Smalltown Succubus

The Powerglove and Donkey Punch- a Cost-Benefit Analysis

2010-11-20T00:13:00.000-08:00

Don and I started (and have been) fucking on the regular ever since. No labels or quid-pro-quos have been exchanged (other than me promising not to boink another dude), but we've been dating, hanging out, talking, partying, and doing anything and everything related to having a good time and seeing where it goes. Believe it or not, it has now been SEVEN months since I started seeing Don Juan. In succubus time, that's like a couple of decades. At any rate, I've got lots of back-stories to tell, and although I won't be telling these chronologically, I hope you enjoy them.

It had to happen eventually. It always does. You meet a guy, you fuck a guy, you date a guy, and WHAM! Just like the US economy after the housing bubble popped, the party is over. Your period comes and threatens your very sexual essence as a succubus, taunting you with the state of your pussy and your dick.

"Having fun? Try now, with a nasty, bloody pussy! It's all sloppy and looser than usual because of the tampons you use to hide me! MWAHAHAH! Watch as your man shows you how much the sex matters! See as he ignores you for a few days, only to break the silence with, 'So, still messy down there?'! Remember your curse, bitch!!!!!"

In my most unfortunate case, my periods will sometimes decide to linger for two weeks or more, so when guys cut off or limit sex because of Aunt Flo, my sexual frustration goes through the roof. Plus, you know the guy has got to be hunting for a secondary to allay his own need for sexual release. I've always found it to be immature for men to hate periods so much, but since so many agree on it, I've learned to live with it.

Juan and I had gone on a fun date and returned to his place. Despite having seen him for about three weeks, I still hadn't fooled around that much due to both of us losing our phones and dropping off the map in the beginning. So, when I noticed that my bitch-ass fuckhole was on the rag, I was afraid to mention it to him that night-- I had hoped that maybe, just maybe, my period was doing that start-stop-start thing it does from time to time.

We got naked.

God he is so hot. Please let him fuck me.

We started to fool around.

"Ummm sweetie? I'm on my period."

"Ok?"

His answer scared me. I prayed to the sex gods that he wouldn't be totally lame and stop just because I was ragging.

"I have a tampon in.... it's just that--"

He interrupted me, all the while positioning himself at my feet as I lay before him.

"Let me get it for you."

What the fuck does that mean??? Oh wait. OH MY GOD.

He slipped several fingers into me, sensually banging me two and three fingers at a time. It felt fantastic, but I still couldn't figure out what he was going for exactly. Then, once I had relaxed, he slipped a fourth finger in while using his thumb on my clit. While I was writhing around and moaning, he took out my gross-ol' tampon without me noticing. That's when the fun began.

He used one finger to go the length of my pussy, one on my gspot, and a thumb on my clit... his hand was nearly entirely inside of me from the palm to the fingers. No one had ever even attempted more than four fingers before; it reminded me of when I first got finger-fucked in high school. I was confused, naieve, and overcome with pleasure. He was rhythmic and fairly slow for the most part, but to be quite honest, I don't remember too much. It felt too good for my brain to work.

I had never felt something so painfully good. His hand hurt me, but not because I was raw or dry. It hurt because it was literally stretching me to the boundaries of what I could physically handle. I came and came and came as he sat there, intent on creating more spankbank moments. I felt so incredibly feminine and he seemed so incredibly in control. I passed out, tired and insanely pleasured, and he held me as we slept. A day or so after, he referred to this as a power glove technique and kept referring to the old Nintendo power glove while around other company. He said it was our inside joke, but I knew better-- boys kiss and tell their buddies more than girls on a sex blog.

Some weeks later, I wasn't on my stupid period again, but we were both plastered as hell. We'd gone out to a cool 80's-like bar in the Montrose area that I hadn't been to since I was 19. We were both horny as fuck, but he'd had so much to drink that he encountered the whiskeydick situation, even after hardcore drunk kissing and fooling around. As I prepared my naked body to just sleep beside him in horny anticipation for a morning bang, he positioned himself at my feet on the bed again.

Holy crap. Everytime he does this, I either squirt buckets or he does that hand thing. Hells yeah!

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"For what?" I asked in return. I had no fucking clue what he could be planning. You never know with Don Juan. I had hoped for that hand thing again.

He said nothing, or at least nothing that I could hear anyway. Instead, I felt the most incredibly painful and pleasurable thing I had felt since pushing out my midget. It was relief. It was a letting-go. It was stretching me to limits I had usually tried to avoid.

Good God almighty. He just stuck his fist in my pussy... ohmygoodnessholycrapgoodlordholyshitfuckfuckfuckfuck...

"FUCK!" I screamed.

I was loud. I didn't care. I couldn't care. He was fisting me, full on, hand fisted at this point, pumping in and out quickly and hard. I was squirting with and without cumming-- I could see the sprays of girl juice going everywhere when I wasn't blacking out from orgasmic meltdowns.

At one point, he stopped and began rubbing my pussy gently. The contrast in stimulation was amazing, and I felt an incredible amount of trust for Don. Then, he went to fist me again, and I instinctively scooted away from him. He laughed and smiled.

"Look at you, all scared."

His smile was a cute drunken, knowing smile. He grabbed my hips to pull me closer to him and proceeded to fist me again, while I proceeded to scream like I was the object of a hot snuff film. In the space of a few minutes, he had managed to incite true trust, pleasure, pain, and fear within me. The amount of experience and understanding required for such turns me on now as much as it did then. It was, in short, insane.

By the end of this, I was a mushy mess, and we both passed out. The morning after, I discussed the last night with him and discovered that he did not remember the fisting at all. He seemed confused that he'd "donkey-punched" me (which is his terminology for full-on fisting). This brought up two major points with me: 1)he was drunker than I thought, and 2) how in fucksake did he manage to do all that so expertly while totally drunk???

I hurt for about two days after that-- it hurt to sit down, my pants irritated my pussy lips, and the idea of sex frightened me... ME! When he'd powergloved me before, I'd felt a little irritated for a few days like I'd been well-plowed. This fisting, though, was different. My pussy throbbed for the good part of a week, and with every throb, I thought about him for a split-second. It took longer to recover than from the partial fisting, and it fucked with my mind... it fucked with my emotions... it fucked with me, period. Good God, it felt fucking fantastic, though.

A lesser woman might have either ran from the freakiness or clung due to the experience and pleasurable nature of it all. I did neither due to this-- it gave me insight instead. I came to a painful, numbing realization.

Damn it all to hell. I've met my match.

Whatever that means...

Going Out On a Limb... And Staying There

2010-09-28T14:58:00.000-07:00

After the stream of rude messages from Juan-a-be and my inability to think about anything other than fucking the shit out of Don Juan again, my decision regarding whom to see was made. My pussy was elated at my choice in penis. However, Don hadn't messaged, called, or sent smoke signals of any sort since we'd fucked. Each successive day weighed heavily on my mind and my lady bits. Had I made the wrong decision? Should I have gone with my paranoia and written Don off as a conquest-seeking lay?
Usually, I would have written him off as flaky and gone on to the next one. Yet with the Juan-a-be epic fail and Boring Asian Doctor date, I realized that my luck on finding other partners was terrible. Additionally, the James Bond incident was still fresh in the memory banks. The sucky dates and near-hook-ups frightened me from moving on too quickly, so despite my impatience with pussy-related matters, I extended my decision concerning Juan. Even without a call from him, I concluded that it wouldn't hurt to wait at least a week or two to see where the whole him-and-me thing was going. As long as the sex kept reverbating through my consciousness, I thought that I might as well stick to Don for a while. It's not like I would've been able to enjoy just any schmuck's fucking with hotguy-squirty-sex on the brain. So, for the time being, I gave him my rare gift of nonmutual sexual exclusivity.

Plus, I still hadn't sucked his dick yet. I couldn't wait to show him my cowgirling and marathon oral abilities and hoped with all hope that he wasn't blowing me off like Old Guy had last year...

A week passed with no contact. Then, for the second time since meeting him, a message popped up that made my vazheen moisten with glee:

Holla, Holla, Holla! You won't believe it but my phone has been MIA since Friday or I guess Sat. morning around 5am-ish. Good news is I got the Blackberry I've been needing for work today but had to "port" my number from ATT to Sprint so the company would start paying for it, they said it would take about 24 hours to make the transfer. Just let me know how I can reach you. I had an great time too last week, can't wait for round two!

Thanks be to the sex gods!!!!!
It took a few days, but we reconnected within the week, and by reconnected, I mean we banged each other's brains out all over his bedroom.

(Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself here. I just have issues focusing on anything but the sweet, sweet slamming of his dick into my nether regions.)

Once again, I was freakishly nervous. I decided on something versatile and sexy, so I pulled out a very low cut, somewhat short blue dress with interesting back straps and cork high-heeled wedges. I felt fat. Eww. Then again, I only feel skinny when my size ones are baggy.

En route to his place, he called and mentioned that we might be meeting up with some friends to watch the NBA Finals game on that night. He looked sexy as hell in jeans, cowboy boots, and hipster hat. Don't ask me how all that worked together, but it did. I guess looking like a straight Mario Lopez makes it easy to coordinate the wardrobe-- almost anything looks good, especially when the person evaluating is super horny.

We drove over to a sports bar, and most of his friends no-showed. His hot neighbor and her friend arrived, chatted with us a while, and hopped to another part of the bar.

Thank God. I hope she's not an ex or anything stupid like that. She's so skinny. I hope I'm his type and not just some random ugly chick he's banging. Wait... why do I care?? UGH.

As we sat there and made small talk, I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

You see, I usually stay pretty open-minded in my choice of hook-ups. As long as a guy has a schtick and I dig it, he has a pretty good chance of at least talking to me. If I discern decent fuckability in the guy, then yay, we bang, I come, yadda yadda yadda. Despite my serial monogamy and triad dating after my divorce, I had managed to avoid my type and for a very, very good reason.

My earliest male crush was on Dean Cain. Yes, the crummy actor in the old Superman series captured my little seven-year-old heart. I was immediately imprinted-- his big arms and chest, caramel skin, black hair, sexy eyes, and big smile became a standard for attractiveness. I even developed an unhealthy affinity for built, nerdy guys in glasses... hence my ex-husband, Cap'n Hook. So, from a young age, I liked dark-skinned, muscular nerds who liked to hide it.

Now this in and of itself would not be problematic. It's actually one of those cutesy-quaint things about my sexuality that humanize me to my girlpals and makes me the butt of jokes to my guy friends. Once people have known me a while, they learn the Dean Cain standard and compare my current beau to it. The real problem is where this standard first led me. It led me to my first love, an unrequieted one in which I fell so deeply and madly and terribly in love that I still have a hard time thinking about it, how stupid I was, and how miserable my teen heart was at the time.

I fell in love with my best guy friend. He was short but handsome and out of my league as far as dating was concerned. I was fat. I was nerdy. I was awkward. I knew from the start that I was stupid for loving him, and I knew that it mostly came from getting too close emotionally to someone as attractive as him.

He found out I liked him after nearly two years of bottling it up, hooking him up with friends, etc. Once I started dating my now ex-hubby, he started treating me differently and tried to get me to leave my ex. My ex thought that maybe he had a thing for me. I think he might have been right. My friend is married now with a kid on the way; his wife is a total bitch and apparently gets her kicks from not wanting him to talk to me anymore. I healed my heart with my ex-husband and swore off Hispanics. It was too hard for me to do otherwise.

