going, but also her date.  They’re like that, fucking other people and all.

He called ahead and asked if we should meet at the Make-Out Room or if they could come in.  My place wasn’t too, too messy, and I had some vodka so I could offer them refreshments, so I told them to come in.

In my front door walked four people, the Vet, Mrs. Vet, Mrs. Vet’s date, and another woman.  Introductions were made all around and I went to work making drinks for my guests.  The Vet had been to my home before and wanted to show off my place to his friends.  He asked if he could take his wife’s date upstairs to the bedroom.

I thought it was a little odd, but then realized the Vet wanted to show Mrs. Vet’s date the Drawer O’ Sex.  Sure, no problem.  I’m glad to show off my pervyness, obviously.

The Vet returned from the bedroom with the njoy Pure Wand.  It was the Vet who introduced me to the Pure Wand.  He let me borrow his.  I loved it so much that the Viking bought me one for my birthday.  Mrs. Vet, for whom the Vet’s Pure Wand was intended, was apparently intimidated by it and didn’t miss it when it was in my possession.  When my Pure Wand was in front of her she looked scared.  She hefted its weight and showed it to everyone assembled.

With our conversation properly in the sexual realm and our drinks drunk, we made our way to the Make-Out Room.  The Vet got drinks while we got a table.  The place was packed so finding a place to stand next to a table was no small feat.  Mrs. Vet and her date started making out pretty much immediately.  I suppose it was appropriate considering the moniker of the venue.

The Vet introduced me to his friend, a woman he had met through OkCupid.  I had also met the Vet through OkCupid; that site is very good to him.  The woman was tall and British.  After just a bit of conversation I realized who she was.  She was the woman who had fucked an OkCupid guy who I had also fucked.  Other than the Vet, that is.

In our little group of three women and two men we had quite a few interesting fuck connections.  The Vet had fucked all three women.  I had fucked three men who had also fucked either Mrs. Vet or the Brit, or both.  Mrs. Vet had fucked both men (I assume).  The men hadn’t fucked each other and none women had fucked any of the other women.

Yet.

[To be continued.]

I swear.  True story.

[Continued from "Christopher (Rhymes with) Spammer, Part 1."]

If I hadn’t already figured it out, the message which contained this was an indicator of the largest proportions:  “Do you have a problem taking charge. I mean, I’m not submissive, but would prefer if you had the ‘date’ planned out for us. There’s not much I would object to.”  Me thinks thou doth protest too much.  Yes, he was submissive; no, he didn’t want to have to worry about taking charge.

I took charge.  I told him what we would do on our date.  His true colors truly shined then.  He suddenly forgot how to use his brain.  In general, subs are a needy bunch.  I don’t have the patience nor the inclination to tell someone, step by excruciatingly detailed step, how to do anything.  He asked if he should take BART.  Take it or drive, not my concern.  I told him that if we got along we’d go to the Hot Tubs.  He told me he thought they were dirty.  He asked if a hotel room wouldn’t be better.  He asked how much hotel rooms cost.  He hadn’t seen me, so he didn’t know I look nothing like a fucking San Francisco tourism board.  Though he was emailing me, he had forgotten how to use the internet to check on hotel prices, etc.

He then wanted to see photos of me.  I referred him to the various places all over the internet where my photos can be found.  He still had trouble finding my photos because he had forgotten how to use the internet.

The night before our planned date he emailed saying he wouldn’t be able to make it, but that that night was free.  Too bad.  I had scheduled him for the next day, not that night.  A full two weeks later he contacted me again.  More than once he sent me emails titled “Tomorrow?”  No, not tomorrow; I plan ahead.

Finally, one night worked for both of us.  I told him where and when … and he flaked.

Between early February and mid-April he repeatedly contacted me asking if I was available that night or the night following.  I repeatedly told him that if he wanted to meet me he had to plan ahead.  When we did make a date, he flaked, again.

This guy’s pattern – which was probably helped with some liquid courage – was to email me saying how much he wanted to meet me right now, and then to flake when it came time to actually meet.  This happened even after I gave him my address and told him to just show up with booze in hand.  He was scared of “getting jumped” on BART because he would have alcohol on him.  Uh, they have these things that not only conceal the identity of what you’re carrying, but also make carrying much easier than holding a bottle of booze aloft.  His excuse that night?  His mother had unexpectedly stopped by.  Sexy!

Lest you, dear readers, think that I don’t give a guy a chance – or, in this case several chances – I again scheduled to meet him.  He texted whining about traffic.  I told him where to be.  I waited on the corner in front of the bar.  I texted.  I left.  I texted again, asking if he was that rude.  His response was that he didn’t see the point in walking up to me, saying, “You’re not my type,” and leaving.

