Before I ended up at Jones Hollywood last Saturday, I was at my friend Ben-Jermain's roof-top party in Whitley Heights. The highlight of the night was when this guy showed me his balls. He un-zipped his pants and pulled them through.
It all started during some discussion that involved Madonna in no related terms. I had an argument with the Ball Flasher and a few other people that her real name was actually Madonna Louise Ciccone ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Madonna_(entertainer) ). Well they lost. Ball Flasher continued to go on and on that I was still full of shit.
He then moved into a speech about how all women are liars! "You show me a woman who doesn't lie and I'll show you my Balls!"
"I'm not a fucking liar!" I challenged.
"Alright prove it," he spat.
"OK ask me something you think I would lie about."
"Fine! Here's a question that every woman lies about." He paused and stared me down. "How much do you weigh? Ha!"
I looked at him and sized him up, "I weight...150lbs. Ha!"
He stepped back and gave me a once over while stroking his chin. "You actually look like you weigh less then that."
"Yeah, well that's what I weigh, so I guess you need to bust out the balls!"
"You're right. Here ya go," he said as he un-zipped and pulled out the goods. Mind you there was about 5-6 other people involved in this circle of conversation, so a loud raucus shortly followed the exposition of his testis.
"Ya know I think you just got cuter."
"Well take it easy there little lady cause I have a girlfriend."
"Why the fuck are you showing me your balls when you have a girlfriend?"
"Cause a bet's a bet."
"Well actually I probably weigh closer to 145lbs these days"
"So you did lie!"
"But you're balls have already been shown! Too late now. Ahahaha!"
Monday, May 31, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
We-HoBag
There's nothing like sitting on my stoop, on a balmy summer evening, after a long night of drinking, Adorable-Screenwriter by my side, when two transvestite hookers speed-walk past us, flash a big toothy grin and wave as good neighbors do at 2:30am in West Hollywood.
It wouldn't have been complete without the Police SUV Cruiser following the hookers. The officer sees Adorable Screenwriter and I on the stoop. He also smiles and waves very genuinely. Had it not been for the fact that we were wasted, those were hookers with boobs and dicks, and it was at an un-Godly hour, you would've thought it was Leave it to fucking Beaver Pleasantville.
Which is why I absolutely LOVE living in West Hollywood, more affectionately known as WeHo. It is also in this same neighborhood that I was once pulling out of my alley to find said Tranny Hooker giving a guy a blow job at 6:30 in the morning.
But lets get back to the Adorable Screenwriter for a minute. I, of course, met him at Jones Hollywood. Well, where else am I going to meet Adorable Screenwriters or Cute-guys-who-work-in -television, or Birthday Boys or Trust Fund Brats or Josh Hartnett? I do need to watch it though. I will walk in one day to find that I know everyone in there and there will be no one left to meet, give my number to, or make-out with.
And I'm not a total Ho-Bag! I DO NOT make-out with every one I meet there, nor do I give them all my number. Josh Hartnett was with is Australian girl-friend, so he didn't get my number. And Birthday Boy chased down and cornered girls who were left alone by friends ordering drinks. Cute-boy-who-works-in television got my number but that was only cause it was funny. I'll never hear from him again anyway.
But Adorable Screenwriter? He got my number and my tongue down his throat. I almost missed out too. He walked me home, as any good gentleman trying to get into your pants would do, and got scared off when my property manager came out to see what all the commotion was. Commotion being other drunk people yelling across the street on this balmy summer night.
I went upstairs and texted him "Ya know I'm kind of sad you didn't kiss me. I think u need to walk back and fix that." Again as any good gentleman trying to get into your pants would do, he walked all the way back to my stoop and made-out with me until it was almost too late for him to get a cab home. Swoon.
It wouldn't have been complete without the Police SUV Cruiser following the hookers. The officer sees Adorable Screenwriter and I on the stoop. He also smiles and waves very genuinely. Had it not been for the fact that we were wasted, those were hookers with boobs and dicks, and it was at an un-Godly hour, you would've thought it was Leave it to fucking Beaver Pleasantville.
Which is why I absolutely LOVE living in West Hollywood, more affectionately known as WeHo. It is also in this same neighborhood that I was once pulling out of my alley to find said Tranny Hooker giving a guy a blow job at 6:30 in the morning.
But lets get back to the Adorable Screenwriter for a minute. I, of course, met him at Jones Hollywood. Well, where else am I going to meet Adorable Screenwriters or Cute-guys-who-work-in -television, or Birthday Boys or Trust Fund Brats or Josh Hartnett? I do need to watch it though. I will walk in one day to find that I know everyone in there and there will be no one left to meet, give my number to, or make-out with.
And I'm not a total Ho-Bag! I DO NOT make-out with every one I meet there, nor do I give them all my number. Josh Hartnett was with is Australian girl-friend, so he didn't get my number. And Birthday Boy chased down and cornered girls who were left alone by friends ordering drinks. Cute-boy-who-works-in television got my number but that was only cause it was funny. I'll never hear from him again anyway.
