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.

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

From: S M <>
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” <>
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.


[Meg, guest writer of “Meg and TD” is back with another juicy story and hot photos that can only be seen here.  Enjoy.  –SSF]

I ran across some pictures and was reminded I never told you the story that put my nipple clamp love into overdrive.  It just might change your mind about them.  I know I’ve told you about the boss. There are many stories of us fucking in the rolling bookshelves that would be great scripts for any boss/employee-type porn, but this isn’t a story about that.

However, this was more momentous than getting fucked back in the bookshelves where we could’ve been caught so very easily, with the noise I make I’m surprised we never were.  This happened after his wife found a string of texts that were very explicit and after she had decided she wanted to fuck me too. I can’t remember if we’d all fucked together yet or not at the point of this event.

Regardless, I was in the habit of carrying around my clamps in my purse at the time … and wearing short skirts to work. As a matter of fact, that particular day I had on the same skirt I’ve seen your face under. The boss knew I had the clamps with me. (I’m sure I told him, knowing the horny little slut I was being.) Both of our desks could be viewed by any passersby who cared to look in so he took me back to the bookshelves and he put the clamps on me. He told me I couldn’t take them off until he said so. Him telling me what to do turned me on even more.

They don’t really hurt so much when you first put them on so I bounced back to my desk pain free. Our desks were about 3 feet from each other. I’m sure he was asking me about them, if they hurt, etc., when a co-worker who was always especially fond of my outfits and antics came back to chit chat. (It was a Friday and we were all killing time till time to go.) He mentioned how he liked my get-up and I murmured a thank you of some sort because by this time those little fuckers on my nipples were all I could think of. Mostly because they were starting to hurt, but having someone else in there made them all the naughtier, I felt like he could see right through me. And the boss had this grin on his face that only I knew what from. He could see me squirming and knew I was going to explode. So, of course, he kept the co-worker back there longer than I would’ve liked. Watching me squirm was half the fun.

I’ve never had a hard time with pain and have found that I actually enjoy it. That’s been the source of my fascination with bdsm. I haven’t dipped too much into it besides in my head, with this couple, and with the porn I favor. It excites me and I think I’d love to have someone abuse me in all those ways but really only in my imagination is where all of that is usually played out. There was some point, in night two, you had my legs spread more than they should have been able to be spread and it was making my hamstrings burn and hurt and you were fucking me hard. That moment reminded me of the nipple clamps and that mix of pain and pleasure is something I keep chasing. I wanted you to spread them more, make it hurt more and fuck me harder. I felt like a ragdoll then. I loved it.

DSC07195So the boss was watching me squirm. I tried to hang out in the conversation, but I couldn’t. I turned back around to my machine and pretended to be working. I was trying to apply pressure to my throbbing nipples to relieve them some; I desperately wanted to wait and let the boss take the clamps off. I’d think there was no way I could wait longer, then I’d wait longer. All the while, they were sitting about about 5 feet behind me. My squirms had to be apparent. And I was horny which makes me not sit like a lady and not care. So I waited longer. I don’t even remember what they were yakking about–I’m sure some tv show or football or other boy shit.

My entire body was on fire at that point. I couldn’t stand it any longer. So I went back and took them off. Holy shit, the feelings that rushed through my body at that moment were amazing. And all of it was pulsating from my nipples through the rest of me. Needless to say, my tiny panties were soaked through. So I trotted back out with a look on my face that said to the boss, “Get him the fuck out of here and get back here.”

The co-worker was gone in minutes. The boss took me back to the bookshelves. I had my tits out before I could think and told him to suck them. If you can somehow come from your nipples with nothing touching your pussy then I did then. My entire body went limp. And he sucked and sucked then went to the other one and did the same. He had to hold me up. My nipples had not brought me that much pleasure in years. It was fantastic. My body was on fire and tingly from head to toe. All over. I wanted my tits sucked forever right then.