And I agree, there wouldn’t be a point in doing that.  But how about saying hello?  How about sitting and talking over a drink?  Seems pretty silly to not even say hello after over three months of email wooing and several failed attempts at meeting.  This kind of bullshit is why I only meet someone for the first time in my neighborhood.

His tweet following our non-meeting:  “I’m such a dick! Don’t think it would have worked out. My bad”

Worked out?!  Meeting over a drink only doesn’t work out if the drinks are shitty, or spilled, or in some other way unable to be consumed.

I’m not so naive to not know he was referring to sex.  He saw me – if he saw me, and I have my doubts – and decided that he couldn’t have lowered his standards to a chubby/curvy woman of average height.  A woman who doesn’t wear high heels on a regular basis.  A woman who doesn’t wear shimmery lotion.  A woman whose scent choices are not sold at Victoria’s Secret.  A woman who is not a stripper.

I have nothing against strippers.  I’m not one.  I couldn’t be one for the reasons above.  Also, I’m too old.  Strippers, er, exotic dancers, work hard at being unattainable fantasies for their clients.  They’re tall and thin and wear heels and smell girlie.  And they’re off-limits.

Silly me, I was all average and attainable to this guy.  He didn’t know what the fuck to do.  If I liked the guy I would have fucked him, and I think he knew that.  Strippers, on the other hand, are not putting out for this guy.  Instead, he goes to strip clubs when he’s horny and fantasizes about the women who are way out of his league.  Because they’re doing their jobs well, he feels like he has a chance; he has a glimmer of hope that a woman as hot as a stripper will sit on his face and generally take charge in bed.

Only it doesn’t happen because he’s too afraid.  The ones who will actually fuck him aren’t hot enough for him, and the ones who are hot enough for him won’t actually fuck him.  Poor guy, he’s doomed to be unfulfilled and ashamed.  Fantasies are never the same as reality, that’s why they’re fantasies.  I should have known when he had a T-Shirt Hell t-shirt logo as his Twitter photo.

I’m not tall and thin?  You won’t be able to see shit when your face is being used as a seat so don’t worry your simple little brain with that one.

One of his tweets:  “Why do I want to try fisting someone so bad? Damn, I need a dirty whore, QUICK!!!”  He’s not willing to pay, he’s not willing to “settle” for less than his physical ideal.  He doesn’t need a dirty whore, he needs his mommy.

I swear.  True story.

In January 2010 I was contacted via email, as I am occasionally, by a stranger. The initial email was titled “Fisting” and contained a confession to being interested in the subject as well as a fear of being considered a “a perv, or a sicko” for his kinky interests, which he had theretofore kept to himself.

I get this kind of email probably because I am open and honest and unashamed of my own sexuality or by that of my many partners. Also, because it’s just email – because I’m not a “real” person – I’m safe.  I’m safe because I’m a faceless stranger on the internet.  I’m safe because until one talks – actually talks face-to-face – about his desires he doesn’t have to “out” himself as “a perv, or a sicko.”

I’m safe also because I’m encouraging.  My response to the initial email was to tell him that being a perv, or a sicko is part of the fun of having a dirty mind, that it might as well be embraced.  Our email exchange continued.  He told me he had been in a sexually incompatible marriage, and that he had considered hiring a professional, but that seemed “too risky.  And expensive!”

Ladies and gentlemen, isn’t your sexual fulfillment worth a few hundred dollars?  A few thousand dollars?  Being honest with yourself and others?  I simply cannot understand why someone who is afraid of his own desires, who worries about being labeled ill, wouldn’t hire a well-respected escort with whom he can be open and honest without fear of rejection or judgment.  You’re not paying for the sex, you’re paying for the faith that she’s probably seen “worse.”  An escort is a professional who gets paid for her discretion.  If she wants to keep you as a client, she doesn’t laugh at you or judge you.  You think you’re depraved?  You should’ve seen the last guy.

An escort is much like a waxer.  (Stay with me, people.)  An escort, like a waxer, sees her clients at their most vulnerable – with their ankles behind their heads.  Sure, you have some dark fantasies, but you’re not the only one, and you needn’t concern yourself with shame.  Your escort will take care of you so you can go out in the world anxiety-free.  Sure, you’re hirsute, but a few minutes behind closed doors and no one else needs to know.  Both waxer and escort suggest you come back about once a month.  I would suggest not seeing escort and waxer the same week every month – stagger those appointments.

I suggested the emailer and I meet.  He told me that he had a place in the East Bay, and said he didn’t have a lot of either time or money.  He also told me that he could almost “cum” from licking pussy.  And then I knew it:  This guy was ashamed that he had fantasies about being submissive to women.  I think it’s just plain silly to be ashamed to want a woman to sit on one’s face, but then I live in the sex-positive bubble known as San Francisco.

