Archive for September, 2009|Monthly archive page

Good News Everyone!

In Adventure, American Dominatrix, bathroom, BDSM, bitchy, blood, Comedy, corporate america, Cuckold, culture, culture clash, deviance, dominatrix, drama, drinking, Education, facism, FAQ, fetish, friends, friendship, Gaslamp, Golden Showers, kink, neurosis, one-woman show, paying for it, performance, perverts, pissing, politics, porn, Public, San Diego, Sex, sexual politics, sexuality, whores, Widow Centauri on September 26, 2009 at 7:20 am

Last night started in a most ominous fashion.  The tweaker, who I have been attempting to employ to bring my desk out of the driveway and into my apartment, above the garage, flaked again.  Making this day ten or twelve that my giant desk lingers in the driveway baiting the landlord (who lives in the front house) to come ask me about it.


Then my friend Karl called me.  Karl has been a friend for some twenty years.  I know he is having an affair and I tried to advise to the best way to keep it on the down low.  But sadly Karl has gotten caught.  He was having a giddy moment of lust called love last night and when I couldn’t take it anymore I hung up and took my laptop, a bottle of two-buck chuck, and a plate of hummus, olives, cheese, and flatbread down into the driveway to work on a proper desk.

Grad school is a bitch.  I’m a walking cliché with my exhaustion, my boxes of unpacked madness making my apartment resemble a storage unit, and me in the driveway with a bottle of two dollar wine sitting at a full sized office desk at midnight – when the phone rang.

Apparently Mark saw my new ad on Eros.  It’s a real hoot.  Makes certain I won’t get too many calls.  Check it out – look in fetish fantasy in sd.

Mark talks me into coming to his room at the Hyatt.  He tells me he is black and smart.  I’m pretty easy really.  When I get there I discover that he smokes pot, that he is as horny as I am, that he is gorgeous, buff, dark, smart (as promised), that his mother was / is a librarian, that he lives on the east coast and that his real name is not mark.

After we toke up I tell him to strip.  Then he is kissing my back, something that I discover he is very good at. He is kissing me all over with his big lips, I’m melting.  Simply melting.

I haven’t had good sex in well over a year. Last week I got a practice run to see if it really is like riding a bicycle. It is! This Mark knows what he is doing. Oh yes, he does.

The kissing is rapidly followed by me sliding a magnum onto his dick that is big, not the biggest I have taken, but not disappointing.  I cannot wrap my had around it.  It is long and thick and I go to back onto it and he directs me to my back.  I would normally, in my ubber neurotic state, not let anyone get on top of me, but he is so mellow and strong and soft that I trust him.  For no real obvious reason I trust him.  So I get on my back and guide is cock into my dripping vagina.

I am immediately overcome by a huge dick in me.  Yes, it feels good but it hurts a little too. Mister curve was a lot smaller than this dude.  I wonder if I can take it.  I know I can.  I want to.  I am so turned on and so horny and he pushes his dick inside me.  I moan. It still hurts, but just a little and in a good way.  A real good way!

He pumps real slow at first, then faster then faster and deeper until I come and come and come.  I am moaning like I haven’t been laid in a year.

We keep fucking like this till I tell him I simply must flip over.  I stick my ass in the air, add some lube to my already well-lubricated pussy, and as he slides his dick into me he grabs my hips – I loose it.  I am one big orgasm.  I am coming and coming and screaming and he is shooshing me – like that will work.  I put my face in a pillow and scream and moan as he squeeze and pumps and slaps my ass and pulls my hair and I am, simply put, in heaven.

One thing that struck me while we were fucking like this was when he slapped my ass the first time there was no wiggle.  Nothing wiggly, just a hard ass that, while slappable and round did not wiggle like it has all the times that I have had sex with aggressive black men.  I was a little sad.  I wondered where I lost my ass.  I lost a lot of weight.  My ass is still back there but not all of it.  Not even most of it.  No wiggle.

