Archive for November, 2009

I got an email today from my one regular fuck, the Consultant, letting me know that we would no longer be fucking.  The very good reason for cutting me off was that he’ll no longer be in San Francisco.

We met (twice) through Craig’s List and soon fell into a fun routine where’d we meet for drinks or dinner, then go back to his hotel room to fuck, sleep naked (something I don’t normally do), fuck some more in the morning, and then he’d go off to work while I showered and finally walked home.  Often, I’d meet up with my friend Ramona since she’s the only person I know who is up early in the morning, but who doesn’t have to rush off to work.

The Consultant was in San Francisco, uh, consulting for a large company headquartered here.  He was here Monday though Friday for work and went back home to his wife and youngest kid in Atlanta on the weekends.  When he was here he wanted to have some fun in the sack when he wasn’t working.  Fine with me.

The “relationship” lasted several weeks, over the course of which we saw each other roughly once a week.  The first few weeks he stayed at a different hotel every time we saw each other.  And then the last few weeks he stayed at the St. Francis, but always in a different room.  We never fucked in the same place twice, which was, of course, a lot of fun.

We had a nice time together, carrying on decent conversations.  There was never any illusions about our relationship ever being more than it was, which was very comforting.  It may have been the most straightforward relationship I’ve ever had.

When we met he told me his consulting contract would end in January so today’s email was a bit of a shock.  But I’m not hurt, I don’t feel let down, and I’m certainly not sad.

I’m happy we had fun while it lasted.  He had (and I hope still has) a nice thick cock.  He fucked me nice and hard, in my pussy, ass, and mouth.  We had fun with various toys I’d bring along on our dates.  He liked licking my pussy.  He made me come nice and hard.

Best of all, his favorite way to fuck me was from behind, which is my favorite way to get fucked.

Now to find some more regular fucks ….

I swear.  True story.

I eat too much and I don’t know why.  Except that I’m bored and I think I’m hungry but I’m not.  I want a cute little, tight butt – will I ever have one?  Didn’t work out again tonight.  I obviously need to be more disciplined.  Instead I came home, ate, got stoned, talked to Henry, and ate some more.  If I just wouldn’t eat late at night.  For a little bit I was doing great.  I think that was before I started smoking pot so often though.  I need to be more strict about that too ’cause I do not want to turn into a mushball.  Well, more of one than I am now.  I want to be able to go to the beach in a skimpy bathing suit and know everyone’s staring at me not because I’ve made a perfect fool of myself by wearing it but because I look damn good.  I’ll still have big legs though ’cause that’s just the way they are and I can’t help it.  But I want the back s of my thighs to be smooth with just a bulge of muscle.  That would make me quite happy.  I know it wouldn’t change my life so suddenly I would get asked out on dates all the time, but it would improve my attitude and people would be able to see that.  Or maybe I’m just dreaming again.  Like dreaming about Henry and myself.  It just reminds me of those crushes and fantasies that always disappointed me ’cause they never came true.  That’s when I stopped with the fantasies ’cause I was tired of being depressed.  I have a feeling I’m setting myself up for disappointment once again.  No wonder I reverted to females – they’re much easier to deal with and they don’t say no.  Wonder why that is?  But then he must like me if he wants to talk to me every day.  But then I could just be a buddy.  But then do you talk to a buddy every day?  Yes, every day Laura calls you or vice versa and same with Beth almost.  Is it too much for me to ask for a normal relationship with a male?  Maybe not “normal” but maybe average, regular, run ‘o the mill?  Tortilla is stuck in my throat.  Erica hasn’t called in a while.  We got into several arguments during the last conversation we had so maybe that’s why.  But she knows that that’s just normal for us and we end up talking about sex in the very next conversation.  I should go to sleep.  Otherwise I might be cranky at work tomorrow.  And I wouldn’t want to cause strife between myself and any of the other workers at my great company.  Ooops, I put myself first, shame on me.  Maybe I should ask him what he’d do if I jumped on him.  He’s say, “I dunno” and giggle.  He’s quite cute but getting more human which is good so he doesn’t make me so nervous.  For some reason I’m not making as much of an effort to keep in touch with Rachel but it’s ’cause I’m busy and don’t have any money, not because I don’t want to talk to her.  I still like her a lot.  Erica has very good taste.  I can understand why she liked her so much.  She’s so pretty and sweet.  Such a pretty smile and a cute little face.  Nice long legs to run my fingers up ….  I guess I do feel sort of guilty for “deflowering” her simply because I knew Erica hadn’t.  But now I know that I do like inexperienced ones because they work from instinct, not from what others have done to them or showed them.  I would just like to kiss Henry, he would be so sweet.

