I wish this was some sort of joke, but it’s not.

The Russian is not a smelly guy.  He’s not dirty at all.  He is well-groomed.  How he actually becomes clean in this room is beyond me.

The Russian usually doesn’t bring chicks back to his place, and it’s obvious why.  But I can’t always host so I’ve been there more than once.  The first time, thankfully, I was quite drunk.  I was also horny.  And I remembered the Russian’s big, intact cock.

I wasn’t quite drunk enough when I took these photos.  Not quite drunk drunk enough to forget to take the photos.  Not quite drunk enough to forget what the bathroom looked like.  Not quite drunk enough.  Unfortunately, I can remember his bathroom.

I can also remember the Russian’s cock in my ass.  That is a much more pleasant memory than his bathroom.

I swear.  True story.

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

Beth called me at something like 2:30 and now I can’t sleep.  So I smoked some pot.  Henry didn’t call me all day.  Whenever he says maybe about something or even just asks I always take it to mean a lot more than it is.  You would think I would learn but not I’m totally stupid.  He usually calls me every day though.  I know the reason I get hopeful – he calls when I think he won’t and at odd times sometimes.  It’s like when he wants to talk to me, he calls me – simple, to the point, easy one (good) dimensional.  I’m just used to the games – the first one to call is the “weak one.”  He’s so simple.  I don’t mean simple-minded though.  For some reason, in my mind I’m thinking that this could  bad by being boring.  But it’s so good.  Girls – including myself – play too many games.  Henry said that girls are so dramatic and make a big deal out of everything.  So I asked him if I do that and he said no.  Though I could have and he was just being nice by saying no so I pushed it and he still said no really I don’t.  Yea.  That was his way of complimenting me.  I had to coerce it out of him.  I think this is how most boys are – you just have to read into what they do say to take it to mean exactly what they don’t say.  I want to by lying on my bed naked with just my butt covered while I’m on my stomach and he comes from behind and runs his hands up my waist and kisses the small of my back.  And then moves slowly up my back to my neck and my mouth.  And I love to kiss his soft gentle mouth.  While his hands are just touching my waist and m y back as I start to pull over to face him and the blanket is still between us and his hands are still around me and his mouth is still on mine.  And I want so much to be close to him to smell him to feel his heat at my chest closer and he is so warm and then I move up above him and put my arms on his shoulders and my knees above his hips and shift over on top of him.  Then I kiss him, kiss him (curse him for not shaving) kiss his neck unbutton his shirt feel his chest through his clothes then kiss it and take the shirt off of him.  Then kiss and nibble his arms and shoulders.  [Thought – what if he has a lot of pimples and hair?  What will I do differently what will I do the same?]  And his mouth is so soft and warm and wet.  It tastes so wonderful like a man, like Henry.  Then I lay down.

It’s five in the fucking morning.  Why didn’t Henry call.  I’m past thinking I did something wrong in our last conversation ’cause if I did something wrong I would’ve done it already before that conversation.  People are going to work – sure is early.  I want to start shaving my thighs again for the season.  Basically so I can touch them myself.  But it would be nice to hear a compliment from someone (Henry) as to how soft they are.  Oh well.  I can just remember the way his hands felt – he would be gentle and then press harder (I think).  We were talking about sexiness in guys and what makes that way and I almost told him that the way he moved and acted – so cool – made him sexy but I didn’t cause I didn’t want to embarrass myself.  Fuck – it’s getting light I have to get up soon.  Nightie night.

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

This lovely lady, however, has only had the benefits of gravity so far in her life.  Good for her.  I hope she realizes what she has now, before it’s gone.  Or at least closer to the ground.

All those women who say they posed new when their bodies were looking their best?  Yeah, I get it.  I certainly have never had a nude posing-worthy body, but I wish I knew what I had when I had it.  When I was a size 7 I thought I was fat.  Silly me.  I always thought I was fat, probably because I thought I looked like my mother, who was fat, and because I didn’t look like my sister or my step-sister, who were both very skinny.