Once I left Cap'n Hook, I hooked up with nothing but white guys. I do like corn-fed big guys sometimes after all, hence Batman. I didn't even consider Hispanics-- it was as if I was holding a subconscious grudge against an entire ethnic group. I flirted with the idea by dating Old Guy; he was half-Basque, so while not technically Hispanic, he was close. Then, I met Don Juan- a man whose picture could be in my dictionary to illustrate the word "hot Hispanic guy." I broke my rule against dating Hispanics. Whoops.

While I sat by him at the bar, I kept looking in his eyes as long as I could without it being awkward. I could see the intellect, the drive, and the actual interest he had in talking to me.

Good God. I think he actually likes me in more than a sexual way. Is he actually interested? Please let him be interested. God, if you love me even though I borderline on total blasphemy sometimes, okay, all the time, please let him be interested and not just using me for a few weeks of fun. I might go crazy if I have to hook up with James Bond types after this...

His dark skin, short-but-wavy black hair, and biceps peeking out of his sleeves made me drool, while his sly way of smiling at my understated nerd jokes made it difficult to look at him. He was making me shy.

Dammit.

When he moved his hand to my thigh, I couldn't help but look at his fingers and remember how he'd fingerfucked the shit out of me when we first met. My mind kept going to the way his fingers drummed on my gspot... the way he made me squirt everywhere... Then, I would look at his crotch for a second and remember the three-plus hours of monkey fucking we'd had when we finally hooked up.

Control the hornbeast. Clit, stop tingling! We're trying to have a conversation here!

We talked about my modeling, his kayaking, my life, his life... I realized that he was about as complicated and interesting as a guy could get without being gay. I liked him. I especially liked him in the bedroom.

He got up to go talk to his neighbor at the other end of the bar and her pal, and despite the brevity of his trip, I got worried. Was I boring him? Was she more interesting? I felt small and alone until I remembered what and who I am. I am a succubus, goddammit. This stupid female doublethink bullshit was really getting on my nerves. He came back to sit by me, and my retarded estrogen-soaked brain calmed down. I must have been ovulating.

I can't remember where and when we kissed eventually that night. I was so caught up in it that the scenery melted away as time and space became irrelevant. Great kisses always seem to do that with me. (I'm sure Stephen Hawking has an explanation for the bending of physics for this.) I do remember, however, that we were talking, he placed his hand on my face, guided my lips to his, and we kissed. I love having my face held when I kiss. Hell, I love kissing. So many guys get caught up in my nymphomania and forget the whole art-of-seduction thing-- Cap'n Hook, my ex husband, never made out with me and rarely foreplayed before fucking me for ten minutes, coming, and collapsing into sleep. I was in total shock after three boyfriends in a row showered accolades upon me for my kissing skills. To be honest, I'd only really made out with my first boyfriend over six years before.

[A small sampling of the accolades:
Preacher Boy after I got hammered: "I love how aggressive you kiss, especially when you're drunk."
George Clooney after the first kiss: "Oh my God, you're a great kisser."
Sugar Daddy: "I like how you unleash your wild side!"
Batman after dating a few months: "I still can't figure out your kiss. I feel like I don't kiss you well enough."

I guess I'm a good kisser. (Don Juan may be better, though, as I found out later.)]

At any rate, Don took me back to his place and to his room. I was so excited, but I couldn't help but wonder and worry that maybe our first hook-up was a fluke. Maybe, as those before him, the first time would be the best time...

His hands proved as adept as before, and perhaps more so since alcohol played a far smaller role this time. He rubbed my clit, grabbed my tits, and once again got me to the stupid horny phase. Suddenly, my brain clicked on long enough for me to realize the possible crisis at hand.

Oh shit! I forgot a condom again! Stupidstupidstupid...

He held up a condom.

Thank God.

After I rolled the condom down his thick, hard dick, the real fun commenced. Fortunately, unlike several past suitors, the sex was crazier and as long-lasting as before. At one point, my legs were pinned, he was pounding me, and he stopped.
Oh no. Done already? Humph.

Instead of cumming all over my tits, he apparently inorgasmed (which I’d never seen in person at that point), kept my legs pinned, and proceeded to finger fuck the shit out of me again. With my knees closer to my ears than would be comfortable normally, my pussy was angled right near his face and hands. One arm held my legs down; the other was free to please me. I could see his face from the side as he intently made me cum several times in a row.

Juan got rougher with my pussy, his fingers pressing hard against my gspot, his tongue swirling around my clit, and his body holding mine firmly in place. Then, that creeping feeling that washes over me when I’m about to squirt hit me.

Oh GOD. He’s doing that thing again. Oh my God.

“Oh…my….God.” I moaned.

“You like that?” he asked with a mischievous grin.

“UH HUHHHHHHH”

I felt my entire body shiver, my legs began to shake, and my eyes rolled back in ecstasy. All control was gone, and he went for the kill, pressing and pushing my pussy until I squirted everywhere. He rubbed my now wet ass and spanked both cheeks, causing pussy juice and girl cum to spray everywhere. He made me cum a few more times, and the scent of my cum filled the room.

He looked at me with a devilish grin again.

“Well, I’m all wet,” he said as he rubbed tons of liquid off his chest.

I had managed to cover him. It was in his hair, on his face, and anywhere else in the blast radius emanating from my surprisingly tight fuckhole (thank goodness for kegels).

OH MY GOD. I AM FUCKING MORTIFIED. He probably thinks I’m gross and nasty or super slutty. I never do this. Hell, I’ve never done that, period. I fucked this up. Juan will tell his friends that he fucked some super slut or hoochie whore who got him all nasty… OH MY GOD. His sheets are fucking soaked. I ruined his mattress. I am so going to have to hunt for more ass this week…

“I…am….sooo…sorry,” I whispered nervously.

“Why are you sorry? I made it happen,” he said matter-of-factly.

What the hell?!?!? WHO THE FUCK IS THIS GUY?

That’s when I decided I had to up the ante on the sexing. It was time to bust out the kegels. He proceeded to fuck me on the bed, on the couch, against the bed, forwards, backwards, sideways, sitting down, standing up doggystyle, regular doggystyle, legs up, legs down, legs apart, legs pressed together… And I proceeded to squeeze my pussy rhythmically during all of this. I made my pussy tight, tighter, then release, and I made tight waves going from the base of his shaft to the head of his dick. He had to slow down, pull out, and inorgasmed a few times as a result, making that face that men make when it feels oh-so-good. His eyes squinted; he bit his lip. I smiled.

Two can play this game, sexy.

“Is it always this way with you?” he breathed in my ear.

“Huh?” My synapses were not firing properly. Too many orgasms, I suppose.

“Is it always all night with you?”

“With me, that’s always up to you,” I said slyly.

He then pinned my legs down and jackhammered the shit out of me.

Orgasms later, he came, blowing it on my chest. I rubbed it in and tasted the cum on my fingertips.

Yummy.

As we fell asleep within the post-orgasmic glow, he chuckled.

“What?” I said.

“I’m just glad I learned to cum without cumming a long time ago.”

“Do you mean tantric sex?” I asked.

I’d heard about it, read about it, and learned how to control my orgasms, but had never met a man with the ability to extend, prevent, control, and otherwise be badass with his orgasm. It's the secret to intense, all-night sex.

“Haha. Yeah, if that’s what you want to call it.”

I had been right!!! He had been cumming the whole time we were fucking that night and the time before!

Holy crap! JACK-FUCKING-POT! I’m fucking the shit out of this guy as long as I can!

And that’s when I realized that my summer of lovin’ had been nipped in the bud.

The Succubus and the Existential Crisis

2010-08-11T00:14:00.000-07:00

So, after a miserable playtime with Juan-a-be, I went to work and chatted with one of my guy friends and my lesbian manager pal. I had to make a big decision, and I didn't want to make it alone.
"Okay you guys: do I take the guy with a Ferrari who sucks in bed and seems to be a douche, or do I wait for the guy who fucked me better than anyone else ever has and seems to be super compatible with me?"
Lesbian Manager Pal: "Ferrari guy. I mean, it's a fucking Ferrari. Fuck the other guy."
Guy Friend at Work: "It sounds like the guy who fucked you right is who you want. He wants you too, I guarantee you, he's just playing it cool. If you aren't feeling it with the other guy, then there's nothing you can do about that."
That left me with a 1:1 decision.
I posed the same question to others.
My brother: "Um, duh. The Ferrari. Quit thinking with your vagina."
My youngest brother: "The Ferrari. Duh."
Another male coworker: "The guy you haven't stopped talking about, you know, the one who made you squirt everywhere."
A female coworker: "He made you do WHAT?!?! That one. Take that one."
For two days, I wrestled with this and the start of what seemed to be really, really bad tonsillitis. Finally, I remembered what Juan-a-be told me: "Go with your heart, what's inside." Now obviously, he had said that assuming I'd fall for him.
Inside my pussy and my gut, I knew who I wanted. More importantly, I knew WHAT I wanted. I waited a few days to respond to Juan-a-be since I was sick and less than cogent.
Here are a two gems of messages he sent me:

Hope you got my text. Im dissapointed. Im a nice guy and i treat you well
and we had fun i also was worried if something bad happened to you. i dont
know why you acted like that after all you said and did. I asked you many
times and i dont knwo what you wanted then. Anyway i dont beg nobody.
Specially after all nice i was with you and YOU said "trust me" is all you
can do. " I like you" "etc etc." Though you different but is ok im not going
to waste more time. But dont worry. i will not bother you or contact you
anymore. But at least i wanted to let you know this. Why you acted like that
i dont know. God bless you and wish you the best. goodbye

I sent you a text saying. Seems like you dont want to talk. You should say that. i didnt do anything to you. but is ok.