But enough with the existential ass woes, I’m getting some!  Hurray for me!   This dude can fuck.  It seems like it goes on forever.  I’m in a trance.  Orgasm after orgasm washes over me.  I know nothing but the sex that I am.  I am moaning and screaming having the best time I have had in a long time.

We flip, fuck this way, that way, every way we can.  Then I have to pee.  I put him in the tub and I’m fucking him. Riding him, he is moaning, it is dark, he reminds me of a gorilla – but I don’t say that, it seems like it might take away from the mood, I’m bouncing up and down, then I pull his cock out of me and squat over it, I let a big stream of piss shoot all over his dick.  He is muttering something about how sexy it is, I keep pissing and pissing and pissing.  Then when I have no more piss I slide his dick back in me.  I ride him and we make a wet suction – slurp slurp slurp

When I’m done in the bathtub we head back to the bed.  I stick my ass in the air and he slips he dick in me.  I stand on my toes, which are wet with piss, we pump against one another and pump and pump.  I am screaming so loud that I shove my face in a pillow, again.  I’m having some fantastic orgasms.  I’m so fucking loud that no one on the 15th floor of the Hyatt is asleep.   No one.  I’m getting fucked like I need to be getting fucked.  I’m a riot of overwhelming sexy squirting fluids and noises.

We get back into the bed, fuck some more in ways that I am not certain of, I come, he comes, we collapse.  He suggests that I sped the night.  I say “I’m not much for slumber parties” and then I cuddle up to Mark.  His skin is soft and dark.  He tells me I can bite him as we discuss the positive aspects of vampirism.  I bite him and bite him and bite him. I opt to not break his skin as I don’t even know him.  I bite to the point just before skin breakage.  If you bite you know that spot, if not, imagine.

In our post-orgasmic, post cosmic fuck bliss we talk about politics, literacy rates, travel and food, and my ass.  We giggle.  I fall into his arms and pass out.  We cuddle for a few hours, have some more sex and spend the sun-filled part of the day eating food, smoking weed, getting him to the airport so he can head back east.  I watch enviously as he heads into the airport to travel to the better part of the country.

Hopefully I will see Mark again.  If not, it was a swell time.  I’m glad that I opted for the slumber party, got my fuck on, and for the first time in a long time – relaxed!

Thanks Mark

The Business of Professional Domination

In American Dominatrix, BDSM, bitchy, bondage, Comedy, deviance, discount domination, dominatrix, dungeon, Education, FAQ, fetish, forced feminazation, fun, Gaslamp, GLBT, GLBTQ, Golden Showers, Happy Hour, kink, one-woman show, Parties, paying for it, performance, perverts, politics, Rubber Chickens, San Diego, sensual domination, sexual politics, sexuality, Tour, Touring, Widow Centauri on September 19, 2009 at 3:28 am

I am teaching The Business of Professional Domination at Dungeon Servitius in downtown San Diego Saturday September 19th at 6:00 PM.  A party follows.  It’s just ten bucks to get so come.

This is one of my favorite workshops.  I love to teach business, whip out my graphs, stats, and show off my way too many years of experience in this industry.

Also, I’m working on a book of this same topic so I have a lot of information to cover.  If you want to know how to make a little extra money as a prodommes or you want to make a career out of this gig – come to this workshop!

It’s good for clients too.  I’m wicked excited so I hope I see you there!

Visit http://www.dungeonservitus.com for details and to rsvp.

I Got Laid!