After he did that, I dropped to my knees and sucked him off–I wanted a dick in my mouth and I didn’t really care if that’s what he wanted or not. He, of course, didn’t mind. I sucked him until he shot his load in my mouth and then I sucked him dry, licking it all up. My body was still humming, my eyes half rolled in the back of my head but I was coherent enough by this point and it was close enough to quitting time that we just bolted.

(That night we were to all three go out. I was very naughty that night; I’m pretty sure strangers may have inadvertently seen my slutty little vagina that night. I had on a short skirt, platform wedges and had taken my panties off and put them in my purse early on in the night. Squatting down to look at something with my knees spread wide gave many quite the view. We were at some hipster art gallery with naked girls on suspended rings, so I fit the scene nicely I’m sure.)

But I’m not done with our Friday afternoon antics. So we walked out to our cars, which were in full view of our office on the 12th floor, if anyone was looking down our way. Once we were there we realized he never spanked me during all of this. He liked to spank me and I’m very fond of that, so it was surprising that it never happened.

However, we couldn’t much do it there, we were too much on display. We found an open stairwell. It was dirty and stinky and didn’t have doors or anything, just open. We went down a flight until we were in the middle of the floors and I put my hands against the cold dirty concrete, sightly bent over. He flipped my skirt up and spanked my ass hard. It echoed in the stairwell, my screams did too. We would’ve been heard easily if anyone was in earshot.

He continued to spank me. He slapped my ass harder than he ever had before and probably harder than I’d ever received. It fucking hurt and I loved it. I knew my skin had to be red as hell; it was on fire. It was wearing me out, all of the endorphins that were being released, mixed with pleasure and combined with the dirty sluttiness of being spanked in a dirty stairwell. And my nipples were still throbbing. I was loud as I wanted to be because I didn’t give a shit, so he hit me harder because he was getting off on the echo and my noises.

We finally calmed down and I took my hot, red, bare ass and rubbed it up against his hard dick through his jeans; they were scratching my worn-out ass and that felt fucking awesome too. We regained some composure and walked back to our cars and went our separate ways to get ready for the evening. I never came (vaginally) during the whole afternoon. But that night, in my living room, with my ass high in the air I was fucked in the ass by a rather large dildo being administered by his wife while he watched, and I came and came.

And now I’m horny as fuck and I want you to ream my ass.

When I was nineteen I took my first–and so far only–trip to New York City.

Through school I had a romantic idea of New York.  When my fifth grade class did reports on cities throughout the world, I chose New York.  When I was in junior high I had a poster of the Manhattan skyline on my bedroom wall.  When I was in high school and thought going to college immediately was an option I sent away for brochures from colleges in New York City.  I must have watched too many movies that made New York look like the greatest city on earth.

Now I know the truth, San Francisco is the best city, ever.

When I was nineteen I lived in South Pasadena and worked in Arcadia, at the Santa Anita Fashion Park, a suburban mall that, at the time, had JC Penny’s and Robinson’s as the anchor stores.  I worked in a B. Dalton Books (the precursor to Barnes & Noble).  It was my first “real” job, meaning I got paid more than minimum wage and I had benefits.  The benefits came in handy when I got my wisdom teeth out.

As a mall B. Dalton we catered to a pretty straight-laced crowd.  We sold a lot of romance novels.  It was during this time that John Grisham burst on the scene.  I read an advance copy of The Firm and wasn’t all that impressed, so later when we received the hardcovers, I was surprised when we repeatedly sold out.

We did have some “edgy” books as well.  It was working there that I read about S&M for the first time.  (Looking at the pictures in my mother’s S&M books didn’t count.)  We got the Madonna Sex book, two copies of which I still own.  We carried The Satanic Verses and American Psycho, but kept them behind the counter so as to avoid “controversy.”

The customers were primarily suburban family folk.  Every once in a while someone interesting would come in.  My friend and coworker, Beth, was lucky enough to find her first boyfriend amongst the customers.  He was a married heroin addict, so he didn’t fit the usual boring mold of the Arcadia shopper.  I don’t think it was possible for Beth to have found someone worse for her, but she found him at B. Dalton Books, not wherever the hell married heroin addicts usually troll for virginal girlfriends.

