Random Rim Jobs
I swear. True story.Photo Lotto 16
Posted on November 13, 2011
Doesn’t this look like fun?
It does to me, too, but sadly I’m too practical and I think this wouldn’t be sustainable for fucking. Yes, I see they’re fucking, but I don’t know how many thrusts until one or both of them got too tired or just gave up. A hammock simply does not provide the leverage necessary for a good fucking.
Nonetheless, this photo is sexy as hell. When I watch porn I like seeing the in-out-in-out of a cock in a pussy as well as the in-out-in-out of a cock in an ass, and sometimes I can’t tell the difference depending on the angle. Here, there’s no doubt that the cock is pushing those pussy lips aside so it can get into that pussy.
Of course it’s the angle and focus that totally do it for me with this photo. The fact that it must have been warm out in order to necessitate a hammock but to also allow outdoor nudity and fucking makes me nostalgic for warmer weather.
At the same time, the fall in Chicago has been really quite nice. It’s mid-November and it’s snowed once, but only for a few minutes; I wouldn’t have noticed if I didn’t happen to be looking out a window. There have been some downright gorgeous days that included beautiful multicolored leaves both on the trees and on the ground.
I swear. True story.
Photo Lotto 13
Posted on October 21, 2011
This looks nice, doesn’t it? The satin sheet is tacky but I otherwise don’t have any complaints on this one. I like that they don’t even look like people, just parts; as if the photo is less about people having sex than the coldness of the room, its furniture, and its walls.
I swear. True story.
Let’s Not Bother (4)
Posted on September 29, 2011[Continued from "Let's Not Bother (3)."]
I informed him that Chicago isn’t very hip or cool. He responded, of course.
I think it’s a bi thing. I’ve know a few out and out lesbians, even played with one, and they are super nice, but it’s the ones that hate the fact that they love cock that are miserable. Or is it that indecisiveness drives them batty?In the big scheme of things it doesn’t matter at all. Chicago, suburbs, who gives a shit. It just rubbed me the wrong way last night and I guess I’m one of those speak your mind kind of guys. I’m also the kind of guy that would tell you to get on your fucking knees. Isn’t life grand!
If a bisexual woman hated the fact that she loved cock, wouldn’t she just say she’s a lesbian and seek to only attract women? He thinks this imagined bisexual woman – because it certainly isn’t me – hates men, but loves cock so much that she’s compelled to put herself out on the Internet to attract men. What. The. Fuck.
Bisexual people are no more or less indecisive than heteros or homos. Everyone can’t fuck absolutely everyone they want to fuck; everyone is indecisive about whom they settle to fuck. If bisexuals are batty with indecisiveness then so, too, is everyone else.
The rest of the message is … confusing. I responded that I liked both pussy and cock and was very happy about it.
He responded, “So I wonder if Paul Schaffer picks the musical acts for Letterman?” Uh, where the fuck did that come from? Even if he had a place in Chicago I’m still glad we never bothered to meet.
Nor do I think I’ll bother to meet Mr. Positive. I know it’s not bad to be positive, but an overly sunny disposition can give me the creeps. Also, the kind of person who pronounces, before we’ve met in person, that we’re going to be good friends. How the fuck do you know that?!
I was scheduled to meet one half of a couple. He and I found each other on OkCupid and then instant messaged a bit. We agreed to meet somewhere where our dogs could meet and play – or ignore each other since Isis tends to be aloof with other dogs.
I had a late start, but I had said we’d meet “after 2pm.” At 2:16pm he texted me and I let him know where I was, very close to my place and not at all close to the point roughly halfway between our places where we were to meet.
Isis and I walked through Lincoln Park and to the beach since we were to meet the guy and the dog along the beach. I texted my location at intervals to let him know that we were on our way. I received no return texts.
It was an unusually hot day. Fall weather had begun, but that day forgot it was fall. The sun was hot and strong and walking along the beach there was no shady refuge. I was hot. Isis was hot. Isis got her feet wet in the lake and even drank some lake water but she’s still an old lady with black fur so her tongue was lolling out the side of her mouth.
When I hadn’t received any texts from the guy since the initial one he sent, I decided that Isis and I were on our own. We made our way from the beach back into Lincoln Park, but not before Isis found a spot barely shaded by a tiny sapling and refused to budge. I let her cool down a bit and then took her to where there was some real shade and relief from the sun.
