“Nice shot.  Nice boobs.  Cute photo.”  A rave review from the Viking, who asked to use this shot for his site, Dave’s Babe of the Day.  If you like looking at dirty pictures then take a look.

I’m not sure why he’s surprised that the photos I feature in my “Photo Lotto” series are good.  He’s seen them all and they’re all good, dammit.  Go ahead, search here under “photo lotto” and see all the sexy, sexy photos I’ve featured.

This photo is good for a number of reasons.  Of course there’s the symmetry.  Or near symmetry.  I can’t figure out if they look any more alike than two young, white, long-legged, waxed pudenda’d women with pulled-back, long, light brown hair and relatively-large-for-their-body-size breasts with relatively-small-for-their-size ariolæ normally would.

I’m not very good at noticing family resemblances, which goes along with not really looking at people’s faces because I’m too shy to make eye contact.  When I talk to people I tend to look at their mouths, and these two ladies’ mouths are quite similar.  I thought I wasn’t good at recognizing people until I met the Viking.  He literally thinks everyone of a particular race looks alike.  It’s not racist, it’s oblivious.

This photo is pretty fucking amazing.  I love the tub and would have many, many baths in a tub like that.  I wouldn’t like cleaning it, but the clean tub feeling every time I did.

I prefer the less tanned lady myself.  I just think harsh tan lines look creepy and unnatural, and then I think of the damage.

The Viking didn’t like the photographer’s feet in the photo, but I think that allows one’s imagination to have some fun.  The feet are obviously a man’s so I like to think of things the three of them were doing both before and after this photo was taken.  The possibility of incestuous relations makes it even hotter.  I don’t want to fuck two sisters but I think I could have some fun watching a hot guy fuck two women who look like they could be sisters; it’d be nice and dirty.

I swear.  True story.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

Yeah, I know I said (more than once I think) I was done with these but they’re just too much fun.  Yes, I have fun being snarky.  But I promise I’m not mean.  Well, not to them, just about them, here.  This is the equivalent of talking behind someone’s back but these guys aren’t my friends so it’s ok.  It’s the equivalent of commenting on a stranger’s outfit, or something like that.

Hi, I like your profile and think you are absolutely gorgeous. And (from what I can read) I think we are looking for the same thing. I’m not into games, but require discretion–hence why i don’t have a profile picture–but if you provide me with an email then i’ll send some pictures so that you can have a look and see if i’m your type. In short, i’m a young, but mature, sporty guy who is (and looks) scandinavian. Hope to hear from you, and explore the prospect of having mutually beneficial fun together. take care, Mark.

This one isn’t horrible, but I take issue with people who are ashamed to post a reasonable profile with photos.  It’s fucking 2011, not 1994; people use the Internet for all sorts of things now.  If the guy didn’t want his coworkers – or, more likely, wife – knowing he had an OkCupid account to look for pussy he could have indicated he was looking for friends and then disclosed fully if someone seemed receptive to fucking.  Also, I don’t like having to do the work – I use OkCupid because it makes it easier to see and meet people.

i’m not sure but your hostility could be a need to be properly laid

I let this character know that I get laid plenty, by multiple people.  And I do; I’m not wanting for a proper laying.

Wonder why you’re single..hmmmm. cunt much?

I let this character know that I was not single.  There my profile was just sitting there not harming anyone and he made a point of being a nasty asshole to me.  I didn’t write my profile at him so there’s no good reason he took it so damn personally.  Maybe he was having a bad day.

Hi there how’s my future wifey doing besides gorgeous? :-)

This is just fucking gross.  I’m not sure there’s anyone who would appreciate such a come-on, but because I’m sensitive to anything having to do with marriage, I found it downright horrible.  I felt it necessary to let him know that his opening line and his profile sucked.

Would you be interested in going out with my gf and I? She has never been with a woman but wants to experience that. Her idea was to have the women fool around why I watch and then maybe I can join in later. She is 5’9″ 137 lbs. Dark hair and brown eyes. We are both professionals. I am sorry if this offended you.

This is not even close to the first time I’ve gotten a suggestive message that then apologized for being suggestive.  It’s lame.  My profile indicates I’m bisexual, open to casual sex, and interested in couples so there would be no reason to apologize for suggesting casual sex with a heterosexual couple.

