I was recently asked this.  By a guy who wants to meet me.  Based on reading Random Rim Jobs.

Men really are clueless.  The worst that could happen?  I could be raped.  I could be killed.  I could be tortured.  I could be maimed.  I could be scared.  I could be terrorized.  There’s a lot that’s not good that could happen to me, and all women, any time we leave the house.  Men seem to easily forget this, if, that is, they ever knew it in the first place.

Men get to walk around in a privileged bubble.  That’s fine.  I don’t mind being a woman, and I don’t want to be a man, but there are some things that women have to think about that don’t even occur to men.  Women have to be always diligent; we cannot relax when we leave our homes.  Some women can’t relax in their homes.

So, guys, don’t ask a woman you want to meet because she writes about sex what the worst thing that could happen is.  It’s pretty fucking bad.  Not for you, but for her.  Think of her and not your cock.

Why would a woman, even if she does write about sex, want to meet you?  Since you now know that she is always concerned that she could be victimized in some way, what can you do to demonstrate you are not the victimizing type?  Just saying you want to meet to see if you want to fuck is not it.

Even if she does write about sex does not mean she wants to have sex with you.  Writing about sex, even as she does, does not indicate she is indiscriminate; one cock is not the same as all others.  Those cocks are attached to people who have brains and thoughts and she likes getting to know a guy she fucks, even if she’s fucking him casually.

Sure, contact me if you think you want to meet me, but have more to say than that.

I swear.  True story.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

anoncoward
anoncoward@mailinator.com
50.74.36.86

These types of posts can be funny, although too much can be wearing to read through. The question that it prompts for me however, is whether you are being fair in mocking some of the approaches you are apparently getting.

I mean your OkCupid profile says that you are interested in meeting in person versus chatting online or talking on the phone, but then you ding guys for suggesting a meeting too quickly.

Your profile also mentions that you are interested in casual sex, but you subsequently put down guys who simply follow up on that by suggesting casual sex.

More to the point however, is that I get the impression that you might not be clear on what you are really looking for. I mean, if all you are really interested in is having a good sexual experience, then why should a person’s casualness when it comes to written expression make any difference?

Given your earlier dating habits I can’t imagine that you are as discriminating in person as you tend to be when interacting with people online, or else your attitude has changed recently and you have decided to be more selective about your sexual partners.

Obviously you can do anything you want, and as I said I enjoy reading these sorts of posts. However, I thought you might want to know the impression that it creates in the minds of some readers.

Yeah, they can be wearing to read, which is the fucking point.  I want to illustrate the bullshit I go through (completely by choice, I admit) reading things that are sent my way.  I’m probably not fair,  but I doubt anyone can be completely impartial as everyone comes with baggage.

I take issue with your use of “apparently.”  There is nothing apparently about the messages I receive.  I have repeatedly made clear that I don’t lie, that I don’t have the memory required for lying (without being a complete ‘tard), and that I lack imagination.  I didn’t make any of this shit up, and if I could I would write more than phony OkCupid come-on lines.  I hope.

I am interested in meeting in person.  I don’t ding anyone for wanting to meet “too” quickly, but I do need to plan ahead.  Sometimes I’m already booked two or more weeks out; I’m willing to schedule and chat/message/text in the mean time.  I take issue with the guys who want to meet and fuck on the initial meeting.  I take issue with guys who think that because we’re meeting we’re fucking.  One of the major reasons I want to meet in person rather than chat is because I’ve had plenty of experiences where the guy and I got along online or on the phone (“Seattle Guy“) very well, but then when we met in person it was clear there was no chemistry.  That means we’ll only fuck on the first date if things go very well.

Yeah, I’m interested in casual sex, as in I want to fuck guys without being their girlfriend or burdened by any other form of commitment.  That does not mean I will fuck anyone who is willing to fuck me.  “Casual sex” does not mean “indiscriminate.”  I need to meet the guys in order to figure out if I want to have casual sex with them.  I have a problem with the guys who think because I’m interested in casual sex at all that I must be interested in casual sex with anyone.

I don’t deny that my “standards,” such as they are, seem arbitrary.  From one day to the next what I want may change based on my mood, my whims, the level of idiocy of the messages I get, etc.  Not my hormones, as those don’t fluctuate all that much.  So it is possible that I may not be clear on what it is I’m looking for, other than guys with whom I get along and whom I want to fuck.  It’s both that simple and that complicated.

What is also both simple and complicated is the manner in which I weed guys out.  As a woman willing to have casual sex, I receive a lot of messages from people, mostly men.  I need easy ways to thin the herd.  It could be that they must be at least a certain height.  Or that they have a certain eye color.  I choose that they must use proper grammar and spelling and they can’t have stupid user names, among others.