But Adorable Screenwriter? He got my number and my tongue down his throat. I almost missed out too. He walked me home, as any good gentleman trying to get into your pants would do, and got scared off when my property manager came out to see what all the commotion was. Commotion being other drunk people yelling across the street on this balmy summer night.
I went upstairs and texted him "Ya know I'm kind of sad you didn't kiss me. I think u need to walk back and fix that." Again as any good gentleman trying to get into your pants would do, he walked all the way back to my stoop and made-out with me until it was almost too late for him to get a cab home. Swoon.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
My Tits Versus the Pussy Magnet
Thursday night I met up with my buddy Maxim-million at Dillon's Irish Pub to watch the Laker's Game. Now I'm either knocked-up or having an awesome side-effect to PMS cause my tit's are huge right now! There was no better place to show them off then at sausage-fest/play-offs night on Hollywood and Vine.
There was a guy sitting next to me who was just high enough to be able to peer directly down into my cleavage. I caught him twice looking. The bartender, a cute girl in a Catholic-school-girl uniform complete with knee-high socks, was bringing me drinks before Boob-Guy could even order.
"Man, what's that about?" Boob-Guy said out loud to no one in particular.
"You don't have these!" I said shaking my tits by lifting my bra-straps.
"Ahhahha! I guess you're right," he said laughing and staring.
"It's true. Even other chicks respond well to boobies."
I looked around and noticed most of the guys on the other side of the bar had caught my little shake and were anxiously waiting for me to do it again. I looked around some more and noticed there was a 20:1 ratio of men to women in this bar.
So it was really disappointing when The Pussy Magnet joined us and there wasn't as many ladies for him to suck into his vortex. He may not have noticed but he was still getting looks and eyes. I won't tell him that cause his head really doesn't need to get any bigger.
Due to my fascination with The Pussy Magnet, I took the opportunity that I for once didn't have to fight off bitches to ask him a fucking question or two. He knows my fascination is purely scientific and answers my silly little questions nicely.
"So since you seem to cast so much Vagina to the side, what's the deal? Are you just super pick-y? What are you even looking for?" I ask as if I'm Barbara Walter's or something.
"Well it depends on what I'm in the mood for. If I just want to have fun, I want a blond. If I want a girl-friend I look for a brunette," he said honestly.
Maxim jumped in, "Right now he doesn't want a girl-friend so it's all blonds!"
"And you're here to catch the fall-out, ie: any of the chicks he doesn't want right?"
"Exactly!" Maxim said with enthusiasm.
As a woman I should be offended. But really this is how EVERY man thinks. The faster a woman understands this, the less women will be offended by it. Because frankly, us women do the same things just in a different way. For instance, we judge men more on the way they dress then their hair color.
Example: Guy wearing a Radio-Head tee-shirt, jeans and Chuck Taylor's equals "Smart Nice Guy"
Guy wearing Skinny Jeans, leather jacket and gel in his hair equals "Hard-To-Get Sarcastic Asshole"
Guy wearing blazer, white tee-shirt and boot-cut jeans and dress shoes equal "I Hope You Think I'm Sophisticated Cause I'm Gonna Stick It In Your Ass Later"
Whether I want A) a nice guy, B) a challenge or C)a sore butt-hole, depends on my mood. FYI I never pick C.
Thursday night at Dillon's The Pussy Magnet was dressed as "Smart Nice Guy" which he is, a smart nice guy.
But even the Smart Nice Guy wants to do dirty things the Manager cause she yells at her staff so authoritatively.
All in all it was a great night. The Pussy Magnet got a number. I gave mine to Boob Guy and Maxim will end up fucking The Pussy Magnet's fall out. See! Everybody Wins. Go Lakers.
There was a guy sitting next to me who was just high enough to be able to peer directly down into my cleavage. I caught him twice looking. The bartender, a cute girl in a Catholic-school-girl uniform complete with knee-high socks, was bringing me drinks before Boob-Guy could even order.
"Man, what's that about?" Boob-Guy said out loud to no one in particular.
"You don't have these!" I said shaking my tits by lifting my bra-straps.
"Ahhahha! I guess you're right," he said laughing and staring.
"It's true. Even other chicks respond well to boobies."
I looked around and noticed most of the guys on the other side of the bar had caught my little shake and were anxiously waiting for me to do it again. I looked around some more and noticed there was a 20:1 ratio of men to women in this bar.
So it was really disappointing when The Pussy Magnet joined us and there wasn't as many ladies for him to suck into his vortex. He may not have noticed but he was still getting looks and eyes. I won't tell him that cause his head really doesn't need to get any bigger.
Due to my fascination with The Pussy Magnet, I took the opportunity that I for once didn't have to fight off bitches to ask him a fucking question or two. He knows my fascination is purely scientific and answers my silly little questions nicely.
