Random Rim Jobs

[Continued from "Just When It Was Perfect … (Part 4)."]

Another thing I learned well into our “relationship” was that Jules Verne was a Republican.  Ok, I can deal with that, maybe even have some lively discussions.  When I was growing up, my father was a Democrat and my step-mother was a Republican, so they agreed to not to discuss politics too much.  I was very happy when I learned that my step-mother switched to the Democratic Party when the brouhaha over Bill Clinton getting his cock sucked occurred.  My step-mother didn’t see why anyone gave a shit.  My step-mother, if she weren’t my step-mother, would be a pretty cool person.

So when Jules Verne reminded me that he was a Republican after I said something scathing about a member of the Party, I was hardly surprised or disturbed.  However, I was completely nonplussed when he told me that he was so much of a Republican that he worked for George W. Bush and that he thought George W. Bush was smart.  “Smart?  Really?  He’s smart?  Intelligent?  He couldn’t get into law school in Texas, where his family had significant influence.”

To which Jules Verne responded that W had a great memory, that he always remembered the names of everyone he encountered.  That is certainly a skill I don’t have, but I did get into law school in the state where I grew up, even if my family didn’t have any influence.  True, not the best law school …

I tried to forget these things when Jules Verne and I hung out.  We’d drink.  We’d fuck.  Usually pretty dirty.  We had a lot of fun, including one incident of road head on the Bay Bridge when he was driving me home from his parents’ place in Piedmont.

Then, when I was planning a trip to Chicago, he volunteered to take care of Isis.  I didn’t ask, he volunteered.  He had met her, and saw that she was a very sweet dog.  He also missed his own dog, the custody of which he shared with an ex-girlfriend who lived on the East Coast.  He took very good care of her, and was actually very happy to do so.  A guy who loves dogs gets a lot of points in my book.  Even if he does think George W. Bush is smart.

He bought me an especially nice birthday present, an njoy Eleven.  The store clerk asked me if I thought I could handle it.  I laughed and assured her that I could.  And I can.  The Eleven and I get along very well.  (I may write a post about that toy some day.)

The same day he bought a pussy pump.  To use with me (and other chicks I assumed).  Sure, I’m willing to have my pussy subjected to all sorts of things.  Jules Verne liked seeing pussies do various things, usually of the insertion variety, but if he wanted to see my pussy lips get all puffed up, I was game.  We eventually used it.  It felt interesting to me, but not necessarily all that exciting.  Maybe I’ll have to try again ….

Recently Jules Verne Moved to Manhattan.  He (his parents) have a place just off Central Park in what I’m told (by him) is a very exclusive building – celebrities with penthouses and shit.  So because he was moving and I was moving we had a last hurrah.  Then he came back to the Bay Area and I hadn’t yet moved, we did it again.  Then, because he was collecting his dog and visiting his family, and I still hadn’t moved, we did it again.

He has a nice, thick cock, and he’s interesting.  He says I’m a crazy chick, but in a good way.  Without asking too many questions, I took that as a compliment.  I think he meant that I liked fucking but my fucking isn’t a means to “snag” a guy.  I’ve no interest in being in a traditional relationship with a 25-year-old.  Or any other age for that matter.

To be continued ….  The Vet, Charles, and that guy for whom I don’t yet have a nickname to follow.

I swear.  True story.

[Continued from "Tax Day (Part 1)."]

I put her hand on the button of my jeans and kissed her so she could taste herself on my mouth. I love eating pussy. I wanted to eat more, but we had some fucking to do.

She stepped out of her clothes and kicked off her shoes. She lifted her left leg around me so she could better rub her clit up against my big cock head.

She pushed me back onto her office couch and straddled me. I slid right in and she exhaled deeply. She ground her pussy straight down onto my cock. I looked up and could only see the whites of her eyes.

The warmth and moisture of her pussy was in such contrast to the roughness of my jeans that I almost came immediately. But I didn’t want to come yet; I wanted to fuck for a long time.  The feel of her pussy and her smell was making holding off difficult.

She could feel me throb.  She asked, “Is this ok?”

“Yeah,” I said. “No problems here. Just keep doing what you’re doing. Don’t worry about me.”

“Wait a minute, I need to do something for you.” She slid off me and began using her mouth on me.  With my cock in her mouth she looked up into my eyes.  She didn’t suck, and she didn’t lick;   she made her mouth a perfect place of friction, warmth, and wetness.
She crushed my bulbous cock head in the back of her throat. I began to squirm and tried to get away, but she was cupping and squeezing my balls while mouth fucking me. She had me cornered on the couch.