I’m still in contact with two of my B. Dalton coworkers.  Laura still lives in Southern California and works as a kindergarten teacher.  We’ve been good friends for years, and worked at a total of three different jobs together.  LeUyen lives in the Castro and works as a children’s book illustrator.  She recently found me through Facebook.  It is a complete coincidence that we both now live in San Francisco.

It was during this time I was got the bulk of my tattoos, and because of B. Dalton’s permissive dress code for women (but not men–they had to wear shirts and ties) I got away with wearing clothes that showed my tattoos.  Back in the early 1990s in suburban malls seeing young ladies with tattoos was a novelty (NOT that I was cutting-edge in any way, only that I placed my non-conservative self in conservative situations).  I also had my nose pierced and a bash haircut (head shaved with clippers, leaving only bangs and “sideburns”) [I don’t know if “bash” is the proper term for this ‘do, but my research into “skinhead” hairstyles turned up some bigoted shit I’d rather not read; my high-school girlfriend, Erica, about whom I’ve written in my 1989 diary entries, and who originally cut my hair in the style, called it a “bash” so I do, too.], so I did not look like the typical mall employee of the day.

My appearance invited inquiry, mostly of the stupid variety.  “Did getting that tattoo hurt?” or, “What do your parents think about your nose being pierced?” or, “What are you going to do later when you want to get a real job?”

Being in the customer service game I tried to be polite, but sometimes I gave them the whole truth, which they usually did not appreciate: “Yes, tattoos hurt, a lot” or, “My parents have nothing to do with my life so I don’t really care what they think of my pierced nose, or anything else” or, “I’ll probably figure out how to wear shirts with sleeves if I think my tattoos will affect my employment detrimentally.”

Sometimes I met people who were fascinated by me.  Not because I was all that fascinating, but because I wasn’t ashamed of how I looked, I guess.  One such gentleman gave me his business card.  He told me he was a lawyer, which is why he had “Esq.” following his name on the card.

We talked and it came out that he wanted me to play a dominatrix in a movie he was producing.  I had NO acting aspirations, but I was intensely interested in exploring my desire for power play.  He told me he lived in Manhattan and I would need to go there to audition for him.

He said he’d fly me to him for the audition, but in the mean time I needed to lose weight.  He offered to pay me $10 per pound I lost.  I began jogging nightly.  Being nineteen and living in South Pasadena meant being able to jog late at night, because I was dumb, and because the city was very safe (luckily).

South Pasadena is quite pretty with a lot of jacaranda trees, the fallen lavender blooms of which look amazing in contrast to green grass.  I lived in a studio apartment ($395 per month) across the street from a middle school.  It was quite idyllic.  Jogging at night had a certain scent that I loved.

The guy, let’s call him Mr. Schwartz, sent me a plane ticket.  This was back in the day when an actual plane ticket was required in order to board a plane.  And when people used this thing called the US Postal Service.  It was also back in the day when one could board a plane without fear of being strip-searched by a team of morons.  But I digress ….

At the time I didn’t realize how cheap Mr. Schwartz was by flying me to New York:  coach via an indirect flight through the Dallas Ft. Worth airport.  I know now that he was a cheap ass.  At the time I was just excited to fly so far.  Up to that point it was the farthest I’d gone from my lifetime home, California.  And of course going to New York had been a fantasy for years, so I looked past (or was too inexperienced to notice) a lot.

I flew into LaGuardia.  Mr. Schwartz had given me explicit instructions on what to say to a cab driver to get me to his apartment.  I think he was on either the Upper East Side or Upper West Side–he was on 60-something Street, I think; he was definitely close to Central Park.  He lived in a high-rise building with a door man, which I thought was so New York.

I arrived at his apartment and he gave me a tour.  It was a two-bedroom apartment with great views.  Even at my tender age and ignorance of real estate I realized that the view of the Empire State Building was fucking amazing.

He showed me to my room, which he told me was his daughters’ room when they stayed with him.  That’s when I learned that both of his daughters were older than I, though by a very few number of years.  At the time I thought nothing of it; now I know it’s fucking horrifying.

