I had it all planned out. I would take the train to LA, check my mail, go to VP’s house, head to Hollywood and Highland to get some shots for a power point I need to put together, maybe have a drink with VP, sleep, go to yoga, jump around and act wacky with the groundlings, head to DL’s place for some hot sex.
That was the plan. What happened was a little more like this:
I caught the train to LA and a conductor who I have been flirting with for several years suggested something sexy, and I grabbed my bag and followed him down into the luggage room. We made out for a little bit and I could hear the other conductors on their walkie talkies, prowling around in the next room.
He pulled my shirt up and started sucking on my tits. I reached into my purse, grabbed a glove, some lube and a dildo. I pulled my fishnets down from under my red mini-skirt and reclined on a piece of black luggage. It was the sort that had wheels but was more of a bag than a suitcase. It was going to Santa Barbra. I put a glove on the conductor and told him to fuck me with the dildo. After a few minutes I realized that I wanted to play acrobat so I climbed up to the top rack and put my feet on the other side of the rack. Can you see me there balanced up on the luggage rack, fishnets down around my ankles, train conductor fucking me with a red dildo while he continues to suck on my tits? The train is in motion and I can see the ocean through the window. I’m more concerned with my imminent orgasm. I can hear some walkie talkie action and I’m trying not to moan to loudly but I’m having an awesome time suspended on the luggage rack on a train with the ocean in the backdrop. I couldn’t help it – when I came I moaned a little too loudly. The walkie talkie noise stopped, but I could tell they were not coming in to the luggage room. They were listening. I tried not to giggle too much as I pulled up my stockings.
I put away the lube, condoms, and gloves and we scampered upstairs. None of the other conductors seemed to have noticed at all. None of them said anything, not of them seemed to be too close. I think we may have gone totally undetected. What a sexy way to start the weekend.
Made it to LA, checked the mail, called VP to let him know I was on the way. When I arrived there were a couple of boys sitting on his sofa, they left almost as soon as I said hello. As they were going out some furniture guys came in to replace a piece of furniture that had a stripped screw. Replacing an entire piece of furniture because a screw is stripped goes against my Marxist sensibilities. My friend VP is in the money business and does not have the voice of Karl Marx in his head, he has Karl’s picture on his dart board.
I love to watch boys work so I sat on the sofa and watched them do their thing. I tried to make small talk with VP but he was not feeling well. I wanted to just drop my suitcase and run to get those pictures but I felt like I had to be polite.
It became rapidly apparent that VP had spent the previous evening doing cocaine and having a tremendous amount of sex. He was too tired to cope with me. He said something about judging people and looked at me cross-eyed. I was not sure exactly what I had done but I was certain that he did not approve. At one point he suggested that I might need therapy because I did not want to get rid of my fine collection of sex toys. After the worker boys left VP said to me “You can’t stay here tonight” and then suggested that I stay in a hostel.
He threw me out in the most polite way he could. He took me to a hostel and rented a room for me. The room was on the first floor, had a window on Fairfax, and low thread count sheets. I guess that’s what I get for bringing up Marx. Fuck. I was not sure how I felt about the situation. He had plenty of room for me. I was not going to get in his way. He just took me down the street and plopped me in a hostel. I wanted to cry but I bought a pack of cigarettes instead. People in LA are so fucking flakey.
I try to pretend it does not matter. I smoke. I have a beer. I do my laundry with Europeans. I toss and turn as a drug deal is made outside my window at 4 am.
Next morning I head to the groundlings to jump around and act wacky. All goes smoothly. Wackiness accomplished. I bum a ride to DLs, ditch my stuff there and head to the mall to get the pictures. When I’m done shooting I call DL to tell him I’m on my way back. He asks me to stall. I get some Thai food and as I’m finishing “The Dude” appears and asks me if I’ll have a beer with him. I say yes, but mean no. I give him a cigarette and he asks me if he can walk me to my destination. I say yes. We walk and smoke and he tells me his wife left him and that I am beautiful. I’m pretty sure he isn’t Jeff Bridges but who knows with the shit that goes on here. We make the most minimum amount of conversation. I give him the rest of my dinner and head in to DLs where I am planning on getting some action.
DL and I have been flirting for years. DL used to be my neighbor but I don’t sleep with my neighbors. I like drama-free sex and sleeping with the neighbor does not promise such an arrangement.
DL is a tough looking dude. I expected the sex to be as hot as he is. I was wrong. I think he was scared of me. It was kind of cute but a tad pathetic. He always has a line of sexy strippers dating him so I figured that they kept coming back for some reason. Now I know what that reason is – to cuddle!
I was really hoping to get off, he wanted to cuddle. I pushed him in the bed and told him to glove up. He couldn’t figure out how to get into the gloves. I put the thing on him. He got up and wandered around. I pulled out the dildo and started to masturbate in his bed. I was getting down fucking myself in the ass. He was adjusting the lighting. I have has so little sex in the last several months I don’t give a shit about the lighting – come over here and fuck me. But he really couldn’t. I’m way too much woman for most guys. This one was no exception.
At this point I would ordinarily excuse myself but I was planning on spending the night, thinking it would be great all night sex. At some point I actually asked him if he would read to me while I masturbated in his bed. He declined and instead put on fight club. I had never seen fight club and it turns out it was the highlight of the evening.
At some point after the cuddling and fight club watching he suggested sex. I told him I had to be out the door in a couple hours and that I needed sleep. Then I pulled the sleeping trick on him. I feigned passing out. I hate having to pretend to be asleep because you are done having inadequate sex with someone. I much prefer to have sex with strangers in public toilets – then when its not so good at least you don’t have to cuddle.
