Random Rim Jobs
I swear. True story.Photo Lotto 9: Fun With Produce
Posted on September 14, 2011
Cucumbers make great dildos, but she’s not doing it right. What you need to do is peel the cucumber, leaving enough on one end to act as a handle. Cucumbers are very wet when peeled, which makes for some nice lube. (I’d use an organic one just to be safe.) However, like any lube, you get it on your hands and everything’s harder to grip. So leave enough peel on one end to grab on to that cucumber so you can fuck yourself or your partner.
I swear. True story.
More Bras
Posted on September 10, 2011I last went bra shopping two years ago. At the time I bought three bras. One didn’t fit so I exchanged it for another that didn’t fit, but in a different way, too large in the cups – it would be a great bra for smuggling contraband. I still have it but I prefer not to wear it.
I prefer not to wear a bra at all, but if I want to leave the house I need to. I know that the girls shouldn’t go out off-leash.
One bra I bought was “sexy,” meaning it wasn’t meant to wear under anything even slightly clingy since it was lacy and would show as lumpy. Also not too comfortable.
The last one was very practical. It has turned out to be the ugliest bra I have ever owned. Its shape doesn’t allow me to wear it under anything clingy; it’s not lined and it makes my tits look pointy. Also, it has some weird panels on the outside of each cup. Said weird panels have bunched up after washings (on delicate cycle, air drying) so that it looks like I have lumpy side boob.
I had been needing to go bra shopping for a while, since those three plus one much older bra were the only bras I owned. The Viking knew I needed to buy more bras because I complained often about being uncomfortable, not having a bra for a certain outfit, or having lumps and bumps show through my shirt.
I kept putting it off for various reasons. Any reason would do because bra shopping is so fucking unpleasant. The Viking didn’t understand, but I’m sure you ladies can.
When I retweeted a message to the effect of bra shopping being a circle of hell the Viking reminded me, again, that I needed to go bra shopping. I had retweeted a tweet of someone I had actually met in person. We had met in person over manicure-related issue – she helped me when I needed to get my no-chip manicure off my nails.
While she helped me with my nails we seemed to get along well enough. The Viking remembered that and tweeted her that we should go bra shopping together. I texted her that the Viking wanted us go bra shopping together.
Realizing almost immediately that both he and I sending her such messages seemed pervy, I assured her that the Viking, while very interested in large breasts, would most definitely not go along on said bra shopping trip.
The Viking had suggested we have a couple of drinks before shopping, which was a brilliant idea. We coordinated to meet for a boozy lunch near the big Chicago Macy’s. It’s the Macy’s that used to be Marshall Field, which I know from my time at Macy’s in San Francisco.
We met for lunch and commiserated over the fact that it was difficult to find well-fitting bras in our sizes, which were of the relatively-small-rib-larger-cup variety. It wasn’t until I talked to a friend who was of the relatively-large-rib-smaller-cup variety that I realized it’s only the women who are in the 34C range that don’t have a horrible time shopping for bras.
After lunch we went to the huge, fancy Macy’s. We took the ancient elevator up to the floor that held not only the lingerie but also the maternity and juniors sections. We walked around amongst the many bras. Many, many bras. We lamented that the department was divided by brand rather than size.
Nonetheless, we were able to find some bras in our sizes. She was able to find many more bras of her size. Bras are funky. A size of one brand will fit while the same size of another brand will be too big, or too small; it’s very frustrating.
She had many to try on. I had a few to try on. After walking around the bra section, pulling bras off the racks, and trying some on in the dressing room we still had not been approached by a single salesperson. Not one. We had seen a couple, but they didn’t seem to give a shit that we were there, clearly ready to spend money.
We should have left, but we had already psyched ourselves up to buy some fucking bras. I settled on three; she on one. She was definitely more discriminating than I considering she had tried on many more. The three I decided upon actually held up my boobs without anything spilling out – not the highest of standards.
The service was so shitty that we couldn’t even purchase our bras in the lingerie department; there was only one person at the checkout and she was clearly going to take a long time with the one customer she had apparently decided to help.
The nice thing about having to go to the juniors department to purchase our bras – my three for well over $200 – was that we didn’t have to hear the lingerie department’s shitty jazz. Instead, we got to hear shitty pop.
We didn’t have to hear the shitty pop for long; we made our way to the street where I caught the Brown Line and where she hopped on a bus.
I’ve worn the three bras I purchased, and understandably each of them is uncomfortable in a different way. They just confirm that I prefer not to wear a bra at all.
I swear. True story.
Photo Lotto 8
Posted on September 07, 2011
Isn’t she cute? And young? Yes, she is. Yum. Very cute face including a little button nose. Hip asymmetrical haircut. Love the perky boobs. Love the heather gray panties. The tattoo is well done. But the thing that takes this photo from being ok to fucking sexy is those Chuck Taylors.
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.
Photo Lotto 5
Posted on August 25, 2011
I’m not sure how this ended up in my sexy pics folder. Sure, it’s sexy that you can see her pubic hair through her panties and her nipples through her top but everything else is … lame. It looks like those boudoir photos suggested for married women to “bring the spice back to the bedroom.” The photo may be somewhat sexy, but it’s certainly not sexual. She’s just there, looking kind of delicate and showing her wedding ring. Her husband must be proud.
I swear. True story.
Photo Lotto 2
Posted on August 12, 2011
Nice cock. Great tits. Great tits. Oh my god, the fun I could have with those tits. Also, she’s game for being on her knees, blindfolded, and with her hands confined behind her back.
But those tits …. After seeing how fucking crazy people are about tanning still – because it’s 1985 in the Midwest – I appreciate that she has the subtlest of tan lines on … those tits.
I swear. True story.
