If you visited Random Rim Jobs in the past by visiting https://shazamsf.wordpress.com, update your bookmarks to http://randomrimjobs.com . That blog will have new posts, this blog is frozen in time.

Then  we did some more making out and she started saying stuff like, “I want to see you naked, you would look so good naked,” and then she said something that implied she wanted to eat me out.  And I’m sure I would have let her but I was still bleeding.  And all this time we weren’t just screwing around, we were also talking about how we felt about each other and what the hell Erica was going to do about Juree–still loving her and all.  Christmas we went to Chris’s sister’s house.  Just being in a room with Erica makse me hot an I can’t stand having to hide it from everyone.  The day after Christmas were were at Chris’s and stayed in bed until 4pm.  We did it again but I told her to be gentle and that I might bleed.  She said she didn’t care.  The night before we had gone into the kitchen to get something to eat and were screwing around for a while w/one of us sitting on the counter.  Then the lights went out (we did it, not nature) and were were on the kitchen floor.  Erica is so proud of herself that she can completely control her mind and body and can stop in the middle of sex at any time.  So she was biting my neck and that sort of hurts but also feels good at he same time so I was moaning/squeaking/breathing heavy which gets Erica off to know that she can get  me that excited.  Then she stopped and told me I was lucky she stopped herself because she was close to being out of control.  And then she started again, only lower so marks couldn’t be seen by anyone who didn’t see me with my shirt off.  And she was sucking so hard for so long I had to finally stop her.  She freaked out because she had gotten out of control and hurt me.  But I told her it was alright.  An that’s when she wanted to know how I felt about her.  But I honestly have no idea except for physical need-want-lust.  What bothered me the most though was no matter what she couldn’t stop thinking about Juree.  After we had sex, right after, she talked about Jeree and how far she got her hand up her.  I was trying to be understanding but by Monday I told her I wanted her talking about me.  But still, I’m just too nice, I give so much.  I told her I wanted to take care of her.  She told me she could feel herself falling in love with me.  So I asked her what would she do if I loved her.  Who knows, I might.  I asked if there was anything I could do to make her come to me rather than beg Juree to have her back.  She said no.  At that moment I would have done anything.  But now the time is lost.  She left Tuesday night saying she’d miss me.  And perhaps she has.  But she still has Amy and could get Juree and I have no one but myself, once again, to rely upon.  Things will never be like they were here, Christmas Vacation 1989 in Los Angeles, California.  The time, feeling, freedom, is all lost.  If Juree rejects her, Erica will come to me and I know I should say no, for her to be by herself for a while, but I’ll probably give in.  Because I’m weak, subservient.  Juree either was or is down here and she was supposed to call me but she didn’t.  Erica said I would do the same to Juree that I did to her.  I most likely would have.  But she didn’t call, maybe all for the better.  Things happen the way they do to reach a certain good place.  Erica called Juree when she was down here and Juree said that she and Amy had ha sex.  Erica was pissed but I think she had no right to be.  Erica was buying presents for Juree an not for anyone else basically.  I can understand, Juree being her first love an all, me being a useless fling.  My position in life.  But she did make me feel good about myself.  Telling me I’m beautiful, not fat, a good person, and she liked the way I walked.  She made me feel lovable.  Who knows how things will be when I get back.  I still want to have an honest talk amongst the four of us.  But the four of us have never been alone together and I would have to set up the meeting w/o the others knowing about it because they wouldn’t agree to it.  The bruise from Erica’s incessant sucking is still apparent 5 days later.  Pain is pleasure–scratching, biting, pounding.  No handcuffs–shit.   More sexual exploration later.  She knows where the ol’ clitoris is (she should, she has one) and made my legs twitch.  I said I only had sex w/a guy once but I wonder if she thought I meant all sex.  I just meant coitus.  Not finger and mouth–let’s count–4 different people finger an one mouth.  I’m quite the experienced little ho-bag (5 now), maybe I am a tease.  No, ’cause I’ve only said no to coitus twice and that’s all I’ve refused.  Not twice, three times–Jason Bornstein, Robbie, and Mike.  No one else has wanted to with me.  Except suddenly I’m popular with the girls.  What about guys, don’t they have eyes?  Erica said everyone at [our high school] save four people thinks I’m sexy.  Curtis, Eric Fodge, Justin Fisher, and someone else.  Boy, I wish these people who think I’m so sexy would act upon it.  She said that I’m very sexy.  If I remember correctly, she said this right after she had made me writhe all over the bed in ecstasy.  Maybe I am sexy, yay!  I told her I don’t fake things and I never act.  She asked if I would fake an orgasm for her and I said nope.  But mostly because I wouldn’t know how.  I don’t even know if I had one or not.  Is the leg twitching orgasm?  Who knows.  I wish I knew how things were going to be when I get back.  I guess I can wait though.  We’re going back to Melrose tomorrow for me to spend the rest of my money.  Tomorrow night I’m leaving again for home.  My mother suggested I move down here and live with DJ.  We would be great roommates.  I have no idea at all what I’m doing New Year’s Eve.  I’m getting home and then what?  Call Amy’s house to talk to either or both Amy and/or Erica.  Try to get the four of us together but Juree’s 21 and will want to go to some drinking party.  I just don’t know what to do.  What if everyone hates me?  What if Juree hates me for sleeping with Erica and Amy hates me for sleeping with Erica and Erica hates me for sleeping with Erica?  Oh God what to do?  Just wait be patient

some nights

some nights we regress

feel a snarl grow deep in our gut

prowl dark alleys for easy prey

clench teeth and bite lips to blood

we regress

to primeval roots

to a driving lust

to a frothing anger

even the animals around us

fear us

some nights

By Real Faucher

from:  Notebook/Cuaderno:  A Literary Journal, Volume 5, Number 2, 1989.