Archive for December, 2008|Monthly archive page
Last night something almost hot happened. I figured I had better bring you up to speed otherwise you might think I am being grumpy if I just tell you how many ways this town stinks.
So I go to my corner dive bar to meet up with a fellow student and get some good drinking / studying done. When my fellow student splits I realize I have not left my apartment in days. I have been hunkered down in a mountain of academic sex books, some juicy and some as dull as a calculus book from the 1970s.
Just the same, I figured that I would keep reading Foucault and drinking. After a time a short black man appeared and asked me if he could use one of my eighteen colored pens strewed upon the bar table. I told him he could and when he came back he asked if he could by me a drink. I relented and expected it to arrive. When it did not I went to the bathroom and made my way towards the exit. He stopped me, asked me to sit down and then got the drink. I really hate dudes who offer to buy you a drink and expect that you will talk to them in exchange for it. Clearly I had things to do. Why even bother with the offer if there are strings attached? I can afford my own beverage.
After I sat there with him and his buddies for a second he asked me if I wanted to smoke some weed and again I expected him to produce it. I should really get over these high expectations. We went across the street to smoke (smoking in bars is banned ya know) and I offered to roll the joint. When I saw what kind of weed he had I laughed out loud. “How much did you pay for this?” I asked – “ten bucks” he said. “Well you got ripped off!”
I really don’t think I have ever seen such nasty dirt weed. The stuff was mostly seeds. Hilarious – seedy weed. “I’m not gonna smoke this” I told him “I’ll have a headache for three days.” He lit one up and poured me a drink. Then he put on some porn.
Porn is so strange. I have seen a lot of it but I so rarely encounter anything that interests me. Yawn – same skanky bimbo sucking dick with the same pov shot. Yawn. “Do you have anything dirty?” I ask him. I don’t know if he expects me to be turned on by his seedy weed and cheesy porn but I’m not. I’m mildly amused but I have a ton of reading to get back to. Foucault is way sexier than this scene. Shit that 1970s calculus book is sexier than this!
He puts on some gaping ass, spitting video. Right, let me clarify – do you have anything with bondage? Do you have anything with cross dressers being gang raped? How bout some golden shower porn? Nothing? What is that wetness on my thigh? Oh shit, he spilled my drink on me. What a great excuse to leave. He tries to explain to me that in the bathroom he has a towel and then he gets on his knees and begs me to let him fist me. Right. I’m gonna take these pants off when I get home, I’m not gonna take them off here and have to put pants that are wet with nasty booze back on after I fuck a short man.
I am trying to experience things as a real person. I don’t know that I like the greedy way most real people seem to live. The idea that you can seduce me with seedy weed, cheesy porn and a pick up line of “Sorry I spilled liquor on you maybe you should take your pants off” is retarded.
I came home and did some homework, now I have something to tell you. Aren’t you glad I left the apartment?
I was thinking in the shower this morning. I was thinking that maybe it looks like I’m al over the place. People say things to me like “school is your back up plan then” when they find out that I’m not studying theater. I’m a graduate student who wants to teach sex at the college level.
My plan is to get a PhD and teach. That does not mean I don’t love to perform, be funny, and look sexy in pictures. These things can all go together. Trust me.
I’m sure for some people it is enough to do just one thing but I get a tad bored when everything is the fucking same all the time. I like excitement, sexy clothing, and books – lots of books.
When I was a little kid my idols were Lucille Ball, Dr. Ruth, and Madonna. Smart, Sexy and Funny – that is what I have always wanted to be. Yes, I want to be a famous smart, sexy and funny woman. That is why I work on these things. Not everyone wants what I want and that’s just swell. I do get a little annoyed when people assume that I don’t know what I want because I am doing things that, to them, seem totally unrelated.
On that note, I met another fucking hippie today. I think something happens to people when they spend too much time here, brain gets cooked by the sun or something. I think I should start keeping count of how many people stop me in the world and give me some line of hippie shit like “maybe your Saturn is returning,” or “I can help you find yourself” as though I’m lost or have room for any fucking Saturn in my tiny fucking apartment.
SandyEggo is the hippiest fucking suburb in the state. I’ve spent time in Humboldt and had less hippie shit thrown my way. It makes me want to beat someone.
Yesterday I had several hours to masturbate. I stayed in bed with my vibrator most of the day. Today I woke up and thought I would have a little AM action so I rolled over and grabbed my plug in lover, but alas the thing was dead. NOOOOOOOOOOO! This is horrible. My Hitachi Magic Wand is dead. I just got this one, it can’t be dead. I tried it again in disbelief but to no avail, it’s gone. Today is a very sad day. It makes a rattling sound inside the core but no vibrations anywhere. I tried unplugging it and plugging it in again, shaking it, and plugging it in at a different outlet but noting seemed to work. It is dead. I am sad.
It’s not even the first one I have killed. A couple months ago I burned one out. When I turned it on (already pushed up against my clit) the fucking thing burst into flames! Needless to say I heaved it across the room and cracked into my fire extinguisher. Fire extinguishers are fun to use but they make such a mess. I’m sure you can picture me standing there naked with a fire extinguished vibrator at my feet. I was something more than sad then. More like angry, frustrated and needing a shower. Like a lousy lay but without anyone to throw out in the hall. Yes, I tried to plug that one back in too. It did nothing. I’m glad, it could have exploded, burned the building down, or worse still – it could have worked. Then where would I be?
Anyway, in the tradition that this blog seems to be taking I’m writing another obituary – this time for my vibrator. I loved that fucker. RIP