Even creepier:  I was a full thirty years younger than Mr. Schwartz; he was 49 years old.

Mr. Schwartz also showed me his insulin supply:  he was diabetic and wanted me to know what I needed to do should he need some medical aid.  I remember pretty much ignoring what he told me and thinking that I had no interest in giving this old guy any sort of medicinal attention.

After I put my stuff away Mr. Schwartz and I went out to a Chinese restaurant to eat.  During the meal I told him that I had given it some thought but that I wasn’t so interested in playing the dominatrix role.  I told him I was more comfortable playing the submissive role in a movie.

Mr. Schwartz was very amenable to my seemingly-sudden switch (pun intended, though not completely understood at the time).  After dinner we went back to his place.

I next recall (this was fifteen years ago) that we were on the bed of “my” bedroom.  He lay on the bed.  I remember him asking me to pay with his “friends.”  I was confused.  What friends?  Was someone else showing up?

The friends?  His balls!  Yes, he called his balls his friends.  To this day I have not encountered a man who calls his balls his friends, with or without irony.

As part of the “audition” process he had to see if I could take pain.  He spanked me.  I don’t recall if he used anything other than his hand, but I think he may have.  Following the spanking he soothed my burning bum with witch hazel-soaked cotton.  I think that was a nice touch.

We then slept in our respective bedrooms.  I didn’t close the blinds so I could see the view of Manhattan as I drifted off to sleep.

To be continued ….

I swear.  True story.