"So since you seem to cast so much Vagina to the side, what's the deal? Are you just super pick-y? What are you even looking for?" I ask as if I'm Barbara Walter's or something.
"Well it depends on what I'm in the mood for. If I just want to have fun, I want a blond. If I want a girl-friend I look for a brunette," he said honestly.
Maxim jumped in, "Right now he doesn't want a girl-friend so it's all blonds!"
"And you're here to catch the fall-out, ie: any of the chicks he doesn't want right?"
"Exactly!" Maxim said with enthusiasm.
As a woman I should be offended. But really this is how EVERY man thinks. The faster a woman understands this, the less women will be offended by it. Because frankly, us women do the same things just in a different way. For instance, we judge men more on the way they dress then their hair color.
Example: Guy wearing a Radio-Head tee-shirt, jeans and Chuck Taylor's equals "Smart Nice Guy"
Guy wearing Skinny Jeans, leather jacket and gel in his hair equals "Hard-To-Get Sarcastic Asshole"
Guy wearing blazer, white tee-shirt and boot-cut jeans and dress shoes equal "I Hope You Think I'm Sophisticated Cause I'm Gonna Stick It In Your Ass Later"
Whether I want A) a nice guy, B) a challenge or C)a sore butt-hole, depends on my mood. FYI I never pick C.
Thursday night at Dillon's The Pussy Magnet was dressed as "Smart Nice Guy" which he is, a smart nice guy.
But even the Smart Nice Guy wants to do dirty things the Manager cause she yells at her staff so authoritatively.
All in all it was a great night. The Pussy Magnet got a number. I gave mine to Boob Guy and Maxim will end up fucking The Pussy Magnet's fall out. See! Everybody Wins. Go Lakers.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Welcome Back to Hollywood
You know you're a bar-fly when you walk into to your local drinking hole (mine being Jones Hollywood), sit on your regular stool and the Bartender gives you a kiss, your usual, and says "Welcome Home." He meant from my trip, but still. He knew well enough that I had left in the first place. Of course you also know that you're a bar fly when the bartender, knows well enough to warn you that an old hook-up just walked through the door.
I turned around just in time to see the guy I stopped mid make-out session to tell him, "Yeah I'm just not into it". Clearly my bitchiest moment thus far. He came up, kissed me on the cheek and then made his way to the furthest point away from me in the room. Good boy. Don't take that shit from me!!
When I had a few more glasses of Sav Blanc under my belt I decided to go remind him of how big of a bitch I was by telling him how funny it was that I "did that" and "said that". I continued on and on, "I mean really, I never do that to people. You should've seen your face. Ahhahaha!"
"OK Leslie, I really don't need you to tell me over and over again about that. I was there. I know."
I retreated back to my bar stool next to the Cute-boy-who-works-in-television, who I had also told the story to. He agreed it was pretty fucked up, yet very entertaining. His friend, The Birthday Boy (because it seems as though every time I'm at Jones its somebody's fucking birthday) was egging on Cute-boy-who-works-in-television to get my number.
Birthday Boy said "So are you going to ask this young lady nicely for her phone number?" and then in a funny low voice "or not-so nicely for her phone number." Cute-boy just laughed and we went back to our conversation, which really consisted of me telling him how he was going to loose his sex drive after thirty and that he "better get to fucking!" before it was too late.
He looked a little scared at this information so we confirmed with Birthday Boy, who turned 39. "Yup I couldn't give a shit about sex anymore and I guess I stopped caring right around 32-33." Cute-boy looked terrified now. Cute-boy is only 25. I tried to lift his spirits, although I didn't do a very good job considering I was half-in-the-bag, "See you've got 5 good years left in ya! Go get to Fucking. Go on. Go wrangle one of those little lost sheep on the couch over there. Her friend's at the bar! She's all alone! go get her!"
Cute-boy looked at the tall-skinny, and probably dumb, blond and said "Nah I'm good." So Birthday Boy seized the opportunity instead and went over the the lost sheep like a big bad wolf.
2am started to roll around. Cute-boy wanted to go out and smoke and so did I. We settled our tabs and went outside to light-up. I looked up at him "Soooo are you gonna ask me nicely or not-so-nicely for my phone number?"
"What? Um...I don't know. Nicely I guess." He must not have realized I was serious.
I gave him my number, stumbled home and woke up to a nice text message saying it was "nice meeting you"
Oh Hollywood! Oh how I missed you so.
I turned around just in time to see the guy I stopped mid make-out session to tell him, "Yeah I'm just not into it". Clearly my bitchiest moment thus far. He came up, kissed me on the cheek and then made his way to the furthest point away from me in the room. Good boy. Don't take that shit from me!!
When I had a few more glasses of Sav Blanc under my belt I decided to go remind him of how big of a bitch I was by telling him how funny it was that I "did that" and "said that". I continued on and on, "I mean really, I never do that to people. You should've seen your face. Ahhahaha!"
"OK Leslie, I really don't need you to tell me over and over again about that. I was there. I know."