[Get caught up:  Part 2.]

[Mike] @ShazamSF are we conversing anymore? Thanks for letting me know email went through, but I am befuddled


From: S M <shazamsf@sbcglobal.net>
To: [Mike]
Sent: Saturday, June 27, 2009 10:52:48 PM
Subject: Re: Its nice to say hello

You are befuddled?  Well, I am pretty annoyed at your presumptuousness.  I like having sex so you assume I’d want a STRANGER to fly me to Florida and take me to a nudist resort, but not until after he’s fucked me in a bathroom after a crude display in a bar, and you get offended that I want to be compensated for my time?!

From: S M <shazamsf@sbcglobal.net>
To: [Mike]
Sent: Saturday, June 27, 2009 10:55:48 PM
Subject: Re: Its nice to say hello
You’re not about hiring escorts?  I’m not about going to Florida with people I don’t know, who claim dyslexia causes them typing and grammar problems, and whom assume I’d want to fuck them and go to nudist resorts with them.

From: S M <shazamsf@sbcglobal.net>
To: [Mike]
Sent: Saturday, June 27, 2009 10:56:23 PM
Subject: Re: Its nice to say hello
Unless, of course, it is worth my time.  Time being a commodity.

ShazamSF:  @[Mike] You’ve been befuddled for hours. Including through two email responses. Hmmm.


P5171870-EDITWow, screeching to a Halt! I feel like I was led into an ambush and set up to fail miserably. I am sorry I misread your lead. All I did was offer up a fantasy/real scenario that seem to be welcomed when asking me to be blunt or not. I usually do not get so elaborate, but I have been reading your blogs and your twitters for a while now and Suzanne, you really put it out there, and in stories you DO meet up and place ads for “strangers” to come over and you fantasize while walking with them or while walking the dog. I am sure, you are saying to yourself, lets watch how fast Mike will back peddle his self out of this now that I called him on it. I seem to be in a dammed if I do or a damned if I don’t situation. We are adults, both sexually assured of ourselves, and I am not going to play mind games with you that I won’t win because I do not know your “rules”. Did I think tomorrow I would be booking you on a trip here? NO! If you recall in email #1, I offered my phone number to a complete STRANGER, and to quote, “I’d be more than happy to call you and discuss and get to know each other to see if there is more to us than just a twitter friendship.” “I will leave you my number and look forward to hearing from you and your ideas and obtaining your number so I can call.”I feel from email one I have been open and honest. I will agree the Scenario I wrote about is just a fantasy/scenario I worked up for you to go along with what I have read from you in the past. I could quote many a twit or even a blog or two, but I know you’d recall what you write more than I can. To quote again “I certainly enjoy a WOMAN who is open and honest with her sexual awareness and her wants and needs. I hate fucking games back and forth and being coy and tentative so as not to accidentally offend.These few emails seem to be some sort of test, and hey I have been out of school for many years having graduating college and I don’t enjoy nor want totake any more. Tonight has sure been one for the annals of the phsycology of people.Not just you, but a long time friend as well. I’m pretty tired of trying to get a read onpeople. I felt after 26 years in business and hiring and firing and training and working with,I had some grasp on it, but I am about to just say fuck it, I won’t even put out an effort.I do have a something I refer to as a typing dyslexia of sorts because I have not heard another term for it. I get in a groove and can write and write and been told I should consider writing a novel. There are some words I type that I routinely will mix up the order of the letters or put a space in the middle of a word when of course I realize it is not correct. If I don’t bother to proof read over and over, they would be all over an email or a story. Why you would doubt me on this is beyond me, but I have tried to take my time since it really seems to be a big deal to you. I personally would not even let it be an issue, why add more crap to your life.I leave this ball in your court and do whatever you wish. I thought you would be a fascinating and never boring lady that I would enjoy spending time with, and I still do, but like I said, if this is what you enjoy, the back and forth crap, then go ahead and enjoy yourself, I will sit around and catch it from the sideline.Your 3 emails were not in my email box, prior to me leaving for a couple of hours and thus was the reason I asked you about it. Plus when you sent me the one email earlier showing me you did receive my phone email, you did not go into any discusiion of what you thought. Maybe I should have put my seatbelt on for it.