In Adventure, American Dominatrix, BDSM, bondage, Comedy, culture, dating, deviance, dominatrix, drama, FAQ, friends, fun, Happy Hour, kink, neurosis, one-woman show, Parties, performance, perverts, politics, San Diego, Sex, sexual politics, sexuality, shoes, sweat, Widow Centauri on September 19, 2009 at 3:24 am

There is nothing sexy about sandy eggo.  Not a god dam thing.  Last year when school started I sent my girlfriend back east and I put my nose in a book.  bout a hundred of em’ actually.  A year later I looked up to realize that this town managed to turn me into a cold frigid bitch.  This is antithetical to my natural sex goddess existence.  Last week when I got real sick with what I was certain was a life threatening illness I went to an acupuncturist.  She put all these needles in me and it felt really good until I left and I started hacking, I was cold and hot and dizzy and I thought I was dying.  I had a panic attack, a blood sugar freak out.  I thought I was getting old.  Shit I was really freaked out.  I couldn’t even walk a couple days there.  After I went to the ER and the doctor suggested that it might be stress I decided it was time for me to get laid.

As it happened the beautiful black man from the pizza parlor political adventure called me up.  I returned his suggestion to get together with “I’ll just come to your place and we can fuck.”  He liked this plan but as it worked out he has a “roommate.”  So we met at a hotel.  It has been a long time since I have even been touched by another person so I was a tad neurotic, to say the least.

I told him how I have turned into a germ-aphobe, how there was no way I could kiss him, and then we got naked.

His dick was one of those curved dicks.  It was shaped like a sex toy designed to stimulate the g-spot.  My fucking lucky day.  I grabbed it, slid a rubber on it, and took it for a ride.  It felt so delicious to have a beautiful black man in me.  Ohhhhhhhhhh, I moaned.  I rode him for a while, spun around, stood up in my new Dior open toed pumps, jumped up on the vanity, had him fuck me all over the room.

At some point he picked me up and carried me over to the bed, laying me on my back.  Now I’m not usually much for the missionary position, but with that crazy curved cock of his I was more than happy to lay there on my back while he rocked slowly in and out of me.  Then quick, then slow, then quick.  He had some technique.  I came over and over and over.

After an hour and a half of fucking we collapsed into a heap.  Like the horny little bitch I am I asked him if he could do it again or if he was a one hit wonder.  He laughed.  We passed out and in the morning I found myself waiting in line at the DMV thinking I should have tied him up and demanded more sex.

It was a hot night of crazy curved cock action.  I might just see him again.  I know one thing – I feel a lot better.  A lot more relaxed and now that my year of celibacy has been broken you can expect a lot more sexcapades on this blog of mine.

Hurray I got laid!  Watch out sexy black men.

Fuck The Sun!

In bitch, bitchy, blood, bullshit, culture, deviance, discrimination, drama, FAQ, neurosis, one-woman show, performance, politics, the flu, violence, Widow Centauri, yoga on September 19, 2009 at 3:21 am

Fuck the sun

I feel like I am hung-over.  All day I was in the sun.  Not on a boat or at the beach but in a coffee house with windows, and driving across town.  Just generally exposed to the sunlight.  I feel beaten up.  At 1:30 I was sobbing in the Kinko’s parking lot it hurt so bad.

It’s like the light burns into my soul.  It makes everything ache.  I get cold, hot, shaky.  I feel my sink burning.

I wear SPF 100, long sleeves, a hat, carry an umbrella, and based on recent advice from a dermatologist — I have started wearing gloves.  I see these sun lovers walking around in shorts and t-shirts and I wonder why they don’t feel what I feel.  I’m pretty sure that a large part of the sun poisoned feeling comes through the light I see.  Through my eyes.  My skin feels thin and fair.  I should not live in such a sunny place.  This is really horrible.

When I finally got out of the sun at 3:00-ish I hid in my closet, as my drapes are still not hung.  I have a little hiding spot of sorts in the walk in closet.  It is the only place in my new apartment that is not saturated with light.  So I went in there and hid.  I wanted to go to yoga but I felt so sick – like I was gonna vomit – like I had a migraine – like I was gonna die —  that I could do nothing but lay there and wait for the sun to go down.  Now that it has I feel immediately better.  The shakes have stopped.  My head feels a little better.  I had some salt and a Guinness.  I expect to feel like myself at about midnight.  Then I’ll get some work done and the fucking ball of illuminating gas will reappear and terrorize me all over again.

