widowcentauri

Archive for the ‘Adventure’ Category

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.

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!

In The Mood

In Adventure, dating, deviance, dominatrix, fun on August 17, 2014 at 8:06 pm

A little update — just cause I have not been posting here much.

You may or may may not know that I had surgery a couple months back. I wish I had spent the healing time wisely: resting, doing PT, and writing. Sadly, I spent most of my time eating pork products and watching films.

I had ten dollars to my name when I went to have surgery. I have less now. Sometimes I’m upset about not having any money. This is the first summer in years that I really don’t give a fuck. It’s always slow in the summer and I can’t beat myself up for a situation that might only be slightly better numbers wise and even worse with stress.

I have however spent a lot of time second guessing myself. Because I’m done with school, and believe in my talents I assume I should be doing something that is not just socially acceptable but is actually something that everyone around me deems worthwhile. Though I love writing and I love sex work I have been harassed every day for since I began my career as an artist and pervert. I have started to actually believe that though I enjoy my work I should be doing something that other people would do. It’s silly and childish to give a fuck what my family thinks at this point. But I do, and I have, and unless I do some serious rearranging of my head I’m gonna keep feeling like I wasted the better part of 200 thousand dollars and more than a decade of my life going to school and learning to write.

It’s important to come to terms with who I am and what I like to do. But it’s also important to realize my skills and ability and my limitations. My major limitations, I’m not 20 and I’m not longer interested in amusing men for hours on end for pocket change. I do like to play but putting in all the hours for the few good sessions I get every once in a while – ones where people actually show up, where I make money and have a crazy good time — it’s hard for me to continue to justify the bullshit that goes into working as a dominatrix and even as a stripper for a lot longer. But it is equally as hard to find a new way for me to get all of the kinky smutty sexy things I get from sex work.

I’m in New Orleans and in the mood to play and have some sexy fun but I’m not sure how long my good mood is gonna last. If you want to play the bet way to make that happen is to call me on niteflirt and talk to me for a bit. I have always been hesitant to play with anyone who does not have references and I still am. I used to have a rule that I would not play with anyone under 30, but lately I seem to feel like a dirty old cougar. Niteflirt is a cheap and easy way for anyone new to my shenanigans to get to know me, see if we have similar interests, and book an appointment. If you can’t spend the few bucks to call me and talk for a few minutes I have very little faith that you will show for your appointment.

Now that I can walk again I’m in the mood to play. I want to go out and do smutty things in public places. I want to piss on boys in public bathrooms, I want to have my feet worshipped down by the river while drinking wine, I want to take a bitch shopping on a leash.

I hope I find a useful boy to amuse me. Lately all the bitches who come into my world disappear just as randomly. That has been happening for as long as I have been a pervert though. Usually it takes a lot of work to find one person who deserves my attention.

Contact me if you think you are a worthy bitch.

I’m in NYC — for a few days — NOW

In Adventure on July 11, 2014 at 4:57 pm

This is a brief update . I am in NYC for a few days. I had foot surgery and can not walk. I want to enjoy NYC but without the ability to walk this seems increasingly difficult. I need a bitch to feed me grapes in the park, to wash my laundry, to make themselves available as a piss pot. I can’t be bothered to walk to the latrine.

I am almost never in NYC. Make yourself useful and show me a good time.

It goes without saying that forking over money is a good way to show me that you are serious and not a time wasting wanker.

Call me on niteflirt and we can set up an appointment.