With interest (call me crazy and intrigued)

PS: in reading tonight’s diary,

12/17/89: A Diary Entry (Part 1)

I did catch a few typo’s but I still enjoyed the story.
I will “assume”, you are “transcribing” your actual diary, mispellings and all.
To Quote you “I would welcome anyone telling me I’ve fucked something up in my blog”

Maybe I’m just being sentimental but these three *peple

more as a *unti–the three of them

I hope Amy can’t *stope

Erica told me she was *got but I

And her body’s got a good *shame–

Flat, smooth, white, *hairlss

Lisa has big boobs but you’d be afraid of *mothering.

I hope this makes up for my mispelling of WOMAN.


[Mike] @ShazamSf Hi, hope U R having a great day. Its a perfect Florida day & being here @ the Nudist resort, felt so good on the body. take care


From: S M <shazamsf@sbcglobal.net>
To: [Mike]
Sent: Saturday, June 28, 2009 6:37:48 PM
Subject: Re: Its nice to say hello
Yes, I have been known to fuck “strangers” and fantasize a lot.  However, I have never fantasized that a gentleman 13 years my senior fly me to Florida and take me to both a nudist resort and swingers club to which he carries membership cards.  And I certainly have never fantasized a radio station “superfan” (whatever that is) fuck me in a public restroom after I’ve worn clothes in which I would not be caught dead and flashed an entire bar my pussy. Finally, all my fantasies that begin with written communication do so with proper spelling, grammar, and punctuation (beyond the occasional typo).

I did want you to be blunt, but not as a trap, as I had no clue what you’d say.  I asked what you had in mind for my trip to Florida so I could understand what you expected of me.  You expected me to happily fuck you, and possibly others.  Fine, I would expect to be compensated for the time I’m not otherwise working.  I don’t think either of our expectations was unreasonable.

And thank you for the corrections!

Btw, I had more typos than the ones you pointed out.

I’m watching a fairly lame movie called Tattoo.  Before this I watched Hellraiser.  That was good.  It had hellish modern primitives.  This tattoo movie has a guy who kidnapped this chick and tattooed her whole body with flowers and birds and crap.  Then they were having sex, she grabbed the needle an killed him.  It made no sense Photo 39and gave me no tattoo ideas.  I want an Egyptian eye on  my ankle and Rocky Horror lips on my butt but up high towards my hip.  I’m not sure if I want it to say “Rocky Horror Picture Show” in the bloody letters below it or not.  But I also like the Fright Night II poster–I’ll have to get it–it’s all white with really neat eyes and a mouth with red lips and fangs.  That would look really cool on my upper buttock.  I’m getting really worried about the lumps on the left side of my neck under my skin.  No one will take me to the doctor for anything like the lumps or my irregular periods or my bad cold so now I’m getting worried.  What if I’m dying?  What if I have cancer?  I don’t want to die.  I want to live.  I’m young.  I have a lot to do before I go.  I still have to have an orgasm, enjoy sex with a man, enjoy it more than I have this far a woman, travel all over the world–see China, Japan, Egypt, England, France everything.

Anyway, back to Erica.  Saturday we went to Melrose.  While people watching saw some chick with short, bleach-blonde hair an I told Erica to look and she almost delivered a baby then and there.  She was having a hernia saying she should have followed her.  I told her to do it.  (I always tell people to do what they want to on a whim because I think that’s what’s good for them even if I don’t want them to do it myself.)  So she actually followed her.  And was gone for quite a while.  I began to imagine they had gone off and had sex somewhere.  Then I started thinking about AIDS.  Then a guy came up to me with a bunch of jewelry and sold me an anklet.  Then Erica came back and told me what happened.  The chick asked if she was following her and then told that she was cute but too young.  So Erica gave up.  She had a perfect opportunity and she gave up.  But I’m sort of glad she did.  So Saturday night we got into a cute water bottle squirting fight.

[Continued from “What A Guy (Part 1).”]

From: S M <shazamsf@sbcglobal.net>
To: [Mike]
Sent: Friday, June 26, 2009 12:21:34 AM
Subject: Re: Its nice to say hello

I would welcome anyone telling me I’ve fucked something up in my blog or my SF Sex and Relationships Examiner articles.

I’m not sure what you would expect from me if you fly me to Florida.  Please be as explicit (or not) as possible, and I will be the same with you.



Nice to hear back from you. Everyday I read your twits and enjoy your “out there” attitude about what is on your mind and what you crave. I take you for being honest to what you put out there and not just spouting things for effect and attention. It is one of the things I enjoy about your twitter. As far as what I expect, well that can be a two edge sword with some women (used correctly 😉 ). I think “You can handle the truth” so I will not pull punches. I want a friend to come visit and get her dreams and fantasies fulfilled. I have a number of connections to make even the most decadent fantasies come true.

I once had a marred lady friend from Canada come for a visit with hubbies permission as usual and we went to the swingers club I am a member of and with no plans, we ended up fulfilling her dream of being the center of a 13 man (safe sex) gang bang with me photographing it for her and I being #13 as she was DP’d. One friend arrived as we were preparing to leave the club for airport, and in the van, got to fist fuck her and cum all over her huge tits.  She went right to the airplane with dried cum on her and did not realize it until she reached Atlanta. She got home to tell her husband all about it, and of course he had seen the 300+ photos I took prior, and they had a night of sex to remember.

