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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I swear.  True story.

My face smelled like balls.

The other night Pedro, one of the guys from “International Day, and Night,” called to invite me to a party.  He kept saying that it was a private party.  I assumed he meant I wasn’t to bring a bunch of my rowdy friends since the party was taking place at a friend’s apartment, but I asked to make sure.

He told me there would only be six to eight people at the “party” but that he really wanted me to be there.  I’m no dummy so I told him that if his idea of a party was to have me fuck everyone there that I wasn’t going to go unless he was willing to name a price.  That was a joke?

OF COURSE he assured me that that was not the case.  It was just that the neighbors were very sensitive to noise so they didn’t want anything too loud or too late.  Pedro told me that we’d more likely than not start out there with a few drinks and then go out dancing.

It was a Friday night, I had nothing else to do, and I figured it was good for me to get out of my Mission comfort zone every once in a while, so I showered and got dolled up a bit.

I took a cab to the designated party pad.  The “party” consisted of Pedro, me, and one other guy, our host.  A much less cool chick would have been at least a tad perturbed.  As I’m extra cool, I was not.

The three of us sat in the living room, where there was a bottle of Jose Cuervo, a salt shaker, and a small platter of lime wedges.  We each had a shot.  I pointed out to our host that the limes should have been cut much thinner for our purposes of taking shots of cheap tequila.

Our host, Alberto, pointed out that he didn’t know to what size he was supposed to cut the limes since he wasn’t Mexican–tequila being a Mexican beverage.  Alberto told me he was from Lima.  That’s in Peru, folks.

We each had another tequila shot, and then I got a phone call from a friend with whom I had to talk.  I walked down the hall of the Edwardian [After doing some research I may or may not be naming this style of architecture correctly.] apartment, past at least one bedroom and to the kitchen.  It was a nice apartment that was clean and didn’t look like a stereotypical bachelor pad at all.  After ending my phone call I rejoined Pedro and Alberto in the living room.

The tequila, another shot of which I probably had, was definitely doing it’s job, because I really don’t know how the three of us ended up in the bedroom which was adjacent to the living room.  The bedroom was large–there was a queen bed, a love seat, at least a couple of pieces of dresser-like furniture, and plenty of room to walk around.

Only I didn’t notice such things at the time because the the three of us were quite busy.  Of course I had fucked Pedro before (on two separate occasions), so I knew I liked him.  And Alberto had soft, hairless skin, a tight body, and a hard cock–yum!  We were having a whole lot of fun.

It seemed as though the next time I looked up there was a third guy there.  Huh?  I was having so much fun that I was happy there was someone else to join us.  I don’t recall ever seeing this third guy, Esteban (whose name I didn’t learn until much later, of course), with his clothes on–I swear the first time I actually noticed him he was already naked with a hard cock (this is NOT a complaint).

We happily welcomed Esteban, who was Alberto’s roommate.  At the time I remember thinking, and possibly saying, that it was only fair that he join us considering it was his place in which we were having our “party.”

There was a lot of cock sucking–per usual, I wanted ALL  of them in my mouth.  We didn’t try putting more than one at a time in my mouth, I think only because none of us thought of it.

A cock went in my ass.  It felt really good, only I hadn’t properly prepared for such an eventuality and I had to use the facilities soon thereafter.  As this was an Edwardian (I think) abode, finding the bathroom wasn’t the easiest of activities for me in my intoxicated state.

This type of place is long and skinny.  All of the major rooms, including the living room, any bedrooms, and the kitchen, were to the right of the hallway that ran the length of the place.  The bathroom was to the left.

Only bathroom, singular, isn’t quite correct.  This kind of place, which is very common in San Francisco, had split bathrooms.  Well, a split bathroom.  The bathtub and sink were in one room off the hall, and the toilet was in another room off the hall.  At the time I was drunk and had just been pounded in my ass and my mouth (at least) so my sense of direction wasn’t at its optimum.

I recall looking in the bath/sink room at least a couple of times because I was sure I just hadn’t looked hard enough for the toilet.  And it seemed as though the other doors off the left side of the hall were so far away from that room as to not be plumbingly associated.  Finally, I found the toilet and took care of business.

Afterward, I went back to the bedroom where the four of us continued our various permutations of fun.  I recall being on my back on the bed with one cock in my pussy and one in my mouth when I requested that all of them come on me at once.  I made it clear that I wanted to lie there whilst they all shot their wads on my face and tits.

But that wasn’t to be.  Eventually Pedro left.  At the time, though, I didn’t notice until he’d been absent for some time.

Alberto and I really seemed to like fucking each other.  Whenever we were alone on the bed we once again launched into making out, and his cock going into my mouth, which eventually lead to him fucking my pussy, again.  While we fucked I gazed upon his pretty, sweet face.