This was after a few days of him exploding my phone and Facebook with messages to which I replied that I'd have to talk to him later. He had been nothing short of rude.
I replied with a masterful explanation that showed my point without revealing that my pussy's heart was elsewhere. In fact, I proved that I couldn't date Juan-a-be even if Don never came into my life again. Juan-a-be's incessant, angry messaging showed how much of a control freak and nag he was.
My response:

Sorry to take so long to respond. I've had tonsillitis, just now can talk, and have been sleeping with high fevers when I haven't been working. I was talking to my brother earlier when you called. I don't and haven't wanted you to think that I am outright avoiding you. You deserve answers for why I am not interested in you despite voicing some interest Saturday. There are several reasons.
Before I start, let me preface by saying that you seem to be a nice guy with a lot to offer someone. You are successful, entertaining, and caring. It truly saddens me that I can't bring myself to like you in a romantic way.
However, having a thousand wonderful qualities does not outweigh whatever requirements, quid pro quos, and conclusions about what your woman should be. It also does not outweigh serious obligation demands immediately upon seeing someone. As well, your qualities do not outweigh what appears to be some sort of frantic attempt to meet someone and make it work,
I'm not saying that having limitations, requirements, obligations, etc. are wrong. However, the more you require out of a lady right out of the gate, the less likely she is to stick around, especially after ruminating on your words for a few days. If you had wanted to take things slow, gotten to know each other, and taken things as they came, I would still be seeing you. Instead, you wanted things immediately; when I tried to question this, you used what seemed to be Socratic argument loops to get me to say what you wanted. Since I wanted to see where things went and didn't want to argue since you wouldn't accept anything other than your point, I'd agree. I was trying to have a fun date, not an argument.
Was I lying? Perhaps in the long-term yes; at the time, I just didn't know. In truth, as I mentioned to you at the time, I needed time to make those sorts of decisions and conclusions. You convinced me, at the time, that I should know right then in the moment. I didn't. You also told me to go with my heart. I don't like to lie; I especially don't like to be forced into statements or decisions. I refuse to do it. It is coercive and a form of psychological abuse to require it of someone.
So, upon going home, I got to thinking. I had to make a decision. You forced me into some sort of existential crisis in which I had to decide if you, your lifestyle, and your particular requirements of me were things that I wanted in life. You want something long-haul, so I had to make a decision of great import in that. Given that there were no "sparks" as far as chemistry is concerned (we made out, sure, but I didn't feel that special "something" needed for a long-haul relationship), your overt requirements and hints at your female being some sort of supportive tagalong, and the fact that one day into seeing you I already felt like nearly every bit of autonomy was being stripped from me if I got with you all made my decision for me.
As your tart and angry text messages over the past few days (while I have been coughing up blood and rolling around in high fevers while at home and working) have proven, you have a need for control and already assume some sort of dominion over me after spending a day with me. If anything, your attitude in your texts has been nothing but reassurance that I have made the correct choice as to what I want out of life and in a man. I apologize that it's not you and for wasting your time and energy in that way.
What do I want? For the long-term, I want chemistry, I want to feel like I have freedom to be myself, I want to feel connected, I want affection, but mainly I want to dance like a dervish. If I can't find that, I'll be happy to "slum it," to "waste my time," on guys who can't give me that-- those guys are the ones I learn the most about myself and what I want. It's all about taking it as it comes to you and seeing where it goes. I want happiness more than I want money, trips, or gifts.If you hadn't put long-term requirements, been so pushy, and turned into a text-clinger, we could have seen where it goes. Unfortunately, considering that all those things are clear control signals, I would have never been happy with you.
Unfortunately never yours,
The Succubus

In red, you can see where I made my big decision concerning dating and life in general. And yet despite the ire and total lack of interest on my part AND his stating that he would not contact me again, this asshole responds:

I understand what you said and sorry that yo been sick. Im not going to say much i rather to talk on phone and explain but all i can say is that all been a missunderstood.
We BOTH know that is chemistry since the first time we spoke on the phone. Those hours, and time we expends talking you even say it many times. Even the day we meet we still have chemistry. Sorry if you toke that way im not a controlling man. i think that a girl can have a lot of freedom with me but remember that i had a lot stuff going on i was in the middle of alot of things. Sometimes we try not to control but sounds like it. Sorry if sounds like that. I always asked you what you wanted to do and etc and you said you love my confidence. I asked you those questions becaue i had a bad relationship before and i guess just wanted to be sure. I NEVER LIKE TO RUSH IN THINGS specially in relationships. Sorry if sounds like that i dont do it even in business. but huni after kissing for more than 3 hrs if wasnt chemistry why you did it. I did it because i feel it. If not you could stop after 5 mins. or i. but we didnt. Lets dont try to balme nobody. We know alot of stuff. I could thing alot of negative and bad about our meeting is not just about me but even the day after that you said i will never bother you and etc. I sent you a few tx because i didnt hear anythign about you and i was worried.
i always told you i wanted you to be HAPPY and you smiling was the most important. so you even told me i was different and you wre really interested bencause i have alot going on and im succesful , etc. and i make you laugh and etc. huni honestly yea i can have alot of girls and etc but is NOT what im looking im looking for a long term and built something that can be unbreakable. I think maybe we need to talk you knwo im a very aring person and i will never get you down. We had alot of fun that day on the boat , walking etc. and i was litening to you. Maybe with my question sounds like rushing or etc but is really not what looks. Lets not blame nothing for that. take the positve and be happy like we were. for sure i never think tha ti own you or something for that day. NEVER passed in to my head. I WANT YOU O BE HAPPY . like i told you you like to be loved and i asked you that and you said yes. i do acting and not many people can act like that i believe you were honest.
imi not going to blame this to nobody. nobody is perfect i had mistakes you too. but is ok. Is better like that so we will like it more. if were to easy will not be worth it. So call me lets talk and hang out and go with the flow. Im hald you said this because that is what i want the communication and say things we dont like to fix it. I really hope you feel better. I will love to have a suprise for your birthday. I told you fallow your heart and when we were holding and kissing hwo you can say you didnt feel nothing after 3 hrs kissign?? haha lets dont lie to each other.
is saturday. hope to hear from you. and lets get another ice crea. you told me alot of things about your and your family that if you will never feel confortable you will rather to leave earlier or not telling me that.
I send you alot of kisses. I am a nice guy and i want to make somebody happy and liek i told you i want everybody to be inlove and happy. so dont let negative things destroysomethign that we both know was good and cool be great. If you want to do it lets do it and forget about that stuff that is not real no truth and take waht is real.
kisses

Upon reading his messages for the umpteenth time, I really think he finds himself intelligent enough to have befuddled me into getting with him. Maybe if he could spell or be grammatically correct, I could be more easily befuddled. (Yes, this is directly copy-pasted from Myspace and Facebook. You can get the gist of his retarded social skills from reading just a sentence or two, so I'm not too offended if you skimmed through his crap.) As a matter of fact, I don't think he actually understood my message at all. He refused to understand-- I'm sure guys like him are not accustomed to getting blown off by chicks. So is the lesson learned by the victims of the succubi-- if you aren't a pituary retard.

Oh BUT wait, he's an idiot, so with my ignorance of him and his promises to cut off contact, here's a message from a few days later:

Well I im not going to bother you i was checking how you been doing. I dont know why you dont answer me i didnt do anything to you. Everytime we talk you were so sweet and i dont that was a reason to fight but you doing it and is fine. I had a photograper friend of mine for playboy came here and i was going to introduce him to you but you didtn answer the text. Anyway. I explained on my last email what happend and honest i didnt do anything to you. I dont see why you acting like that. I dont know what you want but a perfect man doesnt exist. hope you doing and feeling ok. Give a kiss to your daugher.

I got a few texts after that. Then, months later, without warning.. BAM!

Im finishing shooting the sceenes. how are you? you been feeling good?

AHHHHGGGGGG! Seriously?!?!? I'm starting to fear that this guy may be a vulture. Vultures are guys (or girls, too, I suppose) who circle around and around until they are sure their prey is dead and for the taking. He's waiting for me to get single, desperate, and horny.

There's not enough horny in the world for that babydick.
I could only hope that Don Juan would call.

A Tale of the Don Juan-a-be

2010-08-10T00:06:00.000-07:00

This is a two-part story. Don Juan-a-be was such an interesting guy post-hookup that he gets a separate post for his messages and texts ex post facto. Here's the date.

After some of the best sex of my life with Don Juan, he dropped off the map. My phone was silent, my inbox was full of everything but a message from him, and my heart sank. More importantly, my vagina was angry at me (again). My vagina was in love. It happens rarely, but the pussy can fall in love at first fuck if conditions are right-- Batman was a good example of this. Conditions were perfect. My pussy was writing love notes to Don's dick in pussy juice all over my bed and panties. I was frustrated for getting myself into this position... and all the positions Don contorted me into days before. I decided to not be played and wait for him. Obviously, he had just wanted to get his conquest of me out of the way. He'd fucked me, and now he was ready to move on to the next one.

Days before our sexcapade, I'd started talking to an Italian/Spanish model-come-actor/engineer/millionaire on Myspace. He'd messaged me, I messaged back, we talked on the phone for hours and hours, and decided to go on a date. He was intelligent, worldly, and sounded like Antonio Banderas, so dating him seemed to be a great way to get my mind of off Don Juan.

Being super-rich, he insisted on meeting me up near his place in the suburbs so we could spend the day at his super-expensive house at a lake resort. He picked me up in the Benz since the Ferrari was at his "real" house in LA. (He had pictures. It was legit.) He was not as hot as his pictures and was losing his hair, wore too much gold, and was not as muscular as photographed, either. He was still really good-looking, though I must say I was disappointed.

We had the most romantic date of my entire life that day. We talked about anything and everything, paddleboated the lake by his house, hiked for hours, sat and talked, kissed, and bonded. It felt planned to be that way.

This is moving too fast. Something isn't right.

He kept trying to get me to answer questions in a particular way as to guide me into saying what he wanted. Plus, he never went more than fifteen minutes without mentioning his connections to important people nor his ability to pull hot chicks. Also, he wanted exclusivity. NOW.

Hmmmm. Controlling?

He seemed nice enough, so I was nice and gave him a chance. After lunch at a somewhat nearby spot, we went back to his place and watched movies in his home theater... his full home theater with rows of bucket seats and a flat screen that covered the entire wall. Then, we began to kiss.

He was more of a nibbler and less assertive than Don Juan. As we started to kiss and he rubbed my tits, I began to reminisce on Don. I kissed harder to try to forget Don Juan. I remembered him pounding my pussy so hard that I could still feel it for two days afterwards. I let this Don Juan-a-be finger me-- he was incredibly clumsy for a man who said he'd been with all kinds of women all around the world. I tried to focus so I could get mine, but all I could think about was Don Juan's smile, our fun night together, and my squirtfest on his bed.

Don Juan-a-be was doing such an awful job that I had to fake it to get him to stop. I hate faking it, but man, he sucked at playing with my clit. He was about as awful as James Bond. It was that terrible- uncoordinated and rough clit rubbing, weird darting in and out of his fingers in my pussy, and barely rubbing my tits was doing nothing for me. I kissed harder and longer and more passionately.

Please oh please let me forget Don Juan. This guy has money, wants to take care of me, and likes me. Don Juan is long gone. Why can't I just make this work???????

Juan-a-be went down on me.

Please be good at this, for your own sake.

He sucked at that, too. I have no idea what his tongue was doing, but it shouldn't have been doing it.

I faked it... again.

I want to go fucking home... why did I let him drive me here? My car is miles away!!!!

He pulled his dick out, obviously oblivious to the fact that this was not going anywhere.

It was about four to five inches in length and skinny. I guess that explained how a 29-year-old millionaire would be single-- being sucky in bed and small-dicked would make even the coolest, richest guy hard to fuck twice unless he was fucking a hardcore sugarbaby.

I tried to ignore his penis in order to smooth over the situation. I used every bit of body language to let him know I was done. I hinted that I wanted to go home. I didn't touch his dick. I didn't lick his baby penis.

He got on top of me.

I saw inside of his shirt. His muscular chest in his pics was gone. He'd gone flabby.

"Not tonight, sweetie," I said.

"Okay."

We made out some more-- it was diversionary, and I was trying to really amp myself up to fuck him later once I got my mind off of Don Juan.

"Let me go get a condom. Stay here."

What the fuck?!?!? Get a clue! Not tonight means just that!

He came back, put the condom by me, and pulled babydick back out.

"I said, not tonight."

"I don't understand."

"I'm tired and want to go home."

He tried to argue with me about it, realized arguing with me is a fruitless endeavor, and got ready to leave. I bolted for his Benz, the trip back to my car was pretty quiet, and I gave some nebulous, yet nice, answer to his question of seeing me again. I just didn't know what to do.