I Just Had An Orgasm …

In Adventure, drama on May 25, 2014 at 11:42 am

That left me shivering and cold. Sobbing and hyperventilating.  Completely overwhelmed. 
But the orgasm didn’t really feel that strong.  It felt kind of alright.  I have only had a couple orgasms since I came to New England ten days ago to deal with my things, deal with the life I ran away from.  Before I left I had sex with two boys, one 21 years old in the back of a car.  Then immediately I went to the house of the boy who I have been infatuated with for the last several months and spent the night with him.  We snuggled on his couch.  I passed out, high and freshly fucked by another. 
In the morning I climbed into his bed and he fisted me until it was simply time for me to go to the airport.  I didn’t even shower.  I reeked like sex.  When I landed in New England I climbed into bed with two people I barely knew, one of them I had only known for twenty minutes. 
After the earth shattering orgasm I laid on the floor shaking and crying, gasping for breath. Scared and wondering why I was in such a sate and then it hit me all at once.  I have been having a lot of sex after a very long dry spell.  I stayed with this boy, explored his youth and his naive inexperienced fantasies and I thought a lot about my own sexuality.  He fucked me the way I need to be fucked, every day sometimes three times a day, for the better part of three months.  Then it tapered off a little and I really harassed him and manipulated him into having sex with me, then I left town after essentially cheating on him out of spite. 
I had sex with a very hot young man.  It was good and wild and sweaty and I was sure that my little boy(toy)friend would smell the sex on me but I usually smell of sex and maybe his nose does not have a refined distinction of my sex and that of another man.  Maybe he did smell it, maybe I passed out before I could shove my freshly fucked cunt into his face. 
But as I am lying here on the floor I looked up to discover that I am lying under all of my sex toys.  Well many, if not most, of them.  They are all heaped up on a poker table.  I am selling them.  I need to rid myself of things I do not need.  But sex is an essential part of my life and my livelihood.  I laid here sobbing and coming to understand that I need a lover who needs sex in the way that I need sex.  I need someone who can challenge me in the bedroom, someone who can listen to my fantasies and make them a reality with me, not cringe in fear of taboo.  I don’t want to manipulate people into fucking me.  I don’t want to have sex with other men out of spite. 
I spent a large part of the day wondering if I was still kinky.  Wondering if I was straight.  Wasting a lot of time texting and sexting with a grip of dudes.  Am I into men?  I thought I only spent time on straight white men if they were paying me.  Why has my day involved spending so much time chatting up several straight seeming white men? 
One of them I talked on the phone with for four hours.  Now granted it was neighbor dave.  I have a special fondness for talking to neighbor dave.  That bitch can gab like a hen.  We hadn’t really had a chance to talk in over a year, so it was nice to say hello.  But I inadvertently suggested that I was booking a ticket to come see him so we could have copious amounts of anal sex, possibly leading up to anal fisting — something I have wanted to do for a long time but have honestly not thought of as a realistic option for me due to the multi-year dry spell that led me to assume that I had become a frigid sexless old woman. 
But the months with the young man changed my perspective on that. 
I spent a lot of time today wondering about my own sexuality, wondering if I was kinky, if I still liked to have sex with toys, if I was really a dominatrix, if I wanted to keep any of the collection of smutty stuff I have gathered over the years.  And as I laid here sobbing and shaking from what seemed like a timid kind of orgasm that took a really long time, two vibrators and a dirty book to reach; I realized that I need to come to terms with my own needs, my own desires, my fantasies, and my sexuality in a personal context — not a business one. 
Sex has been my business for a very long time.  I have been listening to other peoples fantasies and making them happen for sixteen years.  I have had a couple of long term relationships.  One lasted about ten years but stopped being a sexually fulfilling experience after what now seems like a few months.  I don’t want to stay in a situation where I get wrapped up with someone and stay together because we managed to build a library together.  I need a sex partner. 
And this young man has been fucking me like I have not been fucked in over a decade.  Yeah it is that good. 
But things got strange.  I let myself make silly and downright stupid choices.  I got emotionally involved.  But looking at it now I think that was my inner twelve year old girl.  I have been deprived of sexual love for so very long.  I have not been true to myself about who I am and what I need to make my life a happy place.  I am an extremely sexual person.  I now am beginning to face my own fantasies and having the desire to actually enjoy sex for me, not for my bank account, not for anyone else. 
Lying on the ground under all these toys that I have been sorting and brooding over all day I looked up to see that my sexuality is entering a new phase.  I told my friend TaraEmory.com that I got my slut on in New Orleans.  That is not entirely true.  I did have a lot of sex but it was all with one person until the last day when I had sex with another to spite the man I had been sleeping with.  That last week we had some very violent dark sex.  It was disturbing to me.  I think it killed part of his innocence.  I also think that he no longer wants me to perv out on him.  He certainly wants me to stop obsessing over him like a love struck tween. 
But none of my behavior has anything to do with him.  I’m just reacting to the physical touch, to the overwhelming sensations of having a satisfying sexual relationship after being lost, alone, unloved, untouched in a hostile world that we jokingly started calling misery-land (ie new england).