I swear.  True story.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

The Viking texted me that he had something for my sweet tooth.  My sweet tooth tends to rear its ugly head well after dinner, but before bed.  It’s the time I had dessert when I was a kid and it’s when I tend to crave sweet things.

Sometimes fruit will satisfy it, and when there’s nothing sugary sweet in the house I have to settle for fruit.  I love fruit and fruit is, you know, healthy and shit, so that’s not such a bad thing, but sometimes I want something fucking rich and sugary and not at all healthy.

That night he came home with three very sweet, very moist, very rich cupcakes.  They were so rich we didn’t finish them that night, and I knew they were too tasty for me to try to pretend that they were healthy.  I was pretty satisfied, but the cupcakes were not all the Viking had planned for that weekend.

Before he came home with the cupcakes on Friday he let me know that on Saturday I would be required to be freshly showered and naked but for a blindfold by 7pm.

I had no idea what he was planning.  He had teased on Friday that he had invited five big black guys over to have their way with me, but I knew the Viking didn’t know five guys he could or would invite over for such things; I had no clue if the Viking knew any black guys.

Besides, I think the Viking knew my thing about the “big black guy” bullshit and wouldn’t have planned such a party.  Not all black guys have big cocks.  Not all black guys are big dudes.  The objectification of black men as “bulls” and “studs” is lame, and not sexy to me.  Sure, there are some black guys – as there are white guys and brown guys and all the other color guys – I find hot, but I don’t find them so because of the color of their skin.

I did begin to worry that the Viking had invited someone or someones over though.  He knows I wouldn’t mind entertaining a small group of guys … in any ways I could.  However, our place was not ready for company; I need to be able to prepare for guests, something the Viking knows.

So I was pretty sure I wasn’t to entertain a gang for a bang, but the Viking was most definitely planning something.  He said that while I was showering and donning the blindfold that he’d be out “for supplies.”  What kind of supplies, I had no fucking idea.

I like surprises, and the Viking knows it.  I was having fun guessing and he was having fun deflecting my guesses.  I didn’t want to know; I wanted whatever it was to be a surprise.  He could have told me where my surprise was hidden – if it was a thing that could be hidden – and I still would have waited for him to spring it on me because a lot of the fun of surprises is the reveal.

On Saturday, per usual, we got up early – for me – and made our way to Lincoln Park for the Green City Market where we picked up our share of goods from “our” farm.  I know winter’s coming (No, that’s not just for you “Game of Thrones” fans.) but I’ve really enjoyed the local produce this spring and summer.  We’re supposed to enjoy it into the fall.  I’m trying not to think about the winter when anything local will be things that can be “put up,” like winter squash and root vegetables.  The thought of root cellars is still fucking foreign to me.

After we figured out that everyone else brought their dogs – whether well behaved or not – to the farmers market we started bringing Isis – who is very well behaved.  It was nice to give all of us (except for poor Joaquin) an outing where we all felt like we got something – Isis, new smells and a literal roll in the grass, and us, produce to eat during the week.

Isis, however, absolutely hates rain.  She doesn’t like the feeling of the wet hitting her skin, something that happens with anything more than the lightest mist of a drizzle.  Further, she fears, to the point of hiding in the guest room, thunder.  Thunder (and lightning) often accompanies rain here in Chicago.  Summer thunder storms are common I’ve been told.  I’ve also been told that this year’s summer thunder storms were more plentiful than usual, something I’m not sure is true considering most people talk about whether only insofar as their short-term memory can access it.

That Saturday it looked like it could rain any second and we could hear thunder in the distance so we left Isis at home.  It wasn’t cold, but we were glad we brought our umbrellas so at least our heads could stay dry.

To be continued ….

I swear.  True story.

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

There are guys whose profiles (on FetLife, OkCupid, even Twitter) help me decide immediately that there’s no point in meeting.  Sometimes it’s their photos (because just like everyone else, I am attracted to certain things and repulsed by certain others), sometimes it’s their user names (I don’t care if the guy fancies himself a gigolo, DaytimeGigolo is not acceptable.), and sometimes it’s the profiles themselves (no one can do without air or water, you ‘tard).

Other times we get past all that.  The guy doesn’t seem like a moron.  He seems to find me appealing in some way.  At that point I just want to set up a meeting in public to see if we’d get along.

