I Fucked The Plumber

In Adventure, dating, fun on October 18, 2014 at 7:04 am

I laid there waiting for hours, masturbating, wondering “what if the plumber is hot” imagining that the dude who was coming to fix my toilet was gonna be a GQ model, expecting him to be an old fat while plumber — but then he wasn’t bad. He showed up at 10PM and I asked him to prove his identity. He showed me the card from the major corporate plumbing company he works for and informed me “I’m doing this under the table for your landlord, it’s not through the company” and then he showed me his ID informing me that he is 22. I smiled and compared names and let him in to snake my toilet.

On his way out he asked me if I wanted his personal number in the event I needed to reach him. I took his number on his card and assumed I would find a reason to call him. But then my toilet was not bolted down, so I called and then it was this battle with my landlord. Ugh — not what I was looking for. A week later my toilet is still not bolted down.

But I called him after my “one time a week fist” has managed to get me to such a point of frustration that I needed to call on every fuckable person in my phone. I told him to bring some wine and come to my office. He showed up. But he seemed rushed. I didn’t know if it was because he was young and horny or because he had to be someplace to meet a lady, or just had to get to work early. I didn’t much care. I teased him as long as I could and then I got down with him. This big sexy young black plumber — I sucked him and made him fuck me. We fucked in my rocking chair, on my desk, on the floor. Yeah, it was a decent time. But when he split he did it in a rush and I knew he had a lady waiting in his bed. Whatever. I’m still worked up. I want more. I want to make love every night, all fucking night. I can’t get what I need in a few minutes, a quickie, once a week – who are these men who only need a little bit of sex? At least I got pounded by a nice big black dick.

When I asked him if he would fuck me in front of my little while boy toy, he seemed confused. And not into it at all. So whatever. I want to drop LSD and wander this office masturbating in every unlocked office, but eventually I would want to go outside, or go home. I know how I have to drop acid – I need to take it in a way that is planned and prepare myself for maximum happiness, not the sadness that would come if I took it here now, tonight. Lately I feel like no one loves me. Like I want to much sex, too much energy, too much love. Am I really a vampire? Am I just a nympho who keeps falling for people who can not and will not ever love me?

I need more. More sex, more love, more good times, more yoga, more bike riding, more swimming in sexy bodies of water, more candy, more wine, more everything that makes life worth living. I need to be a rock star. Why am I feeling sad about the boys who can’t keep up with me? I want to smoke some weed and sing songs and dance. Why are the people I’m attracted to sleeping? I need more.

Fuck all of them. I’m in a place where I need to enjoy life, not settle down. I thought I was gonna die for three years. I’m not dead and I don’t want to go to bed early like I did.

Road Side Piss Stops!

In Uncategorized on October 17, 2014 at 9:30 am

I am coming to New England — I expect I will be there October 22nd – 25th, then I’m driving towards NOLA. I am offering road side piss stops for the first time in a while. I have not been on the road in quite some time so now is the time to meet me at the fuel station. I expect I’ll stop at a strip club or two through I don’t know which ones yet. If you are somewhere on the way between Boston and New Orleans and you would like to persuade me to pass through your little town send me an email with some information about why I should. Are you a good toilet boy? Do you have titty bar I simply must dance in? Do you crave my roadside lemonade? Now is your chance to meet me and have a drink!

I want to be back in New Orleans before Halloween. Don’t wait, email me now.

Also, if you know how to fix 1970s Cadillacs mention this and tell me where you are — I might take a route based solely on the existence of fans / submissives who can fix my lovely old car should she break down.

Send your contact information

A Few Words on Fisting

In Fisting on October 12, 2014 at 4:22 am

I should be working on my book. I should be headed to the vu already. I’m so overwhelmingly horny that I can’t focus. I’m addicted to a fist. I’m loopy like a teenage girl. But the fist in question is now just my fist, not really anything else, just my sex buddy. I’s hard to not get all lovey-dovey when the emotional levels of endorphins, from amazing-blissful-leaving-my-body and seeing gawd style of orgasms, start to kick in.

Fisting is by far the best sex I have ever had. It is all I want. Ever.

Many years ago I had a very dysfunctional relationship that involved a woman with a perfect sized fist. She had the right sized fist and she knew how to use it. How to tease me, sliding two fingers in me, rubbing my g-spot, making me kiss her fist, making me beg her for her fist. She was so very good at getting me there. When she would finally slide her hand all the way inside me she had this tattoo of flames around her wrist that gave the illusion of my cunt being on fire. Maybe it was not an illusion. I became obsessed. We made reckless choices that did not further our well being in any way. But the sex was epic.

After we finally broke up and the shock of neither of us getting seriously injured in the ordeal kicked in I began to try out other fists. I assumed they were like cock, slide it in and position it. Is it the right size? Is there enough lube? Am I in the right position? But it turned out that there was a lot more to fisting than just shoving your hand in someone.

Technique is the key to having a good time. You need to be a good physical fit for your fistee but you also need to be responsive to their body. Not everyone likes the same level of fisting, some people like it slow and pulsating, some people like a supremely hard pump — I know I do, and it makes a lot of potential fists nervous. I understand that putting your entire hand inside someone is a very powerful thing to do, it engulfs you and you become part of that person. It brings up a lot of emotion for everyone involved. But if the fist can’t deliver the exact angle, the precision of slow and fast, the hard pump, the squeeze, the little to the right — if the person doing the fisting does not understand the dynamics, if they are scared or nervous or just not that into it, the person being fisted is not going to fly away in a state of orgasmic bliss that mere mortals can never hope to experience. In fact just the opposite happens. The fisting can be boring or painful. It can be stressful for everyone involved when the chemistry and physical proportions are not in alignment.

After about a year following the break up I came to the conclusion that the best sex I was going to have was behind me and that I would find other things to enjoy. I just was not able to find a fist that could make me cum in a way that sends my screams up an octave. I gave up looking for a good fist, forgot about it, and moved on.

But now I have a new fist. And I’m really really into this fist. It is a perfect fist for my body. The person attached to it has spectacular sexual chemistry with me. And I’m doing everything I can to not be an obsessive freak show. Things are about to get weird, and sexy, and loud.


I’m off to the titty bar to tell strangers about my passion for being fisted. If you are in New Orleans and want to hear my stories, have a beverage, meet me in person — come to Deja Vu on Bourbon street. I have the biggest ass in the place. Come say hello.


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 369 other followers