I was so relaxed and enjoying myself so much that I came in her mouth. I saw flashes of white light as I spewed six or seven squirts of hot come down her throat.  Each spurt was more powerful than the last because she kept her mouth on my cock. The orgasm was powerful and lasted about 30 seconds, so I was amazed that I was still hard as a rock.

The fact that I could still smell her juices on my face was making me crazy. That, and that she said I smelled good.

She climbed back on top of me, getting my cock head deep up inside her and right against her g-spot.  She pushed her clit down hard on my pubic bone. She set the stage for an orgasm that had clitoral and g-spot stimulation. This woman had it all worked out. I kissed her mouth and brushed my fingers along her nipples.

As soon as I playfully licked one of her nipples while rubbing the other with one of my come-y fingers, she said, “Oh baby, I’m coming. No warning. I’m going to come now. You’re going to make me come … oh baby.” Then she convulsed and collapsed in my arms. I guessed she normally could feel her orgasms coming on, but not this time; it hit her like a ton of bricks.

We were both soaking in come. It was a big orgasm by someone who hadn’t been fucked properly since well before Valentine’s Day. The room smelled completely of sex. We both giggled in amazement at the intense sex we’d just had.

With her head resting on my chest, she said,”It’s been a while. And this was so nice.”

“I know. I loved it too.”

We held each other on her office couch, and looked around at our clothes tossed about the room.

We heard a drawer close at one of her assistant’s desks outside her door.

Our eyes popped out, eyelids drawn wide.  Grins appeared just before we covered our mouths.  From behind her hand she said, “Holy shit, do you think she was there the whole time?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “I thought they all went to the post office together.”

Mostly a true story. I swear.

[Continued from "Just When It Was Perfect … (Part 2)."]

I always waited for Charles to contact me before we got together.  Jules Verne I scheduled.  I suggested he become my regular Monday guy and he complied.  He was amazingly regular and reliable.  On the Mondays when I just didn’t hear from him he always apologized for being hard to reach.

Which he was usually because he’d lost his phone.  Or had it “stolen.”  The one time his phone was “stolen,” I assured him it was just lost.  He was in Tahoe on what sounded like an alcohol-fueled trip of debauchery when he left his phone somewhere whilst he frolicked in a hot tub.  Amazingly, his phone was not where he left it when he emerged from his sous-vide bath.

He had wooed me via Twitter, and I had also ranked him highly on OkCupid.  The two were completely coincidental, but when he saw that I had ranked him on OkCupid he took the opportunity to inform me that we should most definitely meet.  I agreed.

We met at a busy bar/restaurant.  I was annoyed by the bridge and tunnel crowd, and his assertion that he was “wearing a jacket” didn’t do much to assuage my annoyance.  The place was packed.  There were several guys wearing jackets.  I understood he meant a blazer vs. any other kind of jacket, but his description still didn’t allow me to pick him out of the big crowd.

We met out front.  Pretty quickly we were drinking margaritas, which helped get me out of my shit mood.  We drank.  We ate.  We talked.  He was young – only 24 – and had gotten out of college recently enough that both his Twitter name and conversation were related to his alma mater.  He talked about college in a way that made it clear the experience was both recent and beloved.

He was wearing a jacket.  With a pocket square.  He was preppy.  It was as if he saw the J. Crew catalog back in the 90s and dressed from it.  Only he wasn’t old enough to dress himself back in the 90s.

He was also blond haired and blue eyed.  Not my type.  Not that I have much of a type, but generally light hair and eyes do little for me, and especially not in a silly preppy package.

He had asked if I was Jewish, which has not been an uncommon question in my adulthood.  From what I’ve sussed, people think I’m Jewish by a combination of my nose and my attitude.  The nose is big and Native American.  The attitude, while honed completely in California, the only place I’ve ever lived, seems to be New York.  Usually it’s goyim who ask, presumably because members of the Tribe can recognize their own.

Which is why it was a bit of a surprise when Jules Verne told me the reason he wouldn’t get any tattoos was so he could be buried in his family cemetery.  So he, a Jew, thought I was a Jew?  That was unusual.  I suppose if I had been asked I wouldn’t have supposed that he was Jewish, considering his WASP-y looks.  Well, I already knew something about his cock.

I did not find out that his cock was not only circumcised but also thick and very hard that night.  That didn’t happen until the Day of Fuck.