He wanted exclusivity but sucked in bed. He had money but seemed controlling. More importantly, he had told me to go with my heart in this. To complicate matters further, anytime I thought of him, I started daydreaming about Don Juan. I had to pick one or the other-- Juan-a-be wanted exclusivity.

Which one??? Do I take the rich guy who is enamored with me but sucks in bed, or do I wait for the enigma that is Don Juan to appear and fuck me again?

Existential crisis, here we come.

A Phone Returned and Cock Yearned

2010-08-09T00:11:00.001-07:00

I looked for my phone everywhere. After a few days of no phone and no Facebook message from Don Juan, I sadly wrote off the Saturday with him as a weekend hook-up with a net loss of one phone and one secondary bootycall (you know, the hot bartender).

Despite the write-off, however, I kept checking my Facebook inbox repeatedly in the hopes that that day would be the day that Don wrote me back. Maybe he had my phone, maybe I dropped it at one of the many bars we hopped, maybe the phone spontaneously combusted... honestly, I didn't give a shit. I lost my all my phone's contacts, but I had done that countless times before at the hands of my clumsiness and my daughter's toilet-dunking-of-electronics proclivity. What I did give a shit about though was seeing Don Juan again.

I would love to be cocky and fully in control of my succubussery here and say that the sex had nothing to do with my interest, but doing so would make me an outright liar. I wanted to fuck him so much that I couldn't think about anything else when I was alone at home, work, the car... My pussy tingled all day everyday just from the faint hope that he would message me. I feared he'd forgotten my name, that he thought I was a bitch, that he thought I was lame, that he wasn't really into me, that he thought I was a superslut, that he was more interested in The Other Girl, that he thought I was a porker, and more paranoid estrogen-ramped psycho-hose beast ramblings.

Perhaps what drove me even more insane was the fact that I knew so little about him. He gave me his last name. I didn't know his age, occupation, religious status, marital status (although I assumed single), parental status, financial status... I knew next to nothing other than he and I had a great time for an entire afternoon, evening, night, and early morning. There was something about him that I couldn't quite identify that was making me confused about him as well.

I was intrigued to the nth degree.

After close to a week, I'd given up on him. I started talking to other guys (Don Juan-a-be) and went on a failed sugardaddy date with Boring Asian Doctor. My goal switched from snagging Don to trying to forget him, his incredibly sexy body, and his awesome finger-fucking skills.

I came home and checked all my emails.

There it was.

HE messaged me.

Thank you Jesus!

He found my phone in his brother's car, which they had lost the night I went with them. His bro walked home that night. Sometime later, his friends helped him find the car which he and I took and parked in some random spot and parked halfway up on the curb. Oops. I'd almost totally forgotten about that.

He wanted to meet up a few days later and go out with a friend of his on a double-date. Of course, I *coolly* agreed. Now, I had a date with him and a date with Don Juan-a-be planned within days of each other.

Two new dicks in a week! Yays for me!

You see, I still wasn't totally sold on Don actually liking me. There was the very real possibility that this was a sort of go-see date to re-evaluate me. Maybe he was just being nice and wanted to return my phone. With guys as hot as him, I couldn't rely on my smoking looks to seal anything-- I could guarantee that he gets hot tail and often. So, with him contacting me, now I was nervous. Unfortunately, he hadn't added me on Facebook, so checking his pics to make sure that I hadn't been flaunting the beer goggles when I met him was a no go.

I really, really, really hoped that I hadn't drunkenly embellished how hot he was.

The day approached. It was a Thursday, I think, and I was so nervous that my brother thought I was retarded. I couldn't decide what to wear, so I went with a sexy shirt to show off the tatas, super skinny jeans to show off my thighs and ass, and super high heels to make me look leaner. I got directions to his place via Facebook earlier, so I drove almost blindly-- if I got lost or forgot which apartment was his, I was screwed.

Thanking the sex gods, I got there a little early. Knocking on the door made me want to pee my pants in a combination of anxiety, giddiness, fear, and horniness.

"Hey," he said with an eyebrow raise and sexy eyes.

Oh God-- he's hotter than I remember. Stupid reverse beer goggles strike again!

"Come on in. We're just chillin'."

As I followed him into the living room, I saw his sexy ass.

My God, how did I forget his sexy ass? Stupid stupid stupid. He is way too hot to still be interested after the debacle last time. UGH.

I sat down on the couch and poufy-haired brother, Ronaldinho, sat by me. Don eventually sat in a chair across the room. While we shot the shit, his eyes kept meeting mine in such a way that my clitoris and vagina wanted to scream in concert, "FUCK ME ALREADY!" Why was he sitting across the room? He was trying to tease me and was doing an awesome job at it. During the conversation, he made some comment on philosophy and used several big words. He seemed to play devil's advocate in arguing with me on Communism.

OH MY GOD. He's smart, too. Jesus H. Christ. Oh God... he's smiling at me again with that look that's driving me insane. Once again, who the FUCK is this guy???

After that, I was more turned on that I could remember being in months. I mentioned offhand my three-man system to clue him in on that I didn't see one guy at a time usually. He appeared to find it entertaining. I hoped he would take it to mean that he wasn't all that great, even though I was seriously swooning in my pants AND my brain. Technically, I was seeing and talking to more than three at the moment anyway. So, ha, take that incredibly attractive and sexually-adept smart guy.

His friend came over with a girl he had just started dating from one of those online dating sites. She was super skinny and little, so I feared that maybe he went for that, too. Quelling the psycho hose beast with so little information on this guy was getting more and more difficult. At least I got his first name. We rode with his pal and his gal to a club not too far away.

It was full of gay guys.

Apparently, his friend has a thing for gay clubs as he has a lot of gay pals, he's straight-but-not-narrow, you know. Don Juan played it coolly, he mentioned that he was bored, we found his pal, and we left for a Latin, straight club. He got tons of points for the GLBT friendliness-- I have lots of gay friends and occasionally party on Montrose, the gay part of town. I can't date a guy whose going to beat up my friends.

I'd been to this Latin club the week before on an industry night to see hot, tattooed bartender. It was a fun place and was packed when we got there. We got some drinks, danced, and pressurized the sexual tension. It was a like a spring ready to nuclear combust.

ANDDDDDD, he danced so well that I got visibly embarrassed by my lack of learned dancing skills. He tried to teach me. I'm sure I sucked. I got too caught up watching his hips grind against mine and feeling his hands graze my entire body. The song from Desperado that Antonio Banderas sings played, I sang along in the espanol, and he was impressed at my knowledge of the song and movie. He kept saying sexy things to me. My vagina kept soaking my panties.

Although we had fun, I was extremely excited/nervous/giddy upon leaving.

PLEASE FUCK ME!!!!!! OH FOR GOD'S SAKE FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME!!!!

I kind of wanted him to fuck me. By kind of, I mean really, really, reallllllly.

We got back to his bedroom a little tipsy but not plastered. Thanks to the party gods, I now had liquid courage. We made out like we had all night, and the clothes flew off of us. His fingers drummed on my gspot and frigged my clit so that I came a few times easily. I squirted repeatedly. My tits were rubbed and nipples were sucked. His tongue swirled around and around on my clit. I was in a whirlwhind of sexiness.

This is going to happen. He is so hot. Holy crap.

Then I remembered: I'd forgotten my condoms at home.

AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

"Do you have a condom?" I squeaked. I could barely speak the words-- his sexing left me breathless.

"Oh shit. Wait a minute."

He got dressed, left, and came back a few minutes later with condoms. Apparently, he'd ran to the gas station. Awww, he did like me after all.

I put on the condom with ease. I love putting on condoms-- you get to feel the hardness of the dick, the shape of the head, and stroke the cock a bit before fucking. He had such a pretty cock, too. The three hour fucking commenced.

He would fuck me deep, slow, fast, in this position, in that position, take a break to make me squirt three or four times, and repeat. I think I squirted ten or twelve times. I have no idea how many times he made me cum. My contribution was the kegeling at intense moments. I'd squeeze his dick, then pump on and off, then squeeze upward... He would close his eyes and moan.

YES!!! He likes it.

"How do you like that cock, babe?"

I moaned in reply, "Oh I like it. How do you like my pussy?"

"It's just as I hoped mmmmmm."

We fucked and fucked and fucked. I was in la la land and in some sort of ecstatic, sexual frenzy. I felt like an animal; I love feeling like an animal. Everything began to blur together into a swirl of yummy-orgasmic, Texican-hotguy, fake-tittied, , man-muscled, booty-shaking, heavy-breathing, pussy-slamming deliciousness.

Ahhhhhhh. This is definitely making my greatest sex moments reel.

I don't remember how it finished. I just remember waking up beside Don with that post-sex afterglow you only get when you've been fucked properly by a skilled pussy technician/artist. It felt like my body was sighing in relief. I had to leave to go work my other job at ten that morning, so I didn't get a second helping of his sexiness.

He said he had a great time and would call me... there was that sexy smile again.

That day, when I saw my friends at work, they all knew.

"OOOOOOHHH. You got some last night didn't you?"

"Hell yeah I did."

I dished minor details. My guy friend in the morning shift told me Hispanics want to make sure they put it down properly with their lady so as to keep her from needing to go elsewhere for cock.

Being as I just had some of the best sex of my life, my friend might have been on to something.

The First Canto of Don Juan

2010-08-04T22:27:00.000-07:00

A few days after Country Boy exited stage left, I had to get ready to attend an event I'd agreed to do in training for my new job. They needed models for a bikini fashion show benefit at a bar in the hot bar strip in town. Of course, I agreed. I am an exhibitionist, after all.

It was an all-afternoon event, so as we were getting dolled up for our bathing suit promenade, we ladies discussed the possibility of getting our drizzanks on after the show. Only one female other than myself wanted to get tipsy in the afternoon. Ugh. Bitches.

At any rate, the fashion show was fun, I hadn't eaten all day, and I was ready to get my party started. With the rising probability of the primary dick position availability, a man-hunting excursion seemed necessary as well. So, as soon as the event was over, I had a small slice of some weirdly delicious palm-heart pizza thing, then took some shots with my coworkers outside. One of the bitches thought the fruity shot was too strong, so I took hers. I'd barely eaten in two days. Uh-oh.

Some schmucks were watching all of this and approached us with the overly assumptive and pathetic game of losers and fat guys. Drink skeezing was definitely on the itinerary. Three four horsemen and a vodka and diet later and my party had definitely started... it had only been about an hour and a half since I'd started drinking. Not bad for late afternoon on a Saturday, huh?

The old fat guys got annoying, so the remaining females migrated inside to join those planning to leave soon. As I walked into the bar, I saw two guys near the swarm of ladies.

Holy Crap. I hope I don't have the beer goggles on tonight.

I paused to look at the one smiling back at me.

God, he has a pretty smile.

He had on sunglasses and a jacket... and was so my type that I couldn't stop looking. This guy was a little taller than me, smaller-framed, athletic, dark, sexy, and just plain hot. I'd sworn off Hispanics after a several-year-long unrequited love for a guy friend I'd had-- he was a good-looking Hispanic, too, but this guy... damn. In that split-second pause, I hoped and prayed that this guy was single.

I am so hitting that later.

I beelined over to him, stood near him, and he put his arm around me. I got nervous. I don't get nervous with men, ever.

Hells yeah. This is in the fucking bag.