Once we were closer to home than to the beach, I finally got a message from the guy telling me it was too hot for his dog so they went home.
I haven’t heard from him since. I guess he wasn’t all that excited to meet me.
I swear. True story.
Warren’s “Cheating” (10)
Posted on September 23, 2011[Continued from "Warren's 'Cheating' (9)."]
They came home, stripped off their clothing, and got into bed. They snuggled tightly for a while. He had been resisting the temptation for a while, but it finally got the better of him and he had to speak.
“I don’t want you to have dirty sex with other men, but not me” he said, in an almost guilty tone.
She looked at him, but didn’t say anything. She had made up her mind about it months before, but his anguish was beginning to drain her.
“All guys want their women to do dirty things,” he said, sounding a little too pensive. “I mean, every guy’s fantasy is a woman who loves having sex … like in a porno,” he continued. She realized her silence was an excellent prompt, and waited for him to continue.
“So I don’t think it’s so much that I want to have that kind of sex with you, but I just don’t want to be missing out on seeing you do it,” he finished. He looked at her, gauging her response.
“So … you’d be okay with what I want to do, if only you could see it,” she summarized.
“I think so. I just feel totally left out. It’s one thing for you to be seeing other men and doing the same stuff we do together… but when it’s a totally different experience, I feel like you’re shutting me out.”
“Well, I don’t intend to shut you out,” she admitted. “I just never through you could handle it. I thought you’d start demanding the same kind of sex with me.”
“I won’t,” he offered. “I’ll just watch. I’m totally fascinated with it. I just want to know what you’re doing. It’ll make me feel so much better about it.”
She considered this for a while. “Okay. Alright. I think it might be okay if you watch me sometimes when I’m in one of those moods.”
He smiled broadly. “Really?”
“Yeah, I suppose,” she continued. After a pause, she made a counter-offer. “Except there’s one more thing. I want to make it a deal. You have to give something up if you want to watch me.” She smiled, satisfied with the plan.
He pursed his lips. “Give up … what?” he asked nervously.
“Cumming inside me,” she said quickly.
“What?!” he raged.
“That’s my offer. You can’t have your cake and eat it, too. I’m not completely okay with you invading my privacy, you know. And I deserve privacy. If you want to watch, you need to give me something in return.”
They sat in silence for a minute.
“Well, I can cum anywhere else, right?”
“Anywhere else,” she reassured. “But I want to leave my pussy for other men.”
“Okay. Deal,” he said quickly. He was in a bargaining mood. She had the feeling she could have restricted intercourse entirely, and he would have accepted it. She felt almost a bit ashamed for having considered that idea hot, though. Only a sense of propriety stopped her short.
He was practically jumping on the bed at this point. “Will you show me the whole tape then? Show me your favorite parts?”
“You’re never going to cum inside me again if I show you. You know that, right? I’m serious.” She tried to sound stern, but wasn’t sure if it came across. She meant it entirely, and hoped this decision wouldn’t spark weeks of fighting.
“I understand. I just need to be involved in all parts of your life,” he said, smiling sincerely.
She went into her closet, opened a few shoe storage boxes, and pulled out a number of small videotapes. She loaded the first into the camcorder, breathed a big sigh, and started the tape. She lay back down with him, remote in hand, and proceeded to show him her favorite parts.
Her favorite parts were a double-penetration with two very large men, both of whom came inside her, their cum dripping out in a torrent, a very rough deepthroating by another, and finally four men cumming in her mouth and on her chin in quick succession at the end of the tape.
He found himself searching for words. He had never seen anything so sexy on any pornographic tape, and had no idea she was even physically capable of doing the things he saw her do on the tape. He started to touch himself almost automatically, and she pushed his hand away as she continued to fast-forward from highlight to highlight.
“You’ve been doing this kind of stuff … for how long?”
“For years, honey, long before I met you. Are you okay?”
“I want you,” he said, pulling the covers aside to look at her naked body. He looked back at the screen to see two men working their enormous cocks into her pussy at the same time, and was overwhelmed. He practically pounced on her, and she was happy to receive him.
“I won’t cum in you,” he promised obediently as he entered her.
“Never again,” she reminded him.
“Never again,” he breathed wordlessly. His own orgasm took only seconds due to his delirious arousal, and he obediently pulled out and came all over her tummy.
“Lick it off if you want to see more,” she said suddenly, almost stunned with her own force.
He did so more obediently than she could have imagined any man would, and was happy to lay beside her and hold her afterward.