9:09 pm

9:20 pm

I want to call Amy but Mom’s already told me not to make any long-distance calls.  Shit, I just want to be reassured that no one’s forgotten me.  And that they still care.  Maybe if I beg, she’ll let me.  I just remembered the young girl in “Dangerous Liasons.”  She had the prettiest breasts I have ever seen in my life.  If I ever get a chance to see those kind of breats in person I will probably go crazy and stare for a while then touch gently and slowly watching the nipples become erect.  Anyway–back to life, back to reality.  What is there to eat?  I’m watching new music awards on MTV.  It’s mostly alternative music.  Jane’s Addiction got an award for album cover.  The Red Hot Chili Peppers sang–the lead singer has a great body and really long, pretty hair.  Oh, and Mike B., the Flea is not dead because I saw him on stage.  So Chriz in my econ class can go to hell for telling me he had died and getting me depressed.  I’m jealous of Amy and Erica because they get to sleep with each other.  They can wake up any time and do whatever (as Erica says Amy does) and then wake up next to each other.  They don’t have to worry about someone coming home because they are home and Amy’s parents don’t even suspect.  Whenever I think back to stuff it seems just as unreal as one of my little day dreams.  But then I realize that it was real, I think.  It seems so long ago that I talked to anyone I know (Erica, Amy, Juree) but it was actually only two days ago.  I think back and get so afraid that I’ll never see them again or that they won’t like me.  Why the hell am I so paranoid?  I just need someone to be close to.  I want to be able to tell someone (Amy) that I feel greatly for her.  The trouble is I don’t know in what way that I feel.  Maybe it’s just sexual.  She asked me if I was alright.  Why do people always ask that?  Robbie, Mike, Amy.  But Amy sounded genuine and not scared.  She also said that I was shaking and then said, “Oh, I’m shaking too.”  I was sitting on the stool with my legs open when she came and stood between them and said something like, “Oh, you’re ready, aren’t ya?”  Anyway, my legs wrapped around her and that’s when her concern started.  I like just hugging and we did that for a little bit while breathing heavy.  Then some time after that Erica came a-knocking.  Oh, and Amy was biting my neck so I thought I’d have marks and I was totally paranoid that someone’d see.  And then they’d just deduce that I didn’t have any hickeys before lunch and they’d ask who the guy was and I wouldn’t be able to think of a name on such short notice and then they’d know I was with a girl and they’d spread the ol’ rumor as fast as the speed of gossip (juicy, at that) and then I wouldn’t have any friends, not even Amy and Erica because they’d be so pissed at me because I let it out, then I’d be all alone and depressed and then die and never be anything and never know what I could’ve done ’cause I’d be dead as a doornail.  Well, anyway, I looked in a mirror after 5th period to find not the slightest mark on my neck.  Boy, was I happy.  After school I missed my bus so I had to take another one that went all over El Dorado Hills.  So I didn’t get home until after 4:30 and then I had to pack for L.A.  (I’m here now.)  Mom called and we talked about DJ picking me up.  And I tried calling Amy twice–both times the answering machine came on, which of course I refused to talk to.  She must have been at work.  Life is so depressing.  DJ said it’d get better in four to five years.  Oh yea.  I’m so organized now that I’m sure I can still handle four to five years of worsened hell.  Gosh, I’m so excited.  She seems and talks so self-confidently but she’s scared just like the rest of the world and society–screwed just like the others of us.  And she said so herself that all her psychologists thought she was tweaked because she always lied and I was the first person she told the truth to.  So I’m going to try to get Erica for my subject in Lifeskills.  She would be perfect but I don’t know if we’re allowed to be previously emotionally involved.  So I’ll have to ask Mr. H.  I am quite emotionally involved not only because I’m her friend because I’m choosing an alternative lifestyle also.  I don’t have the heart to–no, not nerve–more like nerve to say I’m gay.  Because I don’t want to be.  I’m doing fine experimenting and I probably will all my life but I know I still like guys.  Maybe it’s like DJ says–so you always have a date.  But she’s not bisexual so maybe she just doesn’t understand.  I don’t myself.  Someone bisexual sounds like someone who’ll pick up anyone who’ll pick them up–male or female.  Well, for me that’s just about true.  Amy was saying that if we were all honest with each other we’d end up in the same room doing it together and she couldn’t handle it.  I don’t think I’d want other people to see me get out of control–I don’t think I would if there were other people because I’d be too self-conscious.  But I like to watch other people–not participate, just watch.  It would be neat to see them get out of control.  But how do I expect that someone else wouldn’t be a little worried if I would be?  Ok, so I’m being illogical but at least honest.  It would be fun to watch Juree and Erica because they’re quite used to each other and Juree I think gets off easily.  I’m not sure yet why I wouldn’t want to watch Amy and Erica.  Maybe because I’d be jealous or because I’ve never seen how they act together intimately.  Am I going to have to burn more incense?  I still haven’t gone Christmas shopping, but oh well.  I want to hear “Janie’s Got a Gun” but they’re just playing dumb shit like Paul McCartney.  So tired, 2:39 am.

10:59 am

Had a dream about Amy.  [Step-Sister] and I were shopping and I saw Amy.  We ran up to each other and hugged like we do when we see each other in econ.  But then we ran quick as possible to try to find some place private to get intimate.  It was quite interesting because I don’t usually have dreams about people until long after I’ve stopped thinking about them.  I just remembered the dream I had about SB when I kissed her.  Maybe I have had a crush on S.  But considering I dislike her so much, I don’t think so.  But then again, maybe.

2:20 pm

If I told Dad and [Step-Mother] that I was interested in both guys and girls, they wouldn’t let me have anyone over, just in case.  I would like just to be honest with them and tell them what I’m doing and how I am without being stopped or judged.  [Step-Sister] already knows about Juree and perhaps

3:50 pm

if I remember right, Erica, and I hope not, but I think so, Amy.  I can remember [Step-Sister] saying, “So you’re the only straight one,” or something of that nature.  If she knew, she’d start asking me rude, embarrassing questions about why or how.  But I don’t know why if not because it’s love right now.  I wonder if Amy just started because I’m around, available, and accepting, or if she liked me before.  Probably the former.  I want to be special to someone but when I realize I’m not, I can accept being just one of the many.  This two weeks is going to last an awful long time.  I keep having little sexual day dreams.  They’re nice and all but I have to do other things.