For your trip, I would ask when we talked about some of those lingering fantasies you have yet to live out. I for one have a few and would love to find an open minded sex partner to fulfill them with. Upon your arrival in Tampa or Orlando airport, I expect you to be dressed as slutty as you can be, with no panties/bra on and picking you up and asking if you had done as I requested on your flight here. M request would be to make a sexual advance to your row partner and regardless of man or woman, to engage in mutual masturbation and getting them off, but not allowing yourself to cum, because you did not have my permission to get off without me being present. You will allow them to fondle you under your skirt and play with your tits while you finger fuck a woman or jerk a guy off to completion.

Upon arrival, I will pick you up and take you to a local area bar/restaurant to get a meal and also take advantage of the sexy mini skirt you have on, and tell you to let it ride up and sit yourself to allow others to peak at your legs and gander on your now wet cunt. I will occasionally finger your dripping pussy and lick my fingers quite blatantly and offer my fingers to you as well. During dinner we will go to the restroom and go into a stall where I will have you blow me and then bend over the toilet and tell me to fuck your dripping wet pussy so hard as you have been dying for it all day. I make you grip my cock from between your open legs and put my cock at the entrance to your cunt, and tell me to fuck you hard and in one stroke I bury it balls deep.

We will continue to fuck, regardless of anyone who enters, making you bite your lip to keep from screaming out from my complete strokes into your dripping cockpit. You will cum quickly and as you begin to relish in the waves of pleasures, I pull out my hard cock and begin to explore your tight asshole. I tell you to spread your ass cheeks wide open and I enter that tight ass, and stroke deep and hard and I will
explode and leave my cum deposit deep in your asshole. We then return to our table and I make you keep your legs spread as I like seeing the pool of cum leaking out of your ass onto your chair.

We will then leave the restaurant, and on the drive to the hotel at the nudist resort, I make you lean over and lick off your cunt and ass juice from my cock the entire ride home. Leaning over, I pull up your mini skirt and leave your ass exposed to any vehicle that may pull up alongside of us on the expressway. When I notice someone looking in, I tell you to reach between your legs and spread your pussy open and finger your cunt for their enjoyment.

Suzanne,that will begin your adventure to see me here in Florida and that is only the first few hours. The trip I hope will be something to quench unfulfilled desires so when you return home, it keeps you yearning for how soon you can return to Florida and get nasty with me and others.

Here to your ass being on the next available plane from SF to Tampa/Orlando. My treat of course.



From: “S M” <shazamsf@sbcglobal.net>
To: [Mike]

Sent: 6/27/2009 2:54 AM
Subject: Re: Its nice to say hello

Should I make the trip I would need to be compensated for my time.


Suzanne, time compensation? Are you really broaching that area? Seriously? What happen to two people who get to know one another and begin a fulfilling friendship and enjoy the company of one another without there having a fucking $ figure added to it. I was offering you a very nice getaway with a similar person and offered to fly and take you to a nice resort and have a nice experience that who knows, could possibly lead to more of such adventures. Being blunt, like you enjoy, I am not about hiring escorts. There are amazing ones close by. I do however enjoy knowing them and other sexually aware women because they are not afraid to say they love sex and I do not have to be someone else around them. I have been a BF to an escort (I harbor no jealously) and I appreciate what they offer, especially when they make the choice to be all that they can be to make the other feel great.It is disapointing that from all of which you write on Twitter and in your rimjob blogs, this is the first I have heard of you also requiring compensation. I too could be a male gigolo and in fact with my previous GF, was in the opportunity to assist as one.I am a realist and a man who enjoys dating and treating someone to a nice time. I have even had a 2 year LD relationship with a woman in Texas, who still is a friend though we broke up. I could not be the man she wanted, and I was truthful to her and let her know. She is now married and had a child as well. That was not in my deck of cards at that time.

Your stance in this rendezvous, is a date breaker to me. I was willing to pay your expenses to come and while here, but additional time payment is not on the table. Sorry.

I hope you give some thought, and if this is a prerequisite to us enjoying one another company, that at least we will still tweet. I am not sure if you follow me or not, but I have a feeling you don’t and maybe you will add me and get to know me and enjoy me in a different realm that you currently have.

Pardon me if there are errors, as I am using my phone to type this email. I will reread and hope to catch any T9 predictive corrections.

PS: As always, I hope you appreciate my upfront and honest replies. I am not even sure what you thought of my previous “explicit” events. They were not fantasies but realistic ideas of just a part of what I enjoy in life and sex.


[Mike then continued to @ tweet to me regarding what I wanted to do when I was in Florida, asking what kind of alcohol I like, that he was enjoying himself at the nudist resort (though inexplicably he’d always capitalize the “n” in nudist.)]


ShazamSF: Just because I want to fuck doesn’t mean I want to fuck YOU.


@[Mike]:  @shazamsf, wow that was pretty well put out there 🙂 Ducking and hoping it was not for me 🙂


[Mike @ tweeted some more asking if I’d received his email.  So fucking annoying.]


[I emailed that I had received his email.  At the time I was not planning to respond at all.]