I get into shit — like really into shit.  I get overwhelmed with emotion.  I’m a passionate human.  I embrace things completely and let them consume me.  I just spent three months playing house with a boy eleven years younger than me.  We had a pregnancy scare — I just got my tubes tied and thought that my very late period represented what it did last time I was sleeping with a man and jumped to conclusions.  My body is going though a lot of changes and I have not been nice to it.  I have been living a very excessive life.  My late period was stress related and altering my birthcontrol only served to facilitate the panic.  We had a conversation that we should not have had about the possibility of me being knocked up.  I had my tubes tied for a reason, he does not like to kill things.  He is young and idealistic.  I am older and more cynical.  Babies at this stage in my life are a horrible idea.  I can’t even take care of myself anymore, no.  No babies.
But I got caught up in a sexy time that would have been just a sexy time if it had played out any different.  But it turned into this drawn out mini-relationship with all of the madness of a year long saga in just a few short months. 
And I miss the little twerp.  I’m not even sure I like him.  I’m pretty sure he does not like me.  We like each other sexually and that is where our enjoyment of one another ends.  But it seems to me that he is very closed off to new sexual experiences that do not revolve around direct contact with my sex.  For the first time in a long time I actually have a sex drive of my own.  I want to try things that I have not had the opportunity to do, or to do for fun.  I want to play extreme gender games.  I want to dress like a boy and be fucked in the ass in seedy public toilets.  I want to corset train and make myself look like a sex doll.  I want to turn on my webcam and get dressed up in fetish clothing — for my pleasure, not profit.  This desire to have pleasure for the sake of pleasure (sans financial profit) does not make sense to me.  But he does not want to turn on his camera.  I brought my camera with me so I could have camsex, he wants no part of it.  I’m going though my sex toys and thinking about the sort of things I want to do to him but I find myself wondering if he will be into these things and then I wonder why I care what he likes.  I want to force it on him, make him like it.  But I don’t want to fight anyone to enjoy sex with me.  I’m an awesome lover.  I want to find new partners. 
But finding people who I am sexually compatible with is easier typed out than done.  I’m just not that into most people.  People have little appeal to me.  And this boy is acting like a prick.  I know he wants me to go the fuck away.  I assume that once I really do he will come calling but once I get over him I will be on to something else. 
I kind of wish I could turn my sex drive off again.  I did that rather intentionally when I started grad school.  But that was six years ago and I have been miserable ever since.  I don’t want to go six more years with no sex.  I don’t want to go six more days with no sex.  I have an insatiable sexuality.  But I’m really kind of picky.  I like a certain kind of person.  And after the sobbing orgasm I think I need to really focus on making my sex life a priority. 
This is a slippery slope.  My sexuality is all tied up with money.  I like to do smutty things for cash.  I very much enjoy the exchange of energy that happens with the exchange of sex for currency.  It somehow makes it hotter.  Even if it isn’t the sort of person I would sleep with if I wasn’t being paid. Even when the sex is mediocre. Maybe it’s the taboo of whoring that makes it hot.  Maybe it’s the timeframe — “quick we have an hour or two let’s make this hot!” It’s the intimate understanding that happens with the exchange of cash for sex — both people involved need that kind of connection, for whatever reason, no questions asked. But I’m somehow hoping to get away from sex work.  I’m not really sure why because it is incredibly satisfying to me.  I guess cause I don’t want to get arrested. There is a witch hunt going on out there. I don’t want to be looking around wondering if I’m walking into a sting, if I slept with that random guy over there with his family, if anyone will ever really love me. 
I’m in a place right now where I find myself wanting to explore my own sexual fantasies and having no one to explore them with.  I have served the sexual needs of thousands of men over the years.  I know the drill.  I know how to ask the questions, how to get the important aspects of the fantasy out into the open.  I am open and honest about what I need during a sexy time.  But I’m alone in my journey, like so many of my clients have been.  If I had money to pay sex workers I would have sought their services a number of years ago.  I like the exchange of cash for sex.  I like the therapeutic necessity of seeking sex workers services.  I like the matter of fact conversation that happens, no need to be coy or nervous — it never helps the scene. 
But I am only now coming to terms with my new life.  I ran away from home many months back and have not really settled down yet.  I only just came back to New England to deal with the boxes of books and sex toys, the broken old cars, the fuckton of shoes, the misery and dissatisfaction — the old life I ran away from.  So here I am on the floor of someone’s house who I barely know.  I’m digging through my things frantically.  I’m trying to keep calm but it is not easy.  I need to sell all the things.  I need to pay my rent and bills.  I need to get some of my things back to my new place.  I keep saying I’m getting rid of all the things but I’m not sure that is even remotely feasible.  Besides needing some of the things like a few pairs of pants and socks (I have been living with one pair of pants for months) I would like to keep some of the artwork, a couple of corsets, some books and my sex toys.  I want to keep all the toys.  I want to cling to them.  I want to hold them close and hope that they will satisfy me sexually, emotionally, spiritually.  They will not.  The only way I can get what I am looking for is to move past the old life that I ran away from.  I have to take a cold hard look at the things I have surrounded myself with and see what is no longer serving me.  I need to sell some of my sex toys.  I need to sell things that I acquired thinking things would make me happy. 
Then I should send that boy a letter and find a new lover.  For the first time in a long time I want to have someone hold me, touch me, kiss me.  I have been a stone cold bitch for too long.  I have been miserable and I’m tired of dancing around my needs, groping strangers in dark strip clubs as a solitary means of physical contact.  I want someone to make wild passionate love with.  But how in the hell am I supposed to find that? 
  

