Archive for October, 2014|Monthly archive page

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.

The Left Shoe Bandit!

In Adventure on October 11, 2014 at 12:29 pm

I cry when I tell people how much it hurts when people who I care about tell me that I am too weird to be part of their lives. I actually cry. I have been told that I don’t fit in and that I am too much for people to handle and thus need to remove myself from situations more times than I can count, but it never hurts any less. I never see it coming, even though the warning signs are there, even though.

On this particular night I was snuggling with this boy thing I have been entertained by for what is way past the expiration point of this romance and has finally been distilled down to the only part that is enjoyable for the two of us — sex. When he told me that he didn’t want to talk to me any more and that I was too weird to be his girlfriend I tried to not laugh and I tried to not cry. But I did both, I just sort of blurted them out. Then I got drunk on gin with his cat.

At some point during the gin drunk, the cat and I decided it would be hilarious to take one of ever shoe he had and hide it, you know as a practical joke. The boy must have 50 pairs of shoes and they are all piled by the front door, and his gym bag was there — how could I help it? Would you want me to help it? He was upstairs sleeping and I was drunk on his sofa talking to his cat who has a clipped ear (indicating that she was spayed by the humane societies program that prevents breeding of feral cats) and a chopped off two thirds tail that indicates she is a bad ass and has seen some shit.

Naturally the cat and I are a devious pair.

So I put one of ever shoe in the bag. I didn’t notice that they had all been left shoes. But they were. I stashed them outside and hoped no one would steal the bag. I went back in and had a fight and then a snuggle on the couch — just feet from the missing shoes — we snuggled there for five hours. Then I tell him I’m going to Elizabeth’s for breakfast and jump up, taking off quickly, before he can spot the missing shoes. At this point I’m just flabbergasted that he has not actually seen them, or rather seen them not.

I go outside and as I walk past the place I stashed the bag I realize that it is gone. Shit! The bag is gone. This floods me with emotions ranging from panic, to confusion, to a raging set of the giggles. I am overjoyed that my job has gone wrong and yet I am terrified because I now realize the severity of what I have done. This boy is not going to be happy when he finds his shoes have gone for a one sided walk without him. I assumed that he would never speak to me again. I was not sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing, it just was. And I began to laugh and cry and hyperventilate. And it rained.

Later he came to my home in a rage, asking my offspring to please have their mother return his left shoes. I’m sure he looked like a speed freak misfit on my porch, barefoot, looking for his shoes.

I also got an email from him threatening to report the theft of all his left shoes to the New Orleans police and then I busted out in laughter because in NOLA they have real crim. A nilly little white boy going in to report that his sometimes girlfriend made off with all his left shoes is only going to induce a litany of jokes from the police. I imagined a scene from reno 911 and it made me happy, really happy.

At this point I’m not sure what happened to his shoes. I assume that someone took the bag, went a couple blocks, looked in it and dumped the shoes, opting to keep what ever good stuff may have been in the bag. I started to worry, was his wallet in the bag? I knew his keys were not in the bag as soon as I heard about his shoeless appearances.

I was giddy. I was kind of scared. I was elated to see how this was going to play out. Part of me wanted him to never find them. After another hour or so I got an email from him suggesting that he found the bag of shoes and that it was an awesome practical joke. Though the email seemed a little stilted, suggesting that maybe I was really going to throw them into the rubbish and that this was his attempt to play nice hoping to have them returned. I was not sure if he really found them, but I let it ride, when I saw him on tuesday he had indeed found his shoes.

But dam if that was not a special time to be messing with someone and not hurting them at all. I love a good mind fuck, especially one that takes over and pulls the fuckee even further into the game. Especially a silly game.

I am the left shoe bandit!