While I wish I knew what I had when I had it, I’m glad I have what I have now, even if it’s not perfect.  Not even close to perfect.  I have a funky toenail and flat feet; I miss shaving a few hairs near each ankle bone most of the time; I have a biopsy scar on one calf and a 1990s “tribal” tattoo on the other; I have shitty knees that hurt more when I’m going downhill than up; my thighs are … not slim, but they are strong; I have more body hair than I’d like; my stomach isn’t flat; my hips aren’t small; my breasts aren’t as perky as I’d like; my arms are not well defined; I have a big nose; I have acne; my hair is almost too thick (yes, I know this is one of those complaints for which some will hate me); I require corrective lenses; I grind my teeth.  Not even close to perfect.  But I’m me.

So I’m looking forward to my 37th year.  Happy birthday to me.

I swear.  True story.

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

I was in college, as one would expect.  However, I was older than the average college student.  It had taken me five years to get through junior college.  No, I was not extra stupid.  I was, however, extra busy.  I worked full time and attended classes when I could.  I went to summer school.  I couldn’t take evening classes because I worked in a bar/club/pool hall, but I did take 7am classes.  I certainly couldn’t do it now, but back when I was in my early 20s I didn’t have much trouble working until 2am or later and making it to 7am classes on time.  And I was a drinker back then.  Ah, youth.

So I was in my mid- rather than early-20s at university, where I completed my upper-division coursework to get my bachelor’s degree.  I lived in Oakland with my boyfriend (later husband and now the Ex) and commuted up Telegraph Avenue to get to UC Berkeley on my Honda Elite scooter.  I also worked, both on and off campus.  I didn’t have a “typical” university experience, which would have been when I was younger, single, and living on campus, with spare time for socializing.

Because I was older, attached, and living off campus with little time on my hands, I tended not to socialize much.  I talked to people with whom I had classes, but usually only when we were forced to do group projects.  There were few people I called friend, and they tended to be very studious.  During the two years I was at university I went to only one party.

One of my on campus jobs was for the university police department.  I wore a police uniform, complete with polyester pants.  I also wore a police belt, but did not carry a gun.  Rather, I had a Maglite and a radio.  I could hit someone over the head with the battery-heavy flashlight and then call in to the real police, should I come to any danger.  My job involved walking people to and from campus after dusk, and patrolling the dorms and the stadium overnight.  Oftentimes we were paired up for our patrols.

Two of my coworkers with whom I had been partnered on several occasions belonged to the same fraternity.  Despite that, I liked them.  When we patrolled together we talked a lot to help pass the time.  I had gotten to know and like the frat boys before I knew they were frat boys.  I had a dim view of fraternities and the people who belonged to them so when I found out these two guys I actually liked belonged to a fraternity I was a little surprised.  I told them as much.

Both of them, both individually and together, worked to convince me that fraternities weren’t so bad, and that they weren’t the only two nice guys who belonged to one.  I was incredulous.  As a means to get me to realize not all frat boys were shitheads, they invited me to a party at their house.  I figured I should give a frat party a chance and agreed to go.

The party was on a Saturday night.  The Ex couldn’t go because he worked late stocking shelves at the Emeryville Trader Joe’s.  I donned a cute plaid dress with bobby socks and a pair of Hush Puppies loafers, hopped on my scooter, and went to the party.  I parked in front of the frat house and went inside.

The party was just getting started; I should have arrived at least an hour later.  I found my friends, who introduced me to a few people and showed me to the drinks table.  There were plenty of cups, lots of ice, and just one kind of liquor, er, liqueur, Aftershock (red).  I made myself a drink and sipped on it just a bit.  Aftershock tastes like shit, but I didn’t want to walk around empty-handed and alone.

My two friends, as hosts of the party, couldn’t spend all of their time entertaining me, and I didn’t expect them to do so, but I was hoping there would be more to drink so I could get a nice buzz.  I recalled that my coworkers had mentioned that they smoked pot, so I found them and asked if they would share with me.  It was almost 15 years ago and everyone who attends Berkeley has to smoke pot.

My friends gathered some of their buddies and we made our way to one of the many, many bedrooms in the frat house.

[To be continued ….]

I swear.  True story.