I retreated back to my bar stool next to the Cute-boy-who-works-in-television, who I had also told the story to. He agreed it was pretty fucked up, yet very entertaining. His friend, The Birthday Boy (because it seems as though every time I'm at Jones its somebody's fucking birthday) was egging on Cute-boy-who-works-in-television to get my number.
Birthday Boy said "So are you going to ask this young lady nicely for her phone number?" and then in a funny low voice "or not-so nicely for her phone number." Cute-boy just laughed and we went back to our conversation, which really consisted of me telling him how he was going to loose his sex drive after thirty and that he "better get to fucking!" before it was too late.
He looked a little scared at this information so we confirmed with Birthday Boy, who turned 39. "Yup I couldn't give a shit about sex anymore and I guess I stopped caring right around 32-33." Cute-boy looked terrified now. Cute-boy is only 25. I tried to lift his spirits, although I didn't do a very good job considering I was half-in-the-bag, "See you've got 5 good years left in ya! Go get to Fucking. Go on. Go wrangle one of those little lost sheep on the couch over there. Her friend's at the bar! She's all alone! go get her!"
Cute-boy looked at the tall-skinny, and probably dumb, blond and said "Nah I'm good." So Birthday Boy seized the opportunity instead and went over the the lost sheep like a big bad wolf.
2am started to roll around. Cute-boy wanted to go out and smoke and so did I. We settled our tabs and went outside to light-up. I looked up at him "Soooo are you gonna ask me nicely or not-so-nicely for my phone number?"
"What? Um...I don't know. Nicely I guess." He must not have realized I was serious.
I gave him my number, stumbled home and woke up to a nice text message saying it was "nice meeting you"
Oh Hollywood! Oh how I missed you so.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Kinky Feet
Now that I'm back in LA, I can resume me standard regime of telling dirty stories.
One of the kinkiest things I have ever done was jerk a guy off with my feet. Yeah I know, I can't believe I did that either. But it's what he wanted. I should've seen it coming, especially after he complimented my toes and arches about ten times on our first date.
I only did it once, jerking him off with my feet that is, and I only did him once. I figured if it went as far as foot sex during our first encounter, I could only imagine what I was in for after that.
It started off like any other normal session of coitus. I gave him a blow job in my kitchen which let to him going down on me in the living room and then we moved to the bedroom. The sex seemed pretty normal by this point. The he grabbed my foot while on top of me and started biting my toes.
Well that's a little different, I thought. But I figured now was a good a time as any to try something new. See, out of all my little encounters over the last 11 years I have never been with a guy with a foot fetish. And I gotta tell ya, It's probably best if both people are into feet.
I really don't see a great place for feet in the bedroom. Feet can be so dirty, but that's probably most of the appeal for foot fetish people. And I don't see anything wrong with it, I just don't think a foot would give me an orgasm.
But apparently they gave Footsie here an orgasm. After biting my toes he backed up, grabbed both my feet and stated jerking himself off with them. Well that's really different, but kinda fun, I though entertained and watching this guy give it to himself with my feet.
He finished, sighed and then took a shower. I just kinda layed there in awe. Then he got outta the shower, still hard, sat in a chair and went at my feet again. He came again! My feet were tired now. I kissed him good-bye and kicked him out so I could get some sleep and give my poor dogs a rest.
Footsie, became a chronic sexter. I have spoken of him before. Perhaps now you have a better picture of him and why he was a little obsessive. Lucky for me and my arches, I haven't seen him since. But that's one more thing check off on the "Things I've Tried In Bed" List. Cheers.
One of the kinkiest things I have ever done was jerk a guy off with my feet. Yeah I know, I can't believe I did that either. But it's what he wanted. I should've seen it coming, especially after he complimented my toes and arches about ten times on our first date.
I only did it once, jerking him off with my feet that is, and I only did him once. I figured if it went as far as foot sex during our first encounter, I could only imagine what I was in for after that.
It started off like any other normal session of coitus. I gave him a blow job in my kitchen which let to him going down on me in the living room and then we moved to the bedroom. The sex seemed pretty normal by this point. The he grabbed my foot while on top of me and started biting my toes.
Well that's a little different, I thought. But I figured now was a good a time as any to try something new. See, out of all my little encounters over the last 11 years I have never been with a guy with a foot fetish. And I gotta tell ya, It's probably best if both people are into feet.
I really don't see a great place for feet in the bedroom. Feet can be so dirty, but that's probably most of the appeal for foot fetish people. And I don't see anything wrong with it, I just don't think a foot would give me an orgasm.
But apparently they gave Footsie here an orgasm. After biting my toes he backed up, grabbed both my feet and stated jerking himself off with them. Well that's really different, but kinda fun, I though entertained and watching this guy give it to himself with my feet.
He finished, sighed and then took a shower. I just kinda layed there in awe. Then he got outta the shower, still hard, sat in a chair and went at my feet again. He came again! My feet were tired now. I kissed him good-bye and kicked him out so I could get some sleep and give my poor dogs a rest.