Stick around, because it really does keep getting better.  And there’s another photo coming.

I swear.  True story.

This is Mike, along w/some Playboy chicks (I think).  I know, he’s a catch, which is apparent from the fact that he is surrounded by women in body paint.  Mike was following me on Twitter, and when he made a couple of @ responses to me I followed him back.  Then I realized he only @ responded with stupid things so I unfollowed him.  He continued to follow me and to make lame comments that, frankly, were stupid to tweet at all.  I gave him my email address in an effort to curb his stupid remarks Twitter-wide.


Hi Suzanne,

I am glad I got your attention this morning. You almost always have mine with your fun, witty, and sexually charged twitters. I have often read your blog as well. I certainly enjoy a women who is open and honest with her sexual awareness and wants and needs. I hate fucking games back and forth and being coy and tentative so as not to accidentally offend. I have never been to SF, but it sure an area I would love to come to sometime. I was just in LA in May for my birthday week and spent time at the Playboy Mansion, and the Playboy Radio Studios as well.

A few words about myself, I am a too honest kind of guy, and have been in an open lifestyle for many years. I have been a nudist since the late 90s while I was married and after my divorce I have enjoyed nudist resorts and currently a member of two of them near Tampa Fl. I live in a home just north of Tampa about 30 miles from the resorts.

I also have been an amateur photographer and have traveled all over the States and Canada and even Jamaica to events held with a Voyeuristic and Exhibitionist website (Redclouds.com)in which I was a monitor of. I have taken over 30,000 photos and often think that my new career should be in that line of work. I retired after 26 years of retail management with a drugstore chain.

I am very spontaneous man who often books an adventure last minute and enjoy spending time with and meeting friends with similar interests. I pretty much say it like it is, and I notice you are very much the same way. As a women, it is often more acceptable to be openly blunt and in your face, but I find people take men being the same way, not as acceptable. I am sure you get many a pass from twitterers of all types.

So my nickname is WAG which stands for What a Guy or Gentleman. That is not to say I don’t enjoy an adventure or outing but I also know the word RESPECT as well.

So anyways, I would be very open to talk about you coming to Florida for a visit and I can pass on some “references” that you will not be jeopardizing your life if you decide to come.  I think as you get to know me, you will find that to be very true as well.

So, yes I would invite you to come out and we can make plans of what you would like to see and do when you are out here. I be more than happy to call you and discuss and get to know each other to see if there is more to us than just a twitter friendship.

I will leave you my number and look forward to hearing from you and your ideas and obtaining your number so I can call. I am enjoying reading your diary entries from 20 years ago to see how you have come to be the woman you are.

Til we talk,
Mike- Wag [surname]

[phone number]

From: S M <shazamsf@sbcglobal.net>
To: [Mike]
Sent: Thursday, June 25, 2009 12:40:32 PM
Subject: Re: Its nice to say hello

I literally could not read past “a women.”  If you don’t know what’s wrong with that then I have no interest in communicating with you.

@ShazamSF:  There is NOWHERE in the universe where “a women” is EVER correct. EVER.

[On memory from @[Mike] (only not so articulate):  You should have responded directly to me regarding my article-subject-agreement fuck-up.]

ShazamSF:  @[Mike] I stopped b/c of the use of “a women.”

ShazamSF:  @[Mike] And you’re not the only person I’ve seen make the same mistake, which is why I tweeted wide.


I will never say I have perfect typing skills, and I guess I will now proofread any other correspondence with you. Yes, I am very educated with two degrees in Business Administration and Finance. My mind often is forming words way ahead of my fingers and I do suffer from typing dyslexia in which you may find a few words that I routinely mistype and I really have to focus on not having to do such typos. I also do not make my living typing and writing stories and do not have an editor either. Now I hope you decide to read further, and don’t judge someone so fast as I am not judging you for this reply.

I tried to give you a little insight and am kind of offended that you stopped because of one word. I would hate to have to go through all your blogs and point out any errors. They do happen.


Oh, it gets better, trust me.

I swear.  True story.