Happy Mardi Gras!

In Adventure on February 25, 2014 at 8:15 pm

Happy Mardi Gras!

I’m in New Orleans until further notice. In October I went to Alaska and when I came home it appeared as though my life had gone to shit. My neighbor had seriously upped the dysfunction in the building. There were bedbugs all over near her downstairs unit, then she set off a bug bomb and they came upstairs. I called the landlord and he told me he would evict her. He didn’t. I came to NOLA for a few weeks and on my way back to new england I was on a trail that derailed. I had a strange and very drunk adventure in one of the carolinas. When I finally returned to new england I was greeted to a dead fridge, a slightly improved bedbug problem, and an ever increasing mountain of bills. I prepared to return to New Orleans, thinking I would wait out the neighbor and see what happened. I packed up some of my important stuff and thenI went out for takeout. I was gonna get on a flight the next morning at 6 am. While I was out getting nam-yah the downstairs neighbor kicked in my kitchen door. I returned to find her and one of her many boyfriends in my kitchen high as fuck looking for her cat. Yeah bitch your cat, my home. Why they hell are you in my kitchen? I called the cops and got the hell out of town. Fuck that shit. I called my family and asked them to pack my shit up cause I’m not coming back to that nonsense. That crazy bitch terrorized me for a whole fucking year. I loved my flat but I was in constant fear of encountering the neighbor. She could not help herself, she saw me and screamed at the top of her lungs. For a while I hated her, thought she had ruined my life, now I just feel kind of sad for her. She had three babies and no car, job, man, nothing. Her parents paid her rent and she was in her 30s. She must feel so powerless that she needs to scream at people over things like where they park their cars, what they drink, how they live their lives when it has no bearing on her life at all. So I just split. I could not take the nonsense anymore. I moved to New Orleans and I left all the trappings of my life behind. I left my cars, my books, my pants. Everything, just box it up or toss it — I don’t really care.
I rented a place in New Orleans and my mediocre credit was not a problem, neither was my transient nature or my lack of local landlord references. I just told the owner that I work on bourbon street as a stripper and gave him a deposit. No bullshit. And I started riding a bike to get around. I started to feel a lot better. I began to think that the crazy neighbor didn’t ruin my life, maybe she saved it. I love New Orleans. I always have. Quite frankly I’m shocked I didn’t move here years ago. I always assumed that I would move here if my life ever just went to shit and I wanted to drink away my potential. And for a few weeks I did try to drink away my potential, but then things started just working out and now I’m doing alright. I’m pretty fucking happy. I’m having sexy times and living a vampire life, in a town where lots of people live vampire lives. It is refreshing. I feel like a lot of the health problems I was having are clearing up. I honestly did not expect that I would ever feel any better, that the most I could hope for was a basic level of health maintenance but now I feel like maybe things will be alright. I’m really glad I got the hell out of new england.