[This letter falls in with my "[dd/mm/yy]:  A Diary Entry” series chronologically and thematically with teen angst and getting my heart broken by Erica, my first love.]

I’m sorry for not writing sooner.  I’m sure you’re very angry at my neglegence [sic.].  After receiving your letter I was in a minor state of shock.  I wasn’t quite sure as to how I was supposed to respond to the contents of that letter.  I have to admit that I was slightly offended at first.  I know that you read it to me over the phone, but I have to admit that I wasn’t paying full attention when you were reading it.  All I could think was, you knew full well, that, I, would not enjoy something like that.  That it’s not my style, I can’t even say 1/2 the words you wrote in that letter.  Please understand that I’m not at all angry, just a bit disturbed.  I wrote a first letter that was 6 pages long & after reading it again, I came to the conclusion that it wasn’t necessarry [sic.] to write such a long letter when you don’t have that much to say.  Besides, it wasn’t a very nice letter.

[The letter to which she referred, the one I had read to her over the phone – when she wasn't listening (and back then we had to pay long-distance bills) – was a sexually explicit letter.  I don't recall the contents, only that it was a pretty elaborate fantasy about how much and in what ways I wanted her to fuck me.  I'm not sure what offended her, as any of the amazing sex I had had up to that point in my life was with her.  I guess it freaked her out to see it on paper.  It would be cool to read how dirty I was back when I was 17.]

Please don’t think that I don’t love you or miss you.  Because I do love you  miss you very much.  But I do have to tell you that the inevitable has happened.  In October I’ll be moving to San Diego – with Juree.  I’m not all the way clear as to how or why or when this all came about but we’re back together, this time its [sic.] permanent.  (I think)  In reality, I’m not sure how long it will last – the security I find in her is as strong as the love I feel for you.  I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you & it still frightens & confuses me.

Well, I’m miserable & depressed as usual, & now I have to sit and wait for some response form you.  You – my purest love is for you, the one I should have left alone.  My young friend who still has the world to conquer with that walk & stance.  Sitting alone in my room day after day, I feel as if I’m being forced to think of my life & my mistakes, although its [sic.] been less than a speck of dust on the times hourglass, I can’t help but realize how full it’s been.  Suddenly, I feel too grown up for my own good.  I talked to my mother recently & before she hung up, she noted the difference in my use of words, & attitude.  Maybe its [sic.] because I have forced myself into being more responsible & less immature.  My senior year was my childhood & now I’m ready to be grown up now.  Unfortunately I’m falling into deep deppression [sic.] that I can’t seem to shake.  I have a hard time communicating with my friends.  They’re getting very irritated at me because I’ve mellowed out so much.  No more handcuffs, dog chains, thick black eyeliner.  No more fighting or be [sic.] obnoxious to jocks, no more white laces or swastikas, no more red braces.  My hairs [sic.] even its natural color.  No more S/M.  There was a time when I swore up & down that I would never calm down.  You don’t know how much I wish I were you right now, still wanting everything.  Always needing something to do.  Now I’m happy to be alone in my room.  I eat twice a week & Juree calls to make sure Im [sic.] still healthy & going outside every once in a while.  She watches out for me.  To her Im [sic.] all to predicable she knows what I’m going to do before I do it.  I think that’s why I need her so much.  When it comes to my life, she’s one step a head [sic.] of me.

Please always remember, you are forever in my heart, so imbedded [sic.] in my soul, no one in this world could ever take you away from me.  I love you, the way a vampire loves his fledgling, so much that he would make him just so he could have him forever, even if they part ways, there’s always a bond so deep, only death separates them.  I hope you understand all that I’ve written & will forgive me for any unhappiness I caused you.  I will see you & we will have our night together.  I want it, I need it.  I love you.

[What a load of utter shit.  She tells me an explicit letter I wrote disturbed her, that she's getting back together with the girlfriend before me, that she's both depressed and more mature, and that, lucky me, some day we'll fuck again.  I recall at the time I received the letter that I was completely dumbfounded that she would react so poorly to something hot I'd written for her.  I wasted my talent, dammit.]