Oh god, oh gee.  Well, Erica came down.  DJ and I picked her up that afternoon.  Then we were just hanging out ’til the next day when my mom went to work.  I guess I was sort of “putting the moves on” her and we ended up kissing  in the bedroom.  Then I think it was going to end when she came from behind and began licking my neck, which made me melt.  So then we went over to Chris’s to do laundry and Erica and I were in the den watching tv under a blanket and I did stuff like rub my foot on the inside of her thigh, etc.  (I don’t exactly remember very well nine days later.)  She told me I was frustrating and a tease and all that shit that’s fun.  So I said, (yes, I remember exactly) “You could do something about it.”  And she said, “So could you.”  That sort of caught me off guard so I had to plan my next maneuver.  After a few moments of thought I leaned across the couch and kissed her like there was no tomorrow.  I can’t remember if it was that time or the next time that she asked me if I always get so excited.  Who knows what I said but I think I lied and said no.  Or maybe I told her yes.  I can’t remember.  So we just sat there watching tv with the blanket over us and our hands were making love.  They were sweaty and slick and rubbing all over each other and just by doing that I became hot and began to breathe heavily.  Then we looked at each other and pulled together in sheer passion.  Beautiful it was.  Then we had to go eat dinner in front of Chris and my mother and set up the train around the Christmas tree.  And though I knew I should have felt guilty, I didn’t.  So that night watching tv on the bed we “made out” (that sounds so juvenile).  She said stuff like, “Why did Robbie ever break up with you?” And she told me that I do get excited quite easily but that she liked it.  She finally, after much begging, bodily conniving, etc., entered me with her storng, long fingers.  I always feel, in the few moments beforehand that without something inside me I’d die.  But then at the right time, my life is saved.  So then there it was.  The next night over at my mother’s house Erica was giving me so much pleasure that I wanted to return the favor.  She declined, but asked for a back rub.  I gave her one with Kama Sutra oil.  That turns her on (w/scratching) as much as any clitoral rub could me.  And then we did it again (once before the back rub) and for some reason I wanted it harder and deeper so she kept ramming harder and trying to get deeper.  And oh god, it sure felt good.  So good that she had to motion for me to be quiet, and so good that I was actually saying, “Oh my god” with each expulsion of breath.  But when she finished she said something with “Jesus” in it along with a few naughty words.  I was hoping it was sometihng like I was so good she just couldn’t believe it but unfortunately she informed me that I was bleeding.  She had torn me up.  Friday night DJ spent the night because Mom and Chris went to a Patti La Belle concert.  Why two people who are quite capable of taking care of themselves need a chaperon is beyond me but I guess we did.  I was still bleeding but Erica didn’t know.  Earlier that day we had gone shopping at the Eagle Rock Plaza and I was in a bad mood because every time I sat down I was reminded of the great evening by pain.  And the blood.  We slept after some kissing but she was very tired.  Saturday to Melrose Ave. to check out sights, buy Christmas presents.  We were sitting, Erica reading, I was people watching.

4:02 pm

My mother gets angry quite easily.  I really don’t think I’m like that and if I am I hope to change soon.  I like being busy.  The busier I am it seems the easier it is for me to sleep and keep my energy up.

9:52 pm

Erica’s coming.  I called earlier tonight and she’s having beaucoup problems so I told her to come down here.

[Catch up:  Part 1.]

The next day, Saturday, we walked around Manhattan (Midtown maybe) where Mr. Schwartz patiently waited outside while I shopped.  Before I entered each store he handed me some cash–not much, usually $40 per store.

I went into my first Urban Outfitters, where I bought a cute dress I still own (only now I don’t look nearly as cute in it).  I went to the perfume counter of a high-end, only-in-New-York (at the time) department store (Saks Fifth Avenue maybe) and did some sniffing.  I settled on Byblos, a scent I still wear on occasion, and which I got for my mother-in-law one year for Christmas when the Ex and I were still together.

Mr. Schwartz showed me the usual sites–I think we even went into FAO Schwarz and other touristy crap in that area.  Eventually we made our way back to his place.  Once in his apartment he pulled out a wad of cash.  He asked me how much weight I had lost and paid me accordingly.  We also had at least one other agreement that garnered me some more cash.

I believe I went in to “my” bedroom to get ready for dinner when Mr. Schwartz followed me in and fondled my breast (the left one, I think).  I told him that I didn’t want him doing that and he implied that he could do whatever he wanted since he had paid for my trip and so on.

I left his apartment.  I walked around for a little while.  It was early evening and not too cold so I was fine.  When I calmed down a bit I called him from a pay phone (you might have heard of them, kids).  I asked if he had realized the errors of his ways, to which he responded that I needed to apologize to him.

I went back to his place, packed up my stuff, and left.  I was not about to let ol’ Saggy Schwartz do whatever he wanted to me without my explicit consent just for a place to stay for the night.

I walked around Manhattan with the little luggage I had for just the weekend trip.  I was trying to figure out what the fuck I was going to do until my flight back to California the next afternoon.  I went to a B. Dalton Books and told the clerk that I worked in the Santa Anita Fashion Park store.  I also told him that I didn’t have a place to stay for the night.  He didn’t give a shit about either.

I could have gone back, but I didn’t want to humiliate myself by either apologizing or touching his pendulous friends again.  I also didn’t know if he would have required me to fuck him as a form of punishment/payment.  At the time I was still scared of penises–I’d probably only had two or three in me by that time, inclusive of my disastrous loss of virginity.  Thinking back, I don’t recall that his penis was ever hard the night before.  Maybe his age combined with his diabetes affected his erectile function.  This, of course, was the days of yore, when Viagra and it’s brethren pharmaceuticals were mere fantasies of the limp-dicked oldsters.

I walked around, but after all the stories of rape and murder I’d heard about New York I was scared to wander too far from where I’d already been.  Knowing what I know now, Times Square was still a sleazy, dirty place in the early 1990s.  If I had found it I may have been turned out by a nice pimp daddy.  (Instead I opted for the straight life of formal education.)