Alberto was on his back while I mounted him.  I slid my pussy over his cock.  Without preamble I felt Esteban’s cock pushing into my ass.  I remember holding still so Esteban’s cock could work its way into my ass.  And then I had a cock in my pussy and another cock in my ass at the same time and it was fucking glorious.  It felt so good.

I’m not sure how long the three of us were able to keep it up, but I do know it felt FANTASTIC and I will do it again, hopefully soon.

The three of us fucked some more, in various ways, and eventually one of us came. It was Esteban–he came all over my face after I insisted I wanted it.  Alberto and I really seemed to not want to stop fucking, or I was just drunkenly and hornily assumptive.  He and I fucked some more.  That sweet face; that smooth skin.

Then I realized I needed to get back home to my animals.  While I dressed we chatted.  I learned that Esteban was 25, Alberto was 23, and that though they were both from Lima they had met in San Francisco at a private English-language school.  I got Esteban’s phone number and then they called a cab for me.

Esteban has since made it clear he wants to fuck me again.  I want to fuck him too, but also Alberto.

I swear.  True story.

She was straddling his lap and had her hand on the back of his neck. She loved that part of him; neither was quite sure why. He was sucking on her lower lip as she stroked his head. He unsnapped her bra and released her full breasts. He pulled her shirt up and kissed her nipples, holding her tits up with his hands as he sucked and bit lightly.

She lead him by the hand upstairs to her bed. They were fumbling with each others’ pants like freshman and kissing each other at the same time. Her perverted cat sat at the foot of the bed and watched.

She pulled his cock out of his pants, stroked it and stared up at him. He closed his eyes and put his head back on the pillow while running his hand through her hair. She smiled, and then suddenly went down on him, holding the base of his cock in her hand while she bobbed up and down. He moaned quietly and his hips began to move involuntarily.

He stopped her just in time; he wanted to come, but not yet. He pulled her up to him and kissed her hungrily. She sucked on his lower lip and rested her hand on his chest.

He looked at her through narrowed eyes and smiled. He moved out from under her and softly but firmly pressed her face-down into the bed. Starting at her neck, he slowly worked his way down her back, kissing her shoulder blades, the small of her back, her supple ass. She had her hands on the pillow, on either side of her head, which was turned to one side. Her eyes were closed.

Quickly, before she could even tell what he was doing, he had spread her ass apart and his tongue found its way deep into her asshole. He licked and flicked his tongue against her. Two fingers probed deeply into her cunt and she grew wetter and wetter with each stroke.

She moaned and writhed beneath his tongue and hands, and her legs opening wider and wider as he moved deeper and deeper into her ass and cunt, both loosening and loosening as he stroked her. She moved back into him and held him by the head, forcing him even deeper inside her. His breathing became shallow as his erection became harder and harder.

He suddenly moved upwards, kissing and licking her mouth as she strained her neck sideways to bite his tongue and kiss his lips. They were beyond words, communicating simply by thrusting and lust.

Then he was inside her. He held her hips in his hands as he pumped into her pussy. He had one foot on the bed beside her knee and pulled her against his throbbing cock over and over again. He forced himself to slow down, to regulate his breathing, forced himself into deliberate control… he wanted to cum, needed to, but not yet. He had other things in mind.

While he fucked her, he continued to work on her asshole, first with his fingers, and then with his thumb. He could feel his cock throbbing against his thumb as both pumped deeper and deeper into her, and he could feel her body respond more and more completely as he moved in her. He slowed his hips gradually, and then pulled out completely. She was still moving, unable to catch her breath completely.

to be continued…

__________________________________________________________

I’ve not gotten the rest of this story, so don’t hold your collective breath, folks.

Y’all are welcome to submit tidbits for posting here on Random Rim Jobs.  Just email me:  shazamsf@sbcglobal.net.

Way back when J. Lee wrote this for me.  Fun.  I’m so lucky.

_________________________________________________________

He sat down at his desk, staring at the blank computer screen once again. Every time he had done this familiar routine in the past week, he’d enacted that other familiar routine: procrastination. Surfed the Web, checked email a few dozen times, got up from his chair to make a bite to eat, or take a piss… anything to avoid that well-known feeling.

It wasn’t writer’s block exactly. He had been coursing with ideas throughout the week, but for some reason the words stopped flowing as soon as he sat down to write. He knew he just needed an access point; he decided to just start writing, document the doubts and the evasions and the…

Only now his cat was bothering him. “Jesus Christ, what else?” he’d asked as the feline yowled and bumped against his legs. Then he chuckled. She had told him that her cat was a little pervert; “so her pussy’s perverted… what a surprise…” He threw some food in the cat’s dish and sat back down to continue.

Still nothing. He looked out the window and bit his lower lip. Maybe he should start there, with the lip… she was a mouth person after all… he shook his head. It was getting dusky outside, so he decided it was his last chance to go for a jog in the park up the hill without breaking his ankle.