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

Well, this thing with Laura and Steve – I don’t know he doesn’t talk very much ’cause he’s so damn shy he’s very cute and sweet though Laura kept talking to Henry she said it was because (she also stared at him) he looked so much like Eric one of her first boyfriends.  She better not.  He better not.  Oh shit now I’m nervous.  Oh shit.  What if he likes her?  Oh, but he can’t can he?  He likes me.  Oh now I’m going to cry.  Laura left very abruptly – she said it was because the conversation wasn’t going very well and she say Steve give Henry a look like, “Oh got I don’t want to be here.”  So she left – didn’t even have me walk out to make sure she got in her car alright.  Then Henry left right away – too depressing.  But then he called me when he got home – he likes me and he more officially asked me out for the 20th to see Duchess de Sade.  Not I’m shitting about what I should wear.  He always looks like he got dressed to come over here – how sweet.  I don’t want to look like I get too dressed up but I’ve been looking like a scum.  But today I wasn’t wearing black and/or white – I have/had navy blue on.  Showed him my photo album but wouldn’t let him see pictures of Erica – I’m not quite sure why.  Just not yet.  Maybe when and if we ever have sex.  Way after – maybe never.  Not never to the sex part never to the Erica part.  She’s out of my life – her choice, not mine – I don’t know where she’s at she knows where I am.

3:54 PM

I called up Laura to tell her I think I’m losing interest in Henry.  I think I’ll just turn him over to her.  No, I’m too selfish.  Actually, I’m just bored and I don’t like moving this slowly.  Should I just jump him?  And his friend Steve is so cute – how Henry looked to me at first.  Now Henry’s lost a lot of his innocence in my eyes at least.  Maybe I’m fickle and he thought I would be so he was testing me.  As soon as I see him again maybe.  I saw the cutest girl – poo – just tried to call Rachel – she was/is at work at Pistol Pete’s Pizza.  How cute.  Anyway, I saw a really cute girl when I was walking home from the bus stop.  She was probably a junior high student.  What do I have for the young ones?  Well, the ones who at least look young.  Now it’s time for me to look for others.  I like the excitement of wondering if a girl would like girls.  Humm.  I need to shave.  I need to get another job.  I miss the curves of a female body.  Well, maybe I’m just horny.  And Laura said she and Henry connected because both of their mothers have blue Ford Tauruses.  But Henry’s mom’s is a year newer and has a much better stereo.  I don’t think Henry’s family has been hurting for money.  It was so cute how little Steve was nervous.  Oh, what is it about the baby faces?  I want to call Steve with the pretense of asking about Laura and then slyly moving in so he won’t even know it.

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

“We are together Jade, for the next few moments anyway…ok?” I suggested as I caught up to her. She looked at me blankly and then nodded in understanding and allowed me to do the talking regarding the situation.

I reached inside the open door and clutched her keys in my hand as I savored the scent of her lingering perfume. My mind imagined her driving with her knees partly open and the rich leather upholstery absorbing some of her sweet nectar.

After the tow guy left I felt my opportunity dwindle as I handed her the keys and watched her become suddenly anxious again.

“How can I thank you for this?” she cooed with innocent eyes letting me know that saying a few hours of hard fucking would be payment enough.

”

Just keep looking the way you do,” I replied in my most sincere gentlemanlike manner.

“Oh my!” She sighed as her nipples popped into hard-ons again and this time she didn’t do the arm cross to cover them.

“That was so sweet and you are such a gentleman,” she continued as she glanced around for a convenient reason to escape. It was obvious that she was not used to the bold approval of her charms and was becoming more in need of time to consider the intentions.

She saw me looking at her ring again and grinned a quick comment, “You like my diamond?”

“I was more thinking how it might hurt if it got into the wrong places,” I countered quickly as I imagined it slicing a gash across my balls.

“Oh my ….” She blushed and then turned. “I better get going on that one.”  

I laughed and she did too as we both let our thoughts stay in the same place for a few moments.

“Do you always come here at this time?” she quizzed quietly as she tossed her cup into the receptacle.

“Yes, usually here or the one over on harbor by the marina,” I replied.

“Oh wow, that one is right by my house. I go there in the afternoons sometimes,” she offered as almost an invitation.

“Maybe if I see you again I can buy you a coffee at least,” she continued as she stopped just long enough for my eyes to rest on her soft pillow lips.

“I will be down at the marina this afternoon around 3:00,” I told her as I dared her to give me another chance.

“Ummm, maybe,” she teased as she smiled at her conquest and hurried out to her car.

