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.

Before we met I asked if English wasn’t his first language.  There were idioms he just wasn’t getting, so I thought maybe he hadn’t been speaking English his whole life.  But English was his first and only language.  Yet he seemed to have trouble communicating, in English.

We had been exchanging emails for a while and he had wanted to meet me almost from the very beginning.  I was loathe to meet, but not for any particular reason, just a feeling I had.  Once again, it’s been confirmed that I have excellent instincts.

I finally agreed to meet him because it was pouring rain and I had to go to the post office.  The news was that the storm was going to last through the weekend, but I really needed to get my post office business done. (I was sending a package to Army Guy in Iraq.)

So I was a whore for a ride to the post office.  The guy came to my place, picked me up outside, gave me a ride to the post office, and waited outside while I filled out the customs forms and waited in line.  Then we drove back to my place where he parked in my parking space and came inside.

He was empty-handed when he got out of his car.  We had had a whole chat exchange about him having a bunch of alcohol left over from a party at his house and about me being very interested in drinking, yet he showed up at my house with nothing.

We had a frank discussion about sex.  He complained that the last two women he dated hadn’t given him head.  I told him he shouldn’t have dated them.

The night before I’d had a date (with J. Lee, I believe).  We had had a quickie before dinner because I could tell he wasn’t going to make through the meal otherwise.  Then after dinner we went to my bedroom for some leisurely sex.  However, intercourse never occurred because a cock-sucking mood struck me hard.  When I’m in that mood both the suckee and sucker both have a very good time.  I thanked him for coming in my mouth.

After my glorious cock-sucking of the previous night I was actually in the mood to do it some more, or, at the very least give advice on how to “get” a woman to be just as generous with her time and mouth; I wanted to spread the blow job love.

I asked him how he broached the subject of blow jobs.  He said during sexual relations he said something along the lines of, “How about sucking my dick?”  So suave.  Why weren’t the women lining up for that?

I felt it necessary to try to give practical advice to the clueless 27-year-old(!).  Really, how does someone make it almost to 30 without figuring out how to get his dick sucked?  He had told me previously that he didn’t like going down on women unless they were completely bare and he was in the right mood.  I actually didn’t tie the general lack of oral sex in this guy’s life together at the time, but I certainly should have.  If he told the women he was with he thought female genitalia was gross in general it’s understandable that they did not feel like worshiping (which a good blow job absolutely does) what he had to offer.

This guy told me women “his age” don’t give head.  What the fuck?!  Women in their 20s stopped sucking cock?!  Why isn’t this information in the fucking news?  This is a goddamn crisis!  He thought I’d feel sorry for him, get on my knees, and show him how well a woman in her 30s can suck cock.  Uh, no.

Ends up women “his age” are not his age, but in their early 20s with little to no oral sex experience.  I was convinced that these girls were pretty and dumb and had been treated as if they were special their whole lives because of it.  Those of us for whom getting our first boyfriend (and girlfriend, but they don’t have cocks) was a bit of a struggle know how to suck cock.  In my early 20s I was trying so hard to please guys that I was sucking them dry.  (Now I do it not because I have low self-esteem, but because I want to suck cock.)  I guessed the girls he was dating never felt like that.  And he wasn’t all that good looking so the girls probably didn’t feel like they “had to” give him head in order to keep him interested.

I didn’t even bother trying to explain that to him.  I just tried to make him realize that those blanket statements about women “his age” weren’t doing him or his dick any good because he had a defeatist attitude.  I suggested he bring up the blow job subject when he was not fooling around so as to not put pressure on the ladies right then.

In the mean time he kept hinting in a really annoying and crass way that he wanted his dick sucked.

The guy was one of the stupidest people I’ve ever encountered.

I swear.  True story.

Friend of Random Rim Jobs, Ryan, wrote this lovely tidbit for me.  You can find out more about him:  http://ryansporn.tumblr.com/.

_______________________________________

Here is the story of my first homosexual experience. It also serves as a bit of a lesson that lying is bad, even Online.

I had posted an ad on Craig’s List Casual Encounters that was totally honest.  It said I had just gotten divorced, was bi-curious, and interested in meeting a guy who would let me suck him.  I wanted to start with that experience and then see how things went from there.  My thinking was that guys like blow jobs and are generally selfish, so it would be a great way to start.