So, after some introductory banter, I found out that the poufy-haired cute guy with him was his brother and that one of the other girls (of whom I knew just about nothing) was going to accompany them to their place nearby. I might have been a little drunk, but I was still a little wary of going to this gorgeous guy's apartment. The other girl convinced me that she was really going and left with the brother. Gorgeous guy, heretofore monikered Don Juan, rode to his place with me.

I have to admit that my horniness had reached the whole body tingling stage. I knew nothing about this guy other than he co-owned some company-- I only knew his nickname. We chatted as he directed me to his place and parked there as we waited for the others. Despite the total lack of familiarity, the electricity between us made it easy for me to give in as he put his hand on my face and guided my lips to his. Don Juan was aggressive with the thrusts of his tongue, yet there was something calculated and passionate about it at the same time.

Oh. My. God. Who is this guy?

His hand moved to my partially-exposed breast; I'm sure he noticed my breathing was getting heavier.

Don't fuck him in the car...don't fuck him in the car... don't fuck him in the car...

He was gentle with my breasts. I prefer rougher play, but I've found that the way a man treats a woman's breasts gives an excellent insight to how he really views his relationship to women. Lovers are gentle until given permission otherwise; true assholes are rough to start. He began to suck and tongue-tease my nipples. My pussy went from tingly to throbbing.

Please touch me...... please show me you know what you're doing.... please rub my clit... please oh please oh please...

Apparently a mind reader or soothsayer of some sort, Don's hand drifted down to my skirt and under it. He rubbed my clit over my panties, and I moaned.

Oh Geez oh Geez oh Geeeeezzzzzzz

His fingers pushed my panties out of the way and then moved to my bare pussy. His fingers went straight for my clit and gspot.

OH GEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

I came so easily that it was slightly embarrassing. I think he got me off again-- I don't remember well when I've got the whole post-orgasm- afterglow-brainlessness. His bro called and wondered where we were-- thirty minutes had passed, they had been in the apartment the whole time, yadayadayada. We went upstairs and jacked around for a while before deciding where to go and what to do.

Then, it happened. I've seen this happen many times before, but I've rarely encountered it personally due to my choice in friends: the Other Girl was a straight-up clit-blocker. While we were dancing around, she carefully whispered to me while the boys were bantering:

"Sweetie, listen. I used to be a stripper. These guys are laaaaaaame. We use them, not the other way around. Get free drinks, have a fun time, you know. DO NOT HAVE SEX WITH HIM."

Now of course, I do what I want when I want despite (and sometimes in spite of) what people I am in no way connected or close to may tell me. However, alcohol is a funny thing. I felt immediately guilty for the car pussy play; perhaps I felt indicted for breaking some female code of which I know nothing. Maybe I felt nasty for being the slutty one. Or maybe, just maybe, I'd planned on fucking the shit out of this guy either tonight or sometime soon, but she'd just made me feel like he was unworthy of my sex. I don't know the answer--I was drunk.

All four of us went en masse back to the strip of bars, partied for a while, then took a cab to a bar downtown at which Don Juan knew some of the "guys" there. I drank a lot... and took several shots of all kinds of stuff that I'm surprised didn't get thrown up later. Remember, I still haven't eaten and have had probably over ten drinks in five hours while also taking diuretics. The Other Girl and I watched a live metal band while we were at the downtown venue until Don Juan and his bro dragged us back out to the bars by their place after picking up his bro's car. Don got a call from a club promoter friend of his-- he had a bottle of Grey Goose waiting for us.

Uh-oh. I love the goose.

I am a bit of a werewolf (as my agent kindly puts it) when I get close to blackout status while drinking. A couple shots of Goose at the new bar plus couches plus the departure of The Other Girl (she left with her boyfriend who showed up last minute).... let's just say I became Lindsey Lohan-Paris Hilton drunk.

Don and I nearly finished the bottle of vodka by ourselves. During and afterwards, there were lots of lap dances and public titty-sucking involved. While dancing, all I could think in my drunken ADHD mode was:

God, he is gorgeous... He even has a pretty profile...His arms feel muscular. His dick is hard-- ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh it feels big...Nice... I wanna fuck the shit out of this guy right now! Why am I at a fucking club! ?

He appeared to get bored,too, but we couldn't find his brother. After a useless search, we left onfoot for a nearby club. There was only one problem, though-- the club we went to was where a potential secondary suitor bartended. We went in. He saw me. I said hi.

Dammit dammit dammit dammit. There went that. Here's hoping this guy was worth losing hot and tattoed bartender guy.

Don and I shut the club down, and he flagged down a cab. I remember making out hardcore, having my tits pulled out and on, rubbing his dick through his pants, his hands creeping up under my skirt and into my pussy...I wonder if that Nigerian cabbie sends in anything to Taxicab Confessions. He was totally looking. He had to have been. It was too hot, drunken, and fingerbanging good to not watch.

We got back to Don's place and went straight for the bedroom. Without disrobing, he played with my pussy, pulled out my tits again, and kissed me; the chemistry was explosive. I came and came and came. I finally took my clothes off, he gave me a sexy half-smile and returned the favor by taking his shirt off.

"Nice," I purred.

He chuckled. "I'm no chump, baby."

Who says chump anymore? Is this guy from the 40s?

I ignored my inner bitch and enjoyed the ensuing playfest. After grabbing my thighs and positioning himself by my bare ass, Don began to finger me super-aggressively in a way no one really ever did so masterfully to me before. Purposefully, he brought me to a crazily strong climax and made me squirt simultaneously.

"Did you just squirt?" he asked with a smile.

Sure that the question was hypothetical since I just drenched his fucking sheets, I answered as best as I could considering my post-orgasmic brainlessness.

"Uhhhhhhh I think so,"I whispered.

"You can have this whenever you want with me."

He smiled deviously.

Oh geez.

He put his fingers inside my pussy again and began to drum and press my gspot.

OH GEEZ.

With a determined look on his face, he seemed to be watching my responses. Writhing around and thrusting my hips lightly, I grabbed the bed with my nails.

OHHHH GEEEZ.

I was close again. His other hand began to rub my clit quickly. My breathing got heavier, my pussy throbbed uncontrollably, and my thighs began to quiver and shake so hard I wondered if he'd given me a seizure.

"Oh God... OH GOD... OHHHHHHHH GODDDDD!" I screamed as I squirted all over the bed.

I think he made me squirt a few more times. It all got hazy due to my BAC being stupidly high AND my brain being squirted out...literally. I remember him contorting to lick the hell outta my pussy. Unsurprisingly, he was fantastic at that, too. He took off his pants and boxers, and I saw his pretty dick hard and ready to go. He mounted me and slipped his dick inside my extremely wet pussy.

Oh no. I am too drunk to properly enjoy this. I promised my coworker I wouldn't fuck him. I don't lie. He doesn't have a condom on. AHGGGGG. Why don't I keep those things handy? STUPID STUPID STUPID.

"Do you have a condom?"

"Shit." He looked around for a minute. "No."

He tried to fuck me again.

"No condom, no sex."

I've fucked this up. This guy is already a fantastic lay and hasn't even fucked me yet. He is going to think I am totally lame and forget about me after this since I'm all stupid and drunk and have gotten fat and UGH! I am an idiot. I am too drunk to suck his dick or ride him properly and seal the deal on repeat business. He is way hot... and I have FUCKED THIS UP!

And the gentleman that he was, he got off of me, set an alarm for me to wake up for work at seven in the morning, and held me until we fell asleep.

Light poured in the room-- it was still early morning, and I awoke with a start.

"OH MY GOD. What time is it?" I asked frantically. I couldn't find my phone to see the time.

"Uhhhh whaaaaaa...." He was just waking up.

"What time is it? Oh God, I am so late."

"It's 8:30. What's wrong?"

"AHHHHHHHHH! I am already an hour late for work... and I get fined $50 PLUS SOME!"

I got dressed superfast. With no time for a shower, I realized I was going to smell like the sweet, salty, almond-y scent of female ejaculate all day.

"Don't leave," he pleaded.

"I have to," I said. I felt like an asshole.

"How can I contact you since you can't find your phone?"

"Add me on Facebook. Put it on your phone and message me. I'll call you when I can."

"Okay. Sounds good."

I sped to work, rehashing how stupid I was to party that late without my bag of work clothes...and to totally screw myself over with Don Juan. I just knew I sounded like a crazy bitch that morning. I lost my phone, woke up superlate for work, got fined, couldn't call my job to let them know what was up...

I rolled into work at 9:15, got in trouble, and started my gayass workday. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get my mind off of the crazy sex I'd had with a perfect stranger. There was something about him, and it wasn't just the sex... although upon going home that night, I did tell my bro that I'd had some of the awesomest foreplay of my life with some guy whose name I never actually got.

Who was this guy?

Had I fucked myself over?

More importantly, where was my phone?

Country Boy Can't Survive After All

2010-08-04T21:53:00.001-07:00

Wow. I dropped off the map for a while there-- I've been too busy gettin' mine to actually write about it. Instead of doing some lame-o recap for the past four months in one post, I'm gunna break it down for April and add posts as I recall them non-chronologically.
Goodolboy came over again two more times. The sex was good, but due to my personal issues with his baby-monkey-clinging-to-its-mommy take on our relationship, I couldn't get my O-time on as I had before. I tried. Sigh. After my first day at my management position, he came over, we boinked and passed out. Nothing special, no dick sucking ("I can't handle it!" What a bitch, right?), no pussy eating, etc. It was a fairly quick with acrobatics into doggie formation-- he was tired from machining all week as he was preparing to go offshore at any moment.

I woke up to his phone blowing up. Ugggghhhhhhh. Answer your goddamned phone.
He did.
"So we leave this morning?... Okay, I'll be there in twenty."
He turned to look at me-- he reminded me of a puppy at a pet store.
"Will you be here for me when I get back?"
I gulped.
Hesitatingly, I answered, "Probably not."
With a confused and hurt look on his face, he got his things together and left.

Weeks later, he messaged me on Facebook-- he planned to be back on dry land for a few days and wanted to see me. I didn't message back.
About a month after that, he messaged me again to see how I'd been doing. Once again, I didn't reply.

I know it makes me sound like Uber-Bitch to ignore this poor guy, but I see how these emotionally-repressed guys are. You see, Goodolboy's mom had died when he was in high school, and there seemed to be some deep-down yearning for a serious relationship with an older woman. He told me he hadn't dated a girl his age or younger in years-- all of his recent ex-flames had kids. If I gave in to his attempts to keep the communication lines open, I would be giving in to his Oedipal Complex. I would be that dependable, loving woman who took care of his laundry, cooked for him (as I told him I'd never do), and made him the focus of my life.
I just didn't and don't want to go there with him. That's why I kept thinking about my friendships with Batman and George Clooney-- those guys understood that the relationship I had with them was not to make a family but to have a good time... even if they did forget in the end.
Goodolboy just never got it-which is why he'll never get this pussy again.

Country Boy Can Survive

2010-04-02T21:58:00.000-07:00

This is the final part of the three-part recap from Sunday to Tuesday. Read on, spoogemonkeys.

Tuesday (with a little Wednesday added in for extra flavor)

I woke up alone (thankfully!) got ready, and went to work. I couldn't get Goodolboy and the horrors of the previous night off of my mind all day. I felt silly for being upset about the laundry request. It paled in comparison to James Bond's lies and inabilities in the bedroom. The one word description for Monday night is simply "ewwwuggghhhagggghhheww." My vagina was angry from the overly rough fingering, my elbow hurt from the playfighting, and my tits wondered what all the fuss was about since they had been asleep the whole time. My vagina seriously hurt. I'm not sure what he did to it to hurt it exactly, but all the clit gnawing and cervix punching couldn't have been good for me. My pussy lips hurt, too- my poor, sad, angry vagina!

