Random Rim Jobs
I swear. True story.I’m Not Complaining (4)
Posted on September 08, 2011[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.
I’m Not Complaining (3)
Posted on September 06, 2011[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.
I’m Not Complaining (2)
Posted on September 03, 2011[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.
Warren’s “Cheating” (6)
Posted on September 01, 2011[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 ….]
Warren’s “Cheating” (5)
Posted on August 26, 2011[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 ….]
It Seemed Promising (Part 1)
Posted on August 11, 2011It’s been hard for me to find friends here in Chicago so when someone from OkCupid invited me to a dinner party I was very tempted. But I was also too shy to show up at a dinner party where I didn’t know anyone alone. The Viking has more social interactions going to work five days a week, and he doesn’t have as much of a need as I seem to to connect with people; he had no interest in going with me to the dinner party.
Maybe I should have gone. Perhaps it would have started things differently, which would have led to them ending differently.
I was too chicken to show up at a dinner party not knowing anyone. He had made it seem as though it was likely I’d get along with most of the people there, after he and I had several email exchanges and an admission that he had found me in my various iterations online, including Fetlife and this here blog. It seemed promising that after seeing 1) that I was on Fetlife and, 2) that he read at least a bit of RRJ, that he was still interested, and still thought I’d get along well with his friends.
I don’t necessarily need a BFF, but I do need to connect with people. I would love to have dinner parties, and to attend dinner parties or game nights of like-minded people. The kind of people who care about the environment and such, who like their animals or at least don’t hate mine, who don’t think WalMart is a cool place to shop, who realize that the nutjob Republicans are complete fucking nutjobs. I know I live in the Midwest now, but I also live in Chicago.
I begged out of the dinner party but asked for a full report. He told me that it went well and that some of his friends are kinky even if they didn’t admit it. They sounded interesting. He sounded interesting.
Then he told me he was going to a female wrestling event solo and that it’d be cool if I went as well. I looked it up and it did look interesting. The wrestlers were to represent a country by having said country’s flag painted on their backs. Through various rounds the winner would be determined by who had the most complete flag still in tact; the goal was to remove the opponents’ flags.
I checked in with the Viking who said he wasn’t all that into it. I was surprised considering we’d gone to Ultimate Surrender together. But that left me to go meet the guy and see chicks wrestle, which I thought could be interesting.
Things were tentative for Saturday night. I let the Viking know, and he went ahead and made his own tentative plans for the same night. Tentative plans that would require me to be out of the house. Tentative plans the would have him fucking someone not me.
He had met a woman and had a good first meeting but they hadn’t yet had a chance to seal the deal. I certainly wanted to give him the opportunity to do so. The Viking should have just as much fun as he can and I don’t want to be the reason he’s not able to do so.
So when it turned out the lady wrestling wasn’t happening on Saturday, but on Friday, when I had plans to hang out at our place with a friend, I was disappointed that I wouldn’t be able to see the lady wrestling, or meet the new friend, or give the place to the Viking on that night. And the Viking was disappointed.
I had backup plans for Saturday night, since the possibility of OkCupid guys being flakes or idiots (or shitheads) is pretty high. I had been wanting to meet a woman I had been following in Twitter for some time. Her tweets were funny and she was in Chicago so there wasn’t any good reason we hadn’t already met except that I’m shy.
I told her to pick the place since I don’t know any good places in Chicago. In the mean time, I heard from the lady wrestling guy; to make up for lack of lady wrestling he wanted to buy me a drink on Saturday.
[Continued.]
I swear. True story.
DD’s Visit (Part 4)
Posted on July 17, 2011[Continued from "DD's Visit (Part 3)."]
View from Metra on way to Ravinia Park from Chicago
We took took the Metra to Ravinia Park for the Ravinia Festival. Well, one night of the Ravinia Festival, an outdoor summer music concert series. That night Pink Martini was playing.
I had first heard Pink Martini back in 2000 in Bangkok. Yes, the one in Thailand. I was there for the first time and attended a restaurant that had a great atmosphere including music. Eventually I befriended the owner, an Australian, and he introduced me to Pink Martini, a band from Eugene, Oregon, USA that sang in English, Spanish, French, and other languages.
Just a couple of days after I visited Chicago last year, Pink Martini was scheduled to play at another outdoor music festival in the Chicagoland Area (a term I’ve still not been able to embrace), Jay Pritzker Pavillion in Millennium Park. Only that Pink Martini concert, like all the concerts in Jay Pritzker Pavillion, was free. Only that Pink Martini concert was thunderstormed out. While I was sorry I had missed it, I had actually not missed anything.
When I found out Pink Martini was playing this year I jumped at the chance to see them. The Viking got tickets for the two of us literally as soon as they went on sale. Then when we knew DD would be in town for the show we of course got him a ticket as well; I knew DD liked Pink Martini because I had introduced him to them.
Very well-prepared picnickers
So we took the Metra to Ravinia to see Pink Martini. The idea is to picnic whilst listening to the live music. Crowds make the Viking cranky so he was already kind of checked out. DD scoped out a good location for our picnic.
We thought we had a pretty good set up what with all the food, the beer and wine, the boozy jelly shots, the plastic-backed picnic blanket, the dishes, the flatware, the cutting board, and so on. But we had very little compared to our picnicking neighbors. They had chairs, tables, citronella candles, KFC meals, entire wine tasting set ups, and a lot of other stuff that we hadn’t even thought of. They had obviously been before, and had probably braved a lot of traffic and exorbitantly priced parking, so I didn’t feel all that inferior.
We had our own little oasis on our blanket. The food was good. The drinks were plentiful. The booze was edible. Also, the bathrooms were big and clean and not too far away. By far it was one of the most pleasant concert experiences I had had and Pink Martini hadn’t even started.
The Illinois governor, Pat Quinn, declared the day [Opening Act of Pink Martini] Day in person. People seemed to be happy about that. The opening act was the exact kind of jazz that makes me want to skewer my eardrums. I don’t know what it’s called but it noodles on and seems to go nowhere and have no fucking point. Yeah, I know that my lack of appreciation for annoying jazz means I’m not musically sophisticated; I’m willing to accept that.
Up through the trees at Ravania Park
Eventually Pink Martini began. I stood up just behind the partition that divided the folks who had paid for assigned seats from the rest of us who had paid general admission. It wasn’t so bad. I could see not only the tiny folk on stage but also the large screens that projected said tiny people much larger.
Potentially scary heavy industry
Pink Martini is huge. There’s a guy who plays a grand piano, a woman who plays cello, a man who plays violin, a man who both played trumpet and sang some, and a man who played trombone. There were also some other folks on stage, and eventually a woman who sang lead on many of the songs performed.
It was a great concert. The evening was nice. Afterwards we packed up our gear and went back to the train, which conveniently waits for people to get out after the end of the concerts. Sadly, that was not the case with the bus between the train station and our house so we walked the mile through a pretty industrial area where no one would have heard us scream if we had … screamed.
It was after we got home that the Viking and I had the fun kind of sex that he bragged about. Well, bragged isn’t the right word, but he told someone who told a lot of someones. We didn’t care that we were making a lot of noise, but I found out the next day that that didn’t matter.
I swear. True story.