6:15 pm

Bored, no energy, in a slump.  Why?  Thinking about what’s going on at home.  Want to spend New Year’s Eve or Day with just the four of us.  Just the four of us have never spent time alone together.  Maybe I’m just being sentimental but these three people are going to be sharing my life with me for a while.  I don’t like being alone–being alone down here not knowing anyone with nothing to do is not fun.  I like just being about to walk over someplace and simply hang out together talking or relaxing discussing philosophy, etc.  Of course I’m being slightly sarcastic about the philosophy but I love just sitting there and saying stuff like, “Why the hell do people put trees in their houses at Christmas time?”  I want to get a close open relationship amongst us all that we can use in the future.  Once again I’m being selfish because I’m only thinking how it will help me be a better person.  But maybe it will benefit them also.  I’m stilll at Ruth’s house watching them put crap on the Christmas three.  Janie’s got a gun.  Maybe it seems as if I’m on a bummer.  Wait, I’m beginning to sound like [Step-Mother].  Fuck her, I’m doing just fine.  When Amy and I were done, after Erica had come and left, I asked Amy if she was thinking about Juree.  She said not, that she was thinking about me.  “But why?” asked I.  She didn’t answer to I don’t know why.  I didn’t really get to say good-bye properly to any of them but not a word except at the end of lunch to Amy.  I don’t think I really think of them as individual people, more as a untit–the three of them, the four of us.  But how long will it last?  Oh gee, I hope Amy can’t stop thinking about me because I was so good.  Not good really, that makes it sound cheap, more like me–thinking of me.  Whenever I kiss let myself be pushed back because I’m so comme çi, comme ça just relaxed–complete subservience that’s me.  For some reason I’m thinking of this trip as some sort of turning point.  Everything will be different in some way when I return.  Perhaps the newness will have worn off.  Will they still want me?  Not sexually, but as a friend.  Anyway, I hope Amy is talking about how good I am.  Which I hope I am because that’s a good attribute.  But anyone who gets excited as easily as I do must excite the other person.  Erica told me I was a great kisser even after I told her she wasn’t anything to shout about.  And I’ve been told before that I’m a passionate kisser (thank you, Mike) so heck, I must be pretty good.  But I don’t want to get an ego about it and go around telling people about it ’cause then if they ever kiss me they might be disappointed.  Erica told me she was good, but I doubted at the time she thought she would ever kiss me.  She said that Juree was a good kisser.  I’d like to find out but Juree is a commendable person and doesn’t want to cheat.  So I’d like not to be forgotten by anyone.  When I go back I want to be celebrated.  I think my hormones are working overtime because I keep thinking about going back and getting sex.  Amy has the most adorable nose and that little swirl on the back of her neck.  And her body’s got a good shame–little, tight, but not tiny.  Litle like tallness.  Big, large, round, full, voluptuous breasts and the rest of her body is proportioned well.  Erica has a really nice stomach.  Flat, smooth, white, hairless, slightly rounded.  Anyway, I guess I’ve always known but not quite admitted it.  Mary has a cute little  butt and nice legs but she’s just a wee-bit too hairy.  Lisa has big boobs but you’d be afraid of smothering.  Without a bra she must sag something fierce.  But guys’ bodies are great too.  I still have yet to see Rick without a shirt but I know it would be nice.

He’s being too aggressive and I tell him to stop but he’s too eager.  And then I tell him to back off but he doesn’t listen, or he does so for a bit and then gets too rough again.

So I slap his face, once, and hard, and then he knows I’m fucking serious.  But he totally goes along with it, he does not get angry, he just does what he’s told.  I’d like the surprised look on his face when I slap him.  But then he knows what I want and he’s there.

I swear.  True story.

That chick whose holes you like pounding has feelings.  You’re not forced into those stupid, “What are you thinking?” conversations that girlfriends tend to like, but that doesn’t give you license to be a callous ass to that lovely slut you’re banging.