North, To Alaska!

In Adventure on September 22, 2013 at 7:34 am

Since I was a very small child I have had a fascination with the last frontier. I went once, just as I was hooking up with the person who I have spent the last ten years in a strange and complicated relationship with. I went to ‘find myself’ I spent a week and saw some beautiful things, then I came home content to have at least gone to see.

But this trip is different. I am heading to alaska for work. I will be there doing some academic things and some sexy things.

If you are in Alaska and want to see me, my plans (which are subject to change) look a little like this:

Anchorage 25 September – 1 October — I am planning on hitting the Crazy Horse Saloon as soon as I get to town, so stopping in and looking for me is a good way to say hi. But things might not work out there (as shit at titty bars often goes south fast) so I might head to a different one.

I imagine all will be fine at the Crazy Horse so come find me and bring money.

I am available for sessions in Alaska — Public humiliation and golden showers are my favorite but I am meeting up with another dominatrix shortly after my arrival — she offers hypnosis sessions (something I used to specialize in) so if you want a dual domme hypno session now is the time to communicate with me.

After the first of October we will either be heading to Good Time Charlie’s (I hear this place is a freak show worth the trip) or moving on to Fairbanks where I will be dancing at Reflections until the 10th or 11th of October.

I’m hoping that Fairbanks is awesome and that I want to return soon.

So come out and play with me in Alaska — who knows if I will ever make it up there again. Maybe if you come impress me I won’t ever leave …

To schedule a session email me at wcinsandyeggo@gmail.com or call 619.884.2376 (if you want to chat call me on niteflirt).

More Fun — and Toilet Paper.

In Adventure, bullshit, dominatrix, Golden Showers, Public on August 23, 2013 at 8:09 pm

So earlier in the week a wanker contacted me with a seemingly real proposition. We made a plan to meet up Thursday afternoon, but I was dealing with several other thursday appointments that I was trying to squeeze him in the middle of. No real shocker — wanker turned out to be a phony time wasting ‘I’m gonna fuck with this dominatrix when she is clearly having a hard time’ type. Whatever.

The magic that manifested itself because he flaked was worth dealing with the nonsense.

I met up with a sugar daddy from the horrendous website. This man was old and ugly, but he could keep up his end of the conversation. When I asked him what type of sex he liked to have he blushed like a school girl. After another glass of wine I took him to the bathroom and used him like the dirty bitch he wanted to be. I felt so lucky.

I bent him over the toilet and rammed his ass. It was a little dirty so when I was done fucking his rump I turned him around and used his face. I made him lick the shit off my cock. Then I fucked his mouth till he gagged. He was a fucking mess.

When my little dildo game was over I had to pee. He told me he had never consumed piss before, so I made him open wide and drink every drop. He slurped at it, wanting more. I took his shower virginity in a fancy ass Boston bathroom and then I put on my chucks and went to catch my train home.

I was glad the night was not a total wash. I’m not sure if I am gonna see this dude again though. He seemed a little freaked out that I was willing to move that fast. I think he was prepared for something a little more vanilla with a touch of kink — not the full fledged ‘fucking you in the bathroom and making you drink my piss’ experience that he will no doubt jerk off to for months and months and months.

I came home and looked at my finances. I hope I see this sugar daddy again, even if he seems to be a little more on the saccharine daddy side.

The good news is that I finally had a little fun. The bad news is that his accounts would not withdraw enough money for me to actually pay all my fucking bills.