I started trading e-mails with a few guys, most of them of course were sort of crude jerks (they were guys after all) but I remember one guy seemed nice and he was actually pretty close to me (geographically), so I figured it would be good.  He said he also was not very experienced with other guys and that he would be fine if we started with just a brief oral encounter for the first time.  As we chatted back and forth about stuff he also sent me a picture (he claimed it was him and his nephew, a little kid of about 4, which was freaky).

What he didn’t realize was that he had responded to another, earlier, similar ad I had posted.  His response to my prior ad included the same e-mail content and everything, even the same cock picture, but that time he’d included a face pic, which didn’t match what he’d just sent me with the “nephew.”  The cock was consistent and it did look nice and it was difficult to tell the size in the close-up picture; he told me it was 7″ and thick.  (This is a whole other issue about cock size–so many guys are obsessed with it, but I’ve noticed most girls really don’t seem to give a shit.  I’ve measured my own, 6″, which seems less than what guys seem to think is good, but no woman has ever complained, even some who were brutally honest about other issues.)

So things were obviously a little weird with this guy.  He seemed nice, but these little odd things and inconsistencies were there.  Anyway I decided to meet up with him.  He said he had a girlfriend who didn’t know anything he was doing, and for obvious reasons I didn’t want to host him, so we agreed to meet in his Suburban in a parking lot of an vacant store.  I also told him I was a little short on time, planning to have an out in case things were odd.

Ends up that was a good plan.  When I got there he was totally like the picture with his nephew, so that was at least good, I would be REALLY worried about a guy who sent out such an odd pic that wasn’t even really of him.

He had just wanted to pretty much get down to business, which I figured would be ok for my first time.  So I got in his surprisingly spacious Suburban.  He led me as I took a hold of his sweats and pushed them down to reveal …

NOT THE SAME FUCKING COCK!

I mean seriously, WHAT THE FUCK?!  Twice he sent me a picture of some other dude’s cock.  On top of that he was small–shorter and a bit thinner than myself and I’d never call my cock thick.  I wouldn’t have minded his size, except he’d told me differently and therefore he’d lied, again.  What I don’t get is what he was thinking when he told me.  I mean did he think I wouldn’t notice he was like half as big as he’d said he was?  I still don’t get it.

To this day I don’t know why I didn’t just get the fuck out of Dodge right then; maybe because I’ve never really been that great at saying no to people.  Anyway, I proceeded to suck him off and actually despite all the crap involved with the experience I did really like it.

He was a little rough with me which I didn’t like, mostly just because it was him doing it.  He came pretty quickly, and when he did he pulled out and shot into my mouth as he stroked himself, which was a bit disappointing; I had wanted to feel him pulse inside my mouth.

As he was getting his pants on he started talking about how much he’d like to see my ass and asked if I had any panties I could wear for him and if I’d ever be interested in perhaps giving a try to bottoming.  I was really noncommittal to everything and made sure to remind him that I was in a rush and had to be going (thank God I had thought to mention that earlier).  As he drove away I was really happy I’d gotten there early and parked a little way away near some other cars so he couldn’t tell which car was mine.

Since then I’ve gotten some e-mails from him.  He seemed pretty desperate at first, but as I continue to not respond he seems to have gotten the hint.  I see his Suburban driving in the neighborhood every now and then and I can’t help but think to myself, “What a stupid little shit!” every time I see it.  The irony is if he’d just been honest with me we most likely could have had some great repeat fun together.  The location was great and I was pretty inexperienced with guys and would have likely just stayed with one I knew already.  But he fucked it all up be being stupid enough to lie to me.  I really just don’t see the point.

So, that was my first homosexual experience and it was when I knew I was bi for sure; when even an idiot like that was enjoyable to suck off I knew I must actually like sucking cocks a lot.

Sometimes I respond to Craig’s List ads just because I’m bored.  I like giving people shit.  I look in the Casual Encounters or Strictly Platonic sections with the intent to hook up or find a friend, respectively, but sometimes I can’t resist fucking with people.
This character, Pop Angel (PA), had posted a rant about how much San Francisco sucks, not in the Rants and Raves section, but in either CE or SP.  I had to respond.  This is obviously a case of two people who should have had something, anything, better to do.  Any spelling, grammar, punctuation, etc., errors are the asswipe’s, not mine.
SSF:
There’s a chance you’re disillusioned with San Francisco because you judge people based on looks and clothing before you’ve talked to them.  You may also have trouble communicating with people since it’s obvious you have some spelling, grammar, punctuation, and capitalization issues.

If you hate it here so much, why not move?  Maybe New York City, which you hold up as the epitome of cities, would better suit you.