  • If her pussy is unappetizing, offer to take a shower with her.  Don’t tell her she’s got a stanky snatch; no one wants to hear that.  If, after said shower, things are still not appealing to you, and if you like her enough to want to continue having fun with her, suggest, very nicely that she may have a medical condition and that she should see a doctor.  As the owner of a pussy it is her job to keep it up.  It is possible that the smell and/or taste of her honey pot simply does not appeal to you, so make any doctor-visiting suggestions with her feelings, and individual chemistry, in mind.
  • Introduce any kind of power play slowly.  D/s play can bring out pent-up emotions in some so proceed with caution.  Love having a dirty slut on her knees while you fuck her throat?  (Just got the nicest tingle in my pussy typing that!)  Try placing your hand, gently at first, on her head while she sucks your cock and see how she reacts, and then go from there.  Grab her wrists and hold her down while pounding away at her pussy and see how she likes it.  Want her to grind her cunt into your face, you dirty little boy?  Lay back and ask to please service her slit–if she can’t figure out how to straddle your face then it’s probably not her thing.  This is where being able to talk to each other can only make your sex better.
  • Treat any embarrassing accidents as such.  Sometimes a laugh is proper.  Sometimes just pretending it didn’t happen is the right thing to do.  After appropriate action–showering is often due–it is polite to apologize if it was your body that didn’t cooperate, or to make clear that it’s not a big deal if you were the recipient of an unexpected “gift.”  No one intends to fart while fucking (ignore) or to shit on his/her partner during a particularly intense session (shower and apologize).  And realize that an unintentional queef (laugh) just means y’all are have a rigorous session of fun.

More to come ….

I swear.  True story.

Ahh, Seattle Guy.  He’s one of my favorites.

I placed an ad in Craig’s List w4m Strictly Platonic and he answered my ad.  I was looking for male FRIENDS.  I truly did want platonic guy friends.  My husband had left me because I cheated on him, with a guy whom I considered a close friend, Correctional Officer (hereinafter “CO”).  Out of respect for his marriage (I know, too little, to late.) I didn’t contact him even after it no longer mattered for my marriage.  I missed having a good male buddy with whom I could chit-chat about movies, books, music, and so on.

I placed the CL ad with the intent of finding a buddy.  But I wanted the buddy to be nothing like CO so I wouldn’t crush on him and want to fuck him.  The ad I posted listed all the qualities I liked in CO and said I wanted a guy who had none of them.

Which didn’t work out so well because those who were nothing like CO were boring as fuck.  So when I was about to give up I got a response to my ad that claimed the respondent could not be my friend because he DID have all the qualities I supposedly didn’t want.  Which of course piqued my interest.

This guy was all sorts of fucked up just like I like ’em.  But he lived in Seattle, so it was “safe.”  We exchanged emails and then eventually began talking on the phone into the wee hours.  His live-in girlfriend (because I’m really quite good at finding situations that are the antithesis of healthy) worked nights and he was on disability (!) for his severe mental illness (!) so we talked when she was at work.  At the time I thought these things were in some way endearing.

Of course the conversations eventually–or immediately, knowing me–turned to sex.  He told me he was dominant and had embraced his dominant nature, blah, blah, blah.  The conversations changed from being about sex to being sex.  We had really quite good phone sex.  His tone of voice would change and I knew it was time.  He definitely got in my head in a very intense way.

At Christmastime he came down to the Bay Area to visit his family.  We planned for him to come meet me when he was in the area, but nothing was pinned down as to date or time.  We continued to talk on the phone when he was close by until finally I pretty much begged him to come fuck me that very night.

It was too late for him to take the train so he took a cab, which I told him would be pretty expensive.  Because it was so late he said he would not be able to come to my house unless it was ok if he spent the night.  I was so fucking horny I acquiesced and told him my address.

And this is where things started to go wrong.  I live in the Mission, on a numbered street.  San Francisco also has numbered avenues but those are way out west, by the ocean, and nowhere near where I live.  I KNOW I told him _____ STREET because I ALWAYS say “street” when giving out my address.

After a very long time I called him.  Of course he was lost, out in the Avenues (strike one).  I could hear him getting pissy with the cab driver and when he finally arrived he told me he did not tip him (strike two) because it was supposedly the cabbie’s fault he didn’t know how to write down an address correctly.