Footsie, became a chronic sexter. I have spoken of him before. Perhaps now you have a better picture of him and why he was a little obsessive. Lucky for me and my arches, I haven't seen him since. But that's one more thing check off on the "Things I've Tried In Bed" List. Cheers.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
WTF!
It figures. I've been single for over a year and I reconnect with the best fucking guy I have ever been with and he won't fuck me. He has the nicest dick I have ever seen. We have had the best sex I have ever had. I have a whole chapeter in my book for him and all of our sexual escapades. And Now He Won't Fuck Me! I have wanted to be with him since we dated when I was 18. I have wanted him since I got with him every time I went to Florida to visit. I lost touch with him for 3 years and found him. We got together again and now he won't fuck me.
But the ironic thing is, I always wanted more from him. Before he would fuck me and leave me. But now, he's with me, supports me, in some way loves me. He has finally given me all the things I wanted from him before that I couldn't get from him. The only draw back is that he doesn't want to have sex with me.
After the first few times of being rejected I felt my self-esteem drop to horribly low levels. Is he not attracted to me anymore? Does he just not like me anymore? I just didn't know. I asked him what was up.Then he told me that he didn't want to change what we had. He said that because we were getting along so well he didn't want to fuck it up.
Now I don't know what to think. I appreciate his looking out for my feelings but he hurt them by not fucking me yet has given me the one thing I could never get from him before too. Oh the Irony. So I give up. And go on not being fucked. But I have a great friend in the meantime. What's a girl to do?
But the ironic thing is, I always wanted more from him. Before he would fuck me and leave me. But now, he's with me, supports me, in some way loves me. He has finally given me all the things I wanted from him before that I couldn't get from him. The only draw back is that he doesn't want to have sex with me.
After the first few times of being rejected I felt my self-esteem drop to horribly low levels. Is he not attracted to me anymore? Does he just not like me anymore? I just didn't know. I asked him what was up.Then he told me that he didn't want to change what we had. He said that because we were getting along so well he didn't want to fuck it up.
Now I don't know what to think. I appreciate his looking out for my feelings but he hurt them by not fucking me yet has given me the one thing I could never get from him before too. Oh the Irony. So I give up. And go on not being fucked. But I have a great friend in the meantime. What's a girl to do?
Monday, May 17, 2010
Road Head
I left Florida with a little extra-baggage. 165lbs of extra-baggage in fact. I was leaving and he needed out, so what the hell. I haven't had much luck with the guys in LA anyway, so why not import? I've known him since I was 18 and we had some of the best sex in my life, therefore I feel I made a wise decison to bring him along.
At about 1:30am the other night, somewhere between Memphis and Little Rock, we parked at a rest stop for the night and popped open some Corona we snagged at a local gas station.
After a few beers we got a little touchy-feely in the parking lot of the rest stop. We were going to get it on in the truck bed, but there were so many bright lights we would have been busted by security the second he were to un-zip his pants. We couldn't do it in the truck because we had the cab so loaded with all of our shit there was no room to lay down.
So I resorted to giving him a blow job for 45 minutes in the front seat. I knelt in the front seat sideways while he reclined in the passenger seat. My back hurt and it was difficult to hold myself up in that position. But for the love of cock, I made it work.
Big semi's pulled in and we had to stop to cover all the windows on the inside of the car with towels, blankets and tee-shirts. One reason, I despise sex in cars. It is always like that. People all around, no space, buckles and arm rests getting in my way. But I wanted him so bad that I dealt with it. And now my shoulder clicks whenever I lift my arm. But he has the nicest cock I have ever seen. So worth it.
At about 1:30am the other night, somewhere between Memphis and Little Rock, we parked at a rest stop for the night and popped open some Corona we snagged at a local gas station.
After a few beers we got a little touchy-feely in the parking lot of the rest stop. We were going to get it on in the truck bed, but there were so many bright lights we would have been busted by security the second he were to un-zip his pants. We couldn't do it in the truck because we had the cab so loaded with all of our shit there was no room to lay down.
So I resorted to giving him a blow job for 45 minutes in the front seat. I knelt in the front seat sideways while he reclined in the passenger seat. My back hurt and it was difficult to hold myself up in that position. But for the love of cock, I made it work.
Big semi's pulled in and we had to stop to cover all the windows on the inside of the car with towels, blankets and tee-shirts. One reason, I despise sex in cars. It is always like that. People all around, no space, buckles and arm rests getting in my way. But I wanted him so bad that I dealt with it. And now my shoulder clicks whenever I lift my arm. But he has the nicest cock I have ever seen. So worth it.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
When Sally Shit the Bed
This is a story about my good friend. And she gave me permission yesterday to tell it because it really is that fucking funny.