He got back just as it was getting truly dark. He had walked past a family of deer in the middle of the street, which he took as a good omen. There was magic in the air; all he had to do was find to a way to unleash it.

The phone rang. “Fuck, it’s probably my mom,” he thought to himself. But it wasn’t; it was an ex-girlfriend. “Huh,” he though. “Maybe I can use this…” He knew that she would like his ex, she was tall and slim and beautiful, with a bright smile and full lips… and he knew they both liked girls, too, which wasn’t necessarily important in fantasyland but still would make it easier to play with… but no. He didn’t want to use up all his ammunition on this story; he had to save something for later, something to build up to. This one could be simple, a single scene even. He just had to write it.

“Start with what you know about her,” he thought. Okay. He knew she had an office with a door, and a big plate glass window that faced the support staff. He pictured his own office, back in Seattle, with a big window in the door, and the times he’d brought girls there at night or on weekends to fuck. There had been no reason to use the office in those situations, of course, but they still almost invariably had. Something about being in that familiar space, bending a girl over the desk he sat at every day… he could use this…

He started writing. “We’re at your office on a Saturday evening.” He started fondling his cock through his running shorts as he envisioned the scene. His head was already beginning to cloud a little, which always happened when he became aroused. He shook his head and continued.

You’re sitting in your chair, and I’m kneeling in front of you. You have one leg thrown over the arm of the chair and the other is pressing into the ground. Your skirt is bunched up at the waist and your panties are around your ankle. I had initially just moved them to the side, holding them with one hand as I licked your pussy, flicked the tip of your clit with my tongue until it was huge and red, stuck two fingers in your quim and stroked the inside of your wet cunt.

I moved forward quickly, pressing my salty mouth against yours and sucking greedily on your tongue. You fumbled with your panties, trying to pull them off but your fingers kept slipping off the waist as I fingered your clit. The crotch of your panties was soaked, and the back of your skirt was becoming wet, as well. You stood up quickly and put your hands on my shoulders, pushing me away. My eyes were unfocused and my breath came in gulps. You rested your head on my chest and inhaled deeply. You stepped lightly out of your skirt and underwear, looked up at my face, and smiled.

You were still wearing your blouse, but it was only half buttoned; as you’d fumbled in your purse for the keycard to unlock the office, I’d stood behind you, my throbbing cock pressed into your ass and my hands under your shirt. My left hand reached through the gap where I’d unbuttoned your blouse, and I had your right breast cupped in my palm. I rolled your nipple between my thumb and forefinger.

Now you started to take off your shirt, but I stopped you; I liked the idea of fucking a clothed woman, it gave it a sense of urgency and suspense, as if we might get caught at any minute. You smiled again, and put the fingers of your left hand in my mouth. I ran my tongue along the edge of your forefinger and bit lightly on its tip.

With your right hand you had been steadily removing my pants. First the belt; then the button; finally the zipper. My pants fell around my ankles and you lowered yourself to your knees. You kept your fingers in my mouth, and I held your hand lightly as I sucked on your fingers. With my other hand I ran my fingers through your hair and brushed it back so I could see your face.

My erection strained against my boxers and you worked it out of the fly with your mouth. You held it at the base firmly and put your mouth over the fat head. You ran your tongue around the tip, licking the spot underneath where the vein rolled up the shaft. I groaned slowly and fought the urge to move my hips.

You had taken your fingers from my mouth and now held my ass with your hand. You pulled me into you as you pumped onto my cock, and your eyes lifted to watch my reaction. My head had lolled to one side, and my breath came in shallow gasps. Your hand moved from my ass to your pussy and you rubbed your clit quickly between two fingers. You moaned as I pulled your hair back in a ponytail and began to gyrate my hips.

“Stop… you have to stop…” I mumbled, and then I stepped back quickly and my penis flipped upwards. You ran your middle finger along the corner of your mouth and laughed.

“What’s the matter, baby? Can’t keep up with me?”

My eyes suddenly cleared, widened and flashed green. I shook my head and smiled. The look made you nervous… but only slightly. I stuck my thumb in your mouth and caressed your lower lip.

“You are a bad, bad girl, aren’t you? I think you need a spanking.”

I pulled you to your feet and kicked the office chair out of the way; it spun as it rolled backwards. I turned you around and rested my hand, lightly but firmly, on the back of your neck. You bent over your desk.

* * * * * * *
He took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. There it was. Nothing too extreme, of course, but that was the point. A first chapter. It was a solid foundation, on which many things could be built. Many possible directions to explore. He cupped the tip of his penis in his palm and pulled lightly on his balls as he reread the story.

Pasting it into a blank email message, he hit send and went to call his ex-girlfriend back.

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

_______________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NOT THE SAME FUCKING COCK!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.