I hung out in Central Park for a bit.  This was before I’d ever watched Law & Order, but I knew stories of horrific events that took place in Central Park.  My step-sister had been obsessed with Robert Chambers (she thought he was hot).  I was not about to roam into the bowels of the park, so I stayed on the periphery and sat on a bench to observe rats boldly going through rubbish that was overflowing out of a trash can.  I had never seen rats that weren’t pets (the step-sister and I had had pet rats when we were in seventh grade) so I was entranced.

Also in Central Park I saw fireflies for the first time.  Having lived in California my entire life fireflies were something I’d only observed in movies, and I suspected their wonder was exaggerated.  It was not.  Fireflies are fucking cool.  Years later, a visit to Indiana showed me how artistic their illuminated bodies look when sacrificing themselves on a windshield.

It was cooling down significantly and had already gotten dark.  I needed a place to stay.  I had only the cash that Mr. Schwartz had given me.  At the time I had no credit cards at all, and my bank was only found on the West Coast so I had no way to get more.  This was before independently-owned ATMs could be found in abundance so I couldn’t access my bank account at all.

I hailed a cab.  I told the cabbie my sob story because I certainly couldn’t tell him where I wanted to go–I had no fucking clue.  He drove me around for a while.  He offered to take me to the Russian Tea Room.  I decided I should make my way to the airport and declined his generous invitation.

I don’t remember where that cabbie dropped me off, but it was somewhere in Manhattan.  I hadn’t gotten very far.  I took another cab to Queens with the intent to go to the airport.  Again, I told the cab driver my lament.

I was nineteen and dumb.  I had no clue about getting on a flight on stand-by.  But neither did the cabbie apparently, or he didn’t care to share the information with me.  I was prepared to wait at the airport all night until my flight was scheduled to leave.  The information the cab driver did share with me was that the airport would close at night.

Obviously, I was quite naive at the time.  I’m now sure that the cab driver got a kick-back from the motel at which I ultimately stayed for the night, but in all my retellings of this story over the years, NO ONE ever pointed out that major airports don’t fucking close, ever.

The cab driver took me to at least three motels that were relatively close to the airport.  I was looking for the cheapest one that didn’t require a credit card.  I ended up staying at a motel that charged by the hour.  Amazingly, I was able to sleep.

The next morning I took my final taxicab in New York City–from the shitty pay-per-hour motel in Queens to La Guardia Airport.  I recall hearing someone with a heavy New York accent in an elevator in the airport.  I almost laughed in the guy’s face because he really did sound like he was putting on the accent.  To my West Coast ears he sounded like he was playing the part of a typical New Yorker; I had always thought those characteristics were exaggerated.  Apparently they were not.

I immediately went to the bar closest to my gate.  In the hours I waited I had several margaritas.  I was prepared to show my older sister’s driver’s license, which I had become accustomed to using to buy alcohol since I was seventeen.  However, I was never carded.

I made it home without incident.  I told everyone my harrowing adventure.  I didn’t spare any details for anyone, including my mother.  If anyone expressed concern for my personal safety I’d point out that there I was, telling the tale, so obviously I was fine.  Ahh, the arrogance of youth, how I miss you.

I never spoke to Mr. Schwartz again.

Before this whole adventure Mr. Schwartz had already planned a trip to LA for later in the year.  He wanted to further “audition” me as well as a friend of mine, Rachael.  Rachael and I had gone to high school in northern California together, but at the time she lived in Albuquerque.  He had bought her a round-trip plane ticket, the schedule of which coincided with his LA trip.

I was so dense that it really didn’t occur to me that what he really wanted was a threesome with two nubile young ladies.  I was nineteen, but Rachel was even younger, probably barely eighteen at the time (she had definitely finished high school).

Rachel’s plane ticket was in my possession.  I thought I was so clever by changing the dates so Rachel could come visit me.  I mailed her the ticket.  Unfortunately, I was not clever enough to write Rachel’s zip code on the envelope correctly, so by the time the ticket arrived, the date of travel on the ticket had passed.

I swear.  True story.

Disclaimer:  Any facts recounted here are as the author recalled them at the time of writing; any opinions based on those facts expressed herein are the opinion of the author.

Facebook now has suggestions for whom to follow.  I’ve noticed the suggestions for me tend to be people in San Francisco who went to some of the same schools as I, or who are friends of friends. A lot of the people I actually know but have NO interest in “friending” on Facebook or anywhere else.

One such person is BB.  His Facebook photo is that of a hardcore dork.  He’s showing off his closely-cropped yet shitty haircut and he has his hand to his chin so his watch is in full view.  The pose is redolent of a high school senior portrait.  The look on his face simultaneously says, “This is me looking contemplative,” and “You think I’m sexy, don’t you?” and “Isn’t my watch cool?” and “Oh, the camera’s over there?”  Also, his hand appears to be almost as large as his pin-ish head.

[When I originally wrote that last paragraph I was planning to not post the photo of BB.  I do have a conscience.  For example, I did not post the photo of Donkey Dick‘s face because he had emailed it to me, not posted it on the internetweb.  Well, BB posted his photo online, so I’m merely reposting a photo that is already there for anyone with internet access to see anyway.  Yes, I’m a bitch, but really, posting the photo here only serves to embarrass me, because …]

Sadly, I fucked this guy.  A lot.