Her hips were not ladylike now. The flirt skirt was swaying and even when she slipped into the seat she let her hem ride up as if to give me one more moan for the road. She smiled and waved as she drove by me and it almost seemed her eyes dropped to where my hand was resting on my throbbing groin.

[To be continued ….]

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[To be continued ….]

I swear.  True story.

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

Asked Henry if he thought Madonna was sexy and if he’d like to have sex with her.  He said yes to both accounts and said he’d like the challenge to overtake her in bed.  Now that doesn’t sound like Henry at all.  I mean it doesn’t go along with the previous image I had of him – the sweet Catholic virgin mama’s boy.  But I think he’s proven to me that what you see is not what you get.  But after I knew he had sex, I thought he’d be really quiet in uniform position, I don’t know, sort of boring.  But then I should have remembered the six hours he said.  Anyway, he also said the thought of physical force during sex didn’t really excite him – games and domination don’t really have to include physical force.  He just surprises me all the time.  Now I’m jealous – do I do that to him?  Does he want me to?  I want to be mysterious and interesting.  Now I have to rethink all my fantasies – not that I usually mind.  The thing about him liking a challenge – wow.  Am I being too easy?  Shit.  I hate it when it’s too easy for me to get things – I lose interest.  I’ll have to ask him if he does.  I think they got a bird upstairs or something ’cause I can hear a very loud bird.  Oh he said he’d take me to Club Lingerie to see Duchess de Sade .  Oh, how sweet, I’m “dating” someone.  I’d like to see how he is with Barb (lead singer, ex-stripper, body piercing that Henry has seen), Kirby (bass player, lots of tattoos), and the drummer (forgot her name ’cause he doesn’t talk about her as much).  I wonder if he is now or has in the past had sex with them.  And of course I couldn’t just come out and ask him for three reasons:  1) I wouldn’t want him to know that I’m that interested in knowing; 2) I would be afraid of the answer – what if he’s fucking them all at every practice? and 3) he wouldn’t tell me anyway.  This guy, I don’t know.

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

The Ex and I broke up.  I didn’t contact Correctional Officer.  I fucked a whole lot of people.  I didn’t contact Correctional Officer.  My life generally went to shit.  I didn’t contact Correctional Officer.  I fucked a lot more people.  I didn’t contact Correctional Officer.  My dog died.  I didn’t contact Correctional Officer.

I did finally contact him just to say happy birthday.  I figured I’d send an email into the ether, he’d read it or not, but that I wouldn’t hear anything from him.

Only I did.  We began emailing each other again.  He told me that he and his wife had broken up, less over he and I, and more over her being an irresponsible mother to their son – by overdosing on prescription drugs when she was caring for him.  He told me about his friends I had met.  His one sweet, young friend who had only slept with one woman had taken in a woman who had just had a baby and he was considering marrying her, but only after she divorced the baby’s father.  I guessed when they were bored in their shit town they created their own drama.

CO and I didn’t have the same relationship we’d had before the shit storm.  Maybe because neither of us was cheating, so it wasn’t nearly as exciting.  Or maybe because we had both been through so much shit.  I encouraged him to go out and find some ladies to fuck.  He said he was too shy.

I didn’t fully comprehend just how shy he was.  I didn’t fully comprehend that the major reason we fucked because I made things happen.  Though it was he who drove several hours to really make it happen (because I certainly wasn’t going to go back to the shit town he called home) so I thought he had some initiative.  However, he had cast himself as the shy guy who was afraid to talk to women so he was the shy guy who was afraid to talk to women.  Well, not afraid, because he talked to women all the time, but unaware if they were hitting on him and unskilled in the flirting arts.

Eventually we planned another tryst.  He had to lie to everyone about what he was doing, which I thought was just silly – everyone needs to get laid, it’s good for the soul.  He drove to San Francisco.  We had planned to go to sushi but the two places I knew were good that were close to my house were closed because it was a Monday afternoon.  We finally settled on burgers, but not until he whined about having to walk too much.  Or maybe he was just giving me a hard time and I was defensive.  I hate being in a situation where I’m supposed to know something – like my neighborhood – but I fail miserably to meet someone else’s expectations.