Let's call my friend Sally because she asked that I not use her name. Well Sally met a really hot Scottish guy at a bar. It was one of the most gorgeous guys she had ever met and he had a "monster cock". On this particular night Sally's ulcers were begining to bother her. And even as she was getting into her bed to get stuffed by the Scott, she heard the grumbling in her stomach which meant a blowout was not far behind.
As he started to go down on Sally she couldn't get comfortable because she feared the worst. She contempated just going to the bathroom but she also didn't want to put a stop the wheels in motion that were traveling to happy sexland with this gorgeous Scottish dude with the "monster cock". So she held it in.
Again she thought about getting up. The gurgles were getting worse now and she felt "movements" approaching the very last pace she wanted them to go. He began to put on a condom, well its too late for me to get up now, I'll just have to hold it in, she thought.
Just as he penetrated her with cock-zilla a little bit of excrement leaked out her ass. The air pressure his cock consumed in her vaginal cavity caused presure in her anal cavity and she just couldn't hold it in.
"What's that smell?, he asked as he sniffed the air and paused on top of Sally.
"Uh? It must be the cats, they must've pooped" Sally said trying to cover for her unforgiving asshole.
He shrugged and kept going. She couldn't hold anymore. "You have to get out! The cats don't like you! Get out and go wait in the hall."
He got up and went into the hallway. She waited until he was out of the room to turn on the lights. She saw the damaged she had caused on her sheets. and ran to the bathroom to shit herself silly. She noticed it had dripped down her leg and cleaned herself up.
Now I don't know if she kicked him out or cleaned up and kept going. But he did call her the next day. He did act like he didn't know she had shit the bed. But a year later, at a wedding of a mutual friend, he did tell someone the story of going home with Sally and that she did infact Shit the Bed.
Let's call my friend Sally because she asked that I not use her name. Well Sally met a really hot Scottish guy at a bar. It was one of the most gorgeous guys she had ever met and he had a "monster cock". On this particular night Sally's ulcers were begining to bother her. And even as she was getting into her bed to get stuffed by the Scott, she heard the grumbling in her stomach which meant a blowout was not far behind.
As he started to go down on Sally she couldn't get comfortable because she feared the worst. She contempated just going to the bathroom but she also didn't want to put a stop the wheels in motion that were traveling to happy sexland with this gorgeous Scottish dude with the "monster cock". So she held it in.
Again she thought about getting up. The gurgles were getting worse now and she felt "movements" approaching the very last pace she wanted them to go. He began to put on a condom, well its too late for me to get up now, I'll just have to hold it in, she thought.
Just as he penetrated her with cock-zilla a little bit of excrement leaked out her ass. The air pressure his cock consumed in her vaginal cavity caused presure in her anal cavity and she just couldn't hold it in.
"What's that smell?, he asked as he sniffed the air and paused on top of Sally.
"Uh? It must be the cats, they must've pooped" Sally said trying to cover for her unforgiving asshole.
He shrugged and kept going. She couldn't hold anymore. "You have to get out! The cats don't like you! Get out and go wait in the hall."
He got up and went into the hallway. She waited until he was out of the room to turn on the lights. She saw the damaged she had caused on her sheets. and ran to the bathroom to shit herself silly. She noticed it had dripped down her leg and cleaned herself up.
Now I don't know if she kicked him out or cleaned up and kept going. But he did call her the next day. He did act like he didn't know she had shit the bed. But a year later, at a wedding of a mutual friend, he did tell someone the story of going home with Sally and that she did infact Shit the Bed.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Labels of Doom
I have a friend. We have sex. I like him. And, now, Houston we have a problem. I have this instinct to put a label on it. Are we "seeing eachother"? Are we "dating"? Are we "fuck buddies"? Are we "buddies who fuck"? But probably the most important question I should ask myself, "Why the fuck do I care?"
As women and as humans, we are not satisfied until we put every single thing in our lives, especially relationships, into a nice and neat little categorical box. That way we know what our roles are and what our expectaions are out of the nice and neat little situation with a clear label. But that label is a curse!
It seems that everytime I try to classify my realtionship, or lack-thereof, with a label, I am placing a label of doom. With that label comes only my expectations and pressure of the tasks I want him to perform and I am ultimately setting him up for failure. In reality,there are no set rules with these lables. There is only what makes us feel good and what makes us feel bad and the need to maximize what makes us feel good and minimize what makes us feel bad.
I also have this need to create a natural progression:
friend>seeing eachother>dating>together>boyfriend>fiance>husband>ex-husband and so forth.
I have a time schedule in my head of when each stage of the relationship is supposed to progress to the next label. All that happens when I do this is put pressure on the guy and myself to be something that we are not and expect things that don't need to be expected or changed. If things are working and we are happ,y then why fix whats not broken. If it is broken, calling it something else doesn't do shit to help it.
Prime Example of a Label of Doom:
I dated a guy a year and a half ago who refused to call me his girlfriend. I was pissed because we were together all the time, he wasn't fucking other women and he treated me well for the most part. The only thing was he didn't want to call me his girlfriend. I would ask him, "Then what do I tell people?"