We scheduled a date to meet.  He told me he wanted a woman to squirt on him.  More submissiveness.  I want to make clear that a man being submissive to a woman is not a negative thing, does not make him any less of a man, yet he was only letting me know this about him in bits and pieces because he thought it was something that was shameful to disclose.  That was probably one of the major reasons his marriage was sexually incompatible, he didn’t tell his wife what he wanted.

[To be continued ….]

I swear.  True story.

[Continued from "The Day of Fuck (Cock No. 2)."]

Cock No. 3 was Jules Verne.  No, not the writer of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, but nonetheless that’s the nickname this one’s gotten.  We had gone out once before.  We met at Velvet Cantina, a Mexican restaurant/bar in the Mission.  It seemed to be a bit of a bridge and tunnel crowd, but after a couple of strong margaritas and finally getting a table it wasn’t so bad.  We had fun even though we didn’t get around to getting me a new tattoo.  (Damn San Francisco tattoo parlors for not being open late-night!)

On the Day of Fuck Jules Verne picked me up and we went to dim sum.  I hadn’t had dim sum since I dated Ms. Absinthe, and she had a slight allergy to shrimp so we could have very few of the dishes.  She did, however, introduce me to chicken feet.  Yum.  I told Jules Verne I liked chicken feet on the drive over.  He agreed to try them, but I could tell he thought I was a little gross.  He did try the chicken feet, barely.  Lucky me, I got to eat the majority of them.

Lunch was very nice, though not without its problems.  Jules Verne’s credit card was declined so we had to wait while he called the card company.  Apparently the card, which was in his hand, had been stolen.  After that was resolved, we went to the parking garage to get his car, stopping on the way to pay for parking at a machine.  The machine ate the parking ticket, so we had to wait for an attendant to open up the machine to retrieve it.

Jules Verne was afraid to do anything else for fear that something would go wrong, again.  We drove to his house in the Oakland Hills.  Well, his parents’ house.  His parents’ house that was well-stocked with wine.  The parents, conveniently, weren’t home.  The day was gorgeous so Jules Verne and I sat on the patio sipping wine and enjoying the view.

Of course we got to talking about sex.  Of course.  A large duffel bag appeared from which he pulled a huge dildo.  Huge, not “super” at all, SUPER.  I’m not sure if he asked, but I told him I could take it.  Perhaps I can, but that was not for the Day of Fuck.

What the huge dildo in Jules Verne’s possession told me was that he was a size queen.  No, he’s not a queen.  But he likes to see big things going in pussies.  Isn’t that was a lot of porn is all about anyway?  Well, he clearly wanted to see it live.

That Jules Verne and I were going to fuck eventually became inevitable.  I wanted to go upstairs and fuck but he refused me.  What?!  I could tell he wanted to fuck me, I was offering myself to him, I was wanting his cock in me, so why was I being refused, dammit?  He was worried the maid would show up.  Uh, we’ll just tell her not to clean the room in which we’re fucking.

Only “maid” wasn’t quite the right term for her.  She was apparently Jules Verne’s nanny when he was a kid so he felt an affinity to her as a child for a mother.  He wanted to keep the illusion between them that he was not a sexual being.  Fine, whatever, but I wanted to fuck.

Into the car to drive back across the Bay Bridge to San Francisco.  To my building where my neighbors’ apartment was still an option for fucking.  I deposited him there and then had to, for the second time of the day, go to my apartment for my Magic Wand, the Pure Wand, lube, and condoms.  And for the second time of the day it was clear that I needed a Doctor of Fuck bag always at the ready.

For the next couple of hours Jules Verne fucked me in my pussy and ass with his cock, the Pure Wand, and his hand.  I lost track of where went what and I didn’t care because it all felt good.  It was clear that both Jules Verne and I liked fucking pretty damn hard.

At one point both of us could tell that I was going to squirt or gush or whatever – I was going to female ejaculate.  And I really wanted to, I did, but I was on my neighbors’ bed and I was worried about the state of their bedding.  Worrying does not a huge orgasm make.  By the time I decided, “Fuck it, I’ll wash everything anyway,” it was too late, the moment had passed.

My pussy still felt fucking great.  We were having a lot of fun … until I looked at the clock.  Fuck, it was late.  I had another date that night, and I don’t like to spring a threesome on a guy without warning, so Jules Verne had to go.

I sent Jules Verne on his way and realized my pussy was quite sore.  I was a bit worried, as the next fuck of the day was the Russian.  The Russian has a delightfully huge cock …

[To be continued ….]

I swear.  True story.

[Continued from "The Day of Fuck (Cock No. 1)."]