After that we had semi-regular trysts ….

I swear true story.

[Continued from "Just When It Was Perfect … (Part 1)."]

Some time later I went to Litquake‘s culminating event, LitCrawl.  I went for to see one of the events, which was billed as literary smut.  I like dirty stories.  Since I was out for that, I figured I might as well go see Charles Gatewood, that guy I had met with Ramona.  It all took place in my neighborhood, and at the time I needed little reason to get out of the house.

Charles Gatewood read a story about taking pictures of serious blood play, which angered some local folks.  Very San Francisco.  After the event ended I said hi to Charles Gatewood.  I really didn’t want to return home too soon and I thought it’d be nice to tell him I enjoyed his story.  He very sweetly invited me to sit and chat with him for a bit.  We had a nice conversation and I learned that he lived very close to me.  He said I should go over to his place some time to see his photos.

The first time I went over Charles showed me around his apartment, which was also his studio.  There were many, many things to look at, and Charles and I had very pleasant conversation.  I stayed for hours, and Charles was nice enough to make me dinner.  He was very nice to make me dinner, but it was apparent to me that he didn’t know how to boil pasta.  He didn’t boil it, he simmered it until it was waterlogged and mushy.  I didn’t hold that against him though.

Ramona and I went over another time.  The three of us looked at photos from Folsom Street Fair; both Charles and Ramona had taken a ton.  We thumbed through Charles’ prints, and through the files on Ramona’s laptop.  We looked through some photography and art books, and discussed various things.  Charles called such events “Gatewood Salons” since they were intellectual.

I’m not sure when the sexy times between Charles and I started, but I began going over to his place every couple of weeks or so.  I’d go over, make something to eat, we’d discuss what was going on in our lives, and then I’d blow him.  Sometimes we fucked, too.

He suggested I start going shopping before going to his place so I could make tasty food.  I love to cook, and it’s always nice to have an appreciative audience.  Thanksgiving week I went to Whole Foods and bought up a shit ton of food.  I bought enough for a small dinner party, not just two people having a light dinner before what is always a heavy meal.  Charles had plenty of leftovers, but did kind of balk at how much everything cost.  I promised that in the future I’d spend his money more modestly.

Charles and I spent Christmas Day together.  It was a great day that was unfortunately marred by some not-so-great food.  I felt bad, I did, but Charles really wasn’t a very good cook.  He cooked mostly for himself, and he got proper nutrition, but except for his scalloped potatoes, nothing I’d eaten of his was very good.  On Christmas we had some of the most overcooked and leathery steak I’d had since my childhood, when people were overly concerned about undercooked meat.  Let me reiterate:  Charles is great, his food is not.

I decided that from then on I’d be doing all the cooking.  He would email me asking when I was available, we’d schedule a date, and I’d ask him what kind of food he was in the mood for.  It worked out rather well because it gave me a chance to plan a menu with some constraints – not spicy, low fat, within a budget, etc. – and to eat food that I knew was good.  I introduced the crazy concept of olive oil to him.  I cooked a turkey breast fillet, which he had never had.  We had quinoa when I wanted to show him some non-meat protein options.

Every time I went over we had a great time that usually culminated in a blow job.  Sometimes he took pictures of me.  Because he took pictures the old fashioned way, on film, and wasn’t too hip on scanning photos, I was confident that photos of me would not find their way onto the internet.  Also, I trusted him.

There were several other guys in my stable.  Guys I had fun fucking and hanging out with.  Guys I’ll miss.

To be continued ….

I swear.  True story.

[Here's a story from a guest writer.  You're welcome to submit a sexy story if you'd like.  Email shazamsf@sbcglobal.net.]

The phone call came at 11:05 pm on tax day. Of course I had waited until the last minute to file my taxes, and in the haste I forgot to sign the return. “Has to be postmarked by midnight,” my accountant said. “My assistant is making one last run to the post office. Get here ASAP and sign them.”

“FUCK. I don’t want to go fucking driving now; I’m half-asleep.”

“Will you just sign my name? Write it lefty …. Hello? Hello? You there?”

Not a good idea to ask your accountant to forge your signature. She hung up. I threw on some jeans and left my hair the way it was.

By the time I got to her office, the bottle had been popped and everyone was looking a little “above the weather” from the champagne. Another tax season over!

“You’re the last one, ya freakin’ slowpoke,” she grinned. ”Sign these bad boys and have a drink.”