I’m not sure what is wrong.  I went to the ER last week.  They ran a blood and urine panel – found nothing wrong with me.  I’m considering having an MRI done to see if I have a tumor or something.  The sun makes me sick.  This is extremely problematic in socal.  I can’t get anything done without encountering a lot of fucking sunlight.

Fuck the sun!

No Pizza, No Beer, No Politics

In Adventure, American Dominatrix, beer, bullshit, censorship, corporate america, culture, culture clash, deviance, discrimination, drama, drinking, Dykes, Education, facism, Family, FAQ, fights, Gay, Gay Bars, GLBT, GLBTQ, Happy Hour, Kindness, neurosis, politics, Public, safety, San Diego, traveling, Widow Centauri on September 1, 2009 at 3:22 pm

I went out to pick up a pizza last night and ended up getting kicked out of the pizza place.  When I called for delivery they explained to me that it would take almost two ours but I could pick it up in 20 minutes.  I was fucking hungry so I said, “I’ll come get it.”

When I got there 35 minutes later it still was not ready.  I said hello to the beautiful black man who was waiting on his pizza too.  To my surprise he was ex-military and quite capable of keeping up a decent conversation about politics.  We sat there drinking beer and discussing the dangers of privatized military, the reality of torture, and the constructs of war.  Our take out came but considering the stimulating conversation we opted to have another beer and eat them there at the bar.

The conversation was lively.  We covered a wide spectrum of political issues that irk me.  At some point I mentioned that I am not very impressed with the gay district here.  All I see here are straight people.  No queer culture, just the part of town you should reside in if you are queer.  Hillcrest is queer tolerant, possibly queer friendly but certainly not the gay Mecca it is dubbed to be.

Once our pizzas had been finished and our second beers were mostly (not completely) gone the tattooed hipster chick who had been serving and pouring snatched them up, dumped them and told us we were not welcome to another one.  “You have offended everyone in this place tonight,” she claimed.

“What did we do?” we inquired.  “Everyone left because of your conversation” she assured us, “even the owner.”  The man I was sitting with was real smooth about it and said something to the nature of “If I were the owner of an establishment and two patrons were offending me and the rest of the people in here I would say something, not leave.”  Strong argument, I thought.

The suicide girl got really upset and told us about our conversation and our swearing and …

The long and short of it was that having a conversation about politics in a bar in Hillcrest was not acceptable.  Apparently the view-points we were discussing were not in tune with the values they hold to be true in this “family friendly” pizza joint and bar on 5th ave.  Saying anything about politics in this town will get you thrown out of a pizza place.  Holy shit!

We went to a bar around the corner and the bar tender refused to give me a beer because I had a passport, not a dl.  Why do you need to have a dl to get a beer?  It seems counter intuitive.  I did not think they encouraged driving to the bar, I had my passport, the most valid form of identification once can have.  Not good enough to get a drink, even when we are the only people sitting there.

This bartender told us that vice has been shaking them down and at one point SDPD actually told them “If you hire X security company, we won’t bother you anymore.” So they actually hired them but the company did such a bad job at carding at the door that they caned X security and now they can’t serve to people who do not drive.  Pretty crazy.  When you stop to think about the implications of the law forcing payment out of a bar in exchange for lessened harassment do you also see the mob?  Do you see the overriding implication of government abusing power?  Do you see where this could lead?

People get very upset when I mention that I do not like San Diego.  People who grew up here seem to take it as a personal attack on them.  It is not.  I loathe sunshine and suburbia.  San Diego is nothing but a sunshine encrusted suburb.  Naturally, I detest it.  Aside from the weather and the city planning there are a number of things here that this region simply lacks.  The thing that most irks me is that the residents of San Diego are so rarely interested in looking at the greater social schema that privileges the wealthy and criminalizes the poor.  This region is extremely racists, classist, and undereducated.  People really believe that they are San Diego and that my distain for this region is a distain for them.  Maybe they are right.