[Continued from "Alameda Guy (Part 1)."]

Eventually, Alameda Guy and his wife came to a temporary agreement where they rented a studio “bachelor” pad that would be used by whomever wasn’t in charge of taking care of the kids.  My divorce attorney friend told me that this is called “nesting” and that it is actually not suggested because the division of assets and actual date of break-up can become fuzzy, which makes things more difficult and fraught for divorce proceedings.  I mentioned that, but wasn’t his divorce attorney and knew he didn’t need to hear that sort of advice from multiple sources.

We did some fun things together.  We went to Club Kiss, a sex club.  While there we hung out in the back room where everyone pretty much has sex out in the open.  Problem was that it was so busy that night that every bit of surface was covered with writhing bodies.  So much so that as soon as someone – usually a couple – got up, there were more people to fill in the space.  It was no longer sexy.  Nonetheless, Alameda Guy and I managed to go down on each other and fool around a bit before we decided the crowd was too much.

We went back to my place.  I had him stay downstairs while I went to my bedroom to change.  The prior Christmas he had given me a pair of boots.  A pair of platform, thigh-high, (fake) patent leather boots that laced all the way up the back.  He had originally bought them for his wife, before the lesbian announcement.  It just so happened that I wore the same size shoe.

The boots had come with one set of laces, which were very short for the size of my legs.  I found a Website that sold a variety of shoe laces and got some for the boots, my friend DD, and even the Ex since there was a flat shipping fee.  That took a while.  Then, I had to lace up the boots with them on, no easy feat considering they laced up the backs of my thighs.

Finally, several months after I had received them, the boots were ready to wear and Alameda Guy was over.  The night we went to Club Kiss I wore the boots for the first time.  I think so much time had gone by that he had forgotten about the boots, because he looked surprised.

He looked surprised – and turned on – when I descended the stairs.  I sat down on a bar stool.  From my perch I ordered him to his knees to worship me and my boots.  I was having fun.

I had him take his clothes off.  His cock was hard.  I had him lick the boots.  His cock was hard.  I was having a lot of fun.

There was definitely something about having the boots on that put me in the state of mind to tell that sexy man what to do.

[To be continued ….]

I swear.  True story.

I’m not eating any turkey today.  Neither am I spending any time with my family.  I’m home with my animals and the tv.

Last Thanksgiving was spent with my family.  In Reno.  I was bored as fuck.  I luckily had Isis with me so whenever I wanted something to do I could walk her.  I could not drink because my step-brother, who lived with my dad and step-mother at the time, was on probation; no alcohol was allowed in the house.

Before I learned that my step-brother being on probation meant no alcohol, I had bought a case of wine from Bi-Rite and had planned on bringing it to my parents’ place in Reno.  When I found out that the wine would not be welcomed I panicked.  I told my friend and neighbor, Ruby, of my plight.  She gave me some Vicodin she happened to have left over from something.

Over the long Thanksgiving weekend I hung out with my family as much as I could, I walked Isis a lot, I took Vicodin, and finally one day I walked to a 7-Eleven and bought some sort of alcoholic beverage that I could guzzle down quickly.  I was bored as fuck.  My family is fine so long as we don’t actually talk about anything of substance.

That was last year.  The year before that I met the man I dubbed Thanksgiving.  Before that I was married.  When married I had had Thanksgivings with his family, with my family, at home with friends.  Out of all of those the Thanksgivings with friends were the best.

Today I’ve caught up on television shows, spent time with my animals, and got in a minor fight with the Ex (over him being a shitty dog papa).  I’m going to spend some time with a friend and then get laid (hopefully – the guy’s never been able to properly get it up with me yet).

I’m happy because I’m doing what I want.

I swear.  True story.

When I got home with our new family member I put the kitten in the bathroom so Otter wouldn’t mess with it.  I made an appointment for the Ex (then the current) to take the kitten to the vet the next day (I had a prior commitment).

When the Ex saw that kitten he told me I had to go, immediately, to the pet store to get a bottle and kitten formula.  I assured him that the kitten could eat solid food, but I suspect the Ex believed I wanted a kitten so much that I had lied about that.

I got kitten formula, a bottle, and everything else we needed for our little kitten, the sex of which the Ex has ascertained was male.  I named him Joaquin after the hotel where I found him.

Little Joaquin, when presented with the bottle of baby formula, did not suckle.  Instead, he chewed on the nipple and then lapped up what dripped out.  We put the formula in a tiny bowl for him.