He said," Who gives a shit? It's none of their business anyway!"
I wouldn't let it go, "But I don't want other women to think you aren't seeing someone and think you're available and then try to fuck you!"
He made a good point, "If I want to fuck someone else, I will fuck someone else. It doens't matter if I call you my girlfriend, my friend or my wife. You just have to trust me when I say 'I'm not going to fuck someone else.'"
See! labels don't matter, they just make me a psychotic insecure bitch. Because I think that If I call him my boyfriend, that he will abide by "the rules" and expectations. But No matter what I call him, or what he calls me, he is going to do what he wants to do. And gladly so will I.
So why start a fight and add pressure and set myself up, when I could just enjoy the fact that the guy who I'm currently allowing in my personal space, wants me around, enjoys my company and so far treats me good.
So I think my non-label label, beacuse I wouldn't be able to sleep at night If I didn't have a box to put us in, is: People. We're just...people. Hopefully that can keep expectaions and roles wide open. The only way he could dissapoint me now, is if I wake-up to him one morning and he's suddenly a banana.
As women and as humans, we are not satisfied until we put every single thing in our lives, especially relationships, into a nice and neat little categorical box. That way we know what our roles are and what our expectaions are out of the nice and neat little situation with a clear label. But that label is a curse!
It seems that everytime I try to classify my realtionship, or lack-thereof, with a label, I am placing a label of doom. With that label comes only my expectations and pressure of the tasks I want him to perform and I am ultimately setting him up for failure. In reality,there are no set rules with these lables. There is only what makes us feel good and what makes us feel bad and the need to maximize what makes us feel good and minimize what makes us feel bad.
I also have this need to create a natural progression:
friend>seeing eachother>dating>together>boyfriend>fiance>husband>ex-husband and so forth.
I have a time schedule in my head of when each stage of the relationship is supposed to progress to the next label. All that happens when I do this is put pressure on the guy and myself to be something that we are not and expect things that don't need to be expected or changed. If things are working and we are happ,y then why fix whats not broken. If it is broken, calling it something else doesn't do shit to help it.
Prime Example of a Label of Doom:
I dated a guy a year and a half ago who refused to call me his girlfriend. I was pissed because we were together all the time, he wasn't fucking other women and he treated me well for the most part. The only thing was he didn't want to call me his girlfriend. I would ask him, "Then what do I tell people?"
He said," Who gives a shit? It's none of their business anyway!"
I wouldn't let it go, "But I don't want other women to think you aren't seeing someone and think you're available and then try to fuck you!"
He made a good point, "If I want to fuck someone else, I will fuck someone else. It doens't matter if I call you my girlfriend, my friend or my wife. You just have to trust me when I say 'I'm not going to fuck someone else.'"
See! labels don't matter, they just make me a psychotic insecure bitch. Because I think that If I call him my boyfriend, that he will abide by "the rules" and expectations. But No matter what I call him, or what he calls me, he is going to do what he wants to do. And gladly so will I.
So why start a fight and add pressure and set myself up, when I could just enjoy the fact that the guy who I'm currently allowing in my personal space, wants me around, enjoys my company and so far treats me good.
So I think my non-label label, beacuse I wouldn't be able to sleep at night If I didn't have a box to put us in, is: People. We're just...people. Hopefully that can keep expectaions and roles wide open. The only way he could dissapoint me now, is if I wake-up to him one morning and he's suddenly a banana.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
The Pregnancy Card
A friend of mine ran into my "first love" and he told her I had "gotten really big!" Right now, I'm only 10lbs heavier then when I was in high-school. So he was was probably referring to the pictures of me when I was in Nicaragua, I had just had an abortion and gained a shit load of weight from being pregnant for 9 weeks.
I devoured nachos like it was going out of style and did get big! I couldn't help it. Eating was the only thing that made the intense nausea go away. I ate ALL DAY LONG! I had no energy and I just wanted to eat and sleep. It didn't matter that I was living in Hawaii and It was a gorgeous spring. I wanted to be alone with my food. And I wanted to masturbate because the thought of being touched made me want to puke. Ain't pregnancy a bitch.
Speaking of bitches, I was also a huge bitch when I was pregnant. So much so that I think that when I finally do decide to have kids I will give the father (or husband) full permission to go away and pretend he's not with me for 9 months. He will be allowed to pull what I will call "the pregnancy card" and disappear, hang out with his buddies, and fuck other women, until our little bundle of joy is kicking and screaming and I return to my normal pre-pregnant size and persona.
Now instead of telling my friends that I got " really big" he should be thanking his lucky fucking stars that I'm not having his baby.
I devoured nachos like it was going out of style and did get big! I couldn't help it. Eating was the only thing that made the intense nausea go away. I ate ALL DAY LONG! I had no energy and I just wanted to eat and sleep. It didn't matter that I was living in Hawaii and It was a gorgeous spring. I wanted to be alone with my food. And I wanted to masturbate because the thought of being touched made me want to puke. Ain't pregnancy a bitch.