The meeting is not for sex of any sort, and to assume as much is lame considering neither of us knows if we’ll want to get it on with the other.

The time leading up to the meeting is not for silly texts.  Once a meeting is set up I usually give my number to the guy (they’ve been mostly guys) so he can text me if he’s running late, to tell me what he’s wearing/where he’s sitting, etc.

Because of my seeming rigidity I’ve had more than one person say I’m much more fun in person than would be apparent by my online persona.  Most of them don’t read my Twitter stream, which I think is very fun, but that’s because I’d rather reveal myself in person.

Some people are too chickenshit to get to the point of meeting me in person.  Weeding out the weak/lame/creepy is a good thing.

 Did you ever ask Viking if he’d be open to letting me watch you two play?

I received that as a direct message on Twitter.  It seemed to be out of the blue, but the guy assured me that we had discussed the topic previously and I had said I would ask the Viking.  I wasn’t interested in a stranger watching us fuck, which was probably why I hadn’t asked the Viking when I said I would.  The guy’s nagging and my honesty got to me, and I asked.

The Viking wasn’t interested in a stranger watching us fuck either.  Maybe someday we’ll want some close friends to watch us fuck, but for now we’re good.

Mr. Voyeur was disappointed.  I pointed out that the fact that we were strangers was odd and potentially very awkward when it came to fuck watching.

What’s so odd? You like to fuck. I like to watch. You both are open-minded sexually. So it seems like you’re the perfect couple to watch.

This was the first of Mr. Voyeur’s extreme leaps of logic.  We hadn’t met; he had no clue what we looked like; he had no clue if we’d get along.  While I enjoy watching people fuck as much as the next person, what I enjoy is the chemistry between myself and the couple, not just seeing people fuck.  If I want to just see people fuck I watch porn.

Then Mr. Voyeur suggested we could all meet first.  His timing wasn’t so good; he should have suggested that first.

I said that I was more of an exhibitionist than the Viking and Mr. Voyeur suggested that he and I fuck in front of the Viking.  The guy didn’t get it.  I assured him that that wasn’t the Viking’s thing, but that he and I could meet separate and apart from the Viking.  I did not promise him sex of any kind.

There were some scheduling back-and-forths before we settled on a day and a potential time.  When it came time to pin down the location I received this:

Meeting during the day might work best. If things go well, we can always head back to your place.

This was Mr. Voyeur’s second extreme leap of logic.  While he didn’t have access to my OkCupid profile, which makes clear that the gentlemen need to host, it was still presumptuous of him to assume my home would be available.  I told him as much.

Then he just got nosy; he asked if the Viking was home all the time.  It didn’t fucking matter, I didn’t want a complete stranger in my home.  He said he’d host.

Hosting wasn’t necessary for the first meeting since we were just meeting.  He said he didn’t expect “sex” from the first meeting, but he hoped there’d be “enough chemistry for a fair amount of making out.”

Whoa, Nellie!  I let him know that we’d have to meet and that I wasn’t making any promises.  And then there was extreme leap of logic number three:

Unless, you’re completely hideous or boring then making out shouldn’t be too hard for people two sexual people such as ourselves.

Any two people who like sex should necessarily like sex with each other?!

It got worse ….

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.

[Continued from "Warren's 'Cheating' (7)."]

The rest of the week went as he imagined. Each night, every ten minutes, he received another picture or short movie clip. He continued to send text messages and leave her voicemails, sometimes up to a half-dozen times a day, to let her know he was thinking about her. She did not answer the phone or respond to his text messages, but most of the emails he got contained some kind of sweet note, in addition to the very graphic evidence of her continued infidelity. He was anxious to fly home not to stop the barrage of emails (he saved every one permanently to his computer), but simply to actually have a live conversation with her.

She met him at the airport wearing her prettiest dress and an enormous smile. She ran to him, jumped into his arms, and smothered him with kisses. They held each other for several minutes, as if they hadn’t seen each other for years. When she broke their embrace, he asked if she’d accompany him to dinner, and explained that he had made reservations at her favorite restaurant. She squealed with happiness, and the two departed, arm in arm at last.

He had his hopes up that she was going to explain her entire week in excruciating detail, and began goading her as soon as they were in the car.