After sleeping for a few hours, I was woken up by Isis’ nails click-clacking on the hardwood floor.  I took her out and then went back to bed.  After a short time sleeping (re-sleeping?) I got up to take out the other dog in my charge.  I was puppy- and kitty-sitting for my neighbors; I had to take out their dog, which was sleeping in his crate in my downstairs bathroom.  Sounds mean to some, but he was used to sleeping in his crate in the downstairs bathroom in his own apartment, which looks almost exactly like mine, so he was not uncomfortable.

I took out the other dog and checked my calendar.  I had a date!  In the morning.  Fun.  I was a tad sore from the acrobatics with the Viking the night before, but I was up for another good, hard pounding.

He was to arrive at 9am.  He was scheduled to arrive not at my place, but at my neighbor’s place, the home of the dog and cat I was caring for.  I didn’t bother dressing.  After all, we were going to fuck, not go out.

He and I never went out.  Let me back up.  He and I had only ever seen each other one time before.  He was referred to me by a friend.  She said he was a great fuck, sent me some photos, and gave us each others’ email addresses.  I wanted to meet at a bar, but I didn’t know that 1) he didn’t drink, and 2) that he had a girlfriend who was very not cool with him having relations with people not her.

So the first time we saw each other he came over to my house, we had a great fuck, and then he left.  For several months following we exchanged text messages and dirty phone pictures.  We tried on several occasions to get together, but his need to be sneaky or my living situation prevented things from actually occurring.

When he actually showed up on the Day of Fuck, I barely recognized him.  He was hotter than I remembered.  I did recall that he had a lot of tattoos, but I didn’t know that he was such a snazzy dresser.  He was wearing a newsboy cap; some guys look really hot in newsboy caps.

We chit-chatted for a bit.  I had heard from our mutual friend that he was getting married soon, or that he had recently gotten married, so I asked him.  He confirmed that he was getting married soon.  Oh, ok.  I didn’t push for further explanation.  I fuck men, and don’t care much about their lives when we’re not fucking.  If he didn’t want to tell me more, that was up to him.

We went up to my neighbor’s bedroom.  I asked if he had condoms; he didn’t.  Hmmm.  Well, that was ok, as all I had to do was walk two floors down in my building and get condoms from my bedroom.  Once in my bedroom I figured I might as well grab some toys, too.  I got my Hitachi Magic Wand as well as the NJoy Pure Wand, some lube, and condoms.

All of these things I put in a woven plastic bag, the kind sold for hardly anything in developing nations; I got mine in Thailand.  It wasn’t the prettiest of bags but then I had to transport my goods from floor two to floor four of my building so it didn’t matter all that much.  The ‘Mate commented that I needed a better bag for my sex accoutrement; something like a doctor’s bag.

Yes, I would very much like a bag that always had toys, condoms, and lube, available for me to take off for fucking at a moment’s notice.  A Doctor Bag of Fuck because I am a Doctor of Fuck.  I am a DF.  He he.

With supplies in hand I went to my neighbor’s place; went to their bedroom; plugged in the Magic Wand; showed him the Pure Wand, lube, and condoms; undressed; and got in bed.  He took his clothes off and joined me.  He had a lot of tattoos.  None on his face, but pretty much everywhere else.  HOT.

I sucked his cock a bit.  But as is inevitable when I suck cock, I wanted to be fucked, so he donned a condom and fucked my pussy.  I told him that I’d been fucking a lot recently so he was going to have to be a little gentle.  And I meant it, I really did.  I meant both that I had been fucking a lot and that he should be gentle.

Only I like fucking when my pussy is kind of sore.  Other than using some lube, he really didn’t have to be all that gentle with me.  He fucked me nice and hard.  Then I grabbed the Magic Wand and used it on my clit while he fucked me flat on my back.  He rubbed his cock up against the Magic Wand as well.  We were both feeling rather good with cock pounding into my cunt and clit and cock vibrating.

I came, rather loudly and rather hard.  The Magic Wand had served its purpose and was tossed aside.  Then I turned over so he could fuck me from behind, my favorite way to get my pussy pounded.

I asked him to come on my back.  He asked when.  Anytime, please.  He fucked me for a little while longer and then pulled his cock out, pulled the condom off, and came on my back.  A lot of come.

He got up to shower, I stayed on my stomach relishing the feeling of his come cooling on my back.  I declined his offer of a towel because I liked the way the come felt.  Eventually, I put my t-shirt on, letting it stick to the come.

I looked at the clock and it was only just after 9:30.  What?  He had arrived at 9am, I had to go get stuff from my apartment, we fucked, and he showered in about a half hour.  But it was fucking great fucking.  I certainly didn’t complain.  He seemed to have a good time.  We both came.  We both agreed that we shouldn’t again wait so long between fucks.

He went to work and I went home to rest up for my second date of the day.

He got married the next day.

[To be continued … the Day of Fuck was epic.]

I swear.  True story.