[That's it, kids. And since I've not spoken to Warren for years, that's all you'll get. Of course I am willing to entertain submissions from y'all: ShazamChi@yahoo.com.]
That’s a lot of Dick (1)
Posted on September 15, 2011As per usual I had several messages in my OkCupid message inbox. At least one was probably written by someone with the reading comprehension of a toddler, at least one was probably trying to set up a meeting, and one was from a guy who claimed he didn’t message many women.
He claimed not only in his message to me that he didn’t message many women, and so my profile must have really been special to make him do so, but the text in his profile indicated that it wasn’t his habit to message ladies because he was a busy guy. He was busy traveling to England, where he grew up so he had a British accent, and Italy, from where his mother’s family hailed so he spoke Italian, going to medical school, and fixing up the house he just bought in Lincoln Park. Oh, and he loved to cook – Italian, of course, since that was the food his mama fed him. Did I mention that he was also really cute, 6’6″ tall, and in really good shape?
I suppose I was supposed to feel special because he did take the time and effort to send me a message. I’m not sure how special I felt, but I did respond by giving him my YIM user name so we could chat some time. I didn’t bother telling him when I’d be online and changing my YIM status from “invisible” to “available” however, just told him that if he felt like chatting to hit me up and I might respond.
I believe it was a Saturday afternoon that I saw that he has instant messaged me. I responded. The conversation began innocently enough and then he asked what so many guys have asked before, “I hope I’m not being to forward, but can I ask you a question?”
That is always followed by a question of the sexual nature. Always. He asked if I had ever been with more than one guy at a time. Yes. He asked if I had done DP. Yes. He asked if I had done DP with “larger” guys.
Here is where I had to have him clarify. “Larger” could mean a lot, depending on who’s defining it. Larger is in the hand of the beholder. “Larger” to him meant 10″.
That’s a lot of dick.
He claimed that he and his friends, two of whom had 10″ penises and none of whom had less than 8″ of cock, were looking for a woman who’d be willing to entertain all of them. I asked if he has some sort of rule about the penis size of the guys with whom he hung out, and he swore it was just a coincidence. I responded that I would have to work my way up to taking two 10″ cocks in me, but that I was certainly willing to try.
I was willing to try provided we all had chemistry. The guys had done the sort of thing together before, he claimed, with a female friend who knew they were all “larger” and who took on the challenge. Unfortunately, she had moved away a couple of months before.
I said we could meet to see if we got along and then I could meet the other guys. It was convenient since we were in the same neighborhood. I also gave him suggestions for finding other ladies willing to entertain the group since it’s always good to cast a wide net.
He asked about my measurements. When I told him my bra size he said it was hard to believe. Harder to believe a 34DDDD rack – something for which bras are mass manufactured – or a 10″ cock, something that’s seen mostly in movies?
To be continued ….
I swear. True story.
I’m Not Complaining (5)
Posted on September 12, 2011[Continued from "I’m Not Complaining (4).”
I’m not complaining when I say that by the time a man is in his 30s he knows how his dick measures up, so it was extremely silly when he asked me, “Is it big enough?” He knew very well that he had a pretty big cock, and I told him as much. Sure, I understand it’s nice to hear, but it’s not my job to boost a guy’s self esteem. I didn’t ask him if any of my parts were up to par; it was obvious we were going to have sex so at that point it didn’t matter.
I’m not complaining that his bush wasn’t trimmed. Everyone has the right to decide how to groom himself. I just don’t like having to stop mid-blowjob to pull hairs out of my mouth.
I’m not complaining that he didn’t fuck me hard. Nor am I complaining that when I asked him to fuck me harder that he said he couldn’t or he’d come.
I’m not complaining that when I told him to go ahead and come, just fuck me hard, he didn’t. I’m not complaining that he didn’t fuck me hard enough and didn’t come anyway. Well, he came, but not until later, and in my mouth.
I’m not complaining that after “Top Chef: Just Desserts” ended, a Kathy Griffin stand-up show came on. Actually, I am complaining. There is not much less sexy to listen to than Kathy Griffin. I must have one pretty goddamn talented mouth to make a guy come while her annoying voice talks shit about idiots.
I’m not complaining that he didn’t give me cab fare home. He had been paying all night. But it’s still nice to be sent on one’s way knowing your date cares enough to make sure you can make it home safely.
I may see him again if he’s in town.
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 ….]