It wasn’t my fault though.  I blame a former friend, CK, and my weakened emotional state.

The Ex had just left me; my dog, Otter, was old (15 years) and sick; my mother had been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s Disease and subsequently kicked out of her home; my step-brother had been in and out of jail and diagnosed with bipolar disorder; my brother-in-law had died a tragic death in his early 20s, etc.  I was not handling very well all the bullshit that the universe was piling on me. (And there was a lot more to come, though of course I didn’t know it at the time.)

CK was a good friend of mine with whom I had attended law school.  CK’s friends, a heterosexual couple, were in town from Portland, Oregon, to attend the Treasure Island Music Festival (2007) so the four of us hung out on Friday night before the show.  We went to some local dive bars where everyone proceeded to get drunk and stupid.

We went back to my place to drink some more.  I also made everyone BLTs, one of my specialties when the tomatoes are in season (it was September).  We were all drunk and goofing around.

Living alone means I leave my email and other computer applications open at all times.  CK began reading some emails, with my full approval, and asked me who this BB guy was.

I explained how we had initially, and subsequently, met.  Several months–and possibly as long as a year–before, when the Ex and I still thought we were in a workable marriage, we went out with a large group of friends for someone’s birthday.  The Ex and I socialized with an extended circle of people, mostly couples.  That night we went out to Thai food and then walked to the W Hotel to have a couple of drinks in the bar.

Our group colonized the upholstered furniture just inside the revolving doors that face the Moscone Center.  The Ex was at the bar getting some drinks when a guy who was not in our group began chatting me up.  He offered to buy me a drink.  I told him that my husband was getting me a drink at that moment, but that he could buy me my next one.  The Ex certainly did not begrudge me a free drink so long as I didn’t unnecessarily lead anyone on.

The guy and I talked.  Apparently his friends had dared him to talk to me because he had been admiring me from afar.  That was certainly flattering, and because I found him unattractive I felt completely safe flirting with him just a bit, and was not concerned that I did so in front of my husband and our friends.

Eventually our group got its fill of $10 drinks and we moved on.  I gave the guy my business card.  BB began emailing me.  He wrote very long emails.

Eventually I told him, via email, that he was devoting far too much energy into me considering I was married and certainly not looking to cheat on my husband (with a guy I found dorky and unappealing).  That was the end of that.

Fast forward several months.  I was freshly single and horny so I perused Craig’s List.  I responded to an ad that had reasonably intelligent copy and included a photo of a woman tied up on her knees.  I received a response from a familiar email address.  It was the same guy I’d met at the W way back when.

We exchanged several emails.  I revealed pretty quickly that we had met previously.  I remembered that the guy in no way appealed to me so I rebuffed his several requests to meet.

The night the four of us were drunkenly snacking at my place, CK read the emails from BB and–without my knowledge–responded that she, posing as me, wanted him to come over that night.

It wasn’t until he was at my building’s front door and the buzzer was ringing that CK told me she had invited him over.  Fuck.  I felt bad that this guy thought I wanted to see him and had come over pretty late, even for a Friday night.

The five of us hung out–until CK quite suddenly left.  She should not have been driving in her state of intoxication but she slipped out past all of us.  She left her friends at my place.  Uh, ok.  I got the Aero bed and bedding for them. While they inflated the bed and settled in downstairs, BB and I went upstairs to my bedroom.

I live in a loft.  There is no privacy except in the bathrooms.  I was drunk.  This guy was really into me, which I needed at the time.  With little regard for my house guests, whom I had only invited under duress, BB and I fucked.  He left before the rest of us woke up.

I don’t know why, but he quickly fell into the rotation; I was fucking a total of four men at the time.  As this was very shortly after my husband had moved out I was still getting my sexual sea legs; I was rediscovering casual sex.

BB and I had decent sex.  We had more anal sex than I’d ever had before or since.  He would fuck my ass five times in a night.  Oh, yeah, he was 24 so he had a lot of stamina.  This was before I got into the habit of having condoms and lube in my house at all times, so he brought the supplies.  I am now convinced he used numbing lube–something that at the time I did not know existed–on my ass without consulting me.  NOT cool.

He was a bit odd in bed too.  He refused to take off his tank top undershirt whenever we fucked.  When I suggested he actually get naked he whined that it was difficult for him to take all his clothes off because he had body image issues.  Boo.  Being that self-conscious during sex makes for some lame fucking.  It’s always the ones who can totally let go and get into the fucking who are best in bed.  If he couldn’t even take his tank top off then he definitely wasn’t into the sex enough.

He wore large-sized condoms for some inexplicable reason.  His penis was incredibly average so I didn’t understand why he used the larger condoms.  I asked him as much.  His explanation was a sheepish, “Because that’s what I wear.”  I informed him that he didn’t need to, and that when they’re too big they fall off.

He wanted a relationship.  I was a mess and knew for sure that a relationship was most definitely not what I wanted or needed.  He was too fucking chipper and nice–he was always trying to cheer me up and take me out.  I eventually just stopped responding to his calls, texts, and emails.

I swear.  True story.