[Get caught up:  Part 2.]

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

With interest (call me crazy and intrigued)
Mike

PS: in reading tonight’s diary,
6/27/2009

12/17/89: A Diary Entry (Part 1)

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

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

more as a *unti–the three of them

I hope Amy can’t *stope

Erica told me she was *got but I

And her body’s got a good *shame–

Flat, smooth, white, *hairlss

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

I hope this makes up for my mispelling of WOMAN.

*****

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

*****

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

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

And thank you for the corrections!

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

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

13421011

Hi Suzanne,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Til we talk,
Mike- Wag [surname]

[phone number]

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suzanne,

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

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

__________________________________________________

Oh, it gets better, trust me.

I swear.  True story.

[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.

DSC06909

[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.

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.

It was so perfect; it was too perfect.  I can barely believe it actually happened.  And it happened to me.  Wow.  Oh.  My.  Fucking.  God.

It was better than I’d hoped because it wasn’t easy.  It wasn’t easy at all.  Though I hope I didn’t goad him into it, and I don’t think I did, despite everything.

I want to fuck him.  I want to make him cry.  And he’ll be so fucking beautiful when he does.

The whole time walking back from Dolores Park I wanted to get on my knees and have him fuck the shit out of my mouth.  Just good and hard and let himself go;  not worry about my feelings or whether it was feminist of him, to just fuck my face, hard.  He would feel so free.

And I want to suck his cock.  I want to suck and suck and lick and lick and suck and smell and nuzzle and taste and feel and bury my face and lick all over and rub my face everywhere.  I want to do it long enough so he goes from being tense because I’m doing it and not being able to relax because he thinks I won’t want him to come to just letting go and realizing there’s nothing he can do that would make me stop, that I’m going to keep my mouth all over his cock F-O-R-E-V-E-R.  And I will.  I want to taste every bit.  I want to take it in, to swallow it down.  He’ll smell like HIM.

At the bus stop was the most perfect thing ever.  EVER.  I was just stroking the backside of his thigh with my right hand.  I can still feel it.  Just slow and easy.  Earlier at the park I’d had my right hand under his shirt; I could feel his soft sweet skin.  That skin makes me want to cry.  I would brush my face all over it.  He’s younger than I thought.  He just turned 22.  Wow.  Oh, wow.  Fuck, I wish I didn’t know that because that makes me want him more.

He’s afraid.  He kept saying things about hurting others.  I’ve got so much more life; I’m so much more jaded that he can’t hurt me.  He’s so sweet and vulnerable I want to take care of him.  And that maternal thing is such a fucking turn-on.

So at the bus stop I was stroking the back of his leg.  And he had his left arm around my shoulders, and it was no big deal.  Until it was.  His hand went from my arm to my left breast.  And there was no denying it was on purpose.  My breathing changed.  It was fucking happening.

When he went out with me with Isis much earlier I had blurted out that I wanted to kiss him.  He said, “Please don’t.”  That, of course, felt like a rejection.  I was quiet all the way back to my place.  I told him not to worry, that I would be fine.  And we were fine.

Then I found the poem “Hello, my name is …” labels in his bag and I said we HAD to go out to put them up.  He and a friend had started a street art project where they wrote out an epic poem on “Hello, my name is …” labels and they put them up all over town.  Only he and the friend weren’t so friendly any longer.  He needed to finish the project and I wanted to help.  We left my place, putting up labels with poem bits along the way.  We fucked ’em up quite a bit; we didn’t necessarily put them in the correct order.

We bought some pear cider and the guys in the liquor store said something in Arabic (?) that sounded suggestive to both of us.  We had a great time being artist/vandals.  The whole time I gave him shit for rejecting me, but in a nice way I hope.

Then in the park we were lying (laying?) on the walkway and there was a nice breeze and I was touching that skin and he was talking about having trouble with the sex/emotion connection.  He just doesn’t know.  He doesn’t trust himself or me.  Mostly himself.

He touched my left breast at the bus stop.  And it felt so fucking good.  There’s something about knowing that a guy is clumsy and awkward that’s so fucking hot.  Because I know he has the desire.  He WANTS to be a dirty, dirty boy.  Just as he began touching my breast the 14 Mission bus showed up from the south.  I reminded him he had to catch that bus.

And he leaned down and kissed me.  We kissed.  We kissed.  It was just too fucking perfect.  We had to tear away from each other so he could catch the bus.  I walked home.  I was giddy the whole way.  I kept thinking about how wet I’d be when I got home.

Perfect.

I swear.  True story.

Made a complete fool of myself with 26yo last night.  The sex is so fucking good that I get loopy and gooshy.  Last night I said something along the lines of, “We clearly have a special connection and it needs to be acknowledged.”  To which I got crickets.  And then he made it clear that no such special connection exists.  Ouch.

Even if there is no “special connection” there’s more than he acknowledges.

We were on the couch making out and he told me our photo shoot was his first threesome (which I guess I had known but didn’t fully realize) and then went on to thank me further, I think because I’m willing to do such things with him.  But then he got quiet in a way that appeared to be thinking about something he’s not saying.  I could certainly be reading too much into it, but there was something.

Then we went upstairs.  Of course I wanted to suck his cock.  I rubbed my pussy on on his leg and my tits on his cock.  It was quite hot.

26yo’s very generous in bed and loves playing with my pussy–until he comes.  Once he’s come he’s done.  I have now fully grasped this.  We had gone upstairs in order for him to use gloves on me.

But rubbing my tits on his cock and pussy on his leg made him come–hard.  I think it kind of surprised him.

I had come all over my chest and he had come on his crotch area.  We lay there for a while with just the sheet over us and the sheet got soaked through with the come he had on him.  I must’ve rubbed the soaked-through sheet sticking to his skin for a couple of minutes.  I could feel the texture of the wet sheet and knowing it was come made it feel even better.

That would’ve been a time to get at my wet pussy but no such luck.

But I did get to thinking that our relationship, such as it is, is perfect for both of us–we can and do fuck other people and we’re genuinely happy for the other to meet new people.  We can be completely honest and nasty and dirty about what we want sexually.  We still talk like regular people, with an emphasis on sex, of course.

Why the fuck was I trying to push it into some sort of mold or place a label on it?  Silly.  I’m done doing anything other than enjoying him.  It does no good to think about when it might end because then I don’t enjoy the present as much.  And I want to enjoy every bit of him.

I like his feet, his skin, his hair, his smell, his cute little naked body, his beautiful face, his poufy booty, the way he touches me, how much he’s into my tits, that he likes to do to my pussy the things I’ve always wanted done to it, his cock, the way he fucks me.  The way his cock pushes past my palate and fills up my throat.

I swear.  True story.