PA:

I don’t believe I’m delusioned one bit dear misguided fool.  The reason why everything comes across as superficial is because it has been projected to me that way.   I can only let someone show me how he or she wants to be perceived.  And it was shown to me that a man or a woman is truely judged according to the labels they wear and whatever status symbol applies in San Francisco.  Words should guide actions, but actions have proved otherwise and your words are misleading & dishonest.I have family and professional reasons for being in San Francisco.  It’s definately not the caliber of NYC, Chicago or even Boston.

SF is not a “world class city”.  It has to be a city first, and a city that caters to people.  SF is a scene, nothing more.  It’s a background, there’s not much going on.  The ball games at AT&T Battery park is the only time I see anyone in the Bay Area share in any kind of cheer, and that’s a stretch.

And is it any deal that I mistype something if I’m speaking to others?

A friend from NY can rap off a funny story inspired by Spitzer, another gal from Boston and I can crack jokes about birds, a gawky kid from Ohio can become a stud in his own right because he has something one might call “social skills” and can hold your attention longer than five minutes, someone from India and I can rap about the currencies in Asia

Get a Bay Arean — and from grown ups all you hear is, “I dress my kids in Zac Posen” (“I have no reason for living”), “…Marc Jacobs” (“I’m needy”), “my kids go to school at…(“I’m shopping at Ross and I live vicariously through my child for status quo”),
“I live in Blackrock” (“I need approval”), “I have a trust fund” (I say that I don’t trust you), and “I go to Tahoe on the weekends” (it really means, “I’m insecure enough to throw away my equity loan because I have to buy my friends”).   You can smell the insecurity if you walk into a shop to get a pair of socks by some idiot hipster demi-god complex because they work in retail, and you can smell the insecurity when any guy will snub an AVERAGE girl because he thinks average girls have a princess complex.  Again, insecure and he’s probably right.   When you hear an asian girl spout out about her trophy “husband”, again… she needs approval.   The self loathing/snobby self loathing boredom is sucking this city dry!

I refused to pay full price on anything I saw in Cow hollow today because I pity you fools.  It’s a recession, and EVERYBODY “has to have a pashmina”.  EVERYBODY IN SF FROM SAN FRANCISCO IS THAT PRETENTIOUS.  There’s more material in my thong than there is in a pashmina.  We’re in a recession.  Everybody and their grannies has to spend $50.00 for each pashmina.  They’re $75.00 EACH if you walk into a trendy European store in San Francisco.  My beautiful friends from Europe would not dare spend a fifth of that money in Euros on a stupid piece of junk, I mean pashmina.   But hey, things like that do happen when people are allowed to like themselves.   And speaking of recessions, why is a tanktop selling for over $100, a loaf of bread for $4.00 and gas for $4.00/gallon?  Is everyone here that greedy?   Even though I can afford a $100.00 for a stupid shirt, why do i want to pay $100 for it?  They’re all $100+.   I wouldn’t even expense that kind of cost on a company account.

Now we’re getting to the juice.  While taking the Muni home, I noticed a black guy getting off.  He is dressed down and his arm is in a sling.  He stumbles to get off.  People were rather snooty around him.  Mind you, we are on the Muni.  Not a limo.  Then I noticed a bracelet, the poor guy just got out of a hospital and had to take himself home.   I mean, here is someone who is having a very real experience and because he may in some way distracted a few “liberal” prudes from their trashy novels, I’m sorry it is a little obnoxious.   And no, I don’t live in or around the Marina but apparently “the Marina” is the way to be.

I was in a conversation between a pair of bay area natives.  They were having about the dryest conversation about rock climbing.  Every other word that they shared about this exciting activity was poised and calculated.  Extracurriculars are all work and no play.  I’m not going to last long here.

It’s a shame.  Why waste my pity on a sick man who found himself in the company of unfortunate, unfriendly hags?  I’ll pity you and the natives of San Francisco instead.

SSF:

Seems as though there’s a certain kind of San Franciscan you don’t like.  Not everyone who lives in this city, and I think you want this to include you, is like that.  You’re judging a whole population based on your not-too-scientific viewing of a portion of the whole.

Yes, I do believe spelling, punctuation, etc., are important when communicating in the written word. Words mean something and to spell a word incorrectly alters the meaning.  A comma can make or break a sentence.  When communicating via spoken word of course spelling and punctuation mean less, but I’d still have to ask for clarification if you said the word “pacific” instead of “specific,” for example.