Speaking of bitches, I was also a huge bitch when I was pregnant. So much so that I think that when I finally do decide to have kids I will give the father (or husband) full permission to go away and pretend he's not with me for 9 months. He will be allowed to pull what I will call "the pregnancy card" and disappear, hang out with his buddies, and fuck other women, until our little bundle of joy is kicking and screaming and I return to my normal pre-pregnant size and persona.
Now instead of telling my friends that I got " really big" he should be thanking his lucky fucking stars that I'm not having his baby.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Dear Montana
I've notice you have spent some time looking at my site and felt the need to write rude comments which I chose not to publish.
Today you told me I must feel compelled to post nude photos of myself because I must have "Daddy Issues" and a "Need for Attention"
If you had read deeper into my blog you would have realized that my Dad died less then two months ago. He loved me very much. He adored me! Everyone in my family made a point to tell me so on, top of the fact that I knew that all my life.
I have never been molested or sexually abused. But I do have a BA in Communications for the University of Hawaii at Hilo. One of our main course studies was on the impacts of Mass Media on women through Film, Television and especially Advertising. It was after I learned how deeply Media gives women in the western world low self-esteem, eating disorders and suicidal tendencies, that I felt it my duty to try to counteract it.
Its like fighting for any other cause. I may only be one person but I still think I can make a difference.
I want you to look deep into your motivation for your criticism and think about all of the women, hundreds of thousands,that are models, actresses, strippers, hookers or just plain attention seekers.
Do they all have "Daddy Issues"? Do they all have a "need for attention"? Every woman desires some degree of attention. Every woman wants to be loved and admired. Its no ones right to place judgement if she wants attention from one person or one million.
But most of all. If you hate my site so much, and you think I have so many problems, why do you keep coming back?
Today you told me I must feel compelled to post nude photos of myself because I must have "Daddy Issues" and a "Need for Attention"
If you had read deeper into my blog you would have realized that my Dad died less then two months ago. He loved me very much. He adored me! Everyone in my family made a point to tell me so on, top of the fact that I knew that all my life.
I have never been molested or sexually abused. But I do have a BA in Communications for the University of Hawaii at Hilo. One of our main course studies was on the impacts of Mass Media on women through Film, Television and especially Advertising. It was after I learned how deeply Media gives women in the western world low self-esteem, eating disorders and suicidal tendencies, that I felt it my duty to try to counteract it.
Its like fighting for any other cause. I may only be one person but I still think I can make a difference.
I want you to look deep into your motivation for your criticism and think about all of the women, hundreds of thousands,that are models, actresses, strippers, hookers or just plain attention seekers.
Do they all have "Daddy Issues"? Do they all have a "need for attention"? Every woman desires some degree of attention. Every woman wants to be loved and admired. Its no ones right to place judgement if she wants attention from one person or one million.
But most of all. If you hate my site so much, and you think I have so many problems, why do you keep coming back?
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Sleep Fucking
Some people sleep walk, some people sleep talk. Some guys jerk-off in their sleep. I've seen it. My sister's boyfriend even gets up in the middle of the night and eats in his sleep. And Andy? Well he sleep fucks.
Andy and I dated when I was 18. And every time I came to Florida to visit we would get together. This time wasn't any different. He has done it before but I guess I forgot since it's been 3 years since we last saw each other.
We got home from the bar last night. Hung out at my sister's and went "to bed". It's always great to get to have sex with someone that you have a history with.And he was always one of my favorite people to have sex with. We just flow and are into a lot of the same things sexually. It definitely helps that we have a healthy appreciation for each other and its not just about the sex.
We finished up, cleaned off and went to sleep. Then, in the middle of the night, I was awakened by Andy flipping me on my back, spreading my legs and going down on me. Then he got on top of me and started going at it.
He finished and then said, "How did that start?"
"You started it," I answered.
"What?"
"Yeah you don't remember? You must've been sleep fucking me again."
He shrugged and we went back to sleep. That's probably his best little quirk, sleep fucking.
Andy and I dated when I was 18. And every time I came to Florida to visit we would get together. This time wasn't any different. He has done it before but I guess I forgot since it's been 3 years since we last saw each other.
We got home from the bar last night. Hung out at my sister's and went "to bed". It's always great to get to have sex with someone that you have a history with.And he was always one of my favorite people to have sex with. We just flow and are into a lot of the same things sexually. It definitely helps that we have a healthy appreciation for each other and its not just about the sex.
We finished up, cleaned off and went to sleep. Then, in the middle of the night, I was awakened by Andy flipping me on my back, spreading my legs and going down on me. Then he got on top of me and started going at it.
He finished and then said, "How did that start?"
"You started it," I answered.
"What?"
"Yeah you don't remember? You must've been sleep fucking me again."
He shrugged and we went back to sleep. That's probably his best little quirk, sleep fucking.
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