[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.

*****

Suzanne,

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.

Mike

*****

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.

Mike
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.

[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.

This is what I was thinking of when I masturbated the other day.  I was able to come despite suffering from a cold and severe back pain.

kani

I want my calves bound to my thighs so my legs are wide open.  I want to be on the edge of a bed or a table so a man with a nice huge cock can stand up and pound my pussy and my ass at his whim.  Or it could be a woman with a big dildo strapped into her harness; I’ve not had enough experience with women and strap-ons for this to be something that pops into my head unbidden, but the image is certainly not unwelcome.

I want his cock to slide into my ass.  Slow and easy, working its way up to fast and hard.  Then he should slow down again, as he slips his fingers into my pussy.  He’ll be using lots of lube so everything will slither into me without effort.

His cock will be in my ass as he slips one, then two, then three fingers into my pussy.  He’ll be slowly pushing his rod into and out of my ass while at the same time his fingers reach up and massage that special spot inside my cunt.

Then, I want his whole hand inside me and his cock in my ass; to be completely and utterly full.  And I can’t do a thing because I’m tied up all pretty.

I swear.  True (fantasy) story.

My neighbors, Rose and Dieter, met in Germany.  Dieter is German, and consequently he and Rose often host German friends when they’re in town.  They had two German friends staying with them when I was invited out to lunch with them at Papalote. Yum.

I was the only person at the table who did not speak German.  Everyone spoke English very well, but understandably conversation would slip into the comfort zone of three of the five people present (and a language one other of the five could understand and speak very well).  Which I loved.  I really do like listening to the rhythm of a language I can’t understand.  Because I don’t have the ability to listen to the content, I can listen to the cadence.  The sounds are less coherent communication and more music to my ears.  Even German–a language which has been accused of auditory assault–sounds lovely when articulated by a native speaker.

Later that day, I ventured to the Marina to attend my friend’s book signing.  She illustrated a children’s book, Freckleface Strawberry and the Dodgeball Bully.  Julianne Moore wrote the book so the signing was packed with people and their little brats.

I dipped out to a bar, where I met a British bloke.  I chatted him up, and got his business card with his home number on the back.  Apparently he’s the person without a cell phone.  I’m definitely going to call him, if for no other reason than he’ll take me out to eat–I’m a food nerd.

Then back to the book store, where the signing had thankfully ended.  Met my friend’s husband and kid, congratulated the friend on her book, and saw Julianne Moore.  I opted for silence over saying something supremely stupid, but did exchange smiles with Ms. Moore.  She is beautiful in person.  And shorter than I expected.

I do not go to the Marina often.  It is not my kind of neighborhood.  I like gritty; in San Francisco I’ve lived only in the Tenderloin and the Mission.  The Marina is too damn clean for me.  But mostly it’s the people who live there that don’t appeal to me.  I refer to the Marina as LA North.  I dig LA–loved living there when I did–but the pressure of having to put on the right outfit and full make-up just to go to the damn corner store for some fucking wine is too much silliness.  And that pressure comes from the people who shoot dirty looks when I go to the corner store in flip-flops and–shock–no mascara.

But, as I was already there, I thought I should take advantage of it.  Only it was a Tuesday, and not much was going on.  I went into another bar and sat amongst the five people already there.  As it was still early–and dead–the staff had little to do.  Watching bar staff reminds me of the old pool hall days.  The camaraderie of bar work simply can’t be equaled in an office.

Finally, the Marina was boring me, so I hopped on the first of two buses I needed to take me back to the dirty Mission.  I changed buses at Fillmore and Geary.  Actually, I saw a bar at Fillmore and Geary and dipped in for another drink.

The Boom Boom Room was deader than the Marina bar had been, but I wanted another drink, dammit.  I was finishing up my drink and about to leave when in walked a group of guys.  How convenient.

They were a group of soccer players, I think; drunk Shazam doesn’t listen too well.  Drunk Shazam did, however, realize that English was most definitely not their first language.

Two of the guys were chatting with me.  One of them spoke no English so the other acted as translator.  I got to hear them talk to each other in Spanish during the translation process.  And that’s when I decided I would be fucking these two men.

I told the one who could speak English, Pedro (sure, that works), that I wanted them both to come back to my place and fuck me.  I made it clear that our goal was to DP me so they had to be ok with seeing one another’s dicks, and with having them touch.  I was not about to have two hot, but uptight, guys to my place.  Pedro affirmed that they would happily fulfill my need to have my ass and my pussy fucked simultaneously.

We hopped in a cab, stopped at a liquor store–because more drinks were surely required, right?–and then went to my house.  They made drinks and smoked on my patio while I took Isis out.  Only my dog knows how much of a slut I am.

Spoiler alert:  I still have not experienced the glory I imagine is getting DP’d.  I will some day, dammit.  That night I was too fucking drunk.  While a bit of alcohol can be nice for eliminating those pesky inhibitions, too much and things just don’t work properly.

And because I was too wasted, I have only snippets of memory once the three of us were in my bedroom.  I do recall making it VERY clear that condoms would be required.  I have a huge supply thanks to San Francisco City Clinic and recall repeating, “Condoms” and, “You have a condom on, right?”  Not too sexy–the repeating, not the insistence on using protection.

We did attempt, a couple of times I think, our goal.  But it just wasn’t happening.  Even for a basic ass fuck I need to relax and breathe and mentally and physically open up.  This drunk idiot is not capable of that much thought.  This sober girl wants so badly to feel a cock in her pussy and her ass concurrently, and will definitely be making it happen, and soon.

All the while, Pedro and the other guy were talking to each other in Spanish.  I’ve lived in California all my life so I’m used to hearing Spanish, as spoken by both Mexicans and Chicanos.  The Ex speaks Spanish nicely.  These guys, however, were South American, so the lilt of their speech sounded new and exciting.  So fucking hot.  I love hearing a language I can’t understand, and I love being spoken about as if I’m not there.  I had both with Pedro and the other one.  It was in so many ways the perfect situation and I fucked it up by being too damn drunk.  Boo, me.

I think I fucked both of them.  I assume I sucked both of them–because I want all the cocks in my mouth–all of them.

Eventually, they took their leave and the next morning (Isis assures I get up early no matter what) the only evidence of their presence was the bottle of vodka and the massive quantity of condoms, and condom wrappers, on my bedroom floor.

I swear.  True story.