You infantilize women in general and Asian women in particular by calling them “girls.”  Pashminas were in high demand roughly five years ago so I don’t know where the hell you’re shopping.  Finally, you must have a shit-ton of time on your hands for you to use it in such an unproductive manner.  Maybe some hobbies?  Might I suggest jogging?  San Francisco is a small city and it really is nice to see the various neighborhoods with fresh eyes.  Try wearing headphones so you don’t have to actually interact with the locals.

PA:

You’d be suprised but I do jog quite a bit.  I can get a lot done before most people get up.I’m basing my experience on reality.  You can’t get more scientific than that!  By the way, I see pashminas being sold everywhere.  I see them being worn everywhere.  I refuse to get one.  As I refuse to get an Ipod. I’ve explored newer neighborhoods and I’m running out.  Sorry I don’t think it should be necessary to venture into the Tenderloin or the Mission to see different than the enforced status quo of some homogenous kind.

And sorry if I offended you by “infantizing” women.  I fit exactly into that category.  To me, a true woman have a sense of character and self; regardless of her capabilities to spell.  The main group seems quite obsessed with their vanity with either looks or intellect (if that).

Sorry if that report on reality doesn’t fit into your delusions of utopia that you’re making San Francisco out to be.  To me, utopia is and of it’s people.  I find it to be a hollow, vacant and empty place.

Cheers!

SSF:

Wow!  You are judgmental and nutty.

Why should it be necessary for you to avoid the more interesting neighborhoods and then complain that the city isn’t interesting?

PA:

If you think gutter toilets are interesting, then you might want to realize that not everyone in the real world thinks like you.  YOU are judgemental and nutty for even insinuating people be intrigued when it’s normal to find it offensive.  Sorry, sometimes we have weak stomachs.  And even if we have strong stomachs as I sometimes do, these types of things offend me as well.It’s not something we can help.

You’re judging someone with a normal reaction and you’re calling me judgemental.  Wow, you’re not only judgemental but funny!

SSF:
You don’t think it’s judgmental to say it’s “normal” to find some things offensive?  Ever hear of cultural relativism?  You’ve got it, bad.  “Normal” is based on your upbringing, environment, etc.  You think everyone in the world thinks the same things are “normal”?  If so, you should maybe do some traveling.  Maybe leave San Francisco forever?

S-T-O-M-A-C-H-E-S

I’m still not sure if PA is a man or a woman.  I don’t really care.  I would love to run into this shithead in a bar, though I suspect we’d never be in the same place at the same time.  I LOVE San Francisco and while I appreciate some constructive criticism, PA’s bullshit hardly qualifies.  Ah, Craig’s List, how I love thee.  Thank you for connecting me to such a diverse class of folk.

I swear.  True story.

This was a response to an ad I placed on Craig’s List.  I don’t recall the content of the post that garnered this response, but I get the feeling that the content of the post didn’t matter to this guy.

Masturbate for me. Both hands. Both holes. Taste. Mourn loudly. Pee and drink. Force yourself to orgasm. Repeat 3 times.

Amazingly enough, we never scheduled a meeting.

Patrick is not his real name.  We first became acquainted via Craig’s List.  There were some nights I was horny but didn’t want to commit to having a guy over so I’d troll CL for guys who wanted to chat Online.  I tend to look at only the local CL ads–Patrick lived in Western Addition.

Since I don’t think names are all that important, I dubbed him Patrick.  He called me Umbrage, based on my response to his CL ad.  I think he claimed whomever responded wouldn’t be witty enough to keep up with him, so I responded that I took umbrage with his assumption.

We chatted via Yahoo! Instant Messenger several times.  We eventually began having phone sex.  On the phone he was very good at using a certain tone of voice that just put me in a certain head space, and we had a lot of fun.

One night we were talking on the phone and we were both very horny.  I suggested he just come over and fuck me already.  There was a lot of back and forth; I told him my Seattle Guy story.  We were both nervous that despite how hot we were for each other, we were really hot for our respective ideas of each other.

He came over.  We kissed, I think I sucked his dick.  Then we … nothing.  He clearly was not feeling it.  As he had been horny as hell when he arrived, I had to assume it was me.

No one likes to be rejected, for sure, but I would rather someone be honest with me than to pull the lame excuse of just being too tired, which was his explanation for no longer being turned on.  I’ve been pretty fucking tired in my day and that has never taken over my desire to have a new hot, hard cock pounding away at my cunt.