I'm pretty sure that despite any previous mentions of exclusivity agreements on either mine or Goodolboy's parts, he is not boinking anyone else. He appears to be a busy guy, and his text messages allude to the kind of lonely horniness that consumes men when they are not getting pussy on the regular. I found myself feeling kind of guilty about the whole James Bond incident, like I shouldn't have been doing that kindof stuff with another guy. I kept thinking about the same psycho female shit all day:

What would Goodolboy do if he found out?

Why do I care?

Didn't I just have some revelation that I missed an ex's friendship more than I enjoyed Goodolboy's company only TWO nights before?

AHHHHHHHH!

I came to a couple of conclusions about myself, Goodolboy, James Bond and George Clooney:

1) I am used to serial monogamy. In switching to seeing a few guys at once, my brain and my pantsclam are confused. It's not a fidelity thing as much as it's a comfort thing. I am more comfortable taking down one alpha male at a time. Trying to do several simultaneously is a bit more time and thought consuming, so I'm not yet comfortable with this.

2) Since Goodolboy is a nice guy, I am afraid of hurting him. I enjoy fucking the shit out of him, he has been nothing but enjoyable (with the exception of the laundry texts), and I don't want to be the girl who ruins him. Many of the other men I've dated have serious issues from women treating them like donkey shit-- God forbid I be the reason some guy starts being an asshole to other women.

3) James Bond is the kind of guy who relies purely on bait-and-switch tactics in order to capture prey. Unfortunately for him, I am a predator and refuse to acquiesce and engage in subpar performances. By not blowing or friggin' him, I unintentionally did the female version of the "two-pump chump"-- I don't have to worry about him texting or harassing me. He gets it. Maybe he'll go watch porn and practice his techniques on some poor female who knows no better. I seriously doubt that Goodolboy will ever find out given these circumstances, so I'm safe.

4) George Clooney is a cool guy and is way more metropolitan than Goodolboy. The city girl in me is a bit embarassed by Goodolboy's countrified speech and hobbies, so missing companionship with a guy like George seems natural. Fortunately for Goodolboy, the country girl in me is reminded of home by his accent and fishing addiction. Also, George Clooney has a big penis.

Goodolboy was too busy on Tuesday and Wednesday to come by my place, which considering the state of my sad vazheen, I was fine with this. He did text me some, telling me that he was going offshore again in a week or so, that he would be gone for about a month and asking:

"So, are you going to find another guy while I'm gone?"

There went the guilt trip again. I told him that I probably wouldn't. I didn't want to lie. Then again, I like him, we have fun, and the sex is great... BUT THREE TO FOUR WEEKS WITH NO ASS?!?!?! He's a sweet guy and is nice to me... BUT THREE TO FOUR WEEKS WITH NO ASS?!?!?! I guess I can always buy a vibrator (I threw out all of my sex toys for Preacher Boy, the asshole I dated last summer)... BUT THREE TO FOUR WEEKS WITH NO ASS?!?!?!?! What is this? Is this hell?!?!

The high point of the story? Goodolboy told me that he did all of his laundry at his place.

Uggh. Carmen's sex shop-- here I cum...

Quantum of Bullshit, Sadfinger, and Nadapussy

2010-04-02T13:35:00.000-07:00

This is the second installment of a three part series recapping Sunday through Tuesday. So yeah, tards, it's all about Monday. Sorry I'm taking a while to write this, but it's really difficult to sex blog when the guy(s) about whom you're blogging and boinking are at your house.

____

Monday

I woke up Monday morning and got ready for my new job while Goodolboy woke up and left. My brother had my car that day, so I decided to walk to work under the presumption that I had to be at training by 8:30, as I had been told on the phone. Right before I left my house, I double-checked my email to see the exacts of training.

Shit. It's at 8:00. It's 7:10 right now.

According to Google, the walk should take about an hour.

Shit on a pole-- this is bad.

I grabbed my heels, put them in my cadaver-sized purse (it's handy for carrying about a dozen dead babies), squeezed my feet into sneakers, and ran to the bus stop.

Shit. It won't be by here for at least 15 minutes, AND I have a stopover for the second bus.

I got my speedwalk on, sprinting across intersections like a gazelle on crack, walking around slow kids going to school, ignoring creepers honking at me and speeding by since they have no nuts, and making all the hobos scared of the hot, professionally-dressed chick running around. I got to the closest major intersection by about 7:50-- I had at least a 15-20 minute run to the training center.

Shit shit shit.

"Hey sweetie-- do you need a ride somewhere?"

I heard a guy's voice from the parking lot of a nearby CVS, turn and look, and see a hot guy in an SUV. I wouldn't have minded rape, plus the ride would be short enough that I could do a duck-and-roll onto the road if he got weird.

"Yes yes yes."

We chatted, flirted, and his player skills were exceptional. I love players, plus as I have a primary cock right now, I have been looking for a secondary cock and an every-once-and-a-while penis. He said he worked as a DEA agent and complimented my ass. He also said he was looking for a booty buddy and referenced the size of his penis.

Yay. A big penis!

He seemed ideal as a secondary, so he got the digits, and more importantly, I got to work a few minutes early.

One of my good friends picked me up from my place that night after I walked home (my ass still hurts from that walk), and we got our drizzank going. I'd hoped Goodolboy could meet us for drinks, but he was too tired. Hot DEA agent guy, heretoforth monikered as James Bond, and I started textillating back and forth while I was at the bar. We decided to meet up at my place after my friend dropped me off. (Quit judging me. I have knives and long fake nails; guys have eyeballs; you do the safety evaluation.) He got there after a lot of texts on his part-- this was odd non-player behavior. I was confused.

He got to my place, we made out on my patio. He might be the suckiest kisser since my ex-husband. His aggressive kisses seemed wimpy and too face-mashy; on a scale of eww to omigod, he was a bleh. I can overlook a bleh, so we continued. He grabbed my tits and pulled them out as traffic whizzed by my place-- it was dark outside, but a little exciting. BUT... oh yeah, James sucked at the suckling and grabbing. I like rougher booby play, and he just seemed to be half-assing it while making moany noises. At one point, Bond leaned over me as I sat in my chair, put his weight on the plastic backing, and broke my patio chair. Ugh. We then play fought, he got too rough, and my elbow got scraped.

Douche.

One of the few highlights of this experience was him speaking in Spanish to me. Me likey the foreign languages. Too bad me no likey his peepee. He whipped himself out for me to see-- I stroked it and realized the 9" pretense was a fucking lie. Fucking false premises. Seven inches is not nine inches by any sort of statistical manipulation, misread of a tape, or mathematical mistake. So far, he'd lost points on kissing, tit play, getting too rough with playing around, breaking my chair, AND lying about his dick. He was instantly less hot. My horny was failing, and I decided no sex. He got the same treatment as most guys--I told him he got playtime/making out exclusively first as a pussy-access audition. He was cool with this.

We go inside, he sees my brother, and he gets nervous. My brother, smirking, shakes the guys hand, and Bond and I go to my room. He has a nice body, nice abs, hot tattoos... that's where the nice ended. He goes to finger me, and I notice that his skills are definitely not player-esque. Bond's fingers seemed to have issues finding my clitoris, and he moved kind of blockily with a sophomorish understanding of getting a female going. I, the succubus that I am, had to mentally push forward orgasms to make them happen. I stroked his cock a few times (I threw him a bone) but found him unworthy of my cock-sucking skills. I even told him:

"I'm really not feeling this."

He amped it up a bit, but yeah, he still sucked. He was too rough and off-the-mark with fingerfucking me. He licked my clit, but he bit it more than he licked it-- he seemed inexperienced with this, too. Barely licking my clit and then sucking and biting on it so that it hurts has to constitute some sort of crime against femininity. Despite my violent nymphomania, I was bored and barely getting off without doing it myself. I love having my pussy licked and being fingerfucked, but this was ridiculous. He mounted me after a few minutes. I told him, "No." He said, "Please,"and placed his cock right near my pussy. I said "NO." He went to put himself in me, I elbowed the shit out of his shoulder and threw him off of me. He looked shocked.

"I said NO, sweetie." Motherfucker, you just failed your audition. No mas para ti, James Bond.

He jerked it, skeeted on me (uncool as there was no pre-approval and I always approve if a guy actually asks), and got dressed. He said was going to get food, asked if I wanted any, I insisted on not wanting anything. Bond left, I fell asleep, and in accordance with my prayers, he got the hint and didn't come back.

James Bond, your namesake would be ashamed. Plus, your penis is average-ish, and your butt made my comforter smell funny.

Next Up: Country Boy Can Survive

They Call Me Chairhumper

2010-03-30T22:33:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the blogging hiatus. I've been busy training for a new job, being sapphic with a pal, and getting my player skills to new levels of eww. I'm organizing this post by day from Sunday to Tuesday. Enjoy-- I'm doing it in three parts.

---

Sunday

After a long, busy, and generally retarded day of waiting tables, I arranged to see Goodolboy once I'd gotten some nice lounging about and cleaning done (including but not limited to my body, as ranch and nasty gravy shit sticks to odd places sometimes). He came over, we got in bed to cuddle, and as is usual when attractive, good-smelling people get naked, we fucked each other's brains out. When he was fucking me a little more sensually than I was used to (you know, that nice missionary crap), I bit and sucked on him. Mine. My nails dug into his back; he got the point and pounded the shit out of my pussy.

Most of what happened after that was a blur because:

1) He choked me often and rough enough that I'm sure I lost some brain circulation more than once.

2) I got really hot from him fingering my asshole while fucking and fingering me. I came so hard that my brain turned off.

3) It was quicker sex than usual for us. It was still rocking, though.

I do remember doing my little Kegels tricks (you know, tightening my pussy) while I was on top and when I felt like milking his cock was appropriate (you know, like every couple of seconds). Not being a total dork, he would have a look of extreme pleasure, remark on the tightness and wetness of my pussy, and then pound me some more. He kept choking me, pulling my hair, and doing that awesome g-spot stimulation shit with his dick. The dirty talk kept throwing me over the edge.

Then, the unthinkable happened:

"Did you miss me?" Keep in mind-- his dick is pounding me, he's yanking my hair to pull my head towards him, and using his other hand to choke me. I didn't want to tell him that I'm not attached to him like that, as he is a booty buddy... but he was fucking me. He released his neck hold on me so I could answer. "Yes." It seemed like the polite, considerate answer to give to a guy I like.

It seemed clingy and needy of him, especially since he had finished up a hot texting session earlier that afternoon by asking if he could do his laundry at my place. I wanted to say no until I realized that it was a little backwards to let him have access to my lady-bits but not my Maytag equipment. "You can fuck me all day, just don't touch my washer!!" is just an odd set of boundaries. However, he added that he hoped I would DO HIS LAUNDRY FOR HIM afterwards. Dammit. I said hell no. Here goes this relationship. Why ya gotta ruin a good thing, baby? Ugh.