I’m out of everything and trying to not feel sorry for myself. I am doing a lot of things that most people could not pull off, so I need to pat myself on the back. But I still need food. I’m about to run out of toilet paper again, my surplus of extensions on bills is exhausted, so I’m looking at the fact that I have to pay this huge bill about two months ago and if I don’t get it paid this week my whole world will implode. To say nothing of my rent. This bill trumps the rent.

I need to hire two seperate lawyers. One to sue my bitch neighbor for vandalizing my automobiles, and another because some wanker (possibly someone who is reading this) is potentially stealing my content and making a profit on it, claiming to have the rights to do so.

Oh, why?

My life needs more fun. More times like last night. Fewer bullshit encounters with trashy bitches and internet wankers and thieves.

I wish I could go to lawschool. Not a month goes by when I don’t wish I could pull off a law program. I constantly find myself needing more information abbot legal encounters. I just have shit for money to hire lawyers on top of everything else tight now.

I’m gonna try to not run out of food and toilet paper first. Well second, after I pay this impossible bill from hell.

It would be awesome to have a couple public sessions before I leave New England for good.

If we have had sexy times while I have been in the region, now would be a good time to contact me (by email) and come play. I’m feeling reckless and want to push some limits.

Also you will have to buy me toilet paper. Just saying.

Save My Fat Ass

In Adventure on August 1, 2013 at 8:13 pm

Most of July I spent inside, suffering from the first real migraine I have had in over a year. It was brought on by stress. I fell down. I was sick. I could not cope with the smells and sounds and lights. July was a miserable month for me. Consequently I worked three days. I have no idea how I managed to not run out of food. I found myself eating a lot of popcorn.

Last week I figured I should really go to work, pay the rent. I summoned up the strength to get out of bed. It took me a week to get ready to go to a strip club. I shaved on day one. On day two I did my nails. On day three I packed my gear. On day four I stretched. On day five I gave myself an enema. On day six I shaved again. On day seven I went to work.

Money was decent. Not what I needed or wanted. Not the spare change it could have been. When I got home I felt like a truck had hit me. Everything came smashing back in my face. The headache was not a horrific migraine but it was a nagging constant pain that consumed my whole body. I slept for huge stretches. My sleep cycle got more dicked up than ever before. I was sleeping from 2PM till midnight. Try as I might I was stuck in a loop of perpetual exhaustion.

Last night I looked at my situation. I needed $200 to have my rent. Against my better judgment I went to the Gold Club. When I got in there were a few guys in the place, I got out there with the intention of making a measly couple of benjies. It looked like it was gonna be a long slow clawing to get the rest of my rent out of this club.

The last train leaves the region at 10:30 PM. At 11:30 I was fired from the gold club for having too much ass. I assumed it was gonna happen sooner or later. But it was really bad timing. I had made a little over $40 and I had no idea where I was gonna chill for the next six hours while I waited for the first AM train. I figured I would take my shit and sit in front of the club, make some sort of choice about my situation and get on with it. Just as I parked my big fat ass on the bench in front of the club a dozen or so cop cars rolled in. They pulled a drug dog out of one of them. The dog was going nuts. I decided I needed to get the hell out of there and went to the dunkin donuts and called a cab. While I waited it seemed like the club was getting raided. My cab came and whisked me away from what looked like a real bummer. I was never so glad to get shit-canned. They fired me at the exact moment that I needed to go. My big fat ass really came through. Going to jail would have been way too much for my system. It would have totally ruined my night and several days. The fact that I only made $40 and was told to not pop my booty in this town again — yeah whatever. I’m really glad I skipped out right before the raid. Thanks Booty.

The cab ride was $20. So was the one that I took to get to the club. I spent the whole night waiting for a train. It finally started to get cold. I was lucky enough to find an accessible power outlet and made myself a cup of tea. Yes, I have an electric tea kettle in my stripper gear. I like tea. I sat reading and stretching and drinking tea until the sun finally cam up and the train pulled into the station.

By the time I got home I was determined to go and work day shift at a club that I have been terrified to go to. I’m a pretty seasoned old bitch, titty bars don’t scare me. This one has been haunting me. I keep thinking the money will be better in what I have labeled ‘The Scariest Dive in the World.’ This place was in the news a few years back because they had minors working in the club. It is rumored to be the skankiest club in all the land. But it is also rumored to have money and no schedule and a show up and work policy.