Patrick fell asleep.  I hadn’t invited him to stay; he hadn’t asked.  Not cool.  I had trouble sleeping with this stranger in my bed.  And I certainly wasn’t exhausted from hours of wild sex, so I just “slept” all night.

He left in the morning, but certainly not quickly enough.  I have no idea what I did wrong, other than not being his fantasy image of me.  He, on the other hand, did something wrong by not simply leaving when he realized he wasn’t attracted to me.

We continued to chat occasionally, but of course never to the level we had before the visit.  Despite my repeated requests for an explanation for his shitty behavior, the most he told me was that he thought spending the night would make things less awkward.  Wrong.

I am now firm about whether a person can spend the night thanks to Patrick.

I swear.  True story.

One night I was horny.  Many nights I’m horny.  Most of the nights I am horny.

A night not unlike many other nights, I was horny and sought the company of a gentleman via Craig’s List.  On this particular night I settled on a young gentleman whose ad indicated he wanted to only go down on a woman, that he expected nothing in return, and that the reason for this was that he had a girlfriend who would not let him eat her box.

He came over to my house with wine in hand.  We drank some and then retired to the bedroom.  Where he went down on me … for about 30 seconds.  Suddenly, he felt guilty that he was cheating on his girlfriend.  Nothing had changed though.  When he placed the ad he had a girlfriend, when we exchanged emails he had a girlfriend, when he arrived at my house and chatted over wine he had a girlfriend.  He even had a girlfriend when he walked up the stairs into my bedroom.

He assured me that he wasn’t using the girlfriend as an excuse because he found my snatch unappetizing.  I knew that–my pussy tastes fucking good–but it was still nice to hear.  I then went from lay-back-and-enjoy-getting-a-nice-cunt-lapping mode to comfort-a-guilt-ridden-cheater mode.

I told him that it would be better not to tell his girlfriend anything, as nothing had happened anyway.  I gave him pointers on getting her to allow him to lick her pussy.  Finally, as there was no reason for him to be in my house–he was there to give me an orgasm, but talking in mom-tones to an a confused guy just doesn’t make me come–he left.

Only I was still horny.  Back to CL I went.  This time I wasn’t wasting any time with some guy who just wanted to go down on a woman–I wanted to get fucked.  I settled on an ad, and we exchanged a couple emails; we didn’t even bother to talk on the phone or exchange photos.  As time was getting away from us, I told the guy to come right over.

A cute guy showed up with motorcycle helmet in hand.  He was really cute.  I was amazed at my incredible luck.  He found me attractive too, something he probably found fortuitous as well.  Wasting no time, we immediately went up to my bedroom.  He was a good kisser–I remember thinking, “This is going to be fun” as he took off his jacket and then his sweater.

His phone kept ringing.  Very annoying.  Eventually, he said he had to take the call.  My apartment offers no privacy, and it was late enough that I was concerned that my neighbors would hear him talking if he did so out on my patio or in my building’s hallway, so he went out to the street to talk on the phone.

I pattered around my apartment and I waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Hmmm.  What the fuck?  I noticed that he had taken his motorcycle helmet and jacket with him.  Weird.

I waited some more.  I sent him some nasty emails (I didn’t have his phone number).  This could not possibly be.  No way.  The odds against two “horny” guys coming over without putting out on the same night were just too great, right?  And yet it happened to me.

Maybe I did smell.  Maybe I was too ugly.  Maybe I was too fat.  As a dumb girl these silly things are running through my head often.  But when I realized that not one, but two, guys who claimed to be interested in having some fun no-strings-attached sex would rather leave my apartment than get in my pussy, the dumb girl script went into overdrive.

I was beginning to think no one wanted to fuck me.  Yeah, I felt sorry for myself.

The weekend was not a complete loss, however; I did meet 26yo (more to come on him).

Recently, the would-be pussy eater contacted me, apparently finally willing to go down on me for longer than half a minute.  However, other than that he was wanted to make up for his embarrassing behavior from over a year prior, I really had no reason to give him another chance.  What was the point?  I had plenty of guys to actually go down on me.

The guy with the motorcycle helmet told me that he had been detained, but not arrested, by the police the night he was at my place.  Hmmm.  Definitely a creative story, and for that–and my attraction to him–I gave him points.  For many months we exchanged emails in an attempt to see each other again.  He was always busy with work, though, and now I can’t remember what he looked like.  But I know he was cute.

Really, I would like to know the odds ….

I swear.  True Story.