I had told CO that we would be using condoms this time.  I informed him that there were concerns other than pregnancy, and since I was on the Pill and he had had a vasectomy, that wasn’t a concern at all, and that he should practice jacking off with a condom on if he thought he might have trouble coming whilst using one.

Once I saw his cock I realized that I had not really looked at it when we had fucked before, at the W.  It was larger than I remembered.  What a pleasant surprise.  It was one of those cocks that is thickest at the midpoint of the shaft, as opposed to the head being the largest part.  We fucked, utilizing condoms, of course.  Again, he tossed me around and roughed me up in a somewhat clumsy way.  It was probably due to his job that he was rougher than he realized.  I reminded him that I was a girl, and that I was not a guest of Butte County, and that he needed to tone it down a bit.

He reminded me that I had not given him a blow job the first time we fucked.  I apologized profusely.  Apparently he had only ever gotten one blow job in his life, and it was half-assed.  His ex-wife didn’t see the point of blow jobs since they didn’t provide her with any pleasure.  How sad.

He sat on the edge of my bed.  I sat on my haunches between his legs.  I sucked his cock.  At first I think he just felt lucky to have a mouth on his cock.  Then, after I got his cock all wet and sloppy, I put my hands behind my back and let my mouth do all the work.  He came in my mouth and I swallowed it all.  I looked up at him with a smile on my face.

CO looked down at me … sort of.  He couldn’t really focus.  He was loopy.  That fun kind of post-orgasm loopy.  He said he was worried he’d not be able to drive home.  I assured him he’d be fine and told him that he should tell his coworkers what he did on his day off, because surely getting a driving impairing blow job was worth bragging about.

After that we continued to contact each other, but not with nearly as much zeal.  I had no intention of going to his town, and it was way too much driving and lying for him to come to me, even for great blow jobs.

Our last communication had him asking me, via text, about fisting.  Really, fisting is more than a text conversation so I told him he should call me but he never did.

I swear.  True story (that is over, finally).

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

Fucking so many different people allows me to be so many different people. I am a different me with each of them.  But I’m also not phony with any of them; I’m me, just a different me.

Sometimes it’s odd when they meet each other, but I need to get over that feeling since I live in San Francisco where everyone has fucked everyone else.

With some people I’m a top, with others I’m a bottom.  With some people I’m both a top and a bottom.  Some people spank me.  Some people slap me.  Some people fuck my ass.  I fuck some ass.  I lick ass.  My ass gets licked.  I bury my face in pussy.  I sit on faces.  Sometimes it’s gentle, sometimes it’s rough.  Some people thrill me with their conversation.  Some people bore me.  Some look good.  Some look really good.  Some look so good I’m shocked they want to have sex with me.  Some cocks I suck.  Most cocks I suck.  Some cocks go down my throat.  Some come goes down my throat.  Some come goes on my face.  Some come goes on my tits.  Some come I use as lube.  Some people fist me.  Some people I fist.  Some people tie me up.  Some people I tie up.

The possibilities are nearly endless.  Sure, there are commonalities, because I’m always there, but because of the other people I’m allowed to sexually express myself in a variety of ways.

It depends on my mood and the vibe I get off the other person, or persons.  I’ve had great sex with some people and downright shitty sex with others.  The shitty sex generally occurred with people who can’t get over themselves in some way.  People who aren’t comfortable in their bodies or who are ashamed of their desires or who don’t have confidence in their skills tend to be not all that much fun in bed.  Sex isn’t a serious thing; mistakes are ok and laughing is encouraged.

Sometimes I have orgasms, sometimes I don’t.  Sometimes they have orgasms, sometimes they don’t.  Not having an orgasm isn’t the end of the world, though I am particularly proud of myself when I elicit an orgasm from a body, mine or someone else’s.  Different kinds of orgasms are just amazing to me.  The ones that make me scream.  The ones that make me cry.  The ones that make me laugh.  The ones that make me feel mean.  The ones that make me feel tired.  The ones that make me feel powerful.  The ones that make me feel smug.  The ones that make me grateful to be alive.  The ones that make me forget I am alive.  The ones that make me repeatedly thank the person who helped me achieve them.

Each person gets a different me.  Each person who fucks me more than once gets a different me each time.  It’s like roulette – good luck.

I swear.  True story.

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.