I got to my flat and it was daytime. I took a shower, did some more yoga, ate some eggs, put on another coat of stripper paint, and forced myself to go to The Scariest Dive In The World — right in the middle of the day. My landlord is all up my ass for the rent and I’m still a tad shy. I went to the dive. I assumed I could just stroll in and work, but I called first, and they confirmed this. They told me to come in. When I got there a person who looked like a big square building told me that he would take my number and call me. I was kind of livid. It was full bright sunshine out there. They were gonna send me away, make me go back out into the light. FUCK.

I didn’t really know where to go, so I came home. I wasn’t prepared to try any upscale clubs. The few nasty dives that I could get to were at least an hour away in the opposite direction. I just came home and made a pot of tea. In a few hours I’m gonna call my landlord and explain my situation.

Unless I can find $200 in the next four hours via the internut.

Wanna be my captain save a ho?

Yes, yes you do. Email, call, text, whatever. Just come save this big fat broke ass from the hell that is my life. No one can save me but you captain!

Slightly Less Hostile

In Adventure, bitchy, dominatrix, New England, strip club on June 29, 2013 at 6:56 am

I am feeling slightly less hostile this week. I’m not sure why. I went to the Gold Club and stayed in a hotel for two nights. I worked three shifts in a row. First night was horrible. I was glad I thought to bring money for the room cause there was no one in the titty bar to hook me up with the massive pile of cash I was counting on. Night two went pretty much the same way until late in the evening a put together looking middle aged dude with a tie sat at my stage and told me he had come from a wake. I took him to the boom boom room and squashed him with my juicy ass. Then I tied him up in what was pretty pathetic stocking bondage. After his wallet was drained he handed me a slip of paper. I assumed it was his number but no, even better, it was the address of his hotel. Yeah, I’m on my way, sure, cause I just danced for ten hours in eight inch platforms I clearly want to keep the party going at this 3am hour. Thanks for the suggestion dude but I’m gonna go wash the hooker off my face.

Day three was a gem to remember. Some creeper tried to talk me into giving him half price dances and then during the first song he came in his pants. Lovely. As the night went on, and on, and on there was no one in this club. I began to think that mr sticky spot would be the highlight of the evening but then like a unexpected check in the mail in walked Santa Clause. I saw dollar signs and ran up to him throwing my arms around him. After some simple pleasantries santa took a crumpled dollar bill and jammed his hand down my panties with it. Woah there santa, this is not that kind of club. He proceeded to tell me about a club where he finger fucked a dancer then put his finger in some other dancers mouth. So I l told him about the time I saw a feature dancer shove a dildo in her ass on stage, remove it and shove it in a customers mouth. Yep, it was story time. Finally after Santa made several attempts at putting dollar bills into my cooter I hauled him into the lap dance room. About two minutes into the song he tried to bite my boob and that was about all I could take. I grabbed his balls and twisted like I was trying to get a lid off a jar. I leaned in and whispered into his ear “you have been very naughty santa. Would you like me to rip your balls off or would you like to hand me a hundred dollars for this dance?” he gasped and tried to squirm. “You have tried to shove your hands in my panties, suggested that I am underage, and made every possible attempt to make me uncomfortable and take advantage of me. Fuck you santa. You are the reason that strippers hate their jobs” Then I pulled as hard as I could and he started to panic. “Don’t do that, please let go” “Oh I will let go when you hand me a hundred dollars for dealing with your bullshit. And if you don’t I’m gonna take this evil germ covered shoe and jam the heel into your eye socket. Sound fun?” he put his hand into his pocket and handed me a crispy ben franklin. I grabbed my things and walked off. When I went to tip out the DJ I mentioned that I almost killed santa. He laughed and said “you could send that creeper down the river and no one would notice.”

I left slightly irked and without enough money. On my way home some california surfer dude tried to talk to me. I told him I didn’t want to have to talk to men ever agin. His response: wow, I like that, you’re keeping it real.

I like New England today. I can hate everyone and no one give a shit. Fuck Santa. Fuck Surfers. Fuck you.

I feel better.