I think the most disturbing part of this was that I was seriously planning a threesome with him after some exploits involving Goldschlager, a stripper pole, and a hot female making out with me recently. Making out with a girl is always fun, grabbing hair and tits and ass and and and and and... man is it fun. Having an aggressive, pretty girl all over you in public is sexy; having her sound excited about the prospect of a threesome is fantastically delicious. Goodolboy saw her pics the next afternoon and signed off on it.
Anyway, I had and have issues with him expecting the all the milk (wifely treatment) when he only gets to fuck the cow sometimes. (I think I just called myself a cow. Hmm.) Asking me to do his laundry put a bad taste in my mouth as far as both the threesome and fuckbuddyship is concerned. I'm not his mother, or his wife, or his sister, or his girlfriend... I'm just a fuck buddy. Sorry, kiddo, I've gotta feel like seriously getting with a guy is worth it. Sorry.

So when he finished and we snuggled that night, I wondered about the workability of this booty buddy and his clinger potential. Almost randomly, George Clooney came to mind; not the actor, but my model ex-boy friend.

Of course, George is pretty for a guy. He has one of the biggest cocks I've ever seen and is an awesome kisser. We were usually insanely drunk when we fucked, so I don't know if he's fantastic with the freaking. From his drunken technique and my plastered memories, I'd say good, sometimes great, but not quite to the caliber Goodolboy or Batman. Funnily enough, the sex was not what I really enjoyed with him. I actually genuinely enjoyed spending time with him, from the drunken debauchery, chilling and listening to music, joking around and laughing about everything and nothing, to hanging out with each other's friends.

He lives on the other side of town with his parents. He's m ex-husband's age, had a rough patch with drugs, and is starting over as a firefighter/ real estate agent. He used to be super-Christian, just as I had been, and our psycho mothers must've been twins in past life. We both model for extra money, love sex and music, and have difficulty being serious about just about anything. I thought at the time we were dating that all these similarities just HAD to mean relationship success. After our amicable split so he could have more time to set up his career, I wrote off all the odd chemistry as bullshit.

What I realized while cuddling up to Goodolboy post coitus was that I miss George's friendship. I miss hanging out with his friends. I miss going to the Woodlands, humping chairs, getting thrown out of three clubs, throwing up like I had a demon to exorcise, and forgetting about it in my sleep despite the entire northside now calling me "chairhumper." More than that, I miss having a friend who does the same shit with the same chillaxed attitude as myself. Being single makes me appreciate and understand George a little better; he's cooler than I originally gave him credit. After Batman turned all homo on me, Clooney and I started texting again. It's sporadic, but at least the palship seems to be there.

I fell asleep with Goodolboy holding my hand and petting it while kissing me. He's warm. And too nice. I thought. As this nice little boy shown me affection, all I could think about was Clooney. Fortunately for Goodolboy, Monday killed my ambivalence.

TOMORROW:
Quantum of Bullshit, Sadfinger, and Nadapussy

Fuck You Electra

2010-03-26T16:34:00.000-07:00

In an ongoing effort to ruin my funtime, my brother enjoys pointing out similarities between whichever suitor is currently floating my boat and my father. Not only is this gross, but just like that game where someone promises you a million dollars if you don't think about "camels," I've started to point out the uncanny differences as well. I used to go for guys like my ex-best guy friend, then after my divorce, I apparently developed/reconnected with some sort of sick Electra complex... Or, which I find to be more likely and tasteful (and less suicide-invoking), my ex was a wuss, I want a man, and it just so happens that my dad is a guy's guy. So, any guy I go for at this point is likely to have some sort of little similarity to my dad somewhere.
This all does, of course, dampen my horniness. Fortunately, I can un-dampen speedily (by getting wet, ironically).
Last night, I had Goodolboy over. Yes, I know I said that I wouldn't have him over until tonight in order to combat clingerism, but oh well. Fuck it. I'm sorry I lied. Fuck you, too. :) While he was recounting some fishing story from that day in which he nearly got in a fight (awww... too cute), my asshole brother/roommate/best friend gives me that look that he gives when he's thinking about something VERY assholey. I immediately knew:
1. He was thinking about how this guy was similar to Batman in his proclivity to fighting.
2. He was chortling to himself about how Goodolboy is *gasp* similar to my father in his proclivity to fishing and his countrified attitude.
Upon eye contact, asshole starts laughing, I start laughing, and Goodolboy wants to know "what the hell" is so funny. I told him my bro and I pretty much can figure out what the other is thinking. Goodolboy's response? "I don't like that much." My response? "I don't like it, either." My asshole brother's response? "Bwahahahah!"
Ugh. Asshole.
I dragged Goodolboy to my room a little later after my brain had time to CTRL-ALT-Delete the whole father thing out of temporary storage. I walked to my bathroom (in my lair), he grabbed me, kissed me, and whispered in that low, growly, Texan accent, "I think you should dress up for me, baby." Teasingly, I told him I would have if he didn't say anything...
He went to the loo, and in the thirty seconds it took for him to pee and wash his hands (points to the country boy on this one), I'd changed into a pink, lacey, see-through lingerie set. My tits popped out while walking over to him, I got some nice ogling and fondling out of the deal, and then I felt myself flying onto the bed. Yay for lingerie!
[Ladies: Keep lots of slutty clothes hidden in your room if you want to keep a guy happy. It's easy. They'll even buy it for you most of the time.]
He took off his clothes, and with the lights on this time, I could see his sexy pecs, abs (oh how I have missed seeing ab definition on a guy!), delts... Yummy. He may be a smaller guy than the gigantic Batman or even skinny George Clooney (a model I dated), but damn is his body rocking! He crouched over me, slid his hands under the lace and on my breasts to expose them, and got out his phone to take booby pictures. I paid a lot for these damn things, so why not? I hid my face (I'm not getting tagged on Facebook!) and let him take pictures of, as he said, "those pretty things."
Then, the fuckingly awesome sexcapade began. My nipples got abused by his teeth while he fingered me as rough as I could handle, with his fingers in me and rubbing my clit simultaneously. That's the ticket for repeat O's for me: I came at least ten times before I even touched his dick. What a gentleman.
[Gentlemen: If you want to have your way with a lady, make her cum so many times that she loses all inhibitions regarding her vajayjay and your wingwangler.]
I slid down his naked body, found his dick to be as hard as I'd hoped it to be, and pulled back the foreskin. He's my first uncircumcized lay (they're rare, you know), so stroking and sucking on that thing is half experiment and half performance art. I got started with my tongue swirling around the head and my hand stroking it in the opposite direction... He started to moan and handed me a condom; my lips and tongue unrolled it down the shaft.
"What an expert," he said in that darling drawl of his.
"I know," I said. I also know that I'm a cocky bitch. Hahah.
He climbed on top of me and went straight for crazy dick-in-pussy action. Then... it happened. My brother sneezed so loudly in a nearby room that my dumbass brain went from thinking about Goodolboy inside of me to my brother's face. EWWWWWWWW. My beautiful, wonderful horniness abated for a minute, and it took me nearly the rest of the semi-brief sex session to recapture my sexuality.
When he choked me and grabbed my hair, that brought me back to reality, and I came almost immediately. Goodolboy got me close again, and as my eyes rolled back into my head, he grabbed my hair and growled, "Look at me." Being so close to elation, I was a little slow on the uptake. "LOOK AT ME when I'm fucking you," he said more sternly. "Hi, " I said, still in that stupid my-brains-have-been-screwed-out mode. He then choked me a little harder, came with me as I shook all over, cleaned up, and fell asleep.
I wasn't ready to go to sleep just yet. I let him nap a bit before sucking his dick again. I warmed him up with the basic sucking and stroking moves from earlier, then switched up to the huge turn-on moves that make guys shake all over like I do when I cum. I pulled the foreskin down as far as I could, stroked up and down slowly as I used my tongue to put heavy pressure on the underside the head. I made sure to rub that special spot on the taint to make him last longer and cum harder-- I'm such a giver. I sucked on the head, still using my tongue to lick the underside as my hands pumped the shaft.
"MMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmm."
He was awake.
I licked the little crease on the underside of the head of his cock.
He was shaking.
"It feels TOO good."
I climbed on top at his begging and gave him an ever better show than last time, at one point pulling him up to sit in his lap as I bounced up and down. He pulled me back down and grabbed my ass to try and control me from underneath. Yanking his hands out, I threw them down by his head and held them down.
"No." I said. I'm on top, I'm in control. I thought.
He chuckled. What a little sexual deviant! Yay for me again!
I had to do this twice until he grabbed and flipped me over to give me a show of his more flexible talents. I realized after the fact that his swimmer's build is more functional than for which I originally gave him credit-- push-ups on his tiptoes and fingertips while my legs were in the air was priceless. I've heard of this before, but shit, to have it done to you gives your pussy that nice feeling of fullness that even monster cocks have a hard time managing to do without crazy moves. My cervix has never been so happy. He choked me a little and grabbed my hair so tightly that it hurt. I tried to pull away; he whispered in my ear something about fucking the shit out of me. Uh oh. I came again. (Good thing I'm not a guy.)
He tried the rabbity bullshit again... and I grabbed his hips and ass and had him fuck me slower myself. We got in a sexual wrestling match this way, so he twisted me to the side, got on his knees, and fucked the shit out of me. I was moaning, cumming, and out of my mind with sexual joy. He then flipped me over, pulled me to the side of the bed, and fucked the shit out of me again. Holy crap holy crap holy crap holy crap.... was all I could think. I kept playing with myself and cumming... I probably came three or four times in that brief span, throwing my head back and tossing my hair to tease him in between orgasms. I shook so hard that he had to hold me up to keep on banging. I might have squirted. I didn't have the brains left to notice.
After one VERY strong orgasm in which I felt like I might die, he came and collapsed onto my back. We fell asleep soon after, I woke up for work this morning, got ready, and went to go wait on tables with a shit-eating grin on my face.
Ahhhh. The single life.

History of the Potentially Gay Batman: Montrose Mayhem

2010-03-24T23:00:00.000-07:00

Since I don't have any action planned for a few days (which is best with the young ones as to prevent clingers), I've decided to start a small series of my past lovers, encapsulating the good, the bad, and the ugly of the sex, the scandals, and did I mention the sex? At any rate, I thought my most recent ex, Batman, might prove for some excellent intrigue.

Instead of starting at the beginning where everything is roses or the end where all is confusion, this story is best told from the beginning of the oddness. This was the time of the Montrose Mayhem. For those of you not familiar with Montrose, it's a street in Houston that is ground zero for gays, especially gay men. The hot gay clubs are there, and several of these clubs have male gogo dancers. Why is this important? Batman, perhaps the most hypermasculine guy I have ever met, much less boinked, got in a Speedo, jumped on stage, and danced at one of the trendier, albeit seedier, clubs WHILE I WAS WITH HIM.

Unfortunately for me, this was not the weird part of the story.
Allow me to rewind here. Up until this whole incident unfolded, he was practically in love with me, loved my daughter, hung out with me all the time, and was, at least in a general sense, one of the nicest guys I've dated. Nice body, pretty eyes, money, and a summer sausage in his pants didn't hurt the situation either. He called me late one night from his buddy's truck-- they were driving drunk and had gotten lost. Dumbasses. So, I Googlemapped their location and Scottied them back to where they needed to be as they bought kolaches from a freshly-opened Shipley's. They went to his friend's house, and we discussed me picking him up in the afternoon after he slept and sobered some. The entire two-hour conversation was hilarious, sweet, and very typical of our relationship. Truthfully, this was the end of us.