The next day at the vet Joaquin was immunized and given a clean bill of health.  He weighed nine ounces.  The vet said he was probably three weeks old and would be a small cat, probably only seven or eight pounds.

Because we had a dog, we had to feed little Joaquin on the counter, where Otter could not get to his food (cat food is too high in protein for dogs).  Only Joaquin was too tiny to be able to jump on the counter so we had to provide him a step stool.

If we went near the little guy when he ate he would growl from deep within his tiny little chest.  Since his food bowl was in a high traffic area in the house we had to break him of the growling habit.  The Ex started petting him when he ate, especially if he was growling.  The growling whilst wolfing down food soon stopped.

Joaquin figured out pretty quickly that he had it made.  He started terrorizing Otter.  Otter was around ten years old and had had two back surgeries.  She was not a young kitten.  Joaquin would attack Otter when she was sleeping under covers.  He was a little asshole to her.

When Joaquin weighed just over two pounds we got him fixed.  I had avoided having male cats as an adult because of the nasty spraying problem.  When I was a kid we had a male cat that was either fixed too late or not fixed properly because he still sprayed as an adult cat.  Once, when my step-sister stopped petting him, he turned around and sprayed on her leg.  I certainly didn’t want my cat doing that.

Joaquin has been locked in every closet, cabinet, and bathroom in the place.  When he was a kitten we were always losing him.  Now he only gets “locked” in the bathroom – the door is open but the lights are off so he meows in fear.

6597632_100He meows a lot.  A lot more than my ideal cat would meow.  He meows when someone leaves.  He meows in the mornings.  He meows when all the lights are out.  Mostly, he’s just looking for attention, but I suspect that sometimes he is confused because the room he’s in is dark.

When he was a kitten we let him outside on the patio.  He was so small that he couldn’t jump on the patio wall and get away.  Then he went through a phase where he’d get outside, take off, and be gone all night.  Now he mostly stays in, even when the back door is open. There is a maze of backyards and unused spaces to which he has access from the patio.  I’m pretty sure he has never made his way to a road.  I like to think that.

Joaquin is fully grown at seven pounds.  He is very cute.  He’s mostly black with white chin, chest, and belly.  He wears two tall white boots on his back legs, the left one of which has a small black spot, and two toes of each of his front paws are white.  He’s not quite symmetrical, but he’s damn close.  Sad but true:  I would not have snatched him up if he had an asymmetrical face.


The little guy sleeps at my feet or between my legs since Otter died in February 2007.  Every morning he wakes up, meows until I call him, then sits on my chest so I can pet him and scratch under his chin.

Joaquin is a nutty guy when it comes to water.  He thinks any water-containing vessel is his.  This includes my glasses of water, the dog’s water bowl, and the house’s bathtubs.  If the water level in a glass is such that he can’t reach the water by sticking his head in the glass, he’ll stick is paw in the water and lick it off his paw.  That’d be fine if only he didn’t also dig around in his litter box.

When the water level in the glass is such that he thinks he can reach it if only he could get his head in far enough but he can’t, he usually gets his head stuck, panics, and lifts his head.  The glass inevitably falls to the floor, spilling what water was left in the glass, and more often than not breaking the glass.  Joaquin has broken a lot of glasses.  I have to remember not to leave temptation for him.

Cat nip does nothing for him.  He’s singed his tail on a candle without realizing it.  He’s burned his paws on the stove, a flat ceramic cook top.  The only time he hasn’t properly used his litter box he had a urinary tract infection; he is now on prescription food to prevent recurring infections.  When we fire up the gas fireplace he always lays right in front of it, even if that means he takes over the dog’s bed.  He was a jerk to Otter, but knows not to mess with Isis.

Most of the time when I’m writing Joaquin is sitting on my desk under the heat of my halogen desk lamp.  He’s there right now.

I love my furry little cat-boy.

I swear.  True story.

I met Joaquin, my furry little cat-boy, in October 2003 in Fresno, California.  I was in Fresno for a deposition of a man dying of mesothelioma.  The man was in very poor shape; he wasn’t hospitalized, but he was in a wheel chair and on oxygen.  Because of his extremely poor health he could not take the stress of being deposed for more than a couple of hours a day.  The firm for which I worked didn’t supply us with laptop computers, or have a network that functioned outside the office, so I didn’t have much work to do.