I would say I’m only pickier insofar as I don’t want to put up with the bullshit I put up with when I wasn’t so picky.  I let some very questionable people into my home, something I’m not willing to do now that I live with someone.  Rest assured, however, that my standards were the same then as now, but then I was more willing to compromise.  I now live with a great guy who will fuck me any time I want so there’s no need for compromise.

Isn’t the Internet nice in that we no longer think we’re the only one to experience anything?

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 "Warren's 'Cheating' (8)."]

He let her words sink in until halfway through their entrees. In the interim, they talked about the tiresome details of his workweek. Finally he said, “So why don’t you want me to see your favorite parts?”

She smiled confidently. She had anticipated this question, and already had her answer prepared in her head.

“Well, you see … I’m in love with you. I love the way we have sex. It’s romantic, it’s sweet, it’s intimate. It makes me feel close to you. It relaxes me. That’s not at all the kind of sex I had this last week. I don’t want you to see it, then think that’s the way I want to have sex with you. I want our sex life to stay the same.”

“So wait … you have dirty, nasty sex with these other guys all week, and then you don’t want me to even see it, because you think I’ll want that all the time?”

“I already know you’ll want it all the time; I’ve worked hard to keep it separate,” she said.

“But why don’t you want that same kind of sex with me?”

“I haven’t seen you in a week … and I’ve had a lot of sex over the week. I have been looking forward to having sex with you, though, like a thirsty man in a desert,” she said. “Do you see what I mean?”

He had to admit the idea made some sense to him. However, he didn’t want to admit it.

“Not really, no. Why can’t we do both?”

“I just like to keep it separate,” she said, putting down her fork.

He sat quietly for a moment. “How many times did you have sex over the week?” he asked quietly.

She smiled. She took the check and pen waiting for them on the table, and wrote a number on her lap. She put it back in the book, folded her napkin, and excused herself to the restroom.

He picked up the check immediately, turned it over, and saw the number “16” written on the back. In a good week, they had sex four or five times. Obviously sixteen was totally out of the question. There was no way in hell he could compete with that. He held the check in his hand, lost in thought, until the waiter interrupted him and asked if he was ready to pay.

[To be continued ….]

©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.

[Continued from "I'm Not Complaining (2)."]

I’m not complaining.  I’m not, because they were nice enough.

She was very happy when I said I had a FetLife profile.  She smiled and said she could tell.  She confirmed with her boyfriend that he, too, could tell that I was the kinky sort.  Apparently I had forgotten to wear my bangs over the indelible “K” on my forehead.

She said that they were active in “the lifestyle.”  Ug.  That just sounded boring to me.  “The lifestyle” seems to be overly concerned with labels – top, bottom, master, slave, daddy, girl, etc.  But she was very excited.

I said I had been to one munch and was bored; it seemed like a bunch of dorks.  She said that the munches that they’ve attended had been pretty cool.  I still wasn’t sure what I thought of either his or her judgment but I hopefully diplomatically expressed interest in going to a munch in Chicago.

Politics came up, at least in reference to Sarah Palin and Michelle Bachmann, and I had no problem saying that they were both pretty and both fucking stupid.  She teased him, saying he would fuck them; he said he couldn’t fuck stupid.  Then he admitted that though he cared about politics he had never voted.  He said it was his secret shame.

Silly, I know, but I care about that sort of thing.  I vote, even locally, and feel it’s my duty to vote.  Because the Viking can’t vote here, I vote on his behalf, albeit without his input; voting is private.

The food was good.  The drinks were good.  I decided I wanted to return with the Viking some time.

We talked about their experiences with a couple of ladies they’d met via FetLife.  One of the things she – though it was him communicating with me – said they didn’t like was “total whores.”  I had asked for some clarification when we were communicating via OkCupid, and I asked for further clarification in person.

One lady they met at a munch after some Fetlife communication.  She was kind of cold to them at the munch.  Nonetheless, they hooked up with her.  Sounded like the sex was fun.  What they didn’t like was that this little hottie, whom Big Titties especially liked because she had a Russian accent and a hot body, later hooked up with others via FetLife.  They found out when they saw pictures on FetLife of her fucking others.

I was still confused as to their sexual logic but I pretended I wasn’t.  He said that the hottie’s “problem” was that she was into it “for the sex,” that she “just liked fucking.”  This didn’t make any damn sense to me.  They wanted someone who was willing to fuck them, but faulted her for fucking anyone but them.  As far as I could tell, this attitude of theirs arose after hooking up with her only once.