Well, ok; I didn’t want to be rude in a room full of women. Her three assistants choked down their champagne like shooters and split for the parking lot, each with a hand truck full of returns.

“Shouldn’t I help them load the …?”

She interrupted me with a big hug. She no doubt needed to be held after having no physical contact working 15-hour days over the last two months. “Well, this is nice,” she said, her arms around my neck and my arms around her waist.

She started to unwind the hug and said in a blush, “Oh, boy. You smell really good.”

Not cologne though. I have a great natural smell. I know it. It turns me on. It certainly wasn’t my hair, but who knows what things turn a woman on.

Her nipples popped out so they were noticeable; I looked right at them. She saw me looking and swallowed hard. I moved in as if for a kiss but stopped just to get close and to see her reaction. She smiled, gave my upper lip a peck, and licked my lips quickly while looking me in the eye. Now she had me; the taste of her saliva made me swell a little. Swelling in tight jeans makes things interesting very quickly.

One rule I’ve adopted: “If she can’t kiss well, she’s going suck in bed.” And I don’t mean oral sex-wise either. I’m talking no sense of being present and being in the moment.

We kissed slowly and gently. I brushed the backs of my fingers over her blouse right across her right nipple, and she let out a big sigh. Touching her there triggered a deep throb in a very special place. The kissing was really hot, and by now all I could think about was how far I could get my tongue and fingers up inside her. She swung the door to her office closed.

Now I had both hands going on her blouse and she was breathing pretty heavily. She grabbed at my crotch and began grinding her hand on me aggressively. Squeezing all of my cock and balls that she could grab through my jeans. The pushing and squeezing was hot, literally. The friction on my now throbbing cock became very intense from rubbing it against the rough denim of my jeans. Did I mention I was commando? Nothing like my solid cock trapped in tight jeans against the denim.

I had one hand tweeking a nipple and the other gabbing at her pussy. She was panting. I decided it was time for her to cool down – in the time it’d take me to take off her clothes.

Naturally, I had to kiss her belly right near her hip and touch her clit area lightly through her slacks as if I was tapping to a song. The staccato was just a foreshadowing of what I was going to do to her with my face. I admired the quality of the fabric of her pants.

Her pussy area was hot. I was salivating. I undid her belt and pulled her pants and thong down to her ankles. I reached my right hand between her legs and pulled her pussy to my face by cupping her ass. Her pussy was a come-y mess. My sense of manners meant I had to clean up; I was responsible for it after all.

I nuzzled my nose on her clit, which was protruding nicely. The stringy come made webs between my face and her gorgeous, perfectly waxed pussy. I submersed my whole face in her wonderfulness. There was come all over my face, hanging off my chin, and up my nose.

I stood up ….

[To be continued.]

[Continued from "Thailand, Revisited, Reworked (Part 3)."]

On one of the many occasions I hung out with Darren at Eat Me he introduced me to his friend Daniel.  Daniel was a very interesting guy.  He was Canadian with dual citizenship in Canada and Israel.  He spoke English, French, Hebrew, Thai, Japanese, and a few other languages.  He had lived in Canada, Israel, Japan, and Thailand, and a few other countries.  He had served in the Israeli Army.  He and his brother, who lived in the Caribbean, ran an auto reselling business wherein they bought mildly used cars in Japan and resold them in the Caribbean.  He was able to conduct his business whilst living in Bangkok and teaching English at a local university.

In my experience, the expatriate farang men in Bangkok tended to be “older” (in their mid- to late-30s) with a penchant for “younger” (early- to mid-20s) Thais.  Daniel and Darren were no exception.  We often dished about cute Thai hotties.

When I wasn’t going to the gym with Darren, or hanging out at Eat Me with Daniel, I did some occasional “work.”  I went into the office in the pyramid-shaped building … and sat.  I had little direction from the boss.  The boss who wasn’t in the office much.  The secretary and paralegal had little to say to me.  I ended up going into the office, sitting in front of a computer … and falling asleep.

The office was very hot and in the heat I couldn’t help but get sleepy.  I told my tale of employment woes to Darren and Daniel.  Daniel suggested I teach English at the university where he taught.  He said so long as he vouched for me it didn’t matter that I’d not taught before since I had a college degree and was a native English speaker.

I asked my boss if it would be ok if I went into the office less.  I had only one class that, because it was summer, met four days a week, but only for an hour a day.  I told my boss I’d be able to work in the afternoons.  He acquiesced.  It was about this time that his business partner, a fellow French attorney who was holding down his end of the practice in Paris, kicked the bucket.  My boss was devastated.