I called that afternoon to see if he still needed me to pick him up... no answer. I called about an hour later. He answers, still drunk, and states that he's been hanging out with a friend who picked him up earlier so as to not inconvenience me. Awww. I hear the friend in the background-- I have no idea who it is-- he says it's Will, an old friend-- Will sounds SUPER gay in the background-- Batman explains that Will has hooked him up with a job gogo dancing at a gay bar as joke and is taking him Speedo shopping-- Will gets the phone and gives me some number to call when Batman will be dancing-- Batman tells me he'll call when done shopping.
Okay, this was weird. I laughed it off, but honestly who was this Will person? And gogo dancing? Batman definitely did not have the abs or chest for the discriminating eyes of bears and bois.
I get a return call from still-hammered Batman. Will had bought him nearly $300 in Speedos?!?! He'd shown Will his dick?!?!?! Will was discussing taking him cockring shopping so Batman's already plump cock would look plumper? WHAT THE FUCK?! This didn't sound like a joke job... but since I tend to trust people who've been honest with me, I just kept listening. I didn't talk to Batman the rest of the day, so when he showed up at my house in the middle of the night, I was a little taken aback but happy to see him. He was totally plastered, mentioned something about having to break out of Will's house, that he had to sneak and get his keys out of Will's pants, and that he hung a pair of undies that said "Manhunt.net" on the door as a joke to show that he left in the middle of the night. He insisted on grabbing and sucking on my tits to reaffirm his manliness since he said that hanging out with gay dudes all day had been too much. We kissed, I moved to go down on him, he pointed out that his BAC was not consistent with anything resembling a hard-on, and we went to sleep.

From what I remember, I gave him the usual reward for snuggling with me: a fantastic, AVN award-worthy cock sucking and stroking that made him cum so hard his whole body convulsed for the last half. I like to make men moan by using nice little combos of hand and mouth... hands for pressure on the shaft and stimulation of the head, mouth for wetness and tongue swirling/licking. He was always a sucker for licking the underside of the head. :) He got anxious about his phone having died, mentioned that he might have broken the lock on Will's window in his great escape, and hunted down my charger to turn his phone on and check missed calls. He left soon after and said he'd be dancing that night.

I tried to contact him to go watch him dance with my friends so as to support him, I was shocked when I couldn't. I drove to Montrose, paid to park, and went to all the possible clubs he could be dancing. No new gogo dancers and no Batman to be seen anywhere, not to mention no phone answering either. It was cold, I was tired, he wasn't answering, and I went home feeling a little defeated and a little odd.

I talked to him the next day-- apparently, he'd misunderstood the startdate for his new job and would be starting that night. So, I trekked back out to the gayborhood yet again and had some money to buy him shots of Wild Turkey. I could barely get his attention on stage, assumed he was trying to work and make some tips, and let him know I had liquor. During his breaks, he would dart by, take the shot, go to the back, come back out, and dance some more. It was, needless to say, super odd. Being the stonecold fox that I am, gay men love me, so I talked to a gillion little gay bois about clothes and shopping and stupid boys. It was nice. Gay men actually get me. The niceness soon ended, however.

Apparently, Batman quit. He went to the back, changed, grabbed me, and kissed me. I was taken aback-- I didn't know that he'd quit and was scared that he might lose his job over shenanigans like this. Plus, the way that he did it was more to show the gay guys that I was there for him. I kind of froze-- how should one react in this situation with gay men watching me like that? My hesistance pissed Batman off, he stormed out, Will was outside, and they were both pissed at me. I didn't get it.

Batman threw his gym bag in the back of Will's okayish car with Will chiding him to do so. Batman told me to leave because I wouldn't like what I was going to see. I went to an urban gay club with a gay guy I'd been chatting with during my boredom earlier, and texted Batman. I walked back to find him still pissed. He told me to go to the club with my little friend. He was going drinking with Will. I did as he asked and texted him at the club and in my car afterwards in an attempt to figure it out. He eventually picked up the phone while in the car with Will, Will was bitching about me "denying him in front of all those people," and I was still confused.

I kept texting trying to get some sort of answer. What had I actually done wrong? Why couldn't I be forgiven for this when I'd forgiven him for making out with an ex? It's not as if how to react to your boyfriend kissing you in a gay club after dancing there for money is exactly common knowledge. To make matters worse, Will kept texting me on Batman's phone that night, saying that they were together, in love, and I needed to contact Batman no further. What. The. Fizzityfuck.

The next day, he didn't really talk to me. He told our mutual friends that I'd hurt his feelings, the gay shit was all a joke, and that he was still drunk. He hung out with Will for a few DAYS after this.

Hmmm.

Now, I know that Manhunt.net is a gay dating site.
No one knows Will, even though he is supposedly an old friend.
Batman had/has been avoiding his old friends.
Batman had made out with men at gay bars before.
Batman made out with his guy friends.
Batman had sex with me once after this... over a three week period. He turned down blowjobs... stayed drunk... avoided me.

He would only talk to me while drunk, was constantly rude when he had always been nice before, said he cared about me but had to figure some stuff out...

I'll let you figure that out.

Goodolboy and My Sexual Philosophy

2010-03-24T01:12:00.000-07:00

(Sorry for the lack of brevity in the post. Hopefully, after reading this, you won't need as much to "get" me, so I can write a page instead of a novel.)

After tons of hookups with a limited group of retardedly fortunate suitors, I decided to simplify my sexual philosophy to its basic tenets and forgo any remaining threads of true decency or long-term monogamy. Hell, I have a kid, have my degree, have awesome friends, have nice dirty habits... why in the world would I want to fuck that up by throwing a permanent penis into the mix? Since leaving Cap'n Hook (my ex-husband), I have made far too many long-term commitments in order to guarantee some long-term ass.

My sexual philosophy is quite simple: hedonism with a touch of Epicureanism, made with Machiavellian means when needed... and some good old-fashioned deism when I cum. (It's a lot easier to scream "God" than "Niccolo" or "Epicurus.") Even though I'm a big ol' nerd, I crave fantastic sex and will do A LOT in order to get it.

Fortunately for me, men with the huevos to approach me are typically fairly skilled. I tend to wear my sex on my sleeve-- it's as if these guys smell it on me, know that I'm a different caliber of woman, and determine if they have what it takes before ever attempting the hook-up. Then again, maybe I just bring that out in guys. Who knows... and to be honest, as long as I cum as many times as humanly possible, I don't give a shit as to how or why these guys put out such rocking sex. Some guys do suck at the pipe-laying-- I just don't get many of those at my door.

I recently went through a break-up with potentially-gay Batman, and as usual went through that awkward one to two week break where I had to hunt for more ass. Usually, I hunt for someone around my age or a few years older (you know, 24 to 28 or so), pick out a few targets, throw out bait, and see which ones respond and how quickly they respond. After hoping and praying for a decent dingaling and good sexin', I fuck them, they fall in love with me and my pussy, and I get stuck in yet another relationship in order to guarantee more dick. The fucking cycle just won't stop.

This time, however, I decided to stick to my philosophical guns and went for a younger target in order to have more control over the terms of the "relationship"- I want to keep it to fucking, drinking, and maybe some talking to make the fucking and drinking less awkward. I found my target; he approached me first online on my modeling page. Don't judge me-- online works when you're hot. My modeling pics definitely get the assist on this one. I responded, he gave me the young player-type answer, and I threw out the date invite.

We went out-- I paid my way into the club. I like to surprise guys with my willingness to be independent, and I also like to quietly remind them that I don't need them for money or any other patriarchal crap (this was learned the hard way). HOT dancing, HOT making out, HOT teasing in my car, and creepy guys watching us in my car led to him begging me to come to my place. After playing with his mind, I agreed. I also said no actual sex. He's younger, so I figured he's used to getting turned down for the full package of services. Ergo, I could look forward to some action without fucking him to see if he is acceptable booty buddy material before committing to any sort of repeat cavorting.

That Saturday night turned into an awesome Sunday morning. I was EXTREMELY surprised. EXTREEEEEMELY. Not only did little country boy get me off quickly (my God, he's good with his hands and tongue), but he talked dirty with his sexy Texas accent, too. I had suspected some aboveboard sexual ability in the padowan when we were making out and dancing in the club, but ohmygawd. Unlike past lovers who were more interested in trying to beat their own personal cumming records with me or break my overall cumming record (currently 35 in one session, thankyouverymuch), he seemed to be more concerned with keeping me in that HOLYCRAPIFEELFANFUCKINGTASTIC phase. So of course, I sucked his cock, which although a bit average for my taste, is uncircumcised. Being the adventurous sort, I decided I'd definitely give this heathen good ol' boy another go. Plus, he has pierced nipples and a swimmer's body. Wooo.

I'd planned for no fucksies unless he really impressed me with an even better foreplay performance on round two Monday night. He met up with me for drinks and once again returned to my lair. Holy fucking balls did it get hot quickly... A genius with his hands, he seemed intent, once again, to get me off as strongly as possible nearly non-stop. Although he didn't work any tongue magic this time, I was perfectly fine with that. The rough finger fucking, clitoral attention, and g spot vibrating move just about made me comatose. He positioned to mount me, I told him not yet, and I bargained for another half-hour of personal cum fiesta. God, I love younger men.

Thoroughly impressed, I permitted the fucktime and became even MORE impressed. Somehow, despite his years, he's figured out how to make the most of his equipment so that I, the cock connoisseur that I am, honestly felt as well fucked as if I'd had a nice eight-to-nine incher plowing my pussy. His selection and execution of sexual positions was rather refreshing... except for the very typical inclusion of the fast, rabbit bouncing bullshit that every guy resorts to when you get him too close too soon. I grabbed his ass and took some from-beneath control of the situation. Slow and deep thrusting is always better than that superfast crap, even if I have to fucking grab some hips and slow that cock down myself.

Of course, he enjoyed my subsequent cowgirling. I do things a bit differently than most women as I've found out from my friends: going from frontal to reverse without pulling out, changing angles, laying down in reverse and using the wall to help thrust while placing his hands on my tits, playing with my nipples, biting his nipples, playing with myself... He couldn't handle too much of that, flipped me over, and fucked me so well doggystyle that I squirted.

I don't squirt often. I shook all over for so long that I was afraid I might pass out-- my eyes were rolled all the way back, my legs quivered forever, I nearly collapsed so that he had to hold me, my lungs stopped working for a second, my arms kept spazzing, and I felt high as hell. Just writing this is making me hot-- it was that awesomely sexy of an orgasm. He kept grabbing my hair, choking me without choking me (an art that some retards never quite understand), said "I'm not such a nice boy now am I," (HOT), came with me, and passed out with me. I woke up to a brief version of the night before, passed back out on his chest, and woke up to take care of my kid and make breakfast.

He does lose some points for sleeping in too late, but then again, fucking me takes the life outta guys when they do it right. He woke up, got dressed, smoke a cigarette, fingered me in the kitchen only long enough to get me hot, and left. I had to finish myself off later, Damn tease. Here's to our date and no frills fucking on Friday!!!!

First Post... Second Date... and Playtime????

2010-03-22T22:04:00.000-07:00

I'll jump right into this.
I'm waiting for my new playtoy to come over, go out for drinks, and come back to the cave of the she-bear.
Poor little guy has NO idea what he's got on his hands.
I tried to warn him...