Consequently, I had a lot of free time to explore the wonders of Fresno.  Well, I would have if Fresno had any wonders.

Being in the Central Valley Fresno tends to be almost as warm at night as it is during the day – no ocean breezes to cool it down.  When I was there it was extremely pleasant both during the days and in the evenings.

One evening I stocked up on prepared foods from Whole Foods.  I then stopped in a Long’s Drugs for something and asked the woman who checked me out where I could go for a picnic.  It was so warm and nice I wanted to enjoy the weather while I ate.  The woman said, “Oh no, honey, you don’t want to do that.”  She told me it was too dangerous for me to go to a grassy park well before sundown by myself.  That sucked.

I went back to my hotel.  The San Joaquin Hotel had an interior courtyard where the pool and hot tub were.  I stupidly had not brought a swim suit.  I ended up picnicking by the pool.  After the sun went down and I could no longer read, I went to my hotel room.

I had been reading in my hotel room for a while when I heard a noise in the courtyard.  I opened my door and saw a tiny little fluffy kitten.  Ooooooh!  I grabbed the little thing.  It continued to mew, rather loudly.

I held the kitten, which was all fuzz and eyes, close.  It was very diminutive – it fit in the palm of my hand.  It was shaking and weak.

It was damn cute.  So little.  I realized that it must have gotten separated from its mama somehow and that it needed her still.  I wrapped the kitten in a towel and put him outside.  Next to him I placed some chicken that was left over from my dinner.  I figured the kitten’s mama would smell the chicken and come running and notice that her baby was there.  I hoped she wouldn’t reject the kitten because I had touched it because it clearly still needed its mama for nourishment.

After a while I checked the spot where I had left the kitten and the chicken.  I was hoping to see nothing but a towel, which would mean the mama got some food and picked up her kid.

Instead, I saw the little kitten wolfing down the chicken.  Oh!  He was already weaned.  And there was no mama cat in sight.

I had been wanting a cat for a while.  Our previous apartment was too small at about 425 square feet for my husband and I, our dog Otter, and a cat, so I didn’t push the subject.  But we had recently moved into a place over twice the size where there was room to have a kitty litter box in a place where Otter could not get into it (dogs really are nasty at times).

As I realized that the kitten no longer needed his birth mama since he was eating solid food, and that I could take this little, tiny, fluffy thing home, the kitten was eating and getting its strength up.  While I had easily picked it up when I first heard it mewing outside my hotel room, now that it had eaten, it wanted to get the fuck away from me.  It ran off.

I followed.  It was dark and the little thing was mostly black so I had trouble seeing it.  I went to the hotel’s front desk where I borrowed a flashlight.  I went to the last place I saw the kitten go and looked all around.

I feared that I had lost the kitten when I saw its eyes glowing in the flashlight’s beam.  It was under the hotel’s Dumpster.  It was clearly scared because it was hunched down as far away from me as it could get.  I wanted that damn kitten!

In order to get it out from under the Dumpster I had to scare the little thing more, so it would try to make a run for it, thereby allowing me to snatch  it up.  It was a kitten so it did not yet have the speed and coordination to get away from me once I was determined to get it.

Finally, I cornered the little thing and grabbed it.  I never saw its mama or any other kittens.  I put it in my hotel room and then returned the flashlight to the front desk.  I told the attendant that I was keeping a kitten I had just found.  The attendant clearly thought I was nuts.

Back in my room the little thing had tried to hide in a corner.  It was so tiny.  It also continued to mew.  Loudly.  I tried to comfort it.  I put out water and more chicken.

When I went to bed I wrapped it in a towel and put it on the pillow next to me.  The kitten stayed there the whole night.  I feel only slightly bad that I let it sleep on the bed when it was absolutely covered in fleas.

The kitten was so scared that I didn’t want to further traumatize it by trying to remove any of the fleas that could easily be seen crawling on the kitten wherever its fur was white, on it’s neck, belly, and feet.  I also didn’t check on the sex of the kitten.

The next day I had to work so I left him in the room and put the do not disturb sign on the door.  The deposition was miserable, but the weather continued to be nice.

I drove from Fresno to San Francisco with the kitten in my lap.  Anyone who has shared a car with a cat knows it is quite unusual that the kitten simply sat in my lap over the course of a nearly two hundred miles.

I swear.  True story.

[To be continued ….]