He had to go to Paris for the funeral.  My boss – my French boss – was a smoker.  He choose to take the one airline that still allowed smoking on flights to go to Paris from Bangkok.  This was 2001, and Emirates still allowed smoking so my boss took that airline to and from France.  However, he did not return from France for quite some time since he had to take care of business, go to the funeral, and attend to his partner’s family.  He and his business partner were also very close friends, and my boss felt an obligation to his family.

While my French boss was out of the country I began teaching English.  The university didn’t ask for any credentials, and I didn’t have access to my college records or degree from Thailand anyway.  Nonetheless, I was hired to teach an English class at Bangkok University.  I eventually learned that the class I was teaching was a kind of remedial course; everyone in the university had to take an English class and my students were required to take the class because they had failed to qualify for a more advanced class.  Daniel was teaching the more advanced class.

My class ….  To be continued.

I swear.  True story.

[Continued from "Bed for Four (Part 1)."]

The Brit and I chatted for a bit.  She asked if, perhaps, she could get another guy to join us, if I could host.  She had been in my place, she knew very well that I had it to myself that night.  I said I could host but I didn’t want to guarantee sex with just anyone.  She assured me the guy she had in mind was cute, that he had a big cock, and that he was a good fuck.

Mrs. Vet and her date took off.  They had been making out like teenagers and needed to continue their fun in a less public place.  That left the Vet, the Brit, and me to our own devices.

We went across the street to get some pizza.  While waiting for the food, we saw the acquaintance who had spoken at the Make-Out Room.  The Vet and I talked to her while the Brit met the new guy out front.  I had told the Vet some inside information about the acquaintance before we left my place.  I had not made it clear that the information was inside information, but I still didn’t think the Vet would tell the subject of said information that he knew the information.  Out of my earshot, though, that is exactly what the Vet did.

I was embarrassed that I looked like a gossip, especially considering the information I had was, according to the acquaintance, not accurate.  It was interesting to know that there were most definitely two sides to the story, and chances are the “truth” was somewhere in between.

We got our pizza and our foursome gathered on the sidewalk.  The Brit was right, the guy was cute.  The four of us stopped at a liquor store for provisions – vodka and soda for me, and gin and tonic for the Brit and the Irish.  The guy the Brit had join us was Irish.  Two people with sexy accents for sexy times?  Yes, please.

After some pizza and drinks the four of us made our way to my bedroom.  Then, because we all knew why we were there, we were naked and our bodies were writhing about each other.

It was a good combination of people for a foursome.  The Brit and I are both of curvy figure. Both the Vet and the Irish both had nice thick cocks.  It’s always good when there aren’t huge discrepancies amongst the naked bodies.  I had a foursome that I would not qualify as a success, partially because the guys’ cocks were of vastly different size.  I spent a lot of time in that threesome avoiding the guy with the tiny cock because I didn’t want it in me.

Not so with the Vet and the Irish.  They both had lovely cocks that I wanted in my pussy and in my mouth.  With the aid of the boxes of condoms I keep on either side of the bed, there was penis-in-vagina fucking.  There was cock sucking.  There was pussy licking.  There was watching.  The Vet likes to watch. 

When I’m in a fuck mood I can be pretty rough and like it pretty rough.  Both the Vet and the Irish throttled me whilst fucking me.  I like the feeling of getting my pussy pounded while feeling a bit lightheaded.  The Vet is often surprised he can be as rough with me as he can, but I can take a lot.

And because I can take a lot I sometimes forget that not everyone can – or wants to.  I’m a biter.  I like to bite as hard as I like to be bitten.  When I’m in the bitey mood it really is rather difficult to get me not to bite.  I left both the Brit and the Vet with bite-induced bruises.  The Brit has since told the Vet that she’d like to have another group situation so long as I promise not to bite.

Along with biting I also swallow.  I was lucky enough to get to swallow two loads of come – one from each of the gentlemen – that night.

Generally, my mouth was pretty busy.  I licked the Brit’s pussy.  I don’t get to lick enough pussy in my life.  I need to do something about that.

My mouth also found its way to the Vet’s ass when he was fucking the Brit.  That’s one of my specialties in group situations:  licking man ass while his cock is otherwise engaged.

The Brit and the Irish left, leaving the Vet and I to fuck once more before falling asleep.  The Vet left in the morning, but not until after taking Isis out.  He’s quite the gentleman.

I swear.  True story.