Another woman they met and fucked they didn’t like for another reason. Seems she was also very much Big Titties’ type – Eastern European and very sexually open.  After this second story I figured out I wasn’t thin enough for Big Titties.  I’m not complaining about this, because I wasn’t all that enamored with the couple anyway.

So the second woman and Big Titties had become friends and did things socially apart from having sex.  She told Big Titties about a guy she was fucking – and why this was ok while the other woman’s fucking wasn’t I don’t know – and how generous he was.  Then she asked Big Titties if she wanted to fuck the guy with her – for money.  The answer was an emphatic no – of course, Big Titties was in law school – and they could no longer be friends.

Basically, they were looking for someone who was slutty enough to fuck the two of them but who wasn’t too slutty, whatever that meant.  Also, she had to be thin.

It was obvious they didn’t want to fuck me, and that was fine, especially considering what I found out later ….

I swear.  True story.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

[Continued from "Warren's 'Cheating' (6)."]

He was beginning to get tired, and finally realized the evil of her ways: she knew it was nighttime for him. She was going to send one photograph every ten minutes, knowing full well that he would never be able to get to sleep, wanting to wait just a bit longer for the next image. He was thankful to have a bit of jet lag, and decided to wait for the next image. It was a psychological challenge very much like a snooze button.

The next soft ping made his stiff cock ache even more strongly. He opened the email excitedly, clicking several times in the wrong spot before hitting it properly. It turned out to not be an image at all, but a video. His hands began to shake, his heart pounding. Did she send him a video of the entire encounter? That would be like a dream come true – in over a year, he had never even seen a glimpse of her with another man, and that became something like the Holy Grail to him, the ultimate win.

He opened the movie, which played for a second, and stopped. He cursed. All he saw was her face, which filled most of the frame. She was apparently in a doggy-style position of some sort, her arms down in front of her. Her mouth was open, her eyes were closed, and she was moaning – no, screaming. He clicked the play button again – the video was only about one second long, and contained just one powerful stroke from the man presumably but invisibly behind her. He saw her eyes squeezing a little tighter as he presumably filled her completely, heard one gasp escaping from her lips. He played the video over and over again, cursing at it for being only one second long, cursing himself for actually thinking she’d send him a whole video. The sound of his thighs slapping her ass as he finished the stroke dominated the audio track; that and the look of her eyelids tightening slightly were the only clues he had to what she was doing. His imagination was going wild, and he was masturbating almost without intending to do so, touching his penis instinctively with so much pent up sexual frustration. He was about to let himself cum, watching this silly one second video on an endless loop, when the email program pinged once more.

He opened the new email to find another picture of her, this time on her tummy on the bed. Most of her torso and hips were visible, but not her head or legs. There was a very powerful looking man laying with his stomach against her back, his skin a little darker than hers, his cock invisible but surely following the curve of her buttocks, buried deeply in her pussy. He couldn’t resist it anymore, and came buckets all over himself. He mopped it up with his underwear, and decided to go to sleep. He closed the laptop’s screen, but couldn’t bring himself to close the email program first. He knew full well it was going to ping again in about seven minutes, but he couldn’t bear to not hear that ping. He climbed into bed and waited for it. He listened to many more, groaning after each one, fighting with himself to stay in bed, his mind wandering helplessly, trying to guess the content of all the images or clips of video that now awaited him.

He finally fell asleep several hours later, and was grateful that the ping was not loud enough to wake him. It was going to be a very long week.

[To be continued ….]

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

[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 ….]

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

[Continued from "Warren's 'Cheating' (4)."]

The two fell into a rather pleasant pattern – she made sure to always leave enough hints about to keep his suspicions up. Whenever he’d become resigned or complacent about her cheating, she’d make sure to leave a phone number with a date and time on the pad beside the phone. She began giving him just enough information to know something was going on, but never enough to fully understand the totality of it. She liked the look in his eyes when he questioned her. She liked the feeling of power it gave her to deny him the information he desperately wanted. She loved the sexual energy it provoked in him just to know that she was doing something without his knowledge.

She was cheating on him regularly, a few times a week, with any of the eight or so men she kept on her list. She felt confident that he had no idea what she was doing or how often she was doing it. He tried all of his tricks in turn. He set up a hidden camera in a pile of laundry in the bedroom, but she noticed the VCR’s record light the night before, and knew exactly what he was doing. Just to rub it in, she invited one of her lovers over for a nooner, took off her panties, and dropped them over the camera lens before proceeding to have a very heated session with him on their bed, allowing him to cum twice inside her. He never mentioned the video tape, though she caught him masturbating to the audio track a few nights later, the screen showing nothing but the out-of-focus red blur of her panties.

Her sexual freedom was unabashed; she was both deeply in love and very promiscuous at the same time, and in truth she had never been happier in her entire life. He learned to discern when she had been playing by the taste and feel of her vagina, although he never knew for sure if his guesses were right. Sometimes he had the feeling that she was fucking other men every single day, and his libido was in constant overdrive, filling her pussy with enormous loads of semen every night in his natural biological urge to compete. With few exceptions, she gave him no information at all about her habits. She liked it that way, and suspected that he enjoyed some aspect of it, also.

Now that the commitment of her primary emotional relationship was guaranteed, she began exploring her sexual horizons. She began arranging for two men to meet her at once, and began learning to please two men simultaneously in the bed she shared with her boyfriend every night. She began to grow so fond of these encounters that she began passing up one-on-one opportunities in order to schedule more threesomes. After about two months, she was exclusively seeing men two at a time, with the exception of two lovers who were so much fun that she continued to see them anytime they were available.

He announced that he had to go on a business trip to Japan for a week. He was very distraught, and said that he had fought long and hard to have someone else go instead. Unfortunately, he was the only one available, and had to go. She asked him why he was so forlorn about it, and he answered “I know what you’re going to do the entire time I’m gone.”

She laughed. “Well, you’re probably right honey, but what does that matter?”

“I don’t know. At least when I’m here I feel like I have some idea of what’s going on. I’ve sort of figured out your habits … I mean, I think. I can usually tell when you’ve been playing, and I like that. I don’t like the idea of being on the other side of the planet and not having any idea what you’re doing,” he said.

“I know what you mean, sweetie,” she said, surprising him. “I like your involvement just the way it is – you know it’s happening, but nothing specific. I like how you’re always trying to figure it out. It wouldn’t be nearly as much fun for me if it weren’t a challenge.”

“So you’re not going to do anything while I’m gone?” he asked, his eyes pleading. “Come on, honey … have a heart, please?”

She laughed gently, nodding at him. “I’ll think about it, baby,” she said.

[To be continued ….]

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

[Continued from "Warren's 'Cheating' (3)."]

He slammed himself through the door of the apartment, aimed himself directly at the charger still sitting on the floor next to the couch, and almost completely crossed the room before noticing the strange noise – the shower. She was still in the apartment, and she was showering again – the second time in so many hours. His pulse quickened as he opened the bathroom door, steam escaping around him, half-expecting to find Jonathan in the shower with her.

She was in front of the mirror, not yet in the shower. She jumped in genuine surprise when he opened the door, then smiled at him. “Oh, hi baby. You scared me. What are you doing here? Did you forget something?”

“Yeah,” he said, “the …. What are you doing here? Why are you taking another shower?”

“Because I need one, that’s why,” she said, as she wiped her face with a tissue. She continued to wipe her face, very gingerly. He took a step closer before realizing with a start that her face was messy with something.

“Do you have cum on your face?” he asked, incredulously, not even believing it was possible. He instinctively started looking around the bathroom for the responsible penis. He peeked out the door, wondering if Jonathan was still in the apartment. “Jonathan?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s cum. No, it wasn’t Jonathan. I need a shower because it feels like there’s a lot more of it inside me,” she said, never turning her face from the mirror. She said it so nonchalantly that he wondered if she expected him to just nod and go back to work.

“There’s more than one guy?” he asked, caught in the sort of disbelief one feels immediately stupid for being caught in. She looked at him with one eyebrow slightly raised, making it clear it wasn’t the sort of question she planned to answer. He took another shot. “So you’ve been doing this in our bed all this time while I was at work? I thought you forgot all about it.”

She took a step toward him, took his hand, and pulled it toward her pussy. He felt how warm and swollen her outer lips were, still wet with a mixture of bodily fluids. She looked him directly in the eye and said softly “I had sex in this apartment with another man as soon as the movers finished, while you were still at work, even before I had sex with you. This is the way I live my life, so rest assured that I’m never going to forget about it, even if you do.” She smiled brightly and kissed him deeply. He could still taste the lingering taste of semen in her mouth, and it aroused him more than anything in his recent memory. She felt his erection through his pants for a moment, squeezing him gently, before announcing that she had better get into the shower and get her butt to work. She hugged him very tightly, and told him she loved him. The soft smile on her face said it all: she really did love him. She meant it.

As much as it amazed him, he was growing more and more confident with the whole situation with each exposure. His girlfriend was totally in control of the situation. She chose her sexual partners discreetly and presumably wisely. Her love for him continued to grow, even though she had been cheating on him for literally almost their entire relationship. He took comfort in the knowledge that he would never know for sure if or when she was cheating; it felt oddly quite satisfying to have it all beyond his control.

[To be continued ….]

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