“So, how was your week baby?”

“Oh, it was good… I missed you. I was kind of bored. You know, just normal work stuff.”

“You couldn’t possibly have been bored, you sent me all that stuff.”

“Well, yeah, but it wasn’t all from this week.”

“Some of it had to have been,” he said, preparing his Detective voice. “We switched those two pictures on the wall about two days before I left, and at least some of the pictures showed them. In fact, I don’t think any of the pictures showed them the way they used to be.”

“Well, okay,” she smiled broadly, “I wasn’t that bored. But I definitely did miss you.”

“Fair enough,” he said triumphantly. “But will you tell me one thing?”

“Maybe,” she said, narrowing her eyes as she smiled.

“How many times … did you?”

“Oh honey, you don’t want to know things like that,” she said, stroking his arm.

“I really do, actually,” he said.

“How many do you think?” she challenged.

“I don’t know, I sometimes couldn’t tell the guys apart. It seemed like at least ten different guys were in different pictures.”

She laughed out loud. “You really scoured those pictures, didn’t you baby?”

“Well, yeah, it’s the only thing I had to do at night.”

“What, you couldn’t go find yourself some tiny little Japanese hooker and relieve yourself?”

“Do you think that’s what I wanted?”

“I don’t know, what did you want?” she asked coyly.

“What I really wanted was to see the entire video tape. You sent me four little pieces from it.”

She just smiled at him.

“So… will I get to see the entire video tape?” he asked hopefully.

She hesitated, but did not stop smiling. “I don’t know,” was all she said. She cocked her head to the side, considering.

“Oh, come on, you let me see some of the best parts of it already,” he said.

“Those weren’t necessarily the best parts, sweetie.”

“Please?” He didn’t know what else to say.

“I’ll think about it,” she said in a sort of authoritarian way.

He decided that pressuring her was not likely to elicit a positive response, so he doubled back and decided to ask more questions.

“How long is the video?” he asked, almost shaking in anticipation of her answer.

“Well… it wasn’t just one video, it was three. And each was pretty much a full tape, ninety minutes.”

He was stunned. He tried to do the math… seven days, four and half hours of video, more than 30 minutes a day on average.

“Wow,” was all he managed to say. “You mean…”

“But honey, you can’t see the tapes,” she said, suddenly seeming to have made up her mind.

“Why not?” he said, aware that it sounded like he was about to whine.

She sighed slightly. “I just prefer to keep them to myself.”

After a few minutes of pained silence, she continued. “The tapes show me doing things I’ve never done with you, and I don’t want you to get any ideas.” She knew this was a bombshell, and she was going to enjoy the aftermath. They were just pulling into the restaurant parking lot, and he was going to have to wait a while to get anything more out of her.

His jaw dropped. “You mean … the clips you sent me were … the tame parts?” He thought back to the video clips, which all had shown her having very savage sex with different men. One had shown her accepting an enormous load of cum in her mouth.

“Well, they certainly weren’t my favorite  parts,” she said, opening her car door.

[To be continued ….]

©2012 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

[Continued from "I'm Not Complaining (3)."]

I’m not complaining that they didn’t offer to buy my lunch.  Instead, when the check came he said they’d split it three ways.  Only it didn’t seem to be split three ways because she didn’t pay at all.  It was just split so I paid for myself.  In my experience with couples, I, the woman they want to bring into their relationship, is the date and therefore treated.  But since they didn’t want to bring me into their relationship I guess they figured they didn’t have to pay.

The couple rushed out, supposedly because they had things to do before school started again and in preparation for a lake-based mini-vacation with her family; there was some angst over having to spend time on a houseboat without complete freedom to fuck.

On the way out I suggested we become friends on FetLife and shortly after our date I texted my FetLife name and said I was interested in going to munches.  Each of them has since friended me on FetLife so of course I took at their profiles.

Especially after it was clear they weren’t interested in fucking me, I have no doubt that I sound childish when I say that after looking at their profiles I decided I wasn’t interested in them anyway.  But it’s true.  I swear.

He considered threesomes a kink, which is just silly.  She was obsessed with her boobs, which were big but not all that special.  But what sealed the deal for me is that their threesome activities seemed to include putting the ladies in a dog crate – which I’m sure they considered a cage – so he could stick his dick through the slats for the ladies to suck.  Uh, no thank you.