I was understandably nervous to meet in person this guy with whom I’d had very intense phone sex, so I kept the lights very low and didn’t wear my glasses.  I’m always less nervous if I can’t make eye contact with someone.  We immediately went up to my room.  But not before I notice that this guy is a much larger person than he had indicated on all those phone conversations (strike three, but I don’t play baseball).

I was horny as fuck, which was why we couldn’t wait until the trains were running the next morning, so I wanted to get to fucking.  I am also always more at-ease after getting the nervous energy pounded out of me.  Only he doesn’t want to fuck right away.  He wants to talk (strike four).  Hadn’t we done a shit-ton of talking on the phone all those nights?  Wasn’t it now time to get to it?

Fine, let’s talk.  And we did for a bit, until I probably just went for it.  I was wanting him to fuck me like he promised he could on all those phone conversations.  He had promised he could fuck me hard, spank my ass, pull my hair, and generally “make” me do all the things I wanted.

This I remember quite well:  he was standing by the bed, I had my legs open so he could put his dick in me, but he was having trouble doing so.  He said, “I think I’m too big for you.”  Actually, he wasn’t aiming all that well, and I wasn’t all that wet.  So I said, in a tone that I now understand wasn’t the nicest, “No, that is definitely NOT the problem.”  Because for a guy with a dick that incredibly average in size to think it was too large for ANYTHING was ludicrous (strike five).

Well, guess who couldn’t get it up at all after that?  (Really, from hereon there’s no point in keeping track of the strikes, because they ALL are.)  I tried to get him hard.  I sucked that little thing with all my might.  I suggested we sit next to each other on the bed and pretend we were talking on the phone just like we had all those nights.  I said–though did not mean–that it was ok, that we could masturbate.  It didn’t matter, that dick was not getting hard, and I was not getting a proper fuck.

But remember I had to let him spend the night?  Well, now I had this fat, sweaty, snoring, fully-dressed guy in my bed.  I could not sleep next to that and I could not kick him out so I just laid there.  Thinking that once the natural light flooded my apartment I would have to look at the glory that was this corpulent excuse for a man.

At about 8am my home phone rang.  I live in a loft apartment so there is absolutely no privacy save the bathrooms.  On the phone, calling from IRAQ, was Army Guy.  This was the first time he and I spoke and I felt so lucky that he was taking time to call me.  I couldn’t not talk to him even though I had this fat, sweaty, limp-dicked loser in my apartment.

Despite the cold, I went out on my patio to talk on the phone, thinking it would give me some privacy.  Of course the previous night was on my mind.  So I told Army Guy EVERYTHING about the night before.  I believe the word disaster was repeatedly peppered into the retelling.  I talked on the phone for as long as I would had I not had company, which was rude, but this guy was calling me from fucking Iraq so it would have been more rude to not talk to him.

Eventually I saw the fat ass leave my apartment.  I was still on the phone out on the patio.  What a relief!  I didn’t have to have the awkward conversation because he was too butt hurt that I was on the phone.  Good.  Army Guy and I continued to talk for a long time, only now I was comfortably on my couch, inside and warm.

Finally I got off my land line phone and saw that since Seattle Guy left he had texted my cell phone a number of times.  I called him.  My intent was simply to apologize for being rude about the phone call and to say goodbye.

Unfortunately he took my call as a summons and despite the fact that he was on the train on the other side of the Bay, he came back.  He told me that he could hear EVERYTHING I told Army Guy on the phone even though I was outside.  That embarrassed me, but really, I didn’t say anything that was untrue.

I had to go to a friend’s house to feed her cats so instead of leaving after confronting me with my rude behavior, he came with me.  For a dominant guy, he sure liked to be punished.

I walked my dog to the friend’s house.  The air was crisp and the sky was sunny, so a light jacket was all the outerwear I needed.  He was wearing some sort of windbreaker.  Through which he completely sweated on the walk.  He was panting, and dripping sweat.  He couldn’t carry on a conversation while we were walking because he was short of breath.  It was disgusting.

I walked him to the train station and never talked to him again.

I swear.  True story.