Using a dog crate as a cage did give me an idea: Sell Isis’s old crate to kinksters rather than dog owners.  I imagine the fact that it was used by a real dog and probably has some doggy odors would be a plus for the puppy play folks.

So after meeting the couple that didn’t want to fuck me that day I wasn’t necessarily excited to meet someone else, but I did.  And we were having a nice time.  We got along well and were having a nice conversation.

After a couple of drinks at the second bar, we went to a third.  Yes, we were again carded.  Then it was time to go to his hotel, where there was another bar.  That night I couldn’t for the life of me get drunk.  Hell, I barely felt buzzed.  The hotel bar was on a high floor with a great view of the Chicago skyline.

It was a weekday so the bar was dominated by men, probably in town for work; there were only two other women besides me and they had dates, too.  If I ever again get in the mood for random fucks, hotel bars could be a lot of fun.  Hotel sex guaranteed.

Finally, we went to his room where I raided the minibar so I could have another (somewhat useless) drink.  He turned on the tv and flipped around until it landed on something we could both agree upon, “Top Chef: Just Desserts.”  It was the season premier.

We watched for a bit and then began kissing.  His mouth tasted of cigarettes.  It was not pleasant, but he was a good kisser.  I’m not complaining.

I’m not complaining either when I say that “Top Chef: Just Desserts” is not the sexiest of soundtracks.  I was able to block it out for the most part.  His pants came off, and then his boxers.

[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 "I'm Not Complaining (1)."]

I’d met the couple because we’d agreed to meet at a place very close to the Viking’s and my apartment.  A place I was interested in trying anyway.  I walked there and saw who I assumed was the couple walk up at the same time.

I hung back.  When I saw the woman take a third menu after the hostess brought menus for the couple I figured they were the people I was to meet.  Also, they looked like they might have been looking for someone.  I’ve learned to figure out what people who are looking for people look like.

I followed them to their table and introduced myself.  She seemed kind of dingy, which may have been due to her admitted hangover, and also her schtick.  I’m sure I seem ditzy when people first meet me; I hope it’s only when they first meet me.  What I already knew about the couple was that they were law school students, so I knew they had to have a modicum of intelligence.

She was dyed blond and tanned, which is something I’ve come to realize is a thing in Chicago.  When I’ve decried such activities as tanning I’ve been told that it’s necessary because there’s not a lot of sun year-round.  I’ve not yet been in Chicago a year, so I can’t be sure, and I seem to have forgotten the long months of depressing, sunless solitude, but I still think UVA rays are horrible and that naturally pale is better than artificially tan, even in the middle of winter.

She also had big boobs.  I’m not so fascinated by big tits – I prefer cute, perky ones if I’m to play with them – but I did sympathize with her placket plight.  She had the same issue that I’ve often had: the buttons of her shirt(dress) couldn’t contain her tits.  I usually use one safety pin between the buttons that hit roughly above and below my tit mid-region, or nipple-level.  She, however, was wearing a very tight shirt(dress) and needed safety-pin reinforcement not only at tit mid-region but also at tit lower-region; I could see the shine of the safety pin glinting at me from across the table.

He was … a white guy.  I am a white girl.  I grew up with white people.  I suppose I have something for the exotic because I tend to find white folk not so interesting looking and brown folk much more so.  The Ex was (maybe still is unless he’s dead) of Mexican descent and even though my step-mother meant to compliment him – in her condescending and racist way – by saying he didn’t “look Mexican” he most definitely was (possibly is).

Basic white guys don’t do much for me.  They have to be extra hot.  The guy was decent enough.  Perhaps if I’d chosen to sit across from him rather than next to him I would have been better able to gauge.  No matter.

We ordered food.  She claimed to not eat meat on weekdays and then ordered meat to eat – on a weekday – apparently because she was hungover.  I wasn’t hung over so I ordered a drink.

Before our food arrived she apologized for not being sure of what had already transpired between us online because she wasn’t in charge of her OkCupid account.  She said she tended to be more interested in their profiles on another site, a naughty site.  Had I heard of FetLife?

When I said that I, too, had a profile on FetLife, she lit up.

[To be continued